The Bone Field

by Debra Bokur

  Later in the day, they walked down to the beach to gather shells and stones and bits of coral. They each filled a bucket and then carried their treasures back to the garden while the contents clanked against the metal sides. They poured the shells and other things onto the grass, spreading them out so they could see clearly what they had to work with. Then, side by side, they formed the things they’d collected into flower shapes in a border around the flower bed, filling the spaces between each stony bloom with round black lava pebbles, polished smooth by the sea.

  “Let’s have something cool to drink,” suggested Pualani when they were through. “Then we’ll bless the beautiful space we’ve made.”

  They sat in the shade offered by the lanai and sipped tall glasses of chilled water from a pitcher. Pualani had added several thick slices of mango to the water, infusing it with the sweetness of the fruit. When she’d finished, Pualani set down her glass and smiled at Kali. “Come, Granddaughter. I will need your help. We will thank the earth for supplying us with the means to create this beautiful space in our garden.”

  Pualani stood facing the broad flower blooms they had shaped with their stones: round ones in the middle, with pieces of coral fanning out from the center. The small, dark stones surrounding each bloom made them stand out clearly. Pualani began to chant with closed eyes. Her voice rose and fell, and Kali listened to the familiar words, feeling the song resonate in her bones. Pualani began to move, adding small movements of the sacred hula dance to the words of her prayer. She opened her eyes and smiled again at Kali.

  “Now, help me, please.”

  Kali hesitated, some of her earlier sullenness returning. “I don’t know this dance.”

  “But you do. We have already practiced it, and we will make it up as we go along, just the two of us.”

  “When did we practice it?”

  “Just now, as we worked in the garden. We bent to weed, and we reached to tend the higher plants—just like this.”

  Pualani demonstrated, dipping as though she were reaching for weeds, and mimicking the motion of planting seeds. At first hesitantly, and then with growing assurance, Kali did her best to replicate the movements.

  Now, in the growing shadows, she imagined her grandmother’s graceful form beside her, teaching her with infinite patience the arm and hand movements and what each meant—when to move her feet or bend, and when to reach into the sky.

  “Fill yourself with rain, Granddaughter.”

  Kali cleared her mind, then did exactly that: She filled her thoughts with rain, and what it meant to the earth, picturing the drops falling steadily from the sky, downward onto the ground, slaking the thirst of the trees and grass and flowers. She imagined the touch of the rain on her face, and moved her arms and hands to imitate the flow.

  “And can you be like the wind?” came her grandmother’s voice again, cradled in memory.

  I can be like the wind, she thought, and her arms filled with the moving air. She bent and rose, then moved her hips in a smooth ‘ami, just as she’d been taught as a young girl.

  “The sea, Granddaughter. Sense the sea and the waves and the currents. Let the tide pull you in and out.”

  And she did, all through the song and into the next, her movements becoming more sure as the familiar motions took hold. She felt the soft ground beneath the soles of her feet, the tickle of the grass as she moved through it. There was movement on the lanai, and she turned to see Makena standing next to one of the tall posts supporting the lanai roof. She was watching Kali, but when Kali waved, inviting Makena to join her on the lawn, Makena merely turned away and disappeared inside. Kali sighed. At least she had gotten in a practice before the performance that was coming up at the cultural festival. She felt herself tense involuntarily at Pait’s scheming, but then reconsidered her response. Maybe it was a good thing she’d been pushed into revisiting this important part of who she was. She flexed the arm that had been scratched by the irate rooster, then reached down to massage her left calf muscle. It had been a while. Served her right if her legs were sore.

  CHAPTER 25

  The timbre of Hilo’s whimpering became a distressed, drawn-out whine. He stood in the bedroom doorway, and spun as he saw Kali sit up in response to his cries. There was another sound, resting just beneath Hilo’s voice—a soft moaning.

