“Where did you get this, Ha’apu? And are there any more?” he asked softly.
“This was taken from the wood of a paopao.” The Matai smiled slightly. “There is another.”
It took Poplar about thirty seconds to connect this with what the chief bad told him earlier. Einsteinian calculations aside, he could still add up the implications. He leaned back in his chair.
“Now Ha’apu, you’re not going to try and convince me that this tooth came out of the mouth of a living Great White!”
The chief began slowly, picking his words. “The doctor is very sure of himself. About three weeks ago, two young men from my village were out fishing an area we rarely visit, rather far from Tafahi. There is better fishing in other directions, and closer to home, but they wished also a little adventure. They did not return to us, even hours after nightfall.
“All of the men of the village, including myself, set out to search for them. We were not yet worried. We knew where they had gone. Perhaps their boat had been damaged, or both had been injured. There was no moon that night. One cannot see far onto the ocean at night by only torch and flashlight. We did not find them.
“What we did find, floating by a small reef and still 145
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . .
anchored to the coral, was the rear half of their pao-pao. It had been snapped in two, Dr. Poplar, That tooth you hold now in your hand was buried in the side of the wreckage. Television and great jet airplanes admitted, Doctor, old beliefs still linger on most of the islands. I am the most educated man in my village and proud of my learning. But this frightened me. We have lived with the sea too long to doubt what might come from it. We put on an exhibition of rowing that could not be matched, Dr. Poplar, in any of the Olympic games.