Meanwhile, Natalang, I and the other ra-gumul girls empty the food we gathered onto a leaf mat spread on the ground. Soon it is piled high with fruit, nuts, roots, leaves, coconuts and ripe berries. Mimi, as wife of the chief hunter, leads the married women as they cut and skin the animals, laughing and talking.
When they are done, Lah-ame starts a fire. Usually, I find it fascinating to watch. But this evening I am impatient to hear Lah-ame’s story about the strangers and I hardly listen to him lead us in prayer to thank the spirits for the fire and the food.
The women roast the meat and fish and make a stew from crabs and turtles. Natalang chatters with them while the stew bubbles and fills the air with cooking smells. I am quieter than ever, waiting for the meal to be over.
Finally, the food is ready—but it seems to take forever for everyone to finish eating. After all the food is eaten, we wipe our hands with clay and sit cross-legged around the fire, picking our teeth clean with fish bones.
At last, Lah-ame rises to begin the story. His voice is a singsong chant, like the wind that rolls over the ocean.
“Tonight is the time for an old tale that you have heard before. But listen well because it carries the knowledge we need to choose our path in the future.”
It is silent except for the crackle of the fire in the clearing and the rustle of leaves in the dark jungle beyond.
“In the days of our ancestors, there were as many tribes living on the islands as there are fingers in eight hands. For our ancestors, life was easy, with food and space enough for all.
“We, the En-ge people, shared one great island with many other tribes. Sometimes we fought, but mostly we treated one another with respect. Once in a while we traded things, or danced together. More rarely still, the men of one tribe would marry the women of another and move away. Hardly ever did the En-ge use their weapons on people. We made arrows and spears to fish and hunt—not weapons to kill other men.
“Then one day pale strangers came, their skin white as lau. They trapped us inside nets as though we were fish and dragged us into boats larger than our huts. Our men tried to fight but the pale strangers killed many of them with sticks that shot bursts of fire. The captured En-ge were never seen again.
“Many hunters left our island to seek out the strangers and fight them. But few of these brave ones returned. Those who did brought tales of the strength and cruelty of the pale people, who they said were far greater in number than any of us could imagine.
“Still, there were two things for which our ancestors were grateful. The pale strangers never came during the rainy season, when Pulug-ame sent howling winds and jagged waves. And the strangers did not want to live on our islands.
“Not until the days of my grandfather’s grandfather did a group of pale strangers come to stay. But when they did, they cut down trees and built stone huts in their place. They did not always eat the birds and animals they killed. And they brought with them a stinking water that burned the throat and drowned the spirit. Men who drank of this water often turned against one another.
“Worst of all, the pale strangers brought disease. They carried lau that did not cause their own people any harm, but killed us. These lau spirits leaped out of their bodies and into ours so fast that every oko-jumu was helpless against them. For the ways of the oko-jumu are slow and lau are quick to spread death.
“Many tribes died out. One by one.
“By the time of my birth the pale strangers had left the islands. But now the islands were overrun with strangers who had brown skin. These brown-skinned ones did not capture us in nets or bring us evil water. But they, too, showed no respect for Biliku-waye and Pulug-ame. And they, too, brought disease.
“The clear waters of our streams became muddy as these strangers cut down the trees, and our jungle began to shrink like a withering fruit.
“As a ra-gumul boy, I was both scared and fascinated by the strangers’ powerful magic. So I traveled to their village in secret. There, I saw how different their lives are from ours.
“To us, the tribe is one large family. But in their greed to hoard magical things, the strangers rarely share all they have with one another. So their spirits are empty. They try to fill their loneliness with noise and have forgotten the beauty of silence.
“By shutting out the spirits of earth and water and air and light and living far apart from the spirits of trees and animals, the strangers crush their own spirits. And thus they lack something the En-ge have. The strangers rip out of themselves the joy that we carry deep inside, even those among us who are not oko-jumu. When our feet stamp the earth and our voices rise in joy, when our laughter shakes our bodies from toe to belly to shoulder, its echoes fill the Otherworld.
“I decided that it was best for the En-ge to keep their own spirits happy and safe by moving away from the brown strangers. I wanted to find another island to live on—one that we did not have to share with them.
“So I called on the sea eagle, who is my spirit animal, for help. Kolo-ame took me far on his broad back. On his wings I flew and through his eyes I saw this green pearl of an island waiting for us.
“I spoke of this island to the oko-jumu who was training me. He allowed me to address the tribe. But he and most of the others chose to stay where they had been born.
“Our tribe was torn apart like a leaf in a storm. My oko-jumu remained on the island with the many hundreds who refused to leave. And I led the few who believed in me to this island where we now live.
“Around our island the spirits drew a circle of sharp coral to guard our shores like a wall of spears. Once we arrived, they raised stormy waves to protect us. Here we have celebrated many happy seasons of dry and rainy weather. Only a few of us remain who remember that day long ago when we split away from the others in our tribe and journeyed to this island. Yet with the strangers’ arrival, the question will soon arise again about where and how we shall live.
“Today, strangers set foot on our island. Their ways are not our ways. Their world has no place for us. And you must decide if you wish to make a place for them in ours.
