Island's End (17 page)

Soon we enter a jungle. I hear the
kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk
of a woodpecker tattooing holes in an old trunk. The trees reaching up on either side of us make me feel safer than I have in a long while.

But as we continue on, I worry that our jungle is no longer as safe as it once was. Surely once everyone knows about Tawai’s recovery, they will be more curious than ever to explore the strangers’ world for themselves. Even if they accept me as oko-jumu, it will be hard for me to stop them because I left to come to the strangers’ island myself. And after we leave our island, people like Ragavan could cut down our jungles so we would have nowhere to return.

Yet even now, looking at the brightness in Tawai’s eyes as he gazes outside the car, the guilt I feel about bringing him to the strangers’ world fades. Whatever happens to our tribe and our faith in the old ways, at least Tawai will be with us. Perhaps my choice was wrong—but I could not have chosen otherwise.

A
ll day, as the car moves across the strangers’ island, Tawai chatters with Maya, asking about the car and the other magical things the strangers use. Even though Maya often tells him she does not know enough words in our language to explain, he keeps asking questions. But I remain quiet, wondering if by saving my brother’s life, I have started on a path that will lead my people to their end.

At dusk we reach the top of a small hill. The land boat stops moving. Tawai yawns but is still excited enough to leap out when Maya opens the door. I step out of the car.

Here, as on our island, the breeze carries the taste of salt and the whisper of the sea. My body relaxes as the scent of leaf-rich soil rises up from the jungle encircling the foot of the hill. Already I feel close to home.

“Come,” Maya says. Spread out across the hill are several huts. They are thatched with sloping roofs like ours. We follow Maya into the nearest one. A gecko lizard hanging on the door clicks its tongue, as though it is glad to see us.

Inside, I see a man bent over a shiny vessel, stirring something over a low fire. He straightens up as we enter. Immediately I recognize him as Lah-ame’s friend.

“This hut smells of cooked fish,” Tawai says.

For a moment I feel sorry for the man and I wonder if he prepares his own food and eats all alone most nights. But there is a strength about the way he stands that reminds me of Lah-ame. The man’s face is like a weatherbeaten rock into which the wind has carved deep lines. His hair hangs in gray strips down to his shoulders.

Maya gives him a quick hug and they exchange a few words in their tongue. Then he speaks to us in En-ge.

“Welcome, Uido. Welcome, Tawai,” he says softly. “I am Uncle Paleva.”

He motions to a table larger than the ones in the healing hut. Tawai sits on a chair, looking quite comfortable even though it wobbles.

“My friend Lah-ame is well?” he asks.

“Very well.” I want to say more, tell him of the affection in Lah-ame’s voice when he spoke to me about Uncle Paleva, about the vision in which I saw him on the cliff, but I sense there is no need.

My short answer seems to satisfy Uncle Paleva. “Our spirits feel strongly bound to one another’s,” he says. “We often visit one another in dreams.” He puts steaming bowls of food in front of us. “Eat well,” he says.

I take a bite out of a chunk of fish floating in the soup. Although the fish is not one we eat on our island, my tongue enjoys the taste.

After we finish our meal, Tawai rubs his belly. “That was good. Thank you,” he says, his eyelids beginning to droop. He stretches himself out on the mud floor and falls asleep almost at once.

“This is room where we eat,” Maya says. “Not sleep.”

“It does not matter,” Uncle Paleva says. “Let him sleep here tonight. They leave early tomorrow.”

Uncle Paleva turns to me. “Uido, I am glad you are here. There is a story in me waiting to be told.” Although he has been away from our island for so long, he speaks our language easily. It is wonderful to listen to his voice.

“I like stories,” I say. “It is too bad Tawai sleeps. He likes them too.”

“You can remember my story and tell it again,” Uncle Paleva says. “I give it to you.” No one except for Lah-ame has ever gifted me a story before. Yet this gift from a stranger I find easy to accept. My spirit feels as though we are from the same tribe and have known each other for many seasons.

‟A long time ago, when I was young,” Uncle Paleva begins in a singsong voice, “I lived across the seas in a place called Burma. There, I fell in love with a beautiful girl. Her eyes were large and brown, and I never thought she would look well upon me because my people, the Karens, did not have much.

“But she loved me and we were married. Then one day, the leaders of Burma started fighting with the Karens. So my wife and I sailed away, never to return.

“We landed on this island. Here we made our home. We had three children together, all sons, and they were good boys, with big brown eyes like hers.”

Uncle Paleva’s voice falls to a whisper. “But one day my wife fell very ill. We took her to the healing hut where you and your brother stayed. But our oko-jumu could not save her life.

“We all mourned the passing of her spirit into the Otherworld. But by then our sons were grown and had moved away. I tried to live alone in our hut, but I could not. I did not weep often, because my sadness was too deep for that—but I also forgot how to laugh.

“One night I walked to the beach and pushed my boat into the waves. I floated into the sea, lay down quietly in my boat and waited for it to turn over and throw me into the ocean. But somehow, it never happened.”

Maya interrupts. “Your boat was too good, Uncle.”

“Yes.” Uncle Paleva’s voice rises like a gentle tide. “Somehow my boat carried me safely onto a stretch of beach. I lay there, like a piece of driftwood, until Lah-ame found me—hurt and bleeding. He looked terrifying. I thought the bones around his neck were from a person he had eaten. And despite my wish to die, I did not want to end up as his meal.”

I laugh.

Uncle Paleva joins in my laughter. “