“What don’t you get?” The condescending grin was back.
“You. When you’re with the class and everyone else, you’re not an egotistical, abrasive maniac.”
“So?”
“So I want you to tell me why you’re so rude to me. Why do you keep trying to push all my buttons?”
He moved closer towards me. “We both want something then. Sparks fly when I push your buttons, Leila. I want you to tell me why.”
I stepped backwards to get away from his closeness, the impenetrable directness of his gaze – and bumped into one of the kick bags. It bumped back, tripping me a little off balance so that I stumbled against Keahi and his hands came up to steady me against him. His touch burned. And not in a ‘you’re so hot and I want you’ kind of way. No. In an electrical spark and fizz kind of way. Without even looking down, I knew that my malu was highlighted in blood-red lines because the tattoos on Keahi’s neck and arms were doing the same thing. We both jumped apart at the same time.
He looked as freaked out as I was. “There it is again. Did you feel that?”
I knew there could only be one possible answer but I wasn’t about to share it with a boy I didn’t trust. “I don’t know. I have to go.”
He called after me, “Leila, wait.”
But I didn’t look back.
The next day, Mrs. Amani invited Keahi and I to stay after class for Wednesday night ice cream. We both took our food outdoors and there was no shortage of children wanting to sit beside Keahi at the long trestle table. They were all jostling for a chance to pester the exciting visitor with questions about everything from his tattoos to his pierced eyebrow and whether or not he had ever killed anyone in the ring. Or met the legendary Dwayne Johnson, ‘the Rock.’
I rolled my eyes. Whatever. These kids were mistaking Keahi for somebody important. I studiously ignored him and his table, instead focusing on the rapport I was trying to build with Teuila. The young teenager was an enigma. I knew there was something different about her, something ethereal. Possibly telesā. But it wasn’t air, fire or water. So what was it then? I called her to sit with me at a table as far away as possible from the others so we could have some privacy.
“Teuila, I wanted to ask you about the other day when we were outside under the mango trees.”
“What about it?”
“Has that happened to you before? That thing with the trees?”
She glanced around us, apprehensive about a possible audience. “A couple of times. At first it was just small stuff. Like when I was sad, plants would …” she halted and looked embarrassed. Muttered. “Give me stuff, like flowers or fruit. Or plants would act out how I’m feeling.It sounds dumb, I know. I thought I was just imagining it. Then something big happened. One night my mum was having a party with some friends. It was really noisy and I didn’t like them. Her friends. I was mad. But only because I was scared, you know? I’ve seen what always happens when she gets drunk with her friends. So I got mad and went outside to get away from them. I was out there and the breadfruit tree in our backyard – it snapped in half and fell on our house. And then all the other trees started moving their branches but there was no wind. It was terrifying. That cut the party short real fast. I still hoped it was an accident. Until the night my mum got attacked. Then I knew all that stuff with the trees wasn’t an accident. It was happening because of me.”
She stopped and her gaze went to a distant, faraway place …
Teuila didn’t like her mom’s new boyfriend, Toma.But then, that was no surprise. She didn’t like any of the men her mother brought home. Usually none of them stuck around for very long and Teuila supposed she should be grateful her mother was better at repelling men than keeping them. This latest one had been coming over regularly for a few weeks now though. Long enough to notice Teuila. Long enough to make her lock her bedroom door every time he visited. Lock the door and resolve not to open it no matter what sounds came from outside it. She was doing her homework with the iPod on loudwhen the ruckus from the next room got so bad it couldn’t be ignored. Her mother screamed. Teuila gripped her pen tighter and turned up the volume. The bedroom wall shook as something thudded against it. Something. Or someone. Teuila shut her eyes and wished she was somewhere else.
Wishes are for fairytales. And Teuila didn’t live in one.
The struggle had moved into the living room. Noise. Strident, harsh noises. Breaking glass. Splintering furniture. Toma was cursing. In between the thudding sound of blows. And her mother was still screaming. Begging.