  Kali bolted from her bed, lunging through the doorway into the hall, turning immediately to the left where Makena’s door stood partly open. Hilo was already there, rooted anxiously by the girl’s head.

  “Makena—what’s wrong?”

  There was another moan, and Kali reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on. She drew in her breath in alarm. The light revealed Makena, lying curled on her side, the sheet below her waist soaked in blood. Her hair was damp with perspiration, spread out in dark tangles across the pillowcase. Kali knelt beside her, pushing the hair away from the girl’s face.

  Makena’s eyes fluttered open. “Kali—what’s happening to me?” she asked, her voice betraying fear. She attempted to sit up, but a spasm of pain crossed her face, and she fell back against the mattress, groaning.

  “Stay still. Don’t try to move. I’ll be right back.” Kali darted back to her bedroom and grabbed her phone from the bedside table, quickly punching in 911. She identified herself and gave her address, then moved quickly to the bathroom and pulled a towel off the drying rack beside the shower.

  She went back to Makena’s side, flipping on the overhead light as she passed the light switch next to the door. The bedcover was jumbled around Makena’s feet, and she pulled it gently away, trying to determine how much blood had been lost. Makena was clutching her stomach, and Kali reached out and placed her hand on Makena’s forehead.

  “I’m afraid, Kali,” Makena whispered, her breath hot.

  “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m right here, and help is on the way.” Her voice was gentle; she did her best not to convey her own fear. She sat back, kneeling beside the bed. “When did the bleeding begin?”

  “Last night. Just a little bit. I fell asleep, but I had cramps.” Makena took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t think it was anything important.”

  Kali bit her lip, struck once again by her conviction that this girl was ill-equipped, in every way, to be a mother. The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. Hilo grew more distressed, running from the bedroom to the front door and back. Kali got up and called to him, leading him to her bedroom. “It’s going to be okay, fella. Stay here.” She patted his head. “Be a good boy.” She shut the door, hurrying back to Makena.

  The sirens drew closer, and soon the flashing lights of the ambulance could be seen reflected in the window glass.

  Makena’s eyes grew wide and frightened. “What’s happening to me?” she asked again, her voice breaking. “Why does everything hurt so much?”

  “Please try to be still,” Kali answered, not knowing what else to say.

  Makena began to cry. Kali reached out and took her hand. There was no resistance. Kali noted the delicate fingers—long and slender, joined to her arms by tiny wrists. When she had been much younger, Mike had called his daughter his little hummingbird. Kali remembered his face, suffused with love and pride, as he’d watched his small child happily running along a hiking path. She squeezed Makena’s hand and stood up, gazing with worry at the small, damaged hummingbird curled into the sheets.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said. She made her way to the front door, switching on lights as she went. The paramedics were already on the front steps. Kali recognized them both.

  “Mark, Katie—thanks for getting here so quickly.” She turned toward the bedroom. “She’s in here. I think she’s miscarrying.”

  “How far along?” asked Katie.

  “Best guess, second trimester, but we don’t know for sure.”

  Katie nodded, and Mark led the way into Makena’s room. He halted in the doorway and spoke quietly to Kali.

  “Is that . . .”

 
“Yes. Makena Shirai.” Kali stepped aside, allowing Mark and Katie the space they needed to get to Makena. Katie remained next to the thin, groaning figure. Mark spoke to her, checking her vital signs. As he lifted her arm to gauge her blood pressure, he saw the map of needle scars on her skin. He made a quick examination, then signaled to Kali that he’d like to speak to her privately.

  “She’s hemorrhaging. We need to get her to the hospital. Is there anyone you should contact?”

  “There’s just me.”

  “Okay. We’re going to get her ready for transport. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “And the baby?”

  “Can’t say, but it’s not looking great.”

