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Apparently, getting a tattoo is this whole huge thing in the village of Motunui.
For one thing, tattoos here hold a deep meaning for their wearers. Not only do they symbolize their tribe and family, but they also represent individuality — the wearer's history, their tastes, even their personality. A tattoo is a story told in ink that goes back many generations. Naturally, the decision to get one is not taken lightly, and one's choice of tattoo is made only after long and careful deliberation.
Truth be told, Maui has never given tattoos much thought. After all, he has never been asked which ones he would like; they just appear on his skin as a reward from the gods for all his valiant deeds. A kind gesture, and by no means unappreciated, but it might have been nice if he'd been consulted on a few of them before they were slapped on his body like a living tapestry. The one on his upper back which portrays his tiny baby self being chucked into the sea, for example. Not exactly heroic stuff.
So when Moana informs him that she's getting a tattoo, Maui doesn't really think anything of it. He doesn't understand the significance, or the mix of excitement and trepidation in her eyes as she tells him. It's not until her father, the chief of Motunui, takes him aside and explains to him the meaning behind the malu that he begins to comprehend, at least partially, the importance of the event.
The malu is a tattoo that begins at the top of a woman's thighs and ends just below her knees. According to the customs of their people, only the highest ranking taupo, or daughter of a chief, is allowed to wear the malu, and it is typically given to her in the years following puberty. The tattoo represents more than just the wearer's status — it is a rite of passage into adulthood.
Well. That is kind of a big deal.
With that in mind, Maui resolves to be there for Moana when she gets her malu. Never mind that he's a demigod, and has demigodly things to do, and the monsters that still infest the ocean and make wayfinding even more dangerous for humans aren't going to kick their own asses and save him the trouble. Come on. This is Moana — and she's everything.
On the surface, it seems to be a joyous occasion. The entire village drops everything they're doing and gathers to hear Chief Tui's speech. Maui can hear the pride in his voice as he announces that this is the day that his daughter comes of age. Beside him, Moana stands straight and tall — or at least, as tall as the little shrimp can stand. To all appearances, she is calm and composed, but Maui can tell by her clenched fists and the firm set of her jaw that she's not quite as chill as she lets on. At the back of the crowd, he catches her eye and gives her a thumbs-up. She smiles, and relaxes ever so slightly.
After Tui's speech, Moana climbs the hill to the fale she shares with her parents, accompanied by the tufuga, or tattoo master, and his assistants. Maui hangs back, intending to wait until the process is finished to congratulate her. After all, he would just take up entirely too much room, and be in the way, and probably annoy the hell out of Moana anyway. It's one of his many talents.
He starts to leave, no particular plans in mind for what he's going to do with the rest of the day, and is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turns to find Chief Tui standing behind him, having made his way through the crowd of people.
"Maui," he says in his deep voice. "May I speak with you for a moment? There is something I would like to request of you."
Maui blinks in surprise. He is used to being supplicated by humans, but in the time he has known Tui, the chief has only requested two things of him: one, to make sure his daughter didn't die when she accompanied him on his adventures, and two, to stop chewing with his mouth open.
"Sure," he replies cautiously.
The chief clasps his hands behind his back. "As you know," he says, "the tatau is a very important tradition among our people. But it is also a very difficult and painful one. Usually, a man who undergoes the ceremony is accompanied by a soa, or a partner, who gets his tatau at the same time. The purpose of this is so that each has the support of the other. They share in each other's pain.
"But," he continues with a sigh, "as Moana is the only taupo in the village, she does not have a soa to help her through this time." He suddenly gives a wry smile. "Of course, it may come as no surprise to you to learn that she has insisted she doesn't need one."
Maui returns his smile. No surprise at all.
"I understand that our... mortal ways are different from yours," Tui goes on, choosing his words carefully. "Your tattoos are given to you by the gods. But I would... owe you a debt of gratitude if you kept Moana company during this ordeal."
Maui stares at him, temporarily taken aback. Of course, he would do just about anything for Moana Waialiki, but to be asked by her own father to be her soa — at least, in spirit — is another thing entirely. For a moment, he doesn't know what to say.
At length he clears his throat, trying to sound unaffected. "Yeah," he says with a casual shrug. "Yeah, sure. Why not? It's the least I can do for the little squirt."
Tui nods. "You have my thanks, Maui," he says simply.
Swallowing, Maui makes his way up to the village chief's fale. He takes a deep breath, pushes aside the wall hangings, and steps inside.
At one end of the hut, the tufuga and his assistants are unpacking the tools of their trade. And at the other, Moana sits alone on a couple of fala mats, her arms wrapped around her knees. The pose makes her look even smaller than usual.