Teuila took the earphones off.She was shaking now. Heaving huge gasping breaths. Don’t do it. Don’t open the door…Teuila’s survivor voice shouted at her. But what kind of daughter doesn’t open the door when her mother is being beaten?
She stood, slowly slid the lock aside, and opened the door just the slightest bit. Toma had his back to her.He stood over her mother who was sprawled on the sofa. He had their kitchen knife in his hand – the one they used to hack at stubborn mutton chops – and he was stabbing at her. Again and again. Siela was still struggling. Fighting. Kicking. But not very effectively. Again he raised the knife, and blood spattered over the wall.
Shut the door. Go back in the bedroom. Shut the door. The survivor voice was very loud now. Teuila told the voice to shut up. She looked around for something, anything that she could use as a weapon. But there was nothing on hand. The house was a dingy, sparse place. All she had was her pen. Teuila gripped it tightly, ran, and plunged the pen with all her might into Toma. She had been hoping for his neck, but instead she got his back. He arched his back, bellowed with rage. Surprise. He turned.
“What the hell? What is that?” He reached behind him and jerked the makeshift weapon from his back. Redness stained his shirt. He stared at the pen in disbelief and then at Teuila. “You are going to regret that.”
Toma getting stabbed with a ballpoint pen was like a raging bull being stung by a wasp. A tiny prick of pain that only made him very, very mad.He came at Teuila with a manic light in his eyes. Siela lay in a bloody heap behind him.
Teuila ran. Out the back door and across the overgrown yard towards the tangle of trees that edged the property. On the other side of those trees was a busy main road. If she could make it that far, Teuila hoped a car would stop for her. Or run over Toma. Both options were fanciful notions. She would have had better luck wishing for her fairy godmother to show up with a pumpkin carriage.
Toma caught her midway through the trees.Caught her and threw her to the ground. She had all the air – and wishes – knocked out of her. She lay there gasping for breath. Toma knelt over her, triumphant. He drew back his fist and hit her in the face. Pain looked like a sharp burst of light and fear tasted like the iron saltiness of blood. Teuila knew what was going to happen next. It wasn’t the first time she had tried to interrupt her mother and one of her boyfriends. It wasn’t the first time she wished she had stayed inside the bedroom. Kept her door locked and the iPod turned on full blast.
And so, while Toma did what he wanted to do, Teuila did what she always did. She went to that beautiful, distant place in her mind. Where golden sunlight fractured on green leaves. And the long grass was warm against her skin as she lay under the shade of a mighty tamarind tree. There were hibiscus flowers in her hair. And the sweet taste of mangoes on her lips. A light wind set the branches dancing and the gentle call of the manumea bird resounded through the trees. Teuila was happy. Safe.
Yes, Teuila visited her idyllic forest retreat often. Only this time, something was different. This time, the vast tamarind tree seemed to be reaching down to her. And the liana vines around its trunk were moving. Writhing. Twisting.And the peaceful sky sullied dark and ominous. No. This wasn’t her happy place. Confusion. Someone was screaming. “Help me!” And it wasn’t her.
Teuila was jerked out of her trance-like state. Toma was still on top of her. But he had been pulled back on his knees, and around his neck was wrapped a thick layer of vines. His face
was turning purple as he tugged vainly at the chokehold. And then Toma was yanked off Teuila in one abrupt movement and smashed into the broad trunk of the tamarind tree. But once seemed not to be enough. Again,Toma was whipped about, shaken, and rammed against a tree. And then, every tree, every bush and vine in the little gathering of forest all seemed to come to writhing, seething life. Pressing in on their captive.
Teuila was horrified. She sat up and scuttled backwards on the ground, eyes wide at the sight of a man being pummeled and shaken. By a forest. No, this is impossible. This isn’t happening. Teuila stumbled to her feet. Turned and ran back to the house. Fearing with every step that something green and powerful would grab her as well.
Teuila was living in a fairytale where trees attacked people. And it was terrifying.
“Teuila, are you okay?”
