Friends

(Tangu)

Once upon a time there were two villages. In the first of these all the women had perished, leaving men and boys only, and in the second there were no men or boys, only women and girls.

One day, dance Juangam was signalled in the women’s village. And as the sun went down the women decorated themselves and started the dance.

The deep booming of their handdrums carried through the still night air over hill and valley to the far-away village of the men. ‘If only it were noon,’ a young lad mused as he wakened and listened to the rhythm of the drums, ‘I would go along and join them. But it is night, too dark and too late... I’d better sleep. Some other time, perhaps, I’ll listen out for the signal... I’ll make sure to hear it in good time—then I will go and visit them...’

The women danced through the night until dawn. Then they betook themselves to the tops of their areca-nut palms to sleep. Only old grandmother Nuakai remained below on the ground.

The following morning the women again signalled Juangam on their slit-gongs and prepared for the dance. Far away in his village the lad, Kwav, [Kwav and Wvert are alternative words for ‘friend.’ They have been used here as proper names to prevent confusion] heard the signal and decided to go to the dance. He cut himself a piece of inner bark from a deamar, hammered it out by the stream, and hung it in the sun to dry. After drying it, he suppled and shaped his new red-brown breechclout, girding it about his loins so that the apron in front came down to his ankles. He made up a slow-match, furbished his handdrum, tightening the head and sticking on buttons of resin. Then, with decorations and bird-of-paradise plumes in a basket under his arm, he set off through the forest to the village of women. He travelled all night, not arriving until dawn was breaking. And there on a pekas strewn with shreds of croton and palm he saw Nuakai sitting by herself, making a string bag. He was too late. The dance was over.

Kwav strode on to the pekas. ‘Where has everyone gone?’ he asked the old woman.

‘They’ve all gone to their beds long since,’ Nuakai informed him.

As the lad stood there wondering what he should do next, Nuakai set aside her string bag, put a pot on the fire, and invited the visitor to share a meal. Gratefully, Kwav accepted.

After they had eaten, Nuakai turned to the lad and, ‘Climb one of those areca palms,’ she suggested. ‘Pick two small nuts. Don’t pick the large ones—only two small ones. And be careful how you pick them. Take them eyes and all!’

Kwav grasped a palm in his hands, gripped with his knees, and soon climbed to the top. He picked his first nut—with the eye. But with the second he was careless. Tugging rather too sharply, he parted the nut from its cup... Still, putting the nuts in his basket he slid down the trunk and set off for home.

As Kwav walked on his way through the forest he came to a stream, the water clear and cool. ‘I’ll have a swim,’ he thought. ‘I’ll wash off the sweat and dust.’

He threw his basket on the foreshore, stripped off his breech-clout—folding it and putting it on the top of his basket—and splashed into the shallows, wandering slowly up-stream.

Suddenly the glade rang with gay laughter,‘He! He! He!’

‘Who can that be?’ the lad wondered, amazed. Then, thinking it might be someone after his areca-nuts, he hurried down-stream to where he had left his belongings.

Two maidens were sitting on his breechclout.

‘Hey there!’ Kwav shouted, crouching behind a bush. ‘That is my breechclout you’re sitting on—go away! I want to put on my breechclout!’

The maidens giggled. ‘Well, come out and get it!’ they returned. There was nothing else for it. Kwav had to come out of the stream to put on his breechclout. Then he saw that his areca-nuts had gone—and he rounded on the maidens, accusing them of taking his nuts. ‘No, no, no!’ they protested. We haven’t taken your nuts—we are the areca-nuts you picked! You’ve been carrying us in your basket all day!’

Kwav noticed that one of the maidens had only one eye. ‘When you picked me,’ she explained, ‘you left my eye behind. But you picked the other nut eye and all—and she is unblemished.’

Kwav took the two maidens home with him and showed them to his friend, Wvert.

‘You have one for a wife,’ suggested Wvert, ‘and let me have the other. You take the pretty one, and I’ll take the one-eyed.’ ‘No!’ Kwav countered. ‘I want the pair of them. But look—they’ll probably signal a dance for tomorrow. Why not go over yourself and get two wives of your own?’

Next morning the booming of the slit-gongs from the women’s village signalled a dance. So Wvert cut himself a strip of inner bark, hammered out a new breechclout, dried it, suppled it, and wound it on to his loins. He fetched down his bird-of-paradise plumes, his decorations, his handdrum. Then, making up a slow-match, he set off for the women’s village.

Wvert walked very fast all night. Yet even so he did not arrive till the dawning. The dance was over, the pekas strewn with croton and palm leaves. Only Nuakai was there.

‘Where has everybody gone?’ asked Wvert.

‘They have all gone to sleep,’ came the reply.

Then, as had happened with Kwav, Nuakai asked Wvert to share some food.

After they had eaten, and were sitting contented, Nuakai suggested to Wvert that he should pick two areca-nuts together with their eyes.

Wvert did so. And as he made his way homewards through the forest he stopped by a stream to bathe and refresh himself. He was splashing about and enjoying himself when he heard sounds of gay laughter. Two maidens were sitting by his breechclout, and they challenged him to come out of the stream and fetch his breechclout for himself. Like his friend, Wvert did so, and took the two maidens home to his village.

Kwav greeted him when he arrived. ‘So you have got your two wives!’ he exclaimed. ‘And each of them has two eyes!’

‘Yes indeed!’ replied Wvert. ‘When you picked your nuts you left the eye of one of them behind. That is why one of your wives has only one eye. I picked my nuts carefully—eyes and all.’ The wives bore children to their husbands, and their children married and remarried, the son of one friend marrying the daughter of the other. They all lived together in the village, and it prospered, so that though that village had been small, without any women, now it became large, with men and women living together.

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