The Signature of All Things

of the human body. Because of that shape, plantains are used as gestures of peace—as gestures of humanity , you might say. You throw one on the ground at the feet of your enemy, to show your surrender or your willingness to consider compromise. It was most useful for me to discover this fact when first I arrived in Tahiti, I tell you! I was tossing about plantain branches in every direction, you see, hoping not to be killed and eaten!”
    “Would you have been killed and eaten, truly?” Alma asked.
    “Most likely not, though missionaries are always afraid of such things. Do you know, there is a fine and witty example of missionary humor, which asks, ‘If a missionary is eaten by a cannibal, and the missionary is digested, and then the cannibal dies, will the missionary’s digested body be resurrected on the Day of Judgment? If not, how does Saint Peter know which bits to send to heaven and which bits to hell?’ Ha-ha-ha!”
    “Did Mr. Pike ever speak to you about that notion you just mentioned a moment ago?” Alma asked, only half listening to the missionary’s jest. “About the gods creating plants in various peculiar shapes, I mean, in order to display their uses for the assistance of man?”
    “Mr. Pike and I spoke of so many things, Sister Whittaker!”
    Alma did not know how to ask for specifics without revealing too much of herself. Why should she have cared so much about her father’s employee? She did not want to arouse suspicions. But he was such an odd arrangement of a man! She found him to be candid and inscrutable, all at the same time. Whenever Ambrose was discussed, Alma studiously examined the Reverend Welles’s face for clues, but the man was impossible toread. He always gazed upon the world with the same unperturbed countenance. His spirit was unchanging in any situation. He was as constant as a lighthouse. His sincerity was so complete and so perfect, it was almost a mask.
    They reached the cemetery at last, with its small bleached headstones, some carved into crosses. The Reverend Welles took Alma straight to Ambrose’s grave, which was tidy and marked by a small stone. It was a lovely spot, looking over the entirety of Matavai Bay, and out to the bright sea beyond. Alma had feared that, when she saw the actual grave, she might be unable to contain her emotions, but instead she felt unruffled—even remote. She could sense nothing of Ambrose here. She could not imagine him buried under this stone. She remembered the way he used to sprawl across the grass with his wonderful long legs, speaking to her of marvels and mysteries while she studied her mosses. She felt that he existed more in Philadelphia, more in her memory, than he did here. She could not imagine his bones moldering beneath her feet. Ambrose did not belong to the soil; he belonged to the air. He was barely of the earth when he was alive , she thought. How could he possibly be inside the earth now?
    “We did not have lumber to spare for a coffin,” the Reverend Welles said, “so we wrapped Mr. Pike in native cloth and buried him in the keel of an old canoe, as is sometimes done here. Planking is such difficult work here without the proper tools, you see, and when the natives do get proper lumber, they prefer not to waste it in a grave, so we make do with old canoes. But the natives showed such tender consideration to Mr. Pike’s Christian beliefs, you see. They oriented his grave east to west, you see—so he faces the rising sun, as do all Christian churches. They were fond of him, as I have said. I pray he died happy. He was the best of men.”
    “Did he seem happy when he was here, Brother Welles?”
    “He found much to please him about the island, as we all learn to. I am certain he wished for more orchids, you see! Tahiti can be disappointing, as I have said, for those who come to study natural history.”
    “Did Mr. Pike ever seem troubled to you?” Alma dared to push.
    “People come to this island for many reasons, Sister Whittaker. My wife used to say they wash up upon our shores, these jostled strangers, and most of the time they do not know where they have landed! Some of them seem like perfect gentlemen, yet later we discover they were convicts in theircountries of origin. On the other hand, you see, some of them were perfect gentlemen in their European lives, but they come here to behave like convicts! One can never know the state of another man’s heart.”
    He had not answered her question.
    What