Teuila was zoned out. She only shook her head when I tried to prompt her for more. So I tried a different approach. “You know I’m happy to give you a lift to the hospital to visit your mum.”
Her reply was vicious. “No. I told you I don’t want to visit her.”
I persisted. Because I’m stubborn (and dumb) like that. “But your mother has been in the intensive care unit for nearly two months now. And Mrs. Amani says you haven’t gone to see her once. Whatever bad stuff has gone down between you two in the past, don’t you think you should put it aside for now? I’m sure she would love to see you.”
And that’s when Teuila lost it. She pushed her chair away from the table, hard. It fell to the ground with a crash. “I said no! I hate her. You can’t make me go see her. I hope she dies in there.” Her voice rose to a shriek as she swept her plate off the table, glass breaking on the concrete. “Do you hear me? I hope she dies!”
People were looking at us. I jumped to my feet, “You can’t mean that …” I started to say, but Teuila wouldn’t let me finish.
“Yes I do. You don’t know anything, about me or my mother. Just leave me alone.” She turned and ran from the courtyard
I tried to go after her, “Wait, Teuila come back.”
But Keahi beat me to it. He was up and walking after her. “You stay here. Let me go talk to her.”
I didn’t argue. I was happy to let him. I had no clue how to deal with an angry teenage girl who wished her mother was dead. Or didn’t I? I watched as Keahi caught up with an angry Teuila in the parking lot. At first, her reaction to him was heated. She looked as mad at him as she had been at me. But after a few quiet words from Keahi, she calmed down and they both sat on a garden bench, deep in conversation. I cleaned up broken glass and fought my irritation. Teuila frustrated me. Couldn’t she see that people were only trying to help her? Every time I felt like I was making progress with her, something like this would happen and blow my expectations out of the water. I sneaked another furtive glance in her and Keahi’s direction. Maybe she was going to blast at Keahi now. And punch him in the face? That possibility immediately made me feel less depressed.
But nobody was punching anybody out there. Instead, they were both laughing and walking back towards me. Teuila surprised me and spoke first, “I’m sorry for blasting you like that.”
I hid my shock with an apology of my own. “I’m sorry for bugging you about your mother. I’ll get off your case about that from now on. I promise.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you guys tomorrow in class.” She went back inside the center, heading in the direction of the dorms. Smiling.
I watched her go, with disbelief. Asked Keahi. “What was that?”
The Momoa eyebrow. “What was what?”
“That. It takes me days, no weeks, to get her to trust me enough to talk and smile and there you are chatting for all of five minutes and she’s laughing? Joking with you? What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
But I was not about to let this go. “I mean it, Keahi. How were you able to get through to her? What did you say?”
“Let’s just say that I know where she’s coming from.”
“What does that mean? Come on, talk to me. I need to know this stuff.”
Keahi shrugged. “Fine. Teuila hates her mother because she’s a selfish whore who cares more about her next drink than about her daughter. She hates her because she keeps hooking up with men who beat her and her daughter. And most especially, she hates her mother because she didn’t do enough to protect her kid. I’m guessing that the guy who stabbed Teuila’s mother probably raped Teuila as well. All I did was tell her that I would teach her how to kill a person. So if she wants to kill her mom and the man who hurt her then she can meet me tomorrow after school. I’ll give her a few lessons, show her some essential kill moves. And you see?” He pointed in Teuila’s direction. “She’s all smiles and happiness now. That’s all she needed.”
I was horrified. What the hell had we done, bringing this nutcase into the Center and exposing teenagers – no, make that, children – to his psychotic philosophy on life? “I cannot believe you said that to her. Teuila has lived with violence her whole life. What she needs now is healing. Counseling. A nurturing, caring environment where she can grow and get past this horrible stuff.” My voice rose to a somewhat desperate shriek. “And instead, you tell her she needs to learn how to kill people?! Are you out of your mind?”