“This is a story I have told before, but now I give it as a gift to each of you. Remember it well. May it serve to guide your actions long into the future.”
In the firelight, all our shadows seem to bind together for a moment into a thick rope. Before anyone speaks to him, Lah-ame disappears into the jungle like dark smoke in the night sky.
7
Lah-ame’s story leaves me wondering what choices I will face if I become an oko-jumu. And whether I will ever have the courage to challenge the rest of the tribe as he did.
Later that night, I feel a strange pull, as though someone were tugging at a rope tied around my belly.
I follow the spirit-pull away from the village, through the jungle trees and to the beach. Standing alone on the sand, I gaze at the spot where the strangers arrived.
The ocean looks inviting. I wade into the shallows. The water slurps around my thighs, tugging me deeper in. But at the same time a breeze stirs and pushes me gently back toward the shore. It is as though the sea is asking me to explore all that lies beyond our island, while the jungle wants me to remain safe within it.
I go a little farther into the water, until it encircles my waist. But the current feels stronger than usual, so I climb out of the surf and walk up the beach with sand sticking to my wet feet.
I hear something slither behind my heels and look back. Sea snakes are crawling out of the water, the black and white bands on their long bodies shining in the moonlight. They rarely bite, yet I know they are more poisonous by far than any land snake. One drop of their venom is enough to kill a strong man. And they are most dangerous when they come ashore to lay eggs.
In a few moments they are wriggling all around me. Trapped halfway between the ocean’s edge and the jungle, I stand, waiting for the snakes to pass. Sweat bursts like dew on my palms.
I watch the snakes’ backs, curving in endless lines of black and w
hite. They are as beautiful as they are terrifying, like Biliku-waye in the Otherworld. Wave after wave of them goes by, making me dizzy. My body sways like a coconut tree in a storm.
Keep your balance.
I gaze at the sand, which is alive with movement. Balance. I put one foot forward. Then the next.
Already you are a little closer to safety.
I take another step and another. My toes find empty patches of ground between the snakes’ wriggling bodies. Dancing on tiptoe, I reach the jungle. The shadows of trees reach out and embrace me. There are leaves underfoot again.
Moments later, I am inside the dark circle of our village. Then at last the round walls of our home protect me. I lie on my mat, gazing at the dots of starlight that pierce through our thatched roof.
Finally, I drift into sleep.
8
I awake at dawn, unsure whether snakes really crept up the sand last night or if it was another vision. I hurry to the beach to look for the telltale signs of snake paths. But I see only the gentle marks left by the receding waves.
Later, as Natalang and I head toward the jungle to gather food, confused thoughts buzz in my head louder than the cicadas in the trees. She chatters away as usual, but I hardly listen.
My toe bumps against a gnarled root jutting out of the ground and I almost fall. Natalang catches hold of my arm to steady me.
“You are stumbling over every clump of leaves today,” she says. “Is something wrong?”
“It is the story Lah-ame told us last night. It was not new but I felt like I never truly listened before.”
“Not Lah-ame again!” Natalang pretends to yawn. Then she mimics Lah-ame’s singsong chant. “Today is the time for a new tale, a story we have all been waiting for. One day a boy named Danna, whose teeth were as white as coral in the moonlight . . .”
I pluck a handful of berries off a nearby bush and crush them on top of her head. She giggles, wiping off the juice that drips down her nose.
“Those berries are overripe.” Natalang waves her forefinger at me. “Now be quiet, Uido, and listen. You need to learn more about boys.”
I shake my head and try to mimic her voice. “Not boys again!”
She ignores me and fills me in on the gossip about the new ra-gumul boys who have entered the bachelor hut and which girls she thinks they like.
She goes on and on, and I stop listening.
We return to the village at dusk, my spirit as heavy as my full basket. I see Danna approaching from the opposite direction, waving a net bag full of fish. “Uido! Natalang!” he calls out.
Natalang runs over and blows her breath across his face in greeting. “What a large catch! Who helped you get so many?”
“All thanks to Biliku-waye and Pulug-ame,” Danna says, but his cheeks redden with pleasure at Natalang’s compliment. “What have you two brought back for us?” He slips Natalang’s bag off her plump shoulder. “Now, that is heavy.”
“Not as heavy as Uido’s bag. Do you want to see what she has?” Natalang gives Danna a knowing smile.
My face grows warm with embarrassment. But Danna replies without any shyness in his voice, “I do want to speak to her alone.”
“You have secrets to tell Uido?” Natalang pushes her lips into an overdone pout. For a moment I am afraid she is truly annoyed to be left out. But she bursts out laughing.
“Go on, both of you.” She makes kissing noises as Danna and I walk away into the evening shadows that darken the jungle.
We slip behind the stout black trunk of a moro-ta tree. I rest my back against its rough bark.
“Did you talk with Lah-ame?” Danna asks.
“He asked if I wanted to learn how to be an oko-jumu!”
Danna’s broad grin widens. “Uido, our spiritual guide. I always knew you were special.”
“You would not stop being my friend if I said yes?”
“Why would you think that?” His smile disappears and he sounds hurt.
