Chapter 2

The next day begins in the same manner: toilet and bathing at the stream then breakfast. Melvill is more at ease, more confident the Typees do not intend to murder them. Toby must feel better too. He is ravenous at breakfast, which includes a type of dried nut in addition to the poeepoee and juice. After, Marheyo ushers everyone from the hut except Melvill, who knows to go to his mat. In a few minutes Fayaway is there with the tortoise bowl and ointment. She smiles when she greets Melvill and says the word "leg." 

"Yes leg. My leg seems a bit improved today." Melvill is delighted at Fayaway's use of the English word, though she pronounced it nearly like league. 

Fayaway attempts to unbutton Melvill's trousers but her fingers are not used to buttons. Melvill assists her and exposes his leg, pulling off his pants and raising up the baggy right leg of his knee-length breeches. Fayaway begins her inspection then the application of the ointment, first to his toes and foot. She seems to linger there. Melvill thinks about the extreme arousal he experienced before and wonders if Fayaway's hesitation is due to that. Or perhaps he is only imagining her reluctance. His speculation ends momentarily when Fayaway moves on to the ankle bone and calf. Melvill tries to distract himself from the sensations, to avoid the embarrassing and uncomfortable arousal. First he thinks of what his family must be doing now--his brother at work in the shop, his mother sewing or cooking--but these images depress him. The homesickness is heavy on him until his mind switches to the whaler, particularly the hunt, which was exhilarating. It was the killing he despised because it was such a waste, and the horrific carving up of the massive carcass afterward, knowing that the ship would be rife with the noxious odor of boiling fat. Melvill sees the blood flowing on the Acushnet's deck: a scarlet river to and fro with the pitching of the waves. Then he sees young Jones, younger even than Melvill and come from New York City too, at first smiling, working on deck, singing out a sailor's work song, then how he must have been at the last, struggling in the icy grip of the ocean, sucking down the brine, eternally sinking sinking.... 

Fayaway's hands move to his thigh, each finger in its own synchronous elliptical motion, its own small penetrating orbit. Melvill's erection pulsates within his thin breeches. He looks at Fayaway to see if she notices but she appears absorbed in the massage. The muscles in her shoulders twitch with exertion. She stops with one hand for a moment to sweep a strand of hair behind her ear and accidentally highlights her cheekbone with the glistening ointment. Melvill reaches up and wipes it away with his thumb. He allows his fingertips to hesitate for a moment at her ear. 

Fayaway, at first startled by his action, seems now self-conscious. She hurries in her way to finish anointing his leg. She casts her beautiful eyes down, to her hands. The moment she finishes she is gone. Melvill stares at the thatched ceiling as the ointment's heat overtakes his leg. Today its radiance seems to go beyond the skin that Fayaway touched--to his stomach and his other limbs, and to his chest where his heart beats against the hard-earth floor. 

It takes Korykory a long time to retrieve him for his second bath. Even the stream's bracing water does not cool the burning in his soul. It is all too much: their escape from the whaler, the trek through the mountains, their encounter with the cannibals, the lovely Fayaway. Floating in the bathing pool Melvill cannot concentrate; his mind is all skittering emotion. 

He is startled to hear his name, his real name. Toby is standing on the bank of the stream holding two pieces of wood, one long, one cut short. 

"The life of luxury must be enthralling. I thought for an instant you were drowned there in the water." Toby makes a T shape with the wood. "Look here, old fellow, at what your footman and I have been about this morning. I have been lent some tools--for lack of a more apt description--and we are fashioning you a crutch." Toby places the disassembled wood under his arm to show that it is the proper height. "By noon you should have it--and some measure of independence as well. I'd be finished in a quarter hour if I could get at the carpenter's cabinet onboard." 

"I appreciate your efforts," says Melvill from the pool, "but what I truly need is to be free of this affliction." 

"Yes I know. I've been thinking about that." Toby pokes the crutch stick into the ground. "Surely there is a physician among the French. With three men-of-war they would've packed one of those, would they've not? They brought the admiral's damned horse--why not his damned doctor too?" 

Melvill recalls the brightly uniformed Frenchman riding his white horse on the beach, to the amazement of the Nukuhevas, who seemed to think it was some sort of overgrown pig. "It seems likely. But would the Acushnet have set out yet?" 

"Pease intended to by now. I can't imagine he would hold his departure on our accounts." 

"No." Melvill is feeling lightheaded again. 