Her face registers surprise at the sight of him, but she says nothing as he makes his way over to her. She obviously didn't expect him to come in, but at least she doesn't appear displeased, which is an encouraging sign. He has no desire to be punched in the face by the chief's daughter. Again.
He sets down his fishhook and stands beside her, arms folded over his chest like a watchful sentinel. "You ready for this, Curly?"
Moana gives a little nod. "Absolutely," she answers, a bit too eagerly. "Yep. Been looking forward to this my whole life."
Maui glances over at the tufuga in time to see him pull out a mallet and a long-handled blade of serrated bone. "Yikes," he blurts out without thinking.
At this a stricken look crosses her face, quickly covered by a glare. Realizing his mistake, he tries to cover his blunder. "I mean... I'm sure it won't be that bad. After all, you've been through worse. You've gone up against hordes of tiny pirates, a lava monster, and a giant narcissistic coconut crab." He reaches down and musses her long, dark hair. "You've got this."
Moana rolls her eyes, forever disrespectful toward the demigod. "Thanks, Maui."
"Hey, you're wel—" There's that glare again. "Any time."
While the tattoo artist prepares, she explains to him that the recipient of the malu doesn't know what the finished product will look like. That is why her tufuga must be someone who knows her well. He must have knowledge of her family line and her personality to be able to design a tatau that represents her as a person.
"I'm not worried," she says easily. "Fetu has known me since I was a baby. He'll do a great job."
The man gives her an eye-crinkling smile. "Of course I will. I'm the best."
Shortly, the tufuga announces he is ready to begin, and Maui has to conceal his alarm as the man's assistants gather around his friend and hold her legs down firmly. Trying not to allow his protective instincts to kick in is a challenge as he watches the tufuga dip his tool into a coconut shell cup of black ink made from burned lama nut and lift it with practiced ease.
Maui is not prepared for that first strike of the mallet that drives the tool deep into Moana's skin. Neither is he ready for the look on her face. Her fists clench into the mat, her eyes grow impossibly wide, and she gasps in obvious pain.
Without thinking, he sits down next to her on the mat and takes her hand in his. She squeezes back so tightly that her little fingernails bore into his skin, drawing blood. He hardly notices.
The hammer is louder than he expected it would be, and after a while the sound starts to unnerve him. He casts about for something to say, anything to distract himself from the noise. "I've never actually seen anyone get one of these," he admits to Moana. "What does it feel like?"
She's staring down at the tufuga's work in morbid fascination. "Kind of like getting stung by a sea urchin, multiplied by a thousand," she replies, causing Maui to wince in sympathy. Her gaze flicks up at him. "What does it feel like when the gods give you your tattoos?"
Maui shrugs a shoulder. "Weird, but not painful. Just sort of tingly. Like when your arm or your leg falls asleep."
Her grip on his hand suddenly tightens as the bone comb hits an especially sensitive spot. A whimper escapes her, almost too faint to hear, but his superhuman ears catch it.
"You okay?" he inquires in a low voice.
It takes Moana a few seconds to answer. "Yeah," she says shakily.
Her whole face is pinched, her mouth turned down at the corners. It would almost be cute, if Maui didn't know she was in agony. He desperately tries to think of a way to keep her mind off the pain. It seems like whenever they are together, he ends up talking about himself, because it's just about the only subject on which he can speak with authority.
His gaze drifts down toward his own tattoos, and he's struck with inspiration. "Say, did I ever tell you about this tattoo?" he asks, twisting slightly to show her the depiction of himself beside a monstrous octopus, just above his left hip, its arms extended in all directions.
Moana shakes her head minutely. "No."
Maui repositions himself on the mat, getting more comfortable, while still holding her tiny hand in his. "Well then. Settle in, Skippy, because this one's amazing, if I do say so myself. Which I think I will."
Moana smiles in a long-suffering way at his bravado, as he hoped she would.
He clears his throat and begins his story. "Long, long ago, when the world was new, there lived the giant octopus Tumu-Ra'i-Fenua. He was so enormous that he held the sky in his tentacles. He held it so tightly in his grip that he shrouded the entire earth in darkness. Now Tangaroa, god of the sea, wasn't too crazy about that. He asked Tumu-Ra'i-Fenua to let go of the sky, so that there could be light. But the great octopus refused. And so Tangaroa enlisted the help of the god Rua-Tupua-Nui, who slayed Tumu-Ra'i-Fenua." He blinks. "'Slayed'? 'Slewed'?"
Moana is looking up at him in confusion. "What does any of this have to do with you?"
"I'm getting to that," he tells her defensively. "Cool your imu, all right?"
She huffs, but gestures for him to continue.
