Interzone Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine #221

by TTA Press Authors

  Abruptly, Leilani swam to the surface. Three steadying breaths and she was ready to try again. How strange, to come so close to crying when your eyes are already submerged in water.

  * * * *

  The eels were massive, almost worthy of the fruit in Pineki's secret garden. Their heads alone dwarfed her torso. Their unhinged mouths could swallow her in one tiny gulp. Their swiveling bodies looked as long as five of her in a row. She was forty feet under now, with plenty of air in her ears to ease the pressure. She rested very still in the water, and the three eels nearby did not deign to pay her much attention. Their natural prey was the large ahi fish. Fishermen also laid their nets in these waters, and the tales told by the survivors of those on boats unfortunate enough to catch a day-eel had given them a fearsome reputation. As far as she knew, no one but Pineki had ever tested the legend of their taste for human flesh. Their iridescent blue skin that flashed green when they were about to strike, their massive size, and the baleful cast of eyes as big as oranges all conspired to make the worst stories eminently credible. Everyone was terrified of them. Maybe even Pineki. But her mother had stayed in the water and watched the eels for hours. Pineki had realized that so long as she didn't threaten them, they cared about as much for her as the crab scuttling along the sandy floor. She had stayed until sundown, when she saw a lone mandagah fish among the seaweed. Thinking to get at least one jewel out of her day among the eels, she had gone to it and received the shock of her life. It deposited two jewels in her hand. One was white and the other that rare color of the sun that always marked an elder.

  Pineki said she cursed, and then shrugged. She was willing to try everything at least once.

  Leilani decided she was running out of air and slowly swam to the surface, letting the pressure ease gently. Halfway there, one of the eels came racing up from below her, its skin crackling green. She stared at it, frozen in a combination of awe and terror. It missed her by a mere two inches before falling on an ahi fish like a living, hungry waterfall. Her skin tingled from its passage and she shook from the shock.

  She shot to the surface like a cork. No, she would never match her mother.

  * * * *

  Okilani was waiting back at the shore. Leilani tried to smile at her like she imagined Pineki would have, but it felt so brittle and terrified instead of calm and daring that she just gave up.

  "I hope you enjoyed that,” Okilani said. Her voice was harsh but her eyes were gentle. Okilani was everything she had always imagined a mother should be.

  Leilani took her leibo from the sand and pulled them over her clammy legs. “It was ... amazing,” she said, truthfully. “I'll never do it again."

  Okilani looked into her eyes and then away abruptly. “Your mother gave you just enough of herself, didn't she? Too much, and...” Okilani's voice had gotten very tight.

  "How much did Piki know? How much power did she have when you tossed her out?"

  Okilani looked surprised. “We ... weren't sure. We didn't teach her anything very explicit, but..."

  "She's Pineki."

  "Oh. I almost forgot. Leva'ula wants to see you."

  * * * *

  Her muscles, weak from her dive, burned like alcohol on an open wound after the climb to Leva'ula's tree house. The head elder's home was built into the largest and most ancient of the kukui trees in the sacred grove. Across from it was the tree traditionally reserved for diver and elder funerals of the kind they had refused Pineki.

  Leilani was not inclined to be charitable when she knocked on the door, but Leva'ula seemed so much like the same warm but absentminded mystic she had known all her life that it was impossible to maintain her anger. She even smelled familiar, like honeysuckle and coconuts.

  "I hear you are going to contravene the council's wishes,” she said, when Leilani seated herself on the floor. Leva'ula had taken a chair, forcing Leilani to gaze up at her.

  "I'm going to burn my mother at sunset.” It was harder, somehow, to say the words in this woman's presence. They seemed so belligerent, and she seemed so benign.

  "Well, you know, keika, we forbade her a funeral. She was your mother. I know you must have loved her and seen parts of her hidden from the rest of us, but by her actions she forfeited the right to a consummation, by geas or by fire. You must understand that."

