ABSTRACT
I was in Wilkili when the earthquake struck. The mani mask, a majestic black cone extravagantly decorated with colored feathers and fruits, had returned to its enclosure. I snapped shut the big aluminum case after storing my cameras and glanced across the village clearing toward the departing people. Suddenly they froze in their tracks, and, at that instant, the ground surged upward beneath my feet. People screamed, the houses rocked like ships at sea, and the dogs began to howl. As parents scrambled for their children, my thoughts leaped to Joyce, Ned, and Elizabeth in Taute.