"I must learn what the best route to Nukuheva is. Certainly not by way of the mountains as we came." 

Korykory, sitting on his haunches at the edge of the bank, becomes more alert at the word he understands, Nukuheva. 

"I'm afraid it doesn't matter. Even with the crutch I would be hard pressed to go only a few miles, and it must be eighteen or more to Nukuheva Bay by coast, and heaven only knows what sort of terrain lies between here and there." 

"I wasn't suggesting, old fellow, that you would go. That is clearly out of the question. I would go then come round for you by boat--surely I could secure one for the purpose at Nukuheva." 

Melvill tries to consider the proposal but has difficulty focusing. "Would the Typees even let you leave?" The stonefaced warriors are still dogging Toby, ominous in their silence. 

"I don't know. Well, first things first." Toby turns away with the crutch pieces. 

After his bath, Korykory takes Melvill to the place where Marheyo is building his small hut. It is mid morning but the forest gives the sunlight a duskiness. Melvill sits on the log hoping Fayaway will come to him. He wishes he already had Toby's crutch. He could at least explore along the path of small huts, which winds like a serpent through the tropical forest. He senses there is a holiness about the huts, like broken and abandoned shrines or temples. 

Yesterday the snapping and lashing of bamboo was hypnotic; today it is merely annoying. Melvill feels restless and irritable. He tries to concentrate on the natural sounds: on the wind high above in the forest canopy, on the squawking of the painted birds, on the clatter of the invisible insects. He conjures the erotic image of Fayaway, then of other maidens he has known. He envisions the congested seaport at New Bedford, the clippers and whalers and other tall ships. Nothing eases his restlessness. 

Marheyo's and Korykory's work-trance is finally broken when another Typee arrives along the path. They greet him warmly with smiles and pats on his muscular arms. He is between Marheyo and Korykory in age. His head is completely shaved and around its crown is a tattooed garland. He is holding an object wrapped in white cloth which Melvill at first mistakes for a baby because he is cradling it as gently and as lovingly as a father would his infant. After a brief exchange between the three, the Typee unwraps the cloth to reveal a stone statue--similar to the ones at the entrances to each of the small huts. It reminds Melvill of a skrimshander, a figure that some whalemen carve from whalebone. Marheyo takes the primitively carved statue as if it is his child. Melvill notices that the statue's arms have thin lines etched into them, like Marheyo's vine tattoos. And the stone idol has the twin bull's-eyes on its chest; and an exaggerated version of Marheyo's wide flat nose. Clearly the statue is of Marheyo and the old man seems quite pleased with it. Melvill is surprised to see both Marheyo and Korykory brush aside tears. 

When Marheyo is finished examining the statue, he hands it back to the Typee artisan--a father returning his child to the midwife--who then wraps it in the cloth again and takes it away. 

"So that's what you're building here," says Melvill, "a sort of tomb for Marheyo." 

The old man turns to Melvill and nods deeply, almost a bow, but no doubt only at the utterance of his name. 

"And the rest of these huts are for departed warriors." 

Marheyo and Korykory are returning to their work. 

Melvill wonders at the dilapidated condition of most of the bamboo tombs and at the stone idols that have fallen. Perhaps it is "taboo"--a word used by the various bands of natives throughout the islands, relic of some common ancestral language, long forgotten--for the living to do anything with the tombs other than construct them. To Melvill it seems reasonable to allow the natural world to take its course with the tombs without human interference. Yet these huts are well protected from the rains and the ocean winds. The tropical forest even filters the corrosive salt from the air. Some of these shrines are probably centuries old, he thinks. 

Marheyo and Korykory--father and son, Melvill is certain now--have returned to building the hut in earnest silence. One bamboo reed at a time. Lashed together one upon the next like the days of our lives, thinks Melvill, constructing an edifice of testimony. He wishes he had pencil and paper. 

The discomfort in his leg, exacerbated by the treatment, is becoming acute. He waits, only half alert, for Marheyo and Korykory to finish their morning work and return him to the grove for the noon meal. By the time they do start back Melvill feels sick and weak. Korykory seems to infer his condition and carries him with extra care. A gentle rain trickles through the forest ceiling. There is no one lunching in the grove so Korykory carries him on toward Marheyo's hut. Looking over Korykory's shoulder Melvill sees Toby and Fayaway near the hut's entrance under the narrow cover of the protruding roof. A sound reaches Melvill that he has not heard before: it is Fayaway's laughter. Toby is entertaining her by making odd faces and clowning with the crutch he has fashioned. Melvill's overall pain is replaced by a wave of jealousy. 

