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Updated: May 9, 2025
The Arioi, minstrels of the tropics Lovaina tells of the infanticide Theories of depopulation Methods of the Arioi Destroyed by missionaries. Lovaina came out to Mataiea with the news and gossip of the capital. A wretched tragedy had shocked the community. Pepe, the woman of Tuatini, had buried her new-born infant alive in the garden of the house opposite the Tiare Hotel.
"The soft lasceevious stars leered from these velvet skies." Lovaina had gone to bed, but, with the lights on again, patrons of the prize-fight had dropped in. The Christchurch Kid had beaten Teaea, a native, the match being a preliminary clearing of the ground before the signal encounter with the bridegroom.
"I don' 'low no monkey bizeness. Drinkin' wine custom of Tahiti. Make little fun, no harm. If they go that Cocoanut House, get in bad." Lovaina told me all about it. She was quite hurt at the aspersions upon her home, and entered the dining-room in a breathing spell to sit at my table, a rather unusual honor I deeply felt.
"Your dear friend Lovaina was the first to die of the hotahota, as some call this sickness. Lovaina had a bad cough. The man who looks after the engines of the Navua went to see her, and she kissed him on the cheek. Then the good doctor of Papeete who visits the ships was called to see her. Maru, could that doctor have brought the hotahota to Lovaina? She was dead in a little while.
I counted roughly several hundred bicycles and two public automobiles, holding thirty persons each, came from the center of town, the enterprising owners canvassing the coffee-shops and saloons for passengers. These carryalls drew up by the stream within forty feet of the blaze, forcing the pedestrians and cyclists to retreat. Lovaina appeared, puffing furiously. Vava was roused to a high pitch.
Lovaina had owned the building many years, buying it from the thrifty French Government. My apartment was of two rooms, and my section of the balcony was cut off by a door, giving privacy unusual in Tahiti. The coloring of the wall was rich in hue. Any color, so it's red, said a satirist, who might have been characterizing my rooms.
We stayed an hour at this sport, joined when school was dismissed by all the youth of Papenoo. Under twelve they bathed naked, but those older wore pareus. It was hard to keep on a pareu in a swift-running stream unless one knew how to tie it. I lost mine several times, and had to grope shamefacedly in the race for it, until finally Lovaina made the proper knots and turned it into a diaper.
And yet I should have missed knowing Lovaina intimately, the hour-to-hour incidents of her curious menage, the close contact with the girls and the guests, the El Dorado heroes, the Dummy, and others. The Annexe fronted the lagoon. It was a two-story building, with broad verandas in front and rear, and stood back a few feet from the Broom Road.
Lovaina almost wept with astonishment and grief, but kept the champagne moving toward the Chappe-Hall table as fast as it could be cooled, meanwhile assuring the scandalized guest that nothing undecorous ever happened in the Tiare Hotel, but that it were better it did than that young men should go to evil resorts for their outbursts. "My place respectable," Lovaina said dignifiedly.
"Vive la Republique!" "The Stars and Stripes!" as the glasses were emptied by the consuls and their wives and host. Lovaina had taken up the rug in the parlor, and a graphophone ground out the music for dancing. Ragtime records brought out the Otoman, a San Franciscan, bald and coatless. He took the floor with Mathilde, a chic, petite, and graceful half-caste, and they danced the maxixe.
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