There was a dangerous fire in Keahi’s eyes as he leaned towards me, whispering through clenched teeth. “No. I’ve never made more sense. You want to connect with Teuila and kids like her? Then you have to realize that hate is a legitimate reason for living. It’s okay to hate people when they’ve done nothing but lie to you and treat you like their personal punching bag. Hate is how we cope. Hate is how we survive.”
His rage had me flinching. “You shouldn’t be coming anywhere near these kids. You have no clue what you’re doing.”
He sneered. “And you do? You make out that you’re the misunderstood, misfit girl, all alone in the world. When the truth is, you’re a spoilt rich kid with not one but two trust funds. Yeah, I’ve asked around. I know your story. The worst thing that’s ever happened to you was finding out that the mother you thought was dead was actually the richest businesswoman in the country.” He mocked, “Oh no. What a tragedy. And let’s not forget that you’ve got the fire power of a freakin’ volcano at your fingertips. You wanna know the real reason you can’t connect with Teuila? Because you have no clue what suffering is. You’ve never been hungry. Or terrified for your life. You’ve never had to switch off out of your mind while somebody is beating the crap out of you. If you don’t like it somewhere, you can swipe your gold card. Or write a check for a million dollars. People like Teuila? Like me? All we’ve got is our hate. Don’t try to take that away from us.”
And with that, he turned and stalked away. Somebody had just gotten slammed with a double-barreled kick in the gut. And it hurt like hell.
I didn’t sleep much that night as I mused over everything Keahi had thrown at me. By morning I had decided I could no longer delay the inevitable. Keahi and I needed to talk. About lots of fiery stuff.
I went to the Center right after my last class and headed for the makeshift gym, walking in on Keahi attacking the workout bag with unrestrained fury. I hoped it wasn’t my face he was imagining as he kicked, punched, and elbowed. He looked like he’d been at it for a while. His torso was flushed and glistening and his black silk muay thai shorts clung to his thighs with sweat. He had earphones on and didn’t hear me come in so I stood back for a while and studied him unawares.
Keahi was a world of difference from Daniel in so many ways. Daniel had a face and form that could feature on the cover of GQ magazine and there was only a single scar that marred his chiseled perfection. Nobody could call Keahi beautiful. Striking and memorable – yes. Gloriously beautiful – no. He was smaller. Leaner. And his body told more stories. His torso and legs all bore the faint ridged scar tissue that spoke of horrific burns a very long time ago. Those weren’t his only scars either. There were dark markings on his back that looked sus
piciously like stab wounds and more stitched scars on his legs and arms. It was difficult to tell their origin because of Keahi’s obsession with ink. Angry tattoos screamed at me from his back, forearms, and the top half of his chest. Even his neck had something confronting to say. No, Keahi was not beautiful. But his body had an arresting magnetism about it that I had difficulty ignoring. Like now.
The workout – or more aptly, the kill session – ended with a roundhouse kick and I could tell that he had seen me standing there when he executed his spin. He took the earphones off and walked to pick up a towel from the corner, swiftly drying himself before putting a shirt on.
I didn’t realize that I was so obviously staring until he threw me an irritated glance. “What? Aren’t you done staring? Oh I know, you want to be horrified a little more, is that it?” He pulled his shirt off over his head again and walked towards me, arms outstretched, daring me to look. “Here you go, the freak on display. Get your stare on.” He paused a few feet away and slowly spun around. “Take a good look. You had enough yet?”
He was angry. Again. But underneath the defiance and aggression I now saw something else. A kid like Teuila. Who had been to hell and back. He wasn’t going to scare me away anymore with his bad boy routine. I didn’t flinch or avert my eyes. “No. Turn around again. I want to see the markings on your back.”
He looked a little taken aback. Seeing I was serious, he narrowed his eyes at me, folded his arms across his chest and turned. There was a taut silence. I took those few steps forward and raised a hesitant hand to the longest jagged scar down his shoulder, bracing myself for the inevitable crackle of energy when we touched. I asked, “What’s this one from?”
“Got knifed in a nightclub. There were three of them and I was careless. Should never let anybody get behind you.”
When Water Burns Page 19