Toby calls out when he notices them. "Old fellow, look here." Toby places the crutch under his right arm; it is a bit too tall for him and his shoulder is hunched, which further amuses Fayaway. 

Korykory sets Melvill by his friend. Melvill almost feels too weak to balance on his good leg. 

"You look terrible. Here." Toby offers him the rough-hewn crutch. 

It does help Melvill stay upright. "Thank you. This seems very sound indeed." Melvill makes his way inside. He does not look at Fayaway. He does not want to see the shadow of a smile still lingering on her lips. 

Melvill is too ill to eat so he sleeps in a corner while Marheyo's family and Toby have their lunch. When Melvill awakens his hunger is severe. He devours three bananas and a tangerine while Tinor prepares a bowl of boacho. They are alone in the hut. Bands of sunlight slip through the few separations between bamboo reeds. While she prepares the food, Tinor speaks to him in maternal tones. Occasionally she smiles and touches the flesh on her face. 

"Is my color improved?" guesses Melvill. He feels healthier, more energetic, and the throbbing in his leg has ceased. 

After his second bowl of boacho Melvill is revitalized. Using the crutch he goes outside. There is a group of women polishing the insides of coconut shells. Melvill cannot help noticing the rhythmic swaying of their breasts. Nearby children are playing a game with seashells and small stones. No one takes notice of Melvill. He is not practiced with the crutch but the feelings of independence and mobility are uplifting. He makes his way to the cataract and stands so close that invisible drops of cold water peck at his face and neck. It is glorious. Leaning against a boulder he removes his shoes and shirt and trousers, leaving only his breeches. He carefully crawls over the boulder and the wet rocks, then he reclines in the swift running water and lets it bubble over his head and shoulders. It leaps at his ears and between his callused fingers. 

Out of habit he sniffs for the scent of salt but there is only verdant freshness. Melvill is fading into a dreamy state . . . when Tinor's screeching startles him to full alertness. The old woman is pointing her skeletal finger at him and spitting out a cascade of Typee words. The only one Melvill catches is "taboo . . . taboo!" Melvill scrambles back to the bank and begins pulling on his clothes. More patiently Tinor tries to explain what is wrong. She gestures downstream to the bathing pool and farther to the toilet area. Tinor points to the cataract and pantomimes drinking. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize one couldn't enter the stream here. I'm sorry." Melvill bows to communicate his apology. 

Tinor slaps him on the shoulder and turns shaking her head, seeming amazed at his ignorance. 

Melvill returns to the cluster of huts. Tinor is disappeared. He assumes she is inside again. Balancing on his crutch, he calls to the women working the coconut shells: "Do you know where my friend is? Do you know where Toby is? Toby?" 

The women stop for a moment, stare at Melvill and giggle; then return to their work. 

"Thank you for your help." 

One of the children looks up from her game and motions toward the grove. The naked little girl smiles shyly at Melvill, motions again, and concentrates again on the game. 

The grove seems too far, especially with the throbbing ache beginning to return to his leg. But the idea of Toby's company and perhaps smoking a bowl of tobacco in the Ti is very appealing. Slowly he starts to make his way. The crutch digs into the sandy ground. 

When Melvill reaches the edge of the grove he sits under a palm tree to rest. The shade is cool and moist. From his position he can see the side and the rear of the Ti, and the smaller huts beyond, and two of the paths that lead out of the grove--one curls into the forest toward the warriors' tombs, the other he does not know, maybe to the sea, which is several miles. The sea. The great conundrum. The freer of minds and souls and the enslaver too. The great greenblue giver of life and dealer of death. Mystery and faith and fear. And all the seamen are either friend or enemy. There is no indifference. Even the sea's animals choose sides--giving themselves up freely to sustain you or fighting you to the death. Melvill recalls the story of the gray whale with the white patch--"Mocha Dick" the sailors of the southern seas called him--who had destroyed thirteen boats and took the lives of more than thirty men. 

"Old fellow . . . I nearly tripped over you." Toby helps him to stand. "Look what our little brown flower has given me: a map of the whole damned island." 

Melvill touches the old faded parchment which is crumbling at the edges. It smells of the sea, and of decay. Nukuheva is clearly rendered with its volcanic peaks, streams and coves. The valley of the Typees is recognizable. But there are great patches of emptiness where the anonymous cartographer had no knowledge of the island. 