"So," he resumes, "Tumu-Ra'i-Fenua was slain — slewn — but even in death he still clung fast to the sky. Many tried to pry it loose from the octopus's slimy clutches, but every last one of them failed. Not even Rū, the god of earthquakes, was able to succeed. Though he did get a hunchback and a hernia for his troubles." He chuckles in remembrance. "Good times.
"Anyway, finally I got tired of watching all these amateurs continue to embarrass themselves, and I decided to give it a shot. So I found the sharpest seashell I could find, and I—"
"You hacked off Tumu-Ra'i-Fenua's arms, and he let go of the sky," Moana cuts him off.
Maui shoots her an annoyed look. "Do you want to tell the story?"
"Sorry," she says contritely. "Go on."
He exhales loudly, stirring her hair with his breath. "Yes. I hacked off Tumu-Ra'i-Fenua's arms, and he let go of the sky. But that only solved half of the problem, because the world was still in darkness. I had to erect pillars to prop up the sky, but that still wasn't enough. So I took the form of a hawk, and flew all the way up to the tenth heaven to beseech Tāne for help. And together, we gathered the greatest artisans and excavators and we dug away at the earth until there was enough space between the land and sky. And then Tāne laid reeds of red blossoms across the sea, and that, my friend, is why we have sunrises and sunsets."
Moana ponders over this for a moment. "So... what you're saying is, Tāne did most of the work," she says at last. "You basically just dismembered a dead octopus."
"A gargantuan dead octopus!" he exclaims, indignant at her flippant attitude. "Were you even listening? Anyway, the gods seemed to appreciate it, even if you don't, because they gave me this." He points to the tattoo in question, and the miniature version of himself nods rapidly in agreement.
But the girl regards him skeptically. "I thought you pulled up the sky all by yourself."
Maui rolls his eyes. "Uh, yeah, I did. That was later. After you mortals started complaining that you didn't have enough room." He reaches out and flicks her on the nose. "You're welcome."
Moana smiles. "I appreciate everything you've done for us, Maui," she tells him kindly.
Not quite expecting her sincere remark, he finds himself fumbling for words. "Well," he says, keenly aware of his awkwardness. "That's what I'm here for."
"Tell me another story," she urges him. "I promise I won't interrupt."
She does, of course. But that's okay.
He tells her about more of his mighty deeds, and even some of his not-so-mighty ones. There's a particularly embarrassing tale that involves him getting swallowed by a giant sea slug that makes her laugh so hard that the tattoo master can't continue until her giggling fit has subsided.
Hours pass. The malu is not as intricate and involved as its male equivalent, the malofie, which can take anywhere from several days to several months. Eventually Moana is told to lie on her stomach so the backs of her legs can be tattooed. She rolls over, and Maui suddenly has to try very hard not to stare at her smooth, golden brown thighs, the rounded curve of her— No, no, no, she's just a kid, he rebukes himself harshly. Although there's an evil little voice in his head that points out that she's not a kid, she's a young woman, eighteen years old, and the malu is in itself proof of her adulthood. He firmly tells that voice to shut its trap.
Still holding her hand, Maui continues to distract her in any way he can, recalling their past adventures, relating the latest antics of her idiotic pet chicken, and generally rambling about nothing in particular. Moana's hair is partially covering her face as he speaks, so it takes him a while to notice that at some point she's started crying. She doesn't make a sound, but the fat tears rolling down her cheeks make his heart hurt, and he has no idea what to do.
"Oh, no," he blurts helplessly. "Uhh... Is there anything I can do? Anything you need? I could get you some water, maybe? Or a wet cloth, like, for your face?" He starts to get up. "Let me go get a wet cloth. Hang on, I'll be right back."
"No!" Moana shouts, nearly yanking his arm out of his socket; no easy feat for a mortal. "Don't leave, Maui," she implores, her tone achingly vulnerable. "Please."
She stares up at him with big, watery eyes. Abruptly, he's reminded of that one time when he did leave her, and because of his selfishness and cowardice, she was nearly killed. He'll be damned if he will ever do that to her again.
Maui sits back down on the mat. "Okay," he says quietly. "I won't leave. I'm not going anywhere."
Her mother Sina rushes in looking worried, apparently having heard Moana's shouting. She takes in the sight of her daughter, currently being held down by the tufuga's assistants and clutching the demigod's hand in a vise-like grip. "How's it coming?" she manages to ask with wide eyes.
Maui looks over at his shoulder at her. "Moana's mom," he addresses her. "Great. Could you bring us a cloth and a bowl of water? She's, uh..." He falters. "She's getting all sweaty, and..."
Sina blinks at him before nodding. "Of course."
She rushes out again, and Maui turns to look at Moana. Her face is streaked with tears, and she's biting her lip to keep from sobbing.
"Hey, Mo?" he says tentatively. "Not that I mind, but why didn't you let your parents sit with you?"
