Sometimes we spoke of eloping, you and I, of sailing east and finding a new island, our own island. But when we were not together our resolve weakened. As much as we wanted each other, we didn’t have the courage for the sufferings of exile.

We saw the strangers lower a small pirogue from their ship, and fill it with men, and begin rowing to shore. We descended the hill to the beach and awaited them. We studied the newcomers, in their stiff, brightly colored clothes and hats, and noted how strange everything was about them. They looked wherever and at whomever they pleased, without fear, even though their spears were short and thick and blunt. Did they not know the teachings of the Law about where to look, at whom, and in what manner?

They gathered together on the beach and their chief spoke in a strange tongue, and the others raised their spears, and thunder and lightning exploded from the ends of their spears and into the clear blue sky. Their chief tied a stone leaf etched with strange markings to a tree, and finally they approached us, bearing beads, coins, nails, and mirrors, which they held out to us, smiling at us, placing their gifts into our hands. Of course, we didn’t know what these things were and we studied them and were awed by their strangeness. Their chief issued orders that the others followed, but there was a second one among them who did not labor, instead gathering leaves and plants and putting them in a bag, as if harvesting medicines as Fetu did. He marveled at our tattoos. Meanwhile, other strangers were sent to a stream carrying empty barrels, which they filled with water, and carried back to their pirogue.

As I watched them, I was also watching you, Koahu, how drawn to them you were, how easily you communicated with them, despite the strangeness of their tongue, with your eyes and face and arms. Your quick wit, your smile, the way you moved—all were tools with which you bridged the differences between you and the strangers. And your eyes, those eyes I had gazed into so often, now betrayed no other desire than for the foreigners and their strangeness, which you found full of wonder and delight. You admired their brazenness, for you yourself were born brazen.

With your body, with the expressions on your face and the movements of your hands, you somehow made yourself understood to them. Through you, Otahu invited them to feast with us that evening.