"Cook himself may have drawn the map," says Toby. 

"Judging by its age it was more likely a Peruvian hand which sketched it. And its lack of scale suggests that much is based on hearsay and not firsthand knowledge." Melvill runs his finger along the island's coastline. "Here must be Nukuheva Bay." 

"Right, and these the mountains we traversed, and this the stream we followed down." Toby points toward the stream itself, just out of view from the trees. "And look here, this appears to be a path, due east out of the valley then south--probably along the base of that mountain." He points to the farthest peak. 

"A path, or a national border. And how far--and how treacherous? You're not risking your neck on my behalf." 

"It's not solely on your behalf, old fellow. I have no intention of living out my days among these cannibals." Toby studies the crude map for a moment. "I would think I could complete the journey in three days or perhaps fewer. If luck is with us, we'll be sailing for the Hawaiian Islands in a week's time." 

"I shall try to adopt some of your optimism." Melvill studies the half dozen warriors who have been twenty yards from them. Their silence and their omnipresence, like creeping jungle vines, must make it possible for Toby to disregard them. 

"Where were you headed, old fellow, before I came upon you here?" 

"To the Ti, to find you and perhaps have a pipe." 

"A splendid idea. There's not much I can do in preparation. In the morning I shall avail myself of some fruits and fresh water and set off. If those dressmaker's dummies intend to keep me here, I suppose this will be the perfect test to see." 

Melvill is anxious about Toby's planned departure. Throughout the remainder of the day the same thoughts eat away at him like an abscess: What if Toby is not allowed to leave and they are in fact prisoners here? What if Toby leaves and is never heard from again? Perhaps the Happars will kill him, or the Typees in secret. What then? Melvill will be left totally alone among these cannibals. What if Toby reaches Nukuheva Bay and Captain Pease is not departed and Toby is placed under maritime arrest? Or what if Toby has the opportunity to sign on with a crew bound for Hawaii? After all, how well does he know Tobias Greene? Is eighteen months enough time, no matter what the circumstances, to form these kinds of bonds? Toby is offering to risk his life twice for Melvill--first by traveling out of the Typee Valley, then by venturing back into it. 

That night Melvill is again fitful in his sleep, in an ague of worry, his leg ailing. He reaches out, as on the first night with the Typees, to feel Toby next to him. Toby is turned on his side, his back to Melvill. Toby has gone to bed shirtless and his bare white skin is like a spirit in the dark hut: the ghost of some fallen warrior, whose head hangs on display in the Ti. His feverish mind imagines the heads having an animated discussion in the abandoned Ti, telling the tales of their deaths, blinking furiously over their iridescent mother-of-pearl eyes. Melvill thinks he can hear the murmur of their voices on the wind. The murmur becomes the beating of waves on rocks. Sea spray explosions. Again and again. Bursting. The memory of the Acushnet coming into Nukuheva Bay and the natives racing to greet them in their long canoes. The beautiful young girls leaving a trail of flower petals in their wake: floating paths of yellow, lavender and pink. And all the young girls are Fayaway, their molten eyes beckoning like the Sirens'. The horny sailors twitching at their posts. 

The whole wild show threading its way between the French men-of-war anchored offshore. Dark sentinels in the bright bright day. 

Toby is gone. Melvill searches the hut in the blue predawn light. Awkwardly he gets up with the crutch and avoids falling over the sleeping bodies. Outside he nervously looks for his friend and finds him sitting on a rock gazing at the cataract and stream. Toby is still only half dressed. Melvill comes up from behind and breaks his reverie. 

"Thought perhaps you had already stolen away." 

"Oh no. It was the strangest thing--I thought I heard something out here . . . well it sounded like a cat's meowing." 

"A cat? All this way inland?" 

"Yes, odd, isn't it?" Toby stands and stretches, making his ribs even more pronounced in the shadowy blue light. "No, I'm not leaving until after breakfast. I'd like to get an earlier start but it may be the last meal I'll have for some time." 

The tips of the mountains to the east are becoming flushed with the new daylight. 

Their conversation has aroused the two warrior escorts in Marheyo's hut and they are standing just outside the opening blinking at Melvill and Toby. 

"My apologies," says Melvill. "Didn't mean to wake you." 

Melvill and Toby return inside to their sleeping mats. There is nothing to do until the Typee family arises and prepares breakfast. Nothing to do but lie on the uncomfortable mat feeling the pulse-pain in his leg and thinking the terrible thoughts about Toby's departure.