  Kali nodded. She watched as Makena was moved to a stretcher and taken to the ambulance. Makena’s face had lost some of its terror. Instead, her skin had taken on a dull grayness, and once again Kali tried not to relay her worry. “I’m going to be right behind the ambulance, Makena,” she said. “I’ll grab a few of your things and meet you in the hospital. Please don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

  Makena’s eyes flickered. She made a small movement with her head that might have been a nod. The paramedics completed the process of safely securing her, and as the ambulance pulled away, Kali ran back to the house and up the steps. She let Hilo out of her room, and found her small travel duffel on the closet floor. Inside Makena’s room, she pulled open a drawer to find a fresh change of clothing, and was surprised to see the little polka-dot horse sitting atop a soft green infant’s outfit still attached to a plastic hanger. The price tag was still fastened to it. She didn’t know if Makena had purchased it, stolen it, or received it as a gift, but she suddenly didn’t care. The fact that it was here, tucked away and waiting, said volumes.

  She located a clean shirt and a pair of faded jeans among the girl’s scant belongings, surprised once again when she saw that they were neatly folded. She found some underwear, and pulled Makena’s toothbrush from a glass on the bathroom shelf. Even after she’d packed everything, the duffel felt light and forlorn.

  Kali checked that Hilo had food and water in his bowls, then slipped her feet into her faded purple slip-on shoes and hurried to the Jeep. The ambulance could no longer be seen, but she could hear the siren’s urgent notes, its energy, both alarming and comforting at the same time, reaching back to her through the cool predawn air.

  * * *

  The hospital waiting room was freezing. Kali sat up, cold and bleary, and stretched her neck to relieve the crick in the muscle connected to her shoulder. The bright artificial lights glared, highlighting the threadbare armrest of her chair and the worn patches on the square of carpet that partially covered the sterile linoleum floor between the row of chairs where she was seated and the identical row across from her. When it was new, she reflected, the carpet’s indiscriminate blue and beige pattern may have softened the hard edges of the room to some extent—but in its present stained and fraying state, it only offered a level of subtle despair.

  She checked her phone screen for the time and any messages. It was a few minutes before six o’clock, and she was thankful it was still early enough that there were no calls to deal with.

  Twenty minutes passed, and she was just about to go in search of coffee when the wide double doors on one side of the waiting area opened and a doctor entered. He was dressed in scrubs, and his glasses had been shoved up over the surgical skullcap he wore. He smiled briefly as he approached her.

  “Detective Mhoe?”

  She stood up, his countenance making her feel hopeful. “Yes. How is Makena?”

  “Resting,” he said. “She lost quite a bit of blood, but is stable. I’m afraid there was no way to save the pregnancy.” He looked her in the eye. “She was in her second trimester. I would estimate thirty weeks. However, there was significant underdevelopment, and I’m sorry to say there were clear signs that life had ended several days ago.”

  Kali looked away. She felt a sense of sadness, and wished fervently that Mike was here, so he could help his daughter navigate the world in a way that she had been unable to do in his absence. She looked at the doctor and nodded in understanding. “Her health hasn’t been . . . well, good, for several years.”

  “No. That’s clear. I’d like her to stay for the day and possibly tomorrow.”

  “May I see her?”

  “She’s a little woozy, but yes.” He regarded her with sympathy. “You can notify the father, if he’s part of this equation.”

  “He’s not,” she said. She picked up the duffel bag from where she’d placed it beside her chair and followed the doctor through the big double doors and down a corridor. The room was marginally warmer and brighter. Makena took up a strikingly small amount of space in the bed. She appeared to be sleeping. Kali moved quietly to a chair for visitors that had been placed along one wall. She put the duffel on the floor, and was about to sit down when Makena spoke.

  “I know you’re here.” Her voice sounded weak. “You don’t need to stay.”

  “I’m here because I want to be. How do you feel?”

  “I don’t feel anything.”

  There was silence. Kali thought about Makena’s words and wondered if they were true. She didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t given to reciting platitudes. The truth was far more important, even though it was almost always more difficult.

  “Do you mean you don’t feel any pain, or that you don’t know what you feel about the miscarriage? That’s to be expected. It’s only just happened.”

