Page 16 of No Time Off

Slash looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “The…what?”

I laughed. “I may have done some research on our trip, too. The Pitcairn Islands are a group of four islands in the Pacific Ocean, not too far from Easter Island, actually. They’re also believed to be settled by the ancient Polynesians.”

Kai clapped his hands in delight. “What excellent guesses, you two. But you’re both wrong. You may be quite surprised by the answer. It’s New Zealand. New Zealand was settled about a hundred years after Easter Island, around 1200 AD, by Polynesians who eventually became the Maori.”

“Wow, thatisa fascinating fact,” I said, and Slash nodded in agreement.

Kai continued his history lesson as we toured the village. We stopped at a fenced area where they kept the village animals. Inside, a couple of goats, two donkeys, and some sheep looked bored with the tourists hanging over the fence snapping photos of them. Adjacent to the animal pen was the pigpen, presumably the source of the main course for the luau. I was confident that the smell hanging over the pigpen kept anyone from lingering too long near their wallow.

“Pigs are not native to Hawaii,” Kai explained as we approached the pigpen. “They were introduced by European settlers in the late 1700s. Yet they’ve thrived on our islands.”

I leaned over and took a closer look at the pigpen. There were two large sows trailed by tiny cohorts of piglets. The half dozen male pigs were smaller than the sows. I suspect they were the optimum luau size, big enough to feed about a crowd of seventy. Their pink snouts twitched as they rooted in the dirt and mud. One of them, with beady eyes and a white splotch on his forehead, was watching me with an intensity akin to a lion stalking an antelope. The pig started slowly advancing toward me, and I involuntarily stepped back, bumping into a goat that was reaching over the adjacent fence to nibble on my sleeve. Both of us bleated simultaneously, and I would have fallen if Slash hadn’t caught me. When I recovered, the pig was at the fence pawing the ground as if he was trying to get to me.

“Looks like you have a new friend, or maybe I should say friends,” Kai said, chuckling, as the pig madly pawed at the ground, trying to get near me and the goat stuck its head back over the fence, trying to eat my hair.

Slash grinned. “What is it with you and animals?” I could tell he was trying not to laugh, but he was wise enough not to give in to temptation.

I rolled my eyes as the pig snuffled in frustration and banged his head on the fence. I wagged a warning finger at him. “Thanks, bud, but I don’t need any more friends.”

We thankfully left the animal area and Kai showed us the rest of the village and a couple of demonstrations, including a villager with a machete practically running up a tall palm tree to lop off a coconut. At some point, the villagers brought us tropical drinks, which I drank out of the coconut using a straw. Sunset deepened and the sky turned into a canvas of vibrant colors—shades of pink, orange, and yellow. The warmth of the day still lingered in the air.

As the evening shadows lengthened, a festive atmosphere came over the village. Drums began to beat, calling everyone to gather for what Kai told us would be the royal court procession. We were seated with the other tourists at a long wooden table with a stage to the right of us. The procession, a living tableau of ancient traditions, danced in from the left. I snapped several photos with my phone as men and women adorned in feathered cloaks and gleaming ornaments swayed, their movements perfectly synchronized to the rhythm of the chanting and drumming. Two of the men carried flaming, whirling torches. It was both fascinating and mesmerizing.

Once the procession concluded, the villagers ceremoniously unearthed the cooked pig from theimu, an underground oven covered with sand where they’d roasted the pig for the evening’s feast. Its succulent aroma elicited murmurs of anticipation from the crowd, me included. Plates of traditional food soon followed, laden with lomilomi salmon, poi, and sweet coconut pudding. We ate slowly, sampling the fare and savoring each bite on our tongues while watching an amazing show of hula and flame juggling.

At some point, I excused myself to use the restroom. One of the villagers pointed me toward a thatched building adjacent to the animal pens. Logically, the location made sense since all the so-called aromatic areas would be in the same location.

I was almost to the bathroom when a sudden commotion erupted behind me near the pigpen. I turned and saw a young boy straining to hold a pig on a leash. It appeared that he was trying to lead the pig from the enclosure, but the swine had other ideas. The pig dragged him unwillingly along as he tried to hang on. With horror I realized they were headed right at me. I had just enough time to recognize the pig had a white patch on its head before I turned to run.

Gah!

I dashed toward the bathroom hut but adjusted my route when I realized the hut had no main door. Instead, I looped around the hut with the pig and his handler hot on my tail. The boy shouted, but apparently it wasn’t having any effect. I considered myself lucky the kid still had something of a grip on the pig, as that slowed them down just enough for me to stay ahead of them.

It may not have been my finest moment, but I shrieked bloody murder as I dashed back toward the tables. I ran as fast as I could on a full stomach, as I’d just eaten an enormous meal that had likely included one of his former pen mates. I’d also consumed at least two coconut-hosted drinks filled with alcohol and had to pee badly. Still, I impressed myself with my ability to run like an Olympic wannabe while screeching like a maniac.

As I approached the tables, tourists leapt from their seats in terror and began to shout and run about, unsure what was happening. I tried to find Slash, but everyone was dressed in Hawaiian outfits, and in the dim light, with people running around, I couldn’t see him.

“Slash!” I shouted, but he didn’t respond in the chaos.

The fire jugglers on the stage caught my eye. I raced past the tables where people were either abandoning their seats or standing on them. I remembered reading somewhere that pigs are afraid of fire, so that was my destination. It wasn’t the soundest strategy I’d ever had, but it was the best I could come up with under immediate distress. I swerved toward the guys with the flaming torches and hurled myself onto the stage.

In retrospect, it would have been an excellent plan if I hadn’t inadvertently kicked one of the jugglers, causing him to drop one of his torches into the pile of grass skirts in the corner they kept for later in the show. The skirts went up in a magnificent swoosh of fire, keeping the pig, and everyone else, away from the stage.

I bolted across the stage, glancing to my left. Kai and another guy were attempting to corral the wayward porker. Somehow, the pig had lost the boy, although he was still trailing the leash around his neck.

The swine deftly continued to elude capture, sliding through the hands of everyone who tried to grab it. The phraseslippery as a piggained absolute clarity for me in that moment.

Sensing his moments of freedom might be fleeting, the boar zigzagged through the area, squealing and grunting, causing a ruckus at every turn. He barreled beneath a table, knocking over benches, chairs, and several tiki torches planted in the sand.

I found a temporary haven at the side of the stage opposite the fire, where I stood panting. A middle-aged man with a beard who wore a red Hawaiian shirt too tight around the middle and a funky straw hat stood next to me, sweating profusely while filming with a fancy camera.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” He spoke with such enthusiasm and excitement I wanted to deck him. “Here we are, in Hawaii at a luau, being treated to the Great Pig Chase. Hee-haw!”

He laughed, snorting so loudly it caught the attention of the pig. The angry mammal glanced over at him, but immediately locked eyes with me, again.

Oh, crap.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt suddenly stopped laughing as the pig made deep, guttural sounds from his belly. I realized at that moment pigs donotmake a benign oinking noise. Nope, this pig was not oinking. He was grunting something far more threatening…at me.

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