I reeled. Was there nothing my mother hadn’t done? “I can’t believe Nafanua did that. Was nothing or no one sacred to her?”
“I’m sure that Nafanua thought she was doing Sarona a favor. Helping a Covenant sister to snap out of what she thought would be a doomed relationship. It worked.”
“Didn’t Sarona suspect that the boy had been drugged?”
“Nafanua admitted it. Showed her the evidence. She wanted Sarona to see how easily a man can be swayed. But more importantly, she wanted Sarona to see what a transient thing love is. It could be faked. Manipulated. Induced. And then forgotten in a heartbeat. Listen well to this truth Leila – telesā do not love, because their earth gifts are eternal and men are only mortal. A man can only be but a passing fancy.”
“Then what happened?” In my heart of hearts, I was afraid I already knew the answer.
“Sarona killed him. She could not raise her hand against Nafanua because of the Covenant but she has hated her ever since. And I’m sure that she has never again repeated the mistake of falling in love. ”
I didn’t know what to do with this new insight, both into my mother and into the woman that wanted me dead. “What does that story have to do with me and Daniel?”
“Everything. As long as Daniel is with you, he will be a target, not only for Sarona, but for all telesā who hold to the ancient ways. I think Sarona envies you and what you have with Daniel. Maybe in you, she sees herself and the possibilities of what could have been. She hates you and the boy who you have chosen to love against telesā law.”
I looked at Salamasina with new eyes. How much did this woman really know about telesā and their ways? “How is it that you know so much? I know your mother was a telesā but you said you were sent away when you were twelve years old. And yet, you speak of them as if you were one of them for much longer. As if you still are …”
The old woman sighed. “You forget, Tonga is very small compared to your world of America. And my island of Niuatoputapu was even smaller still, and very isolated. Even as an Ungifted, it was impossible to be truly removed from the telesā there. Especially with a mother like mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother is Tavake, the Covenant Keeper of the telesā vasa loloa in Tonga. She is the oldest and most powerful of all the ocean telesā, even older still than Nafanua was.” A strange smile. “I have not spoken her name for many years.”
I seized eagerly on this nugget of information. Surely Salamasina would know what was going on with Daniel? She would be able to make sense of the past months’ events. I paused, unsure whether Daniel would be happy with me discussing it with his grandmother when it was obvious he didn’t want to even talk about it with me. I decided the indirect route was best. “I had a twin brother who died when we were babies. Before she died, Nafanua told me that he was born with the mark of vasa loloa, a special kind of birthmark on his hip. Is that just a myth? Do all ocean telesā have the birthmark?”
Salamasina made a derisive sound of dissent. “Do you mean this mark?” She pulled up her right sleeve and showed me the birthmark there. My eyes widened in surprise. It was exactly like the mark I had seen on Daniel’s thigh. A gleaming white shape of a crested wave. “As you can see, I have it, the supposed mark of vasa loloa but the reality that Tavake had to face was that I had no ocean gifts. Not even a hint. The mark is merely a genetic imprint found on many of us but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s no guarantor of telesā gifts at all.”
“Oh.” I tried another line of questioning, probing, seeing how far I could go with Salamasina while she was in this talkative mood. “You told me about Daniel being adopted. Was his mother telesā?”
Her eyes narrowed and there was jagged coral in her tone. “No. Why do you ask such a question?”
“Because that night when he got attacked and I helped him escape. I noticed that he has a birthmark like yours on his, umm, his thigh. And I thought maybe it could mean something.”
She was quick to deny it. “It is meaningless. I have it and have seen many others carry it, others with no telesā gifts whatsoever. I hope you have not spoken to Daniel of my telesā history? You have not disrespected my wishes for privacy about this matter?” Her voice was sharp, ready to bite.
“No. I haven’t. I was just curious that’s all. Because Nafanua said it was a mark that my twin brother had. No other reason.” I decided not to push the Daniel subject anymore and instead switched to Salamasina’s past. “Is your mother – Tavake – still alive?”
