Telesa - The Covenant Keeper

by Lani Wendt Young

  “Flame trees. They flower in December, and then it’s just one long continuous line of crimson and orange. Stunning.”

  We drove slowly up the drive. Stretching away to my right was a vast expanse of garden, careful rows of greenery that marched endlessly away to the hills. It looked like fruit trees, herb bushes, and further away, vegetables, perhaps?

  To the left was a rich riot of flowering forest, a cacophony of color. I recognized some favorites but many more had me puzzled. Frangipani trees of every color, hibiscus bushes, thickets of torch ginger, a multitude of bougainvillea. It danced on forever, in the distance I thought I caught the sparkle of water, a river? It was glorious. And for someone who loved plants as much as I did – almost paradisiacal. I couldn’t hide my delight.

  “It’s beautiful. This is amazing. Who looks after all of this? There must be acres and acres of it!”

  The woman smiled with satisfaction as she too looked out over the surroundings. “One hundred and twenty acres in fact. It goes all the way to the crest of the mountain. I have ifilele and poumuli forest in that direction, mixed with taro and bananas. But here are my flowers, and where I get all the food for the house, and the plants for my medicines. It’s all organic and completely self-sustaining. There’s no chemicals anywhere on my estate. The orchid collection is at the back of the house. Wait until you see that.”

  I turned bemused eyes on this woman who was supposed to be my mother. Less than an hour in her company and already I had the answer to one question – the origins of my plant obsession. I shook my head slowly. Someone who loved plants this much surely couldn’t be that bad, could she?

  I dragged my attention from the greenery and looked ahead to the house that was pulling into view. It was a colonial mansion straight from a southern belle movie. The car eased to a stop and I got out, mouth agape. Stately columns graced the wide verandah that encircled the white wooden two-storey structure. The ground floor seemed to have no walls as paneled accordion doors graced the full length of three sides. On this afternoon, they were all open, welcoming in the mountain air. You could clearly see the interior, the curved staircase. The chandelier that sparkled in the sunshine. The ornate bamboo furniture with its cinnamon cushions and wine red throw pillows. Traditional elei patterned drapes embraced each doorway. My eyes did all the talking as I walked up the stairs behind Nafanua and into the house. There was music playing somewhere unseen, a pitcher of lemon water called from a stained ifilele wood table, nuggets of ice dotted with slices of green. A platter of cut fruit. It all looked so inviting. Welcoming. Like the woman had been expecting company, like she had anticipated my acceptance of her invitation. Her confidence, assurance, made me grimace slightly. She gestured to the kitchen counter sink, “Would you like to wash up before some refreshments, Leila? You do prefer the name Leila, don’t you?”

  I nodded silently as I scrubbed my hands free of school-day grime before joining her at the table. She passed me a plate and I helped myself to slices of papaya and mango. She continued. “So how long have you been here in Samoa?”

  “Two months.” The lemonade made me brave. “I came to find out about my dead mother. But nobody seemed to want to talk about you. Why do you suppose that is?” My gaze was confrontational, my tone like steel.

  She was not fazed in the slightest. She took a slow bite of mango before answering. “I suppose because, as you can see, I am not dead. I am very much alive.” She threw a jab of her own. “And tell me, Leila, what of your father? How is it that you are here and he is not?”

  I strove to be as calm and collected as she. Even now. As thoughts of my father pierced me like coral slashing through my heart. Red and ragged. “My father is dead. For real. He died eight months ago. Brain tumor.”

  I wanted to see her flinch. To see her hurt. To see her shocked at least. I was disappointed. She smoothed an errant wisp of hair from her cheek and her eyes were thoughtful but distant. “I am sorry for your loss Leila. I cannot imagine how you must have felt. How you must have struggled. Do you have family watching over you? A stepmother perhaps?”

  “No. My dad never remarried. It was just the two of us.”

