Fire Knife Dancing by John Enright

Author:John Enright [Enright, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 1612185010
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

They couldn’t see Apelu’s house from the road, whether there were any cars there or not, but they drove in anyway, slowly.

“No stakeout, nobody home,” Apelu said. “I’ll be quick.”

He had to get some things. His son’s zippered bag from the Apia trip was still slouched empty against the front room wall. He took it into the bedroom and stuffed some clothes into it. He got his keys and cash that he had left behind the day before, his ID and badge case. From the bathroom he got his razor, toothbrush, deodorant, and Tylenol. He was rushing. He wanted to get out of there before he started thinking about the kids. The phone on the kitchen wall started ringing and he almost bolted. But he stopped himself and made himself go into the kitchen as the phone was ringing to look and see if Sina had left him a note anywhere. She hadn’t. The phone stopped ringing. He left. Asia had turned the car around. The engine was still running, the windows up, the air-con on.

On the ride back to Piapiatele Apelu asked Asia about her Samoan. It was not a language white strangers often knew. Outside the islands there was no reason to know it, and even in the islands the vast majority of palangis never made any effort to learn it beyond hello, good-bye, and thank you.

“It’s not bad,” he said. “It’s not especially good, but it’s not bad.”

“It’s a very different language,” she said.

“Oh, how so?”

“Well, it’s ergative, for one thing.”

“Which means what?”

“Well, there is no passive voice, among other things. And its grammar is very relative. Context supplies a lot of the sense markers.”

“I’m glad I don’t know any of that or I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to speak it. How did you learn?” Apelu asked.

“I studied languages in college. They interest me. Then, when Paulo and I got together, I started teaching myself Samoan—with his help—so that we could have our own private language in public, and so that I could understand his Samoan friends and family when we were with them. They were great about it. First they taught me all the things I shouldn’t say. Then we sang Samoan songs, covers of American songs so that I’d know the English lyrics already. They took me to their Samoan Baptist church services in Kalihi so I could listen to their endless Sunday sermons. That didn’t help much. And Paulo and I spoke Samoan at home much of the time. Though when we argued I had to argue in English. Samoan is really such a lovely language, so soft, almost swallowed when spoken well, and Samoans are so forgiving. When I make mistakes, they just laugh and make a joke out of it.”

“You’ll never really get it, you know,” Apelu felt impelled to tell her.

“I know. The more I learn the less I realize I know. Did that make sense to you?”

“See if you can say it in Samoan, then I might understand it better.

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