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"It is the motherhood cry of the fatu-liva," he said. "She has just laid an egg." "But why the note of suffering?" I queried. "The eggs of the fatu-liva are square," said Whinney, and I was silenced. Motherhood is indeed the great mystery.
Little did I realize that night how much I was to owe to the fatu-liva and her strange maternal gift which saved my life in one of the weirdest adventures that has ever befallen mortal man. It was a placid day on the sea and Kippy and I were returning from a ten-mile swim to a neighboring island whither I had been taken to be shown off to some relatives.
Kippy was towing me shoreward at a speed which caused the sea to foam about my bladders but the wak-wak still pursued us. A second time my dauntless mate rose to the occasion. With amazing buoyancy she lifted herself to a half-seated position on the surface of the water and poured forth the most astounding imitation of the motherhood cry of the fatu-liva. "Biloo-ow-ow-ow-ow-zing-aaa!"
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