Acte I d'un conte érotique se déroulant dans un Nouveau monde.



"Et cependant, j'en veux faire un tableau chaste et
donnant l'esprit canaques, son caractère, sa tradition.
Le paréo étant lié intimement à l'existence d'une Canaque,
je m'en sers comme dessus de lit.
Le drap d'une étoffe écorce d'arbre doit être jaune.
Parce que, de cette couleur, il suscite pour le spectateur quelque chose d'inattendu.
Parce qu'il suggère l'éclairage d'une lampe, ce qui m'évite de faire un effet de lampe.
Il me faut un fond un peu terrible. Le violet est tout indiqué.
Voilà la partie musicale du tableau tout échafaudée."
(Paul Gauguin, Journal des îles.)

The sea. I hear the sea close by there, I am laying on my back. My body is broken, I suffer and I hardly moove, I cannot open my eyes. What happen to me?

- Vahine!

The sun burns my skin. I feel like sand under me, the texture, the density, also the odor, an odor of sea, of kelp, I am laying flat on the beach. I am at Bora Bora. But am I really at Bora Bora?

I remember, there was a storm.

The sea howls in pain, of sadistic pleasure. It is jealous! It tears the sail, it breaks the beam sail, it breaks me, it wraps me in its belly. Jealous sea. Cruel sea, jealous of my happiness.

- Vahine, vahine!

We are there intertwines one into the other. The sea is calm, like a mirror. Vahine, would you be too tender and beautiful for love to last forever?

I hear the sea at far. Is it there very close to me? Are you laying on the beach, there, very close by, vahine, to love you forever?

- Bora Bora!

We loved each other, without saying anything, nor doing anything, letting ourselves toss by the sea. Bora Bora, inaccessible Bora Bora, the jealous sea prohibits us to reach Bora Bora, loneliness, sensuality forever.

Some steps on the sand! I hear steps on the sand. She is there, but however, these are steps on the sand, too heavy, such too heavy steps, she is not alone anymore.

- Fiu roa!

Steps on the sand, too many, too heavy so that they are your steps, ô vahine!

Va' has motu, sail too frail to support happiness. Sail too frail to contain my happiness. Va' has motu to Bora Bora, inaccessible Bora Bora. You wish, for both of us, the desert beaches of Bora Bora, to support our love, one moment or an eternity! Bora Bora the inacessible, beyond the sudden storm wanted by the gods, the demons; va'a motu in distress, the wind, the precipice, the bitter sea, va'a motu in wreck.

- Maeva!

Savage and beautiful, you embraced me on my two cheeks. Around your neck, a leipura of loke-lani. And you enlaced me with a lei of ohia lehua. Then you pronounced these words:

- Maeva popa'a!

Savage merry, mischievous, you took me by the hand, you pulled me, on the beach, at far, I heard you, you said: -

- aloha oe!

How could I do differently than to believe you? Angel come from paradise, me, from hell. I loved you at this very moment. Remember, remember, we loved eacg itger, do remember. I took you on my arms, I raised you like a headstock. I loved you as one would love an angel.

- Tamure.

Like the goddesses in my dreams, you danced for me. Pa'oti, tamure, you danced, you coiled yourself, you wandered like a snake, your hips, your bewitching basin; bewitched, bewitched, I loved you, I was bewitched. You bewithched me, diabolic vahine, I loved you, I want to love you still and still.

- Vahine, i te vai urirau ua rau t oto o te manu

I strip your frail childish body. I cherish your small breasts, I redraw the tatau engraved on your flesh, your belly coppered and shining like the sand at Moorea, I suck it, like a pulp of coconut on the beach in Haapiti. Puaiti vahine. I love you, you are docile, I kiss you, you laugh, I cherish you, you coils yourself, I love you, you let yourself love, I love you, I love you to the bottom of your belly, virgin, virgin vahine, up to the orgasm, and you love it, you love, you love and I love you.

Parahi Moorea, good-buy forever, my love.

I open my eyes, slowly, I smell like a human odor near by. Puaiti vahine, men of your clan perhaps? You are there, you are there! I would like to love you still, vahine, my love, are you there?

All is dark. Your smile, your white teeth ready to crunch, Puaiti vahine, are you there? You run on the sand, you naked feet, fragile, mischievous, a flower on your right ear, your little childish breasts, your dark hair which circles, which fly over close your breasts and which slip on your hips, your buttocks, your belly, your smooth belly, like a mount of Venus, an unperceivable flower behind your pareu, fragile armour, veiling your basin, up to the birth of your flower. Little flower, little flower lying on sand, some lips which opens, your cat half open where I would like to drawn myself forever!

All is dark. I open my eyes. All is still black. Sun bits, undoubtedly boring through the trees. Or they are bodies, as if they were trees. Bodies of the color of the trees. Bodies bronzed by the sea, the sun or by time. Savages! they are savages; I hear their screams; their voices with strident accents, their diabolic incantations; they are savages, or cannibals. They are cannibals and they are ready to devour me.

- Puaiti vahine, are you there?

Dark bodies, inhuman faces, variegated, tattooed, feathered, shaggy. Too dark and too vulgar not to be your brothers, Puaiti, my love. They are not your brothers. I may have ssnk into the sea, too far, too far from your island, with the savages, taken by the storm, the jealous sea, and you? You, frail sail, did you sink forever in my dreams?

I half-open my eyes, I see faces, naked skins, black and variegated flesh, penises in erection, belts made of feathers of birds, grotesque make-up, agitated hands balancing sharpened lances, bracelets of bones, trinkets; some men surround me, warriors undoubtedly, who veil me the daylight, the surrounding landscape, the forest, the beach, the sea, however I hear the sound of the waves, the whistle of the wind through the trees, the forest is there, very close, the sea also, I feel the odor of the sand, I am a shipwrecked man of the sea. Ran aground on a deserted beach, on an island, on a New world, and these are savages, cannibals.

You are not there any more. Meherio, my love, my siren, raped by the sea, the jealous sea. Ifee it, my time has come, or am I already dead, and in hell? I sank in the sea or escaped from the storm to land here, lying on the sand, to die there, devoured by the cannibals or they would be devils ready to make me undergo the torments of hell, or simply angels ofParadise?

My god! Nonsense!

Marco Polo ou le voyage imaginaire (Contes érotique, novembre 2002) © 2002 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
(resources recuillies auprès des cultures Polynésiennes, Incas et Mochicas)

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ACTE II

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