  She said ‘must’ as though it were the most natural and reasonable thing in the world. She looked sorrowful at what she had to do, but firm. She spoke like a parent, one who made decisions based on pragmatic rules and bedrock principles.

  Leilani found herself nodding. “Yes,” she said, “I understand that."

  Leva'ula smiled. One side of her mouth curved up a little more than the other, like she had forgotten to smile properly or something had just made her particularly happy.

  "So I trust you'll reconsider your decision? I know I cannot force you ... but you might not like the consequences if you don't. Perhaps a burial would suffice. The farmers always appreciate the fertilizer."

  She could hear Pineki's laugh so clearly she nearly covered her ears to block out the sound.

  "I'll consider it,” she said, her voice wobbling. Why couldn't she just say no? How had her mother defied this woman? How could Leilani? Leva'ula somehow made the entire act of defiance seem childish and just a little disappointing.

  "Good,” Leva'ula said, rapping the floor with the tip of her walking stick in self-satisfied emphasis. “You can show yourself out, dear. I'm getting a bit old to walk to and from the door like I used to."

  I'm going to burn my mother at sunset. But she only thought the words.

  * * * *

  Kapa was holding Uku face down in the sand, his knee on the small of his back, with only a dead woman as witness. Leilani stared at the tableau for a long, uncomprehending moment.

  "Kapa, what—"

  "I was just paying my final respects to your sweet mother,” Uku said, the venom in his voice obvious despite the muffling sand. And to think that Ukele, his brother, had wept.

  "He spat on her body, Lei. He says Pineki cursed him.” Kapa's voice was quiet, steadying.

  "Let him go."

  After a moment, Kapa nodded and stood up. Uku scrambled to his feet and looked as though he would take a parting shot at Kapa, but Leilani stood in his way.

  "She's dead, Uku. You've dishonored her enough already, don't you think?"

  "I could feed her to the worms in my garden and urinate on her every morning and it wouldn't be dishonor enough."

  "What did she do to you?” Facts. She needed more. The ones she had now weren't enough.

  He laughed. “She was sleeping with my brother. I told her to leave him alone, and she cursed me with the holy powers we taught her!"

  Life with Pineki had trained her to spot all brands of sexual infatuation. Especially jealousy. “She slept with you."

  "She's a whore!"

  'Whore'. That ugly, inner-island word. It was a concept she knew only from books and hearsay.

  "We have no whores on this island,” she said.

  Hate twisted his face into a hideous mask. Had she ever found him attractive?

  "You're right,” he said. “She just died."

  * * * *

  They started to come an hour before sunset, defying the council's ban in twos and threes, until sheer numbers protected them. Leilani was surprised—she had been prepared to do this alone. She had laid the body out on a pile of dry palm and kukui fronds. She removed her mother's leibo and covered her naked body with three fresh leaves. On each of them she put one of the mandagah jewels from her mother's dive this morning. If the elders refused to give her mother the honor she deserved, then Leilani would do as much as she could herself. It had been a remarkably easy decision, after Uku had left. How could she give into that hate? How could she not honor the spirit of her mother's laughter? She was coming to realize how much pain that carefree sound had always held. How much defiance.

  "They could bar you from diving,” Kapa said, a
s the sun began to dip and the silent people approached the body. “I think ... this is right. But you should know what they'll do."

  This time Leilani laughed. “Do you think anyone ever warned Pineki like that? Don't sleep with this man, Piki, he's filled with hate and may bash your skull in with his fist?” And when he does, no one will punish him, because he's an elder and they think you deserved it?

  Kapa stood very close to her. She almost thought he might take her hand. “Do you think you should have?"

  "I think she knew every consequence she risked. I think she liked it that way."

  Kapa must have heard something in her voice she wasn't even aware of herself, because he suddenly gripped her shoulders like he could prevent her from falling. There. She liked his touch. It was cool and his fingers were strong. “Lei,” he said, “you can't be your mother. There are other legitimate ways to live."

  He was exactly her height. She smiled. “Legitimate ... but worthwhile?"

