Island's End (18 page)

“I will find a way to protect my tribe,” I say.

“May Biliku-waye and Pulug-ame give you the power to keep your people safe,” Uncle Paleva says. “The En-ge taught me the beauty of silence. I learned that all things have spirits and are part of one great family. In my heart I still carry your people’s love and it keeps me from the emptiness that sometimes enters our lives.”

“Do not worry, Uncle Paleva. I have gained knowledge and confidence from visiting your people.” I open my medicine bag and take out the dried leaf of an insect-eating plant. “Do you know what this is?”

Uncle Paleva rolls the leaf between his fingers. “Yes, it grows in our world too.”

“I risked my life to find this plant because Lah-ame said it held a message for me that would help me guide my people. Only now do I see that its message lies in its survival. This plant thrives in the swamp where few plants can grow because it eats insects, as an animal might. In all other ways it remains like a plant. You see, it changed its behavior a little to survive in a new world, but never gave up its true nature. Perhaps we, too, can survive any challenges the future brings us if we learn some of your ways without giving up all of our own.”

Uncle Paleva breathes in the leaf’s scent. “A symbol of hope,” he says. “A spirit that found balance between the ways of plants and animals, while remaining true to its plant nature.” He smiles thoughtfully.

For the rest of the journey we fall silent.

I hear Tawai telling Maya about his friends and our family and then asking about hers. She says she has many friends, even a boyfriend. She laughs when he asks if they will marry and have babies together one day—and I am pleased when she answers that yes, they will. From the tone of her voice, I sense that she never worries that marrying and staying close to her tribe will interfere with her duties as an oko-jumu.

I glance at Maya, thinking how different she looks from Lah-ame. In some ways, maybe she is more the kind of leader I will be than Lah-ame is. Because after all, though we come from different tribes, we are both women.

Soon the rocky cliffs at the northern end of our island rise out of the blue water, and as we come nearer still, I see the crescent-shaped beach reaching toward us like a welcoming arm.

Uncle Paleva stops the boat outside the coral reef and remains on it.

“Will you not come with us?” I ask, surprised.

He shakes his head. “When I left your island, Lah-ame and I agreed it would be best if I did not return, bringing reminders of my world with me, unless it was necessary. Your tribe does not need my interruption.” Gazing at the island, he smiles wistfully. “We are old men. Soon enough, Lah-ame and I will meet again in the Otherworld. For now, it is enough that you carry my loving greetings to him.”

“But you are both strong,” I say. “There are many years of life ahead for you in this world.”

Uncle Paleva blows his breath across my cheeks. ‟
Ngig kuk-l-ar-beringa
, Uido.”

I hug him close and return his words of farewell. “May your heart be in a good place, too, Uncle Paleva.”

Maya lowers a canoe into the water and Uncle Paleva helps the three of us climb in. We each take a paddle and row toward shore. In the dark shadows of the jungle along the sand’s edge, I see the stocky outline of Danna’s body. My spirit feels a leap of happiness—but something also feels wrong, because although he runs toward us, he does not shout with joy to welcome us home.

Tawai says, “We are back!” He thanks Maya, hops into the shallow water and splashes ahead of us.

The boat scrapes against the sand and I step out. “May your spirit be well until we meet again, Maya.”

“Be well.” Maya squeezes my hand and rows away.

Danna is waiting for us, arms outstretched, but his smile is not as broad as usual. And looking into his eyes, I see something is wrong.

“Where is everyone?” Tawai demands. “Why is nobody else here to welcome us?”

Danna’s breath feels unsteady on my cheeks. “Lah-ame is waiting for you, Uido,” he says. “He told where you had gone and promised us you would return safely, after Tawai was healed. But Lah-ame is unwell. His spirit will soon be crossing into the Otherworld.”

M
y feet feel heavy as we make our way back to the village. It upsets me that I did not sense Lah-ame’s death approaching.

In the clearing, I see people bunched together outside Lah-ame’s hut. As they notice our arrival, I hear soft voices: “Uido and Tawai are back, just as Lah-ame predicted.” Mimi clasps me and Tawai against her as though she will never let go. She runs her long fingers through our curls, her chest shuddering with sobs.

“Welcome back, Uido,” Kara whispers. I am shocked to see my father’s strong back bent like a bow. Gently, I pull away from Mimi. The rest of the tribe greets me with a few smiles and soft touches on my shoulder. Then I enter Lah-ame’s hut alone.

Lah-ame is stretched out on a mat and he looks as frail as Tawai did when he was ill. I squat down beside him and grasp his hand tightly. Already it feels cold to my touch. Only his gaze is as piercing as ever. Seeing me, he smiles.

“Lah-ame”—my voice shakes—“you must not leave me.”

He chuckles. “Is that an order? If so, I should leave at once. It is long since another told me what to do.”

“Stay, please—,” I choke. I want to share so much with him—the meeting with my spirit animal, how I helped cure Tawai, Maya’s distrust of Ragavan, the story Uncle Paleva gave me. And once Lah-ame is gone, there will be no one to answer all the questions I still have about the Otherworld, about leading the tribe into the future.

Lah-ame strokes my hand. “You are the one to take the En-ge forward. A man’s body is not made to hold two lives; that is a woman’s privilege. Who better than a woman to teach the tribe how to hold two worlds together?”

Lah-ame’s voice sounds so weak that it terrifies me. “Do not leave me all alone,” I plead.