“Of course.” And then as if regretting her divulging of information, Salamasina frowned. “But enough about me. That is all in the past. We are talking about you. You and this infatuation you have with my son. How dangerous it can be for him. You are a telesā without a Covenant and that is an oddity. You are the only one of your kind and so there is nowhere that you truly belong. No sisterhood who can truly bind you as one of their own. Even though Nafanua welcomed you into the telesā matagi sisterhood, you were never one of them. It was a symbolic ceremony only because your gift could not be unified with theirs. Ocean can only covenant with ocean. Air with air. And fire with fire. For any telesā to unite all three gifts is something only spoken of in legend. As the only one of your kind, you will always walk alone. You will be a natural target for other Covenants, other telesā who might see you as a threat to their territory. Without a fanua afi sisterhood to stand by your side, you will always be hunted.”
I slumped back in my seat. Dejected, but unsure why. I liked being a loner, didn’t I? Who needed girlfriends? Especially ones who turned on you in a heartbeat and sucked the life force out of you. “Salamasina, why am I the only one? Nafanua said she had never known another telesā fanua afi in her lifetime and her mother’s before her. Why?”
“There are legends that explain it, but how much truth does a legend truly contain? What is certain is that there has not been a telesā like you for centuries. Even Tavake had never met a telesā fanua afi. A fire telesā was a legend among us. There are those who doubt their essential existence. Others believe that it was the first of the three gifts to be taken away by our Mother Earth and it will only be a matter of time before the remaining gifts die out as well. It has become increasingly rare for gifted daughters to be born. Even to the strongest of the telesā. Look at your mother – by all accounts you are the only one of her many daughters to be blessed with a Gift. And my own mother Tavake, with all her powers, was still disappointed with a child who had none. The last Gifted daughter born to Tavake is many years older than I, and even then, her powers are a mere shadow of our mother’s. It is a troubling thing. Even though I despise many things about the telesā culture, it is heartbreaking to think that the telesā are a dying people.”
There was so much sadness in her that it was impossible not to be caught by it. Feel it “Why?”
“Because it further confirms that our Earth is sick. Dying. The respect we used to have for our traditions was closely entwined with our sacred respect for our land, our ocean, our air. All that gives us life. As we forsake our spiritual connection with the land, so too does the earth forsake us. If telesā are earth’s guardians, then it is of great seriousness that telesā are increasingly few and far between.”
Salamasina shook herself. “Why am I telling you these things? Leila, I know it must be lonely to be fanua afi and to be the only one. You have no parents. No family. You have never belonged anywhere. I can understand why your attraction to my Daniel would be so strong. Why it would seem so consuming. Why you would be so afraid of letting it go.”
Anger prickled and burrowed inside me. “Excuse me, Salamasina, let me see if I’m hearing you right. You’re saying that the only reason I love Daniel is because I’m lonely? Because I’m a loner fire telesā with no family, no sisterhood, no friends?”
A stare was her only answer. Salamasina and I were at an impasse. A chasm of difference that rested upon Daniel and the love we shared. I’d had enough bonding and sou
l-sharing conversation with this woman. If we bonded any more then I was going to set fire to her kitchen. Fa’aaloalo, Leila. Respect.
I gave her a tight smile. “Right. I think I’m going to leave now. Thank you for the juice. I appreciate the chance to have this little chat with you. I understand a lot more now that I didn’t before.” Like the fact that you think I’m a loser. A selfish child. And if I didn’t dislike you before, I sure do now.
“I too, am glad we had this talk. I hope you will consider my words carefully. And weigh up how much does Daniel truly mean to you?”