  * * * *

  Sunset. She let Kapa light the torch. The crowd behind her was huge—a sea of people and she didn't even recognize half. How was that possible? Their island was tiny; she had lived here her whole life. She felt like she had cloistered herself while her mother lived enough for ten people. And still ... the fading light took the harsh edge off of her mother's stiff, bruised face. She looked young again and beautiful.

  "I see you didn't heed my advice.” Leva'ula.

  Leilani took a deep breath and turned to face the head elder. “I didn't think it was worth heeding.” Her voice, but Pineki's words. She felt a rush, like her first taste of palm wine or her first dive. Pineki wasn't fearless, but she knew how to use fear.

  Leva'ula's smile was almost aggressively forgiving. Leilani wondered if something else lay beneath—vindictiveness rung with tradition and guarded by the authority of her red mandagah jewel.

  "I'm afraid I can't vouch for your future as a diver if you go through with this, dear,” Leva'ula said. “It would be a shame to see such a good daughter destroyed by such a bad mother."

  Okilani had moved silently behind the head elder, and she winced. In the deepening dark, by the light of Kapa's torch, Leilani met Leva'ula's eyes. Even they smiled. Even now. “She was not a bad mother."

  "You loved her.” Leva'ula said it as though the emotion were a lisp, an unfortunate affliction of the kind some must bear.

  "Did you know Uku killed her?"

  The elder's lips turned down gracefully and she sighed. “Yes, I suspected as much. Your mother's wiles were enough to seduce even our proud kukui tree. He had provocation."

  Leilani laughed. Great Kai, it felt so good and free that she had to close her eyes to just encompass the absurdity and perverse beauty of it all.

  She opened her eyes to see Leva'ula staring like she had seen a ghost.

  "I thought you were different from her, Leilani."

  Leilani took the torch from Kapa. “Of course I am. But she taught me more than I knew."

  Leva'ula drew herself up very straight. “This is my last warning.” She gave no hint of kindness anymore. Perhaps this was the true power of Pineki's laughter: it revealed what lay underneath.

  She was about to turn from the elder when the light from the torch made something gleam on the top of Leva'ula's walking stick. Slowly, as though she had no inkling of the implied discourtesy, Leilani leaned over and sniffed.

  Coconut milk. A few hairs from the outer shell remained stuck in the film.

  Leilani looked up. “You washed off the blood, but forgot the coconut."

  Leva'ula tried to laugh, but the sound was unconvincing. “You silly girl. I'm much too feeble to go running around bashing grown women's heads in. Even if their favorite pastime is breaking vows and misusing power."

  Behind the head elder, Okilani had an expression on her face Leilani couldn't even hope to read. “True,” Okilani said, surprising them both. “But you're capable of using a geas to make yourself temporarily stronger."

  Leilani understood. “Strong enough to smash a giant coconut with just a stick."

  "Giant coconuts? You have lost your mind. I trust a fondness for coconut juice is no crime."

  "No. Too bad none of the regular trees have ripened yet. The only fruits ripe enough for juice are in my mother's special garden."

  Deliberately, hoping her very brazenness would prevent Leva'ula from acting, Leilani put her hand deep in the right-hand pocket of the elder's leibo. They both stared at her discovery for a quiet moment: an iridescent, pale orange jewel, strung on a broken chain.

  "Leva'ula.” Okilani put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Let the girl send off her mother."

  Leilani thought of spitting, or slapping her or demanding justice from the council. But her mother was still dead. She found she didn't yet have the energy to punish anyone.

  Leilani turned away from them, her mother's murderer and her mother's friend. She walked to the pyre.

  "Thank you,” she said, “for the pineapple."

  She tossed the torch on the tinder.

  * * * *

  "Kapa,” she said, many hours later when the flames had all but vanished, leaving a pile of bone and ashes for the next tide. “Why don't we get married?"

  He nearly stumbled to his knees. “Lei!” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Are you serious?"

  She laughed at him, but just a little, and not so he would hate her for it later. “Of course."

  He closed his eyes and she kissed him.