“When I tried to talk about the Otherworld with Natalang, she would not listen. And she thinks it is strange that I care about Lah-ame’s stories.”
“I am not Natalang.”
“But Danna, it worries me that Lah-ame has no family. Or close friends, even. All the other men go hunting in groups—but he leaves early every morning to pray on the cliffs. In the evenings, though he is with us, he starts the fire by himself and hardly speaks to the other elders while he eats.”
Danna grasps my hand. “Nothing will stop me from being your best friend. And yes, Lah-ame is often alone, but that does not mean every oko-jumu’s life is similar to his. He has told us stories about other spiritual guides— men, and even women, who married and had children. Surely you can be more like them.”
I nod, pleased that Danna remembers the stories of women who became oko-jumu.
He looks deep into my eyes. “There is just one important question, Uido. Do you want to become Lah-ame’s apprentice?”
“I do, Danna, more than anything else. In the Otherworld my spirit feels as though it touches something endless. Like I am one tiny bead on a giant necklace, but also the necklace itself.” I pause. “But Lah-ame spoke about how painful and hard the training and the tests will be. I am scared. What if I fail?”
“Would you feel better if you never tried?”
A sudden rustle in the bushes near us startles me. Danna pulls an arrow out of his quiver and whirls around, looking for the source of the noise.
“Ashu!” My shock turns to irritation when I realize my brother was hiding in the darkness.
“Why are you stalking us like a cat?” Danna’s voice is thick with annoyance. “I almost shot at you!”
Ashu’s lips curl derisively. “You are too slow to shoot me.”
Danna grits his teeth, as though he is trying to bite back angry words.
Ashu turns on me. “If you have special powers, why did you not see me hiding all this while?”
“Not even Lah-ame knows everything, Ashu,” Danna says.
“He certainly knows nothing about my sister. I cannot believe Lah-ame thinks she could become oko-jumu. None of the spirits talk to her.”
“They do,” I say, struggling to remain as calm as Danna.
“Prove it to me, then,” Ashu challenges. “Make a prediction. Surely you can look into the future and tell us when the strangers will come next?”
“No, Uido.” Danna grabs my arm as if to try and hold me back. “You do not need to prove anything to Ashu.”
I jerk my arm free although I know Danna is right. I am tired of controlling my anger while Ashu insults me. If there is any way to see into the future using the Otherworld, I feel determined to find it.
With my eyes closed, I try to imagine my spirit as a circle of light—just as when Lah-ame guided me to see far across the ocean through the Otherworld. But the spirits seem unwilling to let me in this time. However hard I concentrate, the circle of light keeps disappearing. And when I search for an image in my mind, all I see is a dark wall.
Feeling too angry at Ashu to give up, I imagine myself pounding at the wall with my fists, repeatedly shouting Ashu’s question about the strangers. I refuse to stop until I force an answer out of the Otherworld. At last, a whisper comes through the darkness in my mind, a single word.
Tomorrow.
“Tomorrow.” The moment I say the word aloud, I regret it.
“We shall find out,” Ashu says.
I see a flicker of resentment in his eyes before he turns to leave. He strides away to the village ahead of us. We follow, taking care to keep our distance from Ashu.
“Please,” I whisper to Danna. “Do not tell anyone what I said about the strangers coming tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“The spirits did not want to let me into the Otherworld—I forced myself in for the wrong reasons. Maybe they felt upset and lied to me.”
“Will you at least let Lah-ame know what happened?”
“What if he gets angry that I
tried to prove myself to Ashu? Let us just wait and see what happens. Ashu will surely tell no one because he would not want anyone else to know Lah-ame offered to teach me.”
Danna reluctantly agrees to keep our secret.
All evening I cannot help wondering if my behavior angered the spirits. That night, I squirm restlessly on my mat, wishing I had listened to Danna and ignored my older brother’s taunts.
9
The next day, I wake much later than usual, with no memory of any dream. My mind is like a beach without footprints and I worry that the spirits kept me out of the Otherworld because they are angry about yesterday.
Mimi bends over me and runs her hand over my forehead. “Are you unwell, Uido?”
“No.” I sit up at once.
“It is not like you to sleep so late.”
“Please do not worry, Mimi. I am not hurting at all. I will go shellfish collecting. Now.”
At the sound of my voice, Tawai bounds into the hut. “Can I come with you, Uido? I want to fish.”
Ashu’s form darkens the entrance. He sticks his head in only for a moment to say, “I will go to the beach as well.”
I hurry out into the sunshine and run across the clearing to invite Natalang along too. It is late enough that she is awake. She brings a new basket she has woven out of bamboo—strong enough to hold any clams or mussels we gather at the shore.
As we walk down to the beach, Ashu surprises me by being unusually polite to Natalang.
“This is a beautiful basket,” he says to her, running his long fingers across it. “Very well made.”
For a moment I think he is being sarcastic, but Natalang blushes at his compliment. She walks between me and Ashu and although she links arms with me, she speaks only to him. Tawai skips along beside us.
The short path to the beach feels as long as a day’s walk. All the while, I wonder whether my prediction of the strangers’ arrival will come true and how Ashu will treat me if it does not.
Island's End Page 3