I walked to the door trying not to snarl. Or flame. But Salamasina wasn’t finished. “Leila, it will be difficult for Sarona to carry out any of her plans. She is alone, without a Covenant, and so her power will be weakened. She will need to seek out other telesā matagi and have them join her before she can hope to be a threat of any kind. And there are very few of them left. In the meantime, perhaps you should consider leaving Samoa. Go back to America. I am not without my own weapons and devices, you know. I can protect Daniel. And if needs be, there are those I can call on to take us away from here, to safeguard us against Sarona and whatever she might have planned against him. I may not have given birth to Daniel, but I am his mother. And that is what a mother does. She gives her life for her child. I will do everything to protect my son. Even if I must protect him against you.”
Salamasina wasn’t pulling any punches today and there were no doubts where she stood in this particular fight.
I went home and helped Matile cook dinner. I tried to lose myself in grating crisp green ambarella for the rich dessert of valu vi–fruit soaked in sweetened coconut cream – but I kept thinking about everything that Salamasina had revealed about my mother. Would I ever be able to reconcile all the different pieces of her? So caught up in my thoughts, I scraped too hard and cut myself on the sharp edge of the grater. I winced. Red stained the white mound of tangy fruit gratings.
Matile exclaimed, “Auoi! Leila,ma’imau. What a waste. Now you have to start over again. Get a new bowl. And pay attention to what you are doing.”
Aunty was right. I needed to stay focused. I couldn’t get lost in Nafanua’s past when my present could up and zap me with lightning at any moment. Get a grip. Focus.If I couldn’t keep my eye on Daniel today, then at least I could stay close to my aunt and uncle. Until Sarona made her first move.
I didn’t need to wait very long. I was drying the last of the dinner dishes when Thompson called my phone. Nafanua’s home at Aleisa was on fire. Come quick.
I went, giving Aunty Matile some jumbled story about the lawyer needing me to open my mother’s house, declining Uncle Tuala’s offer to accompany me. I knew who was behind the house fire and I didn’t want anyone else in Sarona’s line of sight. I drove fast up to Aleisa. The familiar driveway loomed ahead of me and at its distant end a red hue lit the sky. I slowed the Jeep to a crawl and shivered in the steaming humidity. The last time I had visited this house, my mother and her sisters had threatened my life and the lives of all those I loved. Nafanua had offered me the bargain that had no choices. Join us or everyone you love will die. Remembering that day, the way Daniel had rushed to my side after Sarona had blasted me out into the yard with a rush of storm wind, how close we had come to death. I wished I hadn’t come. This was a place reeking of painful memories.
I parked beside several emergency vehicles and slowly got out of the truck. The unrestrained fury of the blaze stunned me. My mother’s house was burning amidst an unruly dance of overgrown green wilderness. The skeleton of its structural frame was already apparent in the orange-red chaos. Firefighters were pumping thick hoses of water into its center but it was a useless fight and I wished they would give up already.
I knew I could still the flames, speak to the energy that raged and calm it. Convert it to earth’s potential energy storage. But what use would that be? Would it bring back Nafanua’s house? Would it return my mother to me? The woman I had wanted her to be? The telesā who had paused in her lightning battle against her sisters to say, Leila, I may not have loved your father, but always remember, I loved you.
And that’s when it hit me. As I stood and watched my mother’s house burn to the ground. The permanence. The finality of it. My mother was dead. And in spite of all her failings and craziness, I loved her. I missed her. I sank to my knees amidst the wet greenness of the gardenia bushes and wept. Salamasina’s earlier words about being alone – being a telesā without a Covenant – resounded in my soul. For the first time since that day by the ocean-side, I mourned for my mother. I cried for the years we never had. I cried because I knew that if she had lived, we would still be on opposite sides of the telesā divide.
Because sometimes, even love is not enough to hold two people together.
The white perfume of gardenia flowers was a gentle embrace in the night. There was a loud crackling roar as the last of the central beams of the burning house gave way, crashing to the ground in an explosion of jittery sparks. I looked up, and that’s when I saw her.