  * * * *

  Home. She hadn't been back here since ... this morning. She could almost imagine that Pineki would be coming back later that night, her cheeks flushed with wine and love and good conversation. The pineapple was still there, taking up half of their tiny kitchen area.

  "Give me your fishing knife."

  Kapa obliged and she used it to hack through the tough, prickly skin to get to the white-gold flesh beneath. She was sweating by the time she succeeded in tearing off a slice, but Kapa prudently didn't ask her if she needed any help. She cut off two bits of flesh as big as her hand and gave one to her husband-to-be.

  "Can I eat it?” he asked. His voice wavered just a little. He loved Pineki, too.

  "Of course. That's what she made it for. Eating."

  She bit into the stringy flesh and held it on her tongue. The juice coated the inside of her mouth, so tart and sweet she had to pucker her lips. She was aware of a perverse desire to imprison this moment forever, to refuse to chew or swallow, to merely exist in this pineapple-induced gustatory orgasm. But habit overcame her. The flesh slid down her throat, passed from joy into memory, and she knew Pineki would understand.

  Something occurred to her. “Kapa,” she said, “do you know what curse Pineki put on Uku?"

  Kapa looked blank for a moment and then began to laugh. “Well...” He reached for her hand. “I heard that for about a month, every time he was attracted to a woman, his penis shrunk to the size of a kukui nut."

  Leilani began to giggle. “Leva'ula called him a kukui tree. So Piki turned the kukui tree into a kukui nut!"

  She threw back her head. She closed her eyes. She laughed until she couldn't breathe, until she had to stop, until the pineapple between her lips was both salty and sweet, with no real difference between them.

  Copyright © 2009 Alaya Dawn Johnson

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  HOME AGAIN—Paul M. Berger

  * * * *

  Paul Berger has been a Japanese bureaucrat, a Harvard graduate student, an M.I.T. program administrator, an internet entrepreneur, a butterfly wrangler and a Wall Street recruiter, which, in the aggregate, may have prepared him for nothing except the creation of speculative fiction. His work has appeared in/on Polyphony 6, Twenty Epics, All-Star Zeppelin Adventure Stories, Ideomancer and Escape Pod, and he wrote the first true-life memoir published in Weird Tales. Paul is a founding member of the Altered Fluid writing group and a 2008 graduate of the Clarion Writer's Workshop.
r />   * * * *

  Julia was the first one to realize Father's ship had jumped home. She had been reaching to help herself to a piece of fruit just as it happened—one moment she was extending her arm to snatch a nice heavy pear from the basket in the kitchen, and the next her hand closed around a bunch of plum-grapes. Without that little schism between intent and sensation, she wouldn't have noticed at all, no more than anyone else. The basket was a silver latticework made to look as if it had been woven of living rushes. Father had brought it back from the other end of his trade route, which was a world called Arkilla where they had three moons and the people were marvelously clever with their hands. He loved that basket. He also loved plum-grapes. There were no pears in it now.

  She ran to tell Mother, and sure enough, ten minutes later the phone rang, and it was Father linked in from orbit to say he had arrived. The next afternoon, her little sister Elleen called out when she saw his car start up the long, tree-lined driveway, and the three of them dropped everything to greet him.

  Father came through the door, and Mother, Elleen and Julia flew to his arms and they were all glad, because he had been away for weeks. He held them tight and touched their hair and smelled their necks.

  "I swear,” he said, “you three ladies get a bit more beautiful each time I see you.” Then he gave Elleen and Julia their gifts, little jewels filled with light, which would run like water when you told them to, and could be draped around a wrist or neck or ankle like a tiny coiling river. Elleen's was red, and Julia's was purple, which were their favorite colors.

  "Take good care of these,” he told them. “They're about to become the hottest fashion accessory in human space, and you're the first to own one."

  He said he would save his gift for Mother for later, when they were alone, and she put her hand on his chest and grinned at him with a heavy-lidded gaze. Julia hoped she would grow up to look like Mother, because everyone thought she was the prettiest woman they had ever seen.