CHAPTER VI

Marital memories. A pillow-fight on the beach. A deep-sea devil.
The opening in the atoll. Swank paints a portrait. The fatu-liva bird
and its curious gift. My adventure with the wak-wak. Saved!


I shall never forget a day when my bride and I sat on the edge of the
lagoon after our matinal dip in its pellucid waters. It was a perfect
September morn. So was she.

"My dear," I said suddenly, "Hatiaa Kappa eppe taue."

It sounds like a college fraternity but really means, "My woodlark,
what is your name?"

I had been married over a week and I did not know my wife's name.

"Kippiputuonaa," she murmured musically.

"Taro ititi aa moieha ephaa lihaha?" I questioned, which, freely
translated, is "What?"

"Kippiputuonaa."

Then, throwing back her head with its superb aureole of hair she softly