  “Oh, give me a break. I didn’t want the kid anyway.” Makena turned her head away and closed her eyes.

  Kali didn’t know whether or not to believe her, but it was neither the time nor the place to go very deeply into a discussion. “My concern is for you,” she said.

  “Then go away and let me sleep.”

  Kali hesitated, then moved toward the door. “Okay. Rest is a good idea. I’ll check with the doctor and find out when I can pick you up.” She pointed to the visitor’s chair. “I brought some things from home. They’re in that small bag over there.”

  “Home.” Makena’s voice was faint.

  Kali waited, but there was nothing more. “If you think of anything else I can bring you, please just let me know.” She turned, and was standing in the doorway when she heard Makena speak, her voice barely audible.

  “Tell Hilo I miss him.”

  “I will. Feel better. I’ll see you soon.” Kali walked down the corridor and took the elevator to a lower level that led through the hospital’s main lobby and the exit doors. In the bright, warm morning, she walked slowly toward her parking space, feeling a sense of loss that she didn’t even understand. The image of the stillborn baby in the pineapple field suddenly invaded her thoughts, along with the doctor’s reference to the father of Makena’s baby. She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She needed to speak to Stitches.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Kali? Tomas Alva here. Any chance you have time to come over to Lna‘i this afternoon?”

  Kali stood in the hospital parking lot and gripped the phone, preparing herself for more bad news. “Don’t tell me there’s another body,” she said apprehensively.

  “No,” he said. “This is good news, I hope. Out of all the so-called tips that have been coming in since Chief Pait’s press conference and Walter’s podcast appearance, I think we finally have a good one. A lady here phoned in and said she’s willing to talk about her time living at Eden’s River. She’s offered to meet us out at the site where it used to be. Seems like a good idea for you to be here.”

  Kali’s mood lightened. “I’ll be there,” she said, trying not to hope too much that there was finally going to be a break. After leaving a message for Stitches and another one letting Walter know where she was heading, she called the main station and was told the launch would be waiting for her as soon as she could get to the harbor.

  The drive to the dock was blissfully free of pig carcasses, and she m
ade good time. As promised, the small police launch was waiting for her, and the boat sped smoothly across the channel waters. Tomas was waiting on the other side, parked near the dock on Lna‘i. Kali was surprised to see that instead of his police cruiser, he had come to pick her up in a four-wheel-drive truck. As they drove away from the harbor, Tomas filled her in on what he knew about the former member of Eden’s River they were on their way to meet.

  “She lived there for two years, after she was initially invited by another woman who had left a brochure on her doorstep.”

  “What’s this woman’s name?”

  “Originally, it was Anita Chambers, but she changed it—legally—to Anita Waters once she’d bought into Abraham’s baloney. Guess she never bothered to change it back.”

  Tomas explained that Anita’s first experience had been to attend a healing seminar offered at the commune. “She said she’d suffered from lower back pain for years, and that after Abraham laid his hands on her during a healing massage session, she was cured.”

  “Spiritual massage. Really? Nice angle. Has the pain come back?”

  “Interestingly, she claims it hasn’t. Her disillusionment with Eden’s River had more to do with the demands that Abraham was increasingly making on the women members.”

  “Sex?”

  “What else? Apparently he wanted them all pregnant. I guess that’s one way to increase membership.”

  “Sexual demands seem to be one of the calling cards of a cult leader,” said Kali. She looked out the window, noting their location and how close they were to the pineapple fields. “Where is it that we’re meeting her?”

  “Just down the road from here,” said Tomas, flipping on his blinker and easing the truck onto a rough track south of the Palawai Basin and the old pineapple plantation. He drove for about a mile along a turnoff that led to Kaunol, an ancient fishing village that was regarded as an important sacred site. Instead of continuing all the way to the historic landmark, he turned onto an even narrower track that led in a northeasterly direction.