  Again, she betrayed no emotion. She was polite and cool. One would think we were discussing a complete stranger to her – not a man she had loved and had children with. Coldness gripped me on this sun filled day. My father may have lied to me about my mother being dead, but I knew he had been honestly and completely in love with her. Of that I was sure. And to find that she did not seem to return the emotion seemed even more chilling then finding her alive when she should have been dead.

  “So Leila, without a father and, it seems, a mother, who was taking care of you?”

  I bristled. “I’m eighteen years old, Nafanua. I haven’t needed anyone to take care of me for a while.”

  She laughed. Quietly. “I apologize Leila, let me rephrase that, I mean, did your father have no family to be your guardians?”

  I nodded. “Yes, his mother, my Grandmother Folger. Before I came here, I was staying with her.”

  “Oh and how did she feel about your trip to Samoa? She just allowed you to fly halfway round the world by yourself?” There was sincere puzzlement in the woman’s eyes.

  “Well, she didn’t like the idea. But she trusted my judgment,” The lie came easily.

  “I see. And your aunt and uncle, how has your stay with them been?”

  “Fine. They’re a lovely couple. I’ve been going to school, Samoa College, since I got here.”

  “Ahhh yes, my old school, once upon a time! So, what do you think of our country?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen very much of it really. Just school, church, home. A few trips to town. Aunty Matile really didn’t want me going anywhere. Now we know why.”

  I was impatient with the conversation. I had come for answers and so far she had been asking all the questions. I struggled to regain control of the afternoon. “Nafanua, why did my father lie to me? Why did he tell me you were dead?”

  There was stillness. Outside, a slight breeze slipped through the trees and, faraway, birds called. I studied the woman in white seated across from me at the table, waiting for her response. She took care with her words. “I have not spoken to your father since before the hurricane. He left and took you with him without warning. Without my knowledge. Without my consent. He left. And I never saw you again. Do you know what that was like Leila? For me? For a mother? I knew that he loved you, I knew that he would be a good father to you, but do not expect me to speak well of the man who took my only daughter from me and then kept her from me for eighteen years!” Her voice had raised a chilling octave and I felt a coldness in the room.

  Abruptly, the afternoon sun darkened as if storm clouds had moved overhead, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Nafanua continued before I could find words to fill the silence. “Leila, I do not wish to desecrate your memories of your father. I can see that you loved him very much and I am thankful that you had a good life with him. The problems that he and I had – they were between a man and a woman. A husband and a wife. He did me a great wrong by stealing you and taking you away from me. For that, I can never forgive him. But that shouldn’t color what you shared with him. I look at you, a beautiful young woman, and I am just so grateful that you chose to return. I am hoping that I can now have that chance to know my daughter, I am hoping that it’s not too late.” Tears glistened on her cheeks as she turned away from me to gaze outdoors.

  I was speechless. I had come prepared for battle. For interrogation. I had stockpiled anger, resentment, and bitterness. I had strategized attack plans for confronting haughtiness, coldness, possessive pride, but this? This, I was not ready for. I had nothing in my armory for sadness. Pain. Loss. Grief. Hurt. Hope.

  Nafanua stood and walked to a side table, returning with an album. “Here. Pictures of you. Of us. Before. They are all I have of you. Your father never wrote to me, never called. Eighteen years and these are all I have of you.” />
  Without words, I took the album and carefully turned the pages. There I was. Sitting on her lap. Lying on a mat under the shade of a frangipani tree. Peeking from the arms of a richly beautiful Nafanua, grabbing at the red flower in her hair. A little brown baby with a shock of thick hair. Even then I had the bushy eyebrows and the sour expression. I turned puzzled eyes to the woman beside me.

  “But where is my brother? How come he’s not in the photos?”

  For the first time, Nafanua looked unsettled. “How do you know about him? Did your father tell you?”

  “No. Aunty Matile said I was a twin. I have, I had a brother. Who died when we were only a few months old. Before my dad took me away with him.”