“Surely Danna will see to it you never feel too lonely.” Lah-ame’s chest rattles as he laughs. “And so will the sea creature whose spirit you won over. But above all, listen to the beat of your heart and let that show you the way.”

Tears prick behind my eyes. I try to hold them back, but they roll out, blurring my image of Lah-ame’s thin body. “But how do I keep our island safe—the way you did? Have I set the En-ge on the wrong path?”

Lah-ame sighs. “Dearest daughter, I can no longer guide. Even a pregnant woman does not share the dreams of the baby who sleeps within her. You must dream of what lies ahead and take the tribe with you.”

He reaches up and pokes my chest, forcing me to straighten up. But even that effort seems to tire him and he falls back onto his mat. “Keep your back straight as a spear, Uido.”

“I am sorry,” I say. I want to tell him how confused I feel about my actions, that I regret my mistakes. But I stay quiet, sensing that he wants to say more.

“Enough with sorry.” Lah-ame’s voice drops to a whisper. I bend low, my ear close to his lips. He takes long pauses between words. “You saved Tawai’s life by carrying his body to his spirit, but you have not been blinded by the strangers’ magic. Most other tribes lost faith after the strangers surrounded them. So they died empty and dispirited. One day, the En-ge will also have to mix with strangers. But if you keep our spirits alive, we will never die out.”

His voice slurs. “Uido, you are the storyteller now. Make our story end differently.”

With a last effort, Lah-ame presses my face against his. But though I listen, hoping for another precious word from him, he says no more—just blows his breath on my cheeks. Then he lies back on his mat and I sense his spirit leaving, like a cloud disappearing into the sky.

I stumble out of the hut into Danna’s waiting arms. From somewhere far away, I hear the cry of a sea eagle.

L
ater, I go back into Lah-ame’s hut to attend to his body. The other women follow me, and one by one they kneel beside him, beating their breasts with their hands and weeping until they are exhausted.

Even Natalang mourns his death. When she has no tears left, Natalang comes to stand beside me. Hesitantly, she touches my elbow. I lean against her soft body, my head sinking into her shoulder. We cling together for a while, my tears washing away the awkwardness between us.

After the women are done weeping, they all leave, except for Natalang and Mimi. I crouch beside Lah-ame and run my hand over his arm. His body is as still as a fallen tree.

“We must bind him soon,” Mimi says.

“Yes.” My voice sounds far away. “There must be a rope somewhere in this hut.”

“I will find it,” Natalang says.

“Should we make the mourning clay?” I ask.

Mimi points at two bowls near the doorway. “We prepared some this morning, as soon as Lah-ame told us his spirit would be crossing over.”

Natalang and Mimi help me decorate Lah-ame’s body with stripes of clay. When we are finished, Mimi says, “He told us you were to be treated as his daughter.” She and Natalang cover my forehead with the rest of the clay, to show that I am in mourning for him as a member of his family would be. Then Natalang brings me a bark rope.

My eyes pool with tears. Together, we bend Lah-ame’s stiffening legs and push his head and arms close to his knees. We tie his limbs together and bundle his body into his sleeping mat.

“He looks ready to reenter the earth,” Natalang says gently.

The three of us carry him to the center of the clearing and lay him down so the men can bid him farewell. I watch Kara kneel, pounding at his chest and tearing at his hair, by Lah-ame’s body. Ashu cries with his fists tightly clenched, and it pains me that my brother is angry even at this time of grief. Danna sobs quietly but for longer than anyone else.

Next we bring the children forward. Starting with Tawai, down to the youngest toddler in the tribe, they each breathe gently on Lah-ame’s face for the last time.

Natalang, Mimi and the rest of the women leave the village and return with armfuls of palm leaves. Tawai and the older children help tear each leaf in two and hang them across every doorway to signal to the spirits that we have lost a loved one. Meanwhile, under the laurel tree behind his hut, the men set to work putting together a wooden platform for his body to spend one final night. Of the women, I alone stay with Lah-ame for the remaining death ceremonies. Using a tolma crystal, I shave Lah-ame’s head until it is as shiny as a newborn’s.

At dusk, I watch Kara lay Lah-ame’s body to rest atop the finished platform. The laurel tree’s white flowers look brighter to me than usual, shining like stars against its dark leaves. One of the elders brings a firebrand and Kara and his hunters light small fires around it, preparing to guard Lah-ame’s body overnight so that his spirit can return to bid his body a final farewell.

Mimi tries to force me to eat some of the evening meal, but my throat feels too tight to swallow much food. In the end, she gives up, telling me to rest in Lah-ame’s hut. “All his things belong to you now,” she says.

It feels strange to enter Lah-ame’s hut knowing he is not there. “Lah-ame?” I whisper into the emptiness, wanting to sense his presence, willing his spirit to comfort mine. But he is gone now, too far away to answer.

I try to sleep but my head aches to rest against Danna’s sturdy chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. I creep outside and see Danna standing still as a rock against the flickering light of the many flames around the platform. Silent with his own grief, he is watching the hunters who guard Lah-ame’s body—and I feel it would be wrong to disturb him with my sadness.

Instead, I crawl into my family’s hut and slide between Tawai and Mimi. But even the warmth of their bodies on either side does not soothe the ache in my chest.

At dawn, I awaken and leave the hut. Mist stretches between the earth and the sky, soft as a baby’s hair. Through it, I can see the glow of the still-lit fires around Lah-ame’s platform. I should tell the men their watch is over, but I do not want to bury his body yet. So I slip away to the beach. The sun rises, warming the sand, but I shiver with a cold sadness.