Read Huia Short Stories 10 for Free Online

handsome, nor a great warrior, nor a great fisherman or sailor. On the first day of our journey, before we had even got out of the calm lagoon and onto the ocean proper, he was sick over the side. The fish rose up to pick at bits of his last meal, half-digested. We women gave him a new name, Puke-eaten-by-fish. Over the journey it has become shortened to Fishpuke.
    There he goes again: his eyes catch mine before he tears them away and blows out his breath, his cheeks puffing out. He is maybe about my age. He is tall, but still has the thinness of boyhood. Poor Fishpuke.
    Often I wonder how much longer we must endure the sea. It must also be in the minds of everybody else here. Perhaps only the navigator and the captain really have any idea how far there is to go, or whether we will even find our destination among this expanse of ocean. We must trust them; we must trust that they know where they are taking us and can find the land that is said to be in this cold water. Often they consult; they point to some place out over the rim of the sea.
    I go to the side and dip my fingers in the sea. This gives me reassurance; it measures our speed. My fingertips cut a whooshing gouge in the water’s surface, leaving a foaming trail. It feels like progress. Look out for us, new land. We are coming.
    One of the men sees me with my fingers in the water. ‘Hoi!’ he says. The captain comes running over to scold me. ‘You want to keep your fingers, don’t you? There are sharks and other big fish,’ he says. ‘The cold water makes them hungry.’ He pulls me by my arm away from the side. The navigator turns to look. He sees me, takes me in as a minor distraction, then his gaze goes back to the horizon. His concern is the sea. But the captain has to worry about what will happen when we find land. I am a chieftain’s daughter, and a valuable marriage prize. He needs me in one piece.
    Yes, marriage, that’s what I said. After all, we are told that this land might already be inhabited. If there are people there, they might not be quite like us. We are told they may be giants, or might have strange powers, or might be more closely descended from the gods than we are. They might have sprung from the land; they might be rock people who count the mountains among their ancestors. We have few men and few weapons – we will have to marry our way into the land, rather than conquering.
    I hope that the land, if we find it, will turn out to be empty. It would perhaps be better to remain at sea forever and marry Fishpuke than marry one of the rock people.
    If I had any choice in the matter, I would choose a man like the navigator, though he is older than me; perhaps old enough to be my father. There is something about those eyes, always fixed ahead. It is the confidence in the way he stands. We have come to rely on his sense of certainty. It is all that keeps us from going crazy. The rest of us rely on him completely, and I think some of us women feel giddy whenever he walks past. But he can have no thought of women or sex. While he is steering the vessel he is in a high state of sacredness and restriction. One of the older women tells me that his spirit swims ahead of the vessel, guiding us through the currents. The navigator must not break the restrictions. He must not sever the connection with the spirit fish.
    The navigator is going to sleep. Even he tires sometimes. He calls Fishpuke up to take over at the steering oar. ‘Keep us straight,’ he says, pointing beyond the horizon. ‘Don’t pull either to the left or right. Keep the end of the oar in line with the masts. All the people will watch to make sure you don’t stray. Tonight, enough cloud will clear and we can take another reading from the stars.’
    It is time to prepare the meal. This becomes easier each day, as the supplies begin to dwindle. Today it is a morsel of fish and dried sweet potato. The first portion is offered to the