  Nafanua relaxed slightly. “Yes. There were two of you.” Another sad smile. “Twins. What a shock that was for me, let me tell you! They say a mother is supposed to know what she carries growing inside her, but I was completely caught by surprise that night. You were born on the beach. There was a light rain, a cool sea breeze. I remember it was high tide because the water was catching on my legs when you finally came.” Her eyes took on a faraway gaze. “I didn’t know then why I wanted to give birth on the beach. I had prepared a birth house in the forest, with all my favorite plants around me. I wanted gardenia to be the first fragrance that you tasted, and golden mosooi flowers to rub on your skin with the coconut oil. Everything was ready, but that night when the pains started, something called me to the ocean. Of course, your father, he wanted us to go to the hospital, ah…” she shook her head impatiently at the memory. “But what does a man know of birth? I went to the beach while he fetched the taulasea. There were dolphins there, you know. Silver ones. Waiting for me. For him.”

  Her voice had trailed away so softly that I couldn’t be sure of her last words. Her? Him? I hardly dared breathe, unwilling to break this spell of reminiscing, wanting to hear the story of my birth. And my brother’s birth. “I should have known what they wanted. I should have suspected then that the boy was coming. But I wasn’t listening, I wasn’t thinking. I had felt your strength, your warmth, I knew you before you came. And that was all I was focused on. So when that boy was born, he was a shock. To all of us.” Nafanua was quiet for so long that I was forced to prompt her.

  “What happened to him Nafanua? What happened to my brother?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be. He was not meant to live. He was not strong enough. That happens sometimes with twins. At four months, I knew he would not live. But your father, he did not take it well. That’s when things went bad between us. Again, I should have seen it coming. I should have known that he might take you away. But again I was not focusing. I had other concerns on my mind. And so, one day, I went out to a meeting with my sisters and he insisted on keeping you home with him. And when I returned, you were gone. He had it all arranged – the airline tickets, the temporary passport, everything.” There was unwilling admiration in her voice. “He concealed his plans from me very well. I underestimated him. And so, he took you away.”

  “Did you ever try to see me? To contact me? To get me back?” There was pleading in my question. Hidden under nonchalance.

  “Of course. But the might of American bureaucracy is stronger than a single Samoan woman who has lost hold of her baby. Your father was not without his connections. I could never get a visa to the United States. No matter how hard I tried.”

  I thought of Grandmother Folger. I thought of her might, her steel resolve, her money, her willpower – and I could well believe Nafanua. A blanket of heavy sadness came to rest over me. My dad had lied to me. My dad had stolen me away from my mother. I knew I should have felt anger. But there was none. I had questions that would probably never be answered now that he was gone, but it was impossible to summon hatred or venom when all I felt whenever I thought of him was love. Longing. Grief. I hung my head, focusing on the picture in front of me. I recognized this one – it was the photo my grandmother had sent me, but someone had cut it in half, leaving only the proudly beautiful woman and the baby. I shrugged to myself, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Nafanua hadn’t wanted to keep a reminder of the man that had kidnapped her child.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say. This is all so much to process at once. I can’t understand why my dad did what he did. And part of me wishes he hadn’t. All my life I wanted a mother. A family. That was more like me. I never quite fit in with the Folgers, but then” a half smile “my dad never quite fit in with them either, so I guess that made two of us. When he died, I felt so alone. I came here looking for answers, I guess to be honest, I came here looking for a family. Aunty Matile and Tuala, they’ve been good to me, even though they didn’t want me here. Now I find out I have a mother. And you’re a mother that my aunt and uncle happen to hate. Aunty Matile seems to even be afraid of you.” I turned curious eyes on Nafanua, “Why does Matile hate you so much?”