Moana answers with an effort. "Because they'd make it even worse by their worrying. They still think of me as their precious little baby. It's the worst." She glances up at him gratefully. "I don't mind you being here, though. You're different."
"Right," Maui says numbly.
He doesn't say that he does worry about her, all the time. If anything, he's even more protective of her than her own mother and father. And with or without his fishhook, he'll protect her from anything that might try to hurt her.
But he can't protect her from this pain, and he hates how powerless it makes him feel. And he can't protect her from the slow march of time, because it swallows up everything in the end, and it isn't the first time he's realized it, but he's never been this attached to a mortal. And yet somehow, he just can't imagine existence without Moana. Brave, crazy, ridiculous, beautiful, amazing Moana. His best friend.
Sina comes back with a cloth and water. Maui barely remembers to thank her. He takes the cloth and dips it in the bowl, wringing out the excess. Gently, he dabs Moana's face, wiping away the sweat and tears.
"You're doing great, Mo," he tells her. "You're doing so great. You're a champ. You're a beast. Let me hear a growl. Come on, give me a big fearsome growl."
"Rrrr," she says half-heartedly.
"Pathetic."
She laughs, and the look she gives him is almost worth seeing her in pain. Almost.
He doesn't even realize Sina is still there until he feels her hand on his shoulder. He turns to find her regarding him with a strange, unreadable expression. "I'll be right outside if you need anything else," she says.
"Yeah, sure," he replies. "Thanks."
She leaves again, and Maui continues wiping Moana's face with the damp cloth. After a while he sets it aside, and she rests with her head pillowed on her arm, face turned toward him. Without realizing it, his hand finds its way to her hair, smoothing the cool, dark tresses. He kicks himself mentally for the idiot move, but it surprisingly seems to relax her, so he keeps doing it. As he strokes her hair, he begins to hum mindlessly. Somehow it turns into a song that he used to hear mortal women singing to their daughters, a long time ago.
"E tangi ana koe
Hine, e hine
E ngenge ana koe
Hine, e hine.
"Kati to pouri ra
Noho I te aroha
Te ngakau o te Matua
Hine, e hine."
She shuts her eyes and listens, until the song ends.
"Maui," she murmurs. "I'm glad you're here."
He tucks her hair behind her ear. "Me too, Momo."
He sings some other songs he knows, apparently most of which have gone out of popular circulation in the last thousand years. Finally, after what seems like two or three eternities, the tufuga announces he's finished, and Maui has to bite back a sarcastic comment about taking his precious time. The tattoo master gathers his tools, and his assistants take their leave. Outside the fale, night has fallen.
Moana tries to stand up, but falls back with a wince. With infinite care, Maui scoops her up in his arms. Underneath the delicate geometric designs of her tattoos, her legs are swollen and bruised. The tufuga tells her that she should soak her tattoos in the ocean, that the salt water will help her to heal. Without a word, Maui carries her down to the beach, passing by her mother and father and all the villagers as he goes.
He sets her gently down in the shallows, steadying her with one arm. Right on cue, the ocean comes up to meet them.
"You know what to do," he tells it.
The ocean embraces Moana, tenderly swirling around her legs. Maui watches, wondering why he's suddenly jealous of the giant body of water. Afterward, he picks her up again.
"Maui," she says in a slightly embarrassed tone.
"Relax," he assures her. "I got your back."
He carries her back up to the village, where every last man, woman, and child is waiting. With an air of great ceremony, Maui hoists the chief's daughter into the air.
"She lives!"
The people go absolutely nuts, and there's a feast and dancing and all that good stuff. Even Moana performs a solo dance, even though Maui knows she's in agony, but she'd never show it because yes, she is just that fierce. Afterward, her parents embrace her, and Sina rubs her daughter's sore legs with coconut oil.
Eventually the girl — young woman — hobbles over to Maui and sits down beside him. Or rather, falls down.
Without being asked, she describes the symbolism behind the shapes and patterns in her malu, how some represent her family, and her connection to the sea. Then she turns her leg to the side, and gasps in surprise.
"What is it?" he asks in concern.
Her voice is hushed with awe. "It's... It's you."
Confused, Maui leans over and looks at the little symbol she's indicating, on the back of her knee. There, among the stylized fish and seabirds and ocean waves, is a fishhook. His fishhook.
Moana takes his hand and squeezes it.
"Now we have tattoos of each other," she says.
She beams up at him, and the pure happiness and unconcealed affection that radiates from her eyes makes Maui feel more like a big, damn hero than anything he's ever done. He wants to crush her to him and never let go, to shout at the sky and dare the gods to try and take her from him, but he settles for squeezing her hand back.
She leans against him, and they watch the celebrations long into the night.