Short Stories
nary. But Samisee had sailed across the lagoon and would not
be back for three days. Mauki returned with the information.
He climbed the steep stairway (the house stood on piles
twelve feet above the sand), and entered the living-room to re-
port. The trader demanded the chicken. Mauki opened his
mouth to explain the missionary's absence. But Bunster did
not care for explanations. He struck out with his fist. The blow
caught Mauki on the mouth and lifted him into the air. Clear
through the doorway he flew, across the narrow veranda,
breaking the top railing, and down to the ground. His lips
were a contused, shapeless mass, and his mouth was full of
blood and broken teeth.
"That'll teach you that back talk don't go with me," the
trader shouted, purple with rage, peering down at him over
the broken railing.
Mauki had never met a white man like this, and he re-
solved to walk small and never offend. He saw the boat-boys
knocked about, and one of them put in irons for three days
with nothing to eat for the crime of breaking a rowlock while
pulling. Then, too, he heard the gossip of the village and
learned why Bunster had taken a third wife—by force, as was
well known. The first and second wives lay in the graveyard,
under the white coral sand, with slabs of coral rock at head
and feet. They had died, it was said, from beatings he had giv-
en them. The third wife was certainly ill-used, as Mauki could
see for himself.
But there was no way by which to avoid offending the white
man, who seemed offended with life. When Mauki kept silent,
he was struck and called a sullen brute. When he spoke, he was
struck for giving back talk. When he was grave, Bunster accused
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