  Nafanua shrugged non-committally. “Family issues. Such ancient history I can’t even remember how it all began. Leila, I know this is a shock to you and I understand if you need time to process it.” She stood again and walked out onto the verandah, pausing to pat a luxuriant bird’s nest fern. With her back to me, she spoke. “I would like to have a chance to get to know you. You are a grown woman and I’m sure you don’t need a mother forced upon you but I would like to invite you to come and stay here with me for awhile. For as long as you like. So we may know each other – not necessarily as mother and daughter, but as friends. As family.” She turned, a cautious smile on her face.

  Whatever I had expected, it wasn’t this. But as I sat there, I faced the hidden reality that I had secretly hoped this would happen. But then, maybe, every child with a long-dead mother dreams of a day that the impossible will happen and her mother will come back to life and want her? I know that my every waking dream was that my dad would somehow be alive somewhere. That the past eight months had all been some cruel nightmare and I was going to wake up.

  I looked at this strange woman who smiled at me with my eyes and half shrugged. “Sure. I guess. I can come stay for awhile. I don’t think Aunty Matile will like it, but I’ll explain to her that you – that we just need a chance, to catch up.”

  Her smile lit the room and the air seemed to crackle with electricity. “Yes! That’s great Leila, I’m sure you won’t regret it. Now, shall I take you back to get your things. No, do you drive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. It’s probably better if I don’t go with you to your aunt’s house, let’s avoid confrontation there. You can take the jeep and get your things. Do you think you can remember the way back? Or text me and I can meet you at the intersection by the Mormon temple, I’ll tell Netta to get your room ready.” Nafanua was walking up and down the living room waving her arms excitedly, counting off a list on her fingers, “Oh, and we must have a dinner tonight to welcome you and, oh, there are a million and one things to do!”

  She stopped mid stride and laughed. Long, low, and musical. “Oh Leila, I am happy that you came home.”

  I hoped desperately that she wasn’t going to hug me. I hated physical contact with strangers and it was far too soon to even consider faking affection for this woman. Thankfully, she did nothing of the kind, merely walking out a back door, throwing a summons over her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you to the garage. I don’t want you driving back in the dark so you better get going.”

  I followed her to the door of a huge four car garage. The estate made you think there would be a carriage or horse and cart in the garage – not the three gleaming vehicles that stood there. My mouth was agape. Clearly, this woman liked her trucks.

  There was a land cruiser, a Hummer. And a Wrangler Jeep. All midnight black and silver. “Can you drive a stick-shift car?”

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Good.” She threw me a set of keys. “Take the Wrangler. It’s yours.”

  I was too numb to catch the glinting bunch of silver. The keys landed at m
y feet. “I can’t. I can’t accept a car from you. I’ll drive it to pick up my stuff but it’s not mine.”

  Nafanua raised a questioning eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “I don’t even know you. It’s just ridiculous.”

  She put one hand on her hip and pouted. I could see it working magic on a man. “Leila, now you’re being ridiculous. You’re my daughter.” She threw her arm expansively to the estate behind us. “You see all that? It’s yours. All of it. Well, it will be yours one day. All your life I have given you nothing. Your father made sure of that. Now you are eighteen, surely I can give you this one thing? You would deny me this one thing? Who’s being ridiculous?’

  Without even waiting for a reply, she turned to walk back in the house but then came back with a business card. “My cell. Text me when you get to the intersection and I’ll come get you. Don’t want you to get lost on your way back. Not when I just found you.”

  A half smile and she went back into the house. The conversation was over. I felt like I’d been bamboozled without even realizing it. I don’t know what I had been expecting when I drove up here with this woman, but here I was an hour later – her long-lost daughter, driving her Wrangler, and coming back to stay in her house with her. So we could get to know each other better. With my brain still in numb shock, I slowly drove the unfamiliar car down the sloping driveway. I hadn’t driven a car since I arrived and it felt incredibly freeing. I drove with the windows down, the wind in my hair, on my face. I could have driven like that all around the island but too soon I had to pull up in front of the square house with the frangipani tree in the front yard. It was time to tell Aunty Matile and Tuala of my decision.