Be silent as the mouse, his mother had told him, and so silent he was under the wide night sky. Not that the fish could hear him much, of course. His pirogue drifted slowly across the ocean as he readied his hand, waiting for his first fish.
Be silent as the mouse and patient as the rock, she had told him.
Of course she wasn 't supposed to tell him anything the days before his first fishing trip. But then neither were the mothers of past times and nobody had said anything then. Ignoring the tradition had in itself become a tradition.
And so she had given him the advice he so clearly needed, so that he would not come back empty-handed.
Murao had seen what happened to the children that came back empty-handed from their first trip. He didn 't
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He has a little laugh as he realizes his boat is so full of fishes he can 't even lie down in it.
He counts them. Recounts them. A third time, just to be sure.
He 's heard of children returning with five fishes.
He 's heard of children returning with fifteen fishes.
He 's never heard of anybody returning from his first fishing trip with twenty-five fishes.
He laughs again, this time out loud, and it 's the end of the advised silence. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and on the horizon the sun shines its first rays, as though to accompany his laugh. And when finally Murao is finished laughing and the sky is brightening, at at the edge of the sky, right before the sun gets completely out of the sea, he sees one last shooting star shine brighter than any other and disappear.
And though he does not know why, Murao feels moved.
Thank you Gods, he prays. He really is thankful.
Murao rows slowly towards the Island. He feels proud. He feels affected. But mostly, he feels good, full of joy and hope for the days to come. The Gods are beautiful and, in the light of dusk, so is the Island. So is his family. So is Lani.
So is his world.
Fish in his boat, dreams and songs in his head, Murao paddles back to the Island, where he knows he will be