Sarona. Standing across from me on the opposite side of the blaze, staring at me. Smiling at my tears. Unnoticed by anyone else in the bustle of firefighting. She waved at me once before turning to snap her fingers. A whip wire of lightning seared the heavens, striking the fire truck nearest to me. It exploded, sending charred steel and wire debris flying in every direction. People screamed and ducked for cover. The force of the explosion was a wave of heat that hit me, had me tumbling backwards, shielding my face, rolling on the ground for several feet before coming to a breathless halt back beside my Jeep. It hurt. But not as much as my pride. I had let her see me vulnerable. I picked myself up, searching for the woman in green.
She was gone.
Score? One for Sarona. Zero for Leila.
And Daniel still hadn’t called me. This day officially sucked.
FIVE
Salamasina
One of the most disconcerting things about being the Ungifted daughter of a telesā is having your mother grow old – and remain ageless. While an increasingly grey-haired and weathered face greets you in the mirror. As a taulasea, natural healer, Salamasina well knew all of the concoctions and ointments the telesā drank to help retain their youthful looks and yes, there were years long ago when she too had brewed them for herself. For vanity’s sake. But there is an ingredient for true telesā youth that could not be sourced anywhere. Power. Fanua ola. The life force of our mother earth.
Which is why, when Salamasina answered the light knock on her door that day after Leila’s visit, and saw the woman who stood there, it was like seeing a ghost from her past. A face unmarked by time. The face of her mother.
“Tavake!” Salamasina gasped and stumbled backwards.
The woman was impatient. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Salamasina didn’t want her mother in her house. She didn’t want her anywhere near her. Or Daniel. But what choice did she have? She tried to smile. Waved the visitor in. “Of course. Please, come inside. This is unexpected.”
Tavake followed the younger woman into the front room. She walked with a limp and carried the ornately carved cane that her daughter had never seen her go without. Salamasina was painfully aware of the photographs that lined the shelves. Daniel, a toddler with a cheeky grin, digging in the sand. A little boy holding a rugby ball, standing next to Tanielu. Daniel and Tanielu in front of the workshop sign, both in overalls, laughing at the camera. At a sports prize-giving dinner, the whole family beaming proudly as Daniel held his trophy high. Tavake studied them all for a few minutes before she spoke. “He is a handsome young man. He has given you much joy?”
It was an odd way to start a conversation with a woman you hadn’t seen for nearly twenty years.
“Yes, he has.” As a polite after-thought. “Thank you.”
“You have kept him well concealed from telesā. That is good.”
Inside, Salamasina winced. Daniel was in love with a telesā fanua
afi. The first one in living history. Somehow, she didn’t think that counted as keeping him well hidden. “Yes, he has become a fine young man any mother would be proud of. And he knows nothing of his telesā ancestry. As we agreed.”
“You mean, as you covenanted. A child’s life for a mere promise. I think you got yourself a good deal there.” Tavake turned away from her study of family photographs to frown at Salamasina’s rumpled appearance. The man’s shirt splattered with some unrecognizable concoction she had been working on that morning. The baggy long pants frayed and stained with mud from time in the garden. Her voice was exasperated. “You know all the earth’s answers for staying young. And beautiful. At least for a time. Even for an Ungifted one. Why do you not use them? Look at you. You look so old.”
Salamasina couldn’t stop the laughter. “I look old, because I am old. I have walked this earth for sixty years and I’m proud of it.”
A grimace from the other woman. “Does it not seem foolish to hold the answers to longevity in your own backyard and yet not use them? How does anyone trust a taulasea who cannot even keep herself youthful?”
“I have learned that there is more to life than eternal youth. And beauty that never fades.”
Tavake arched a perfect eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that right? I suppose that husband of yours was your teacher. He is dead, is he not?” A muttered aside, “That was some lesson then, wasn’t it? It would seem to me that eternal youth and beauty would be far preferable to endless heartbreak.”
Salamasina chose not to react to the gibe. “Yes. Three years ago. Heart problems.”
“You could not heal him?”
“No. Tanielu had contracted rheumatic fever as a child and the damage it left to his heart was extensive. I prolonged his life for as long as I could. Letting him go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
When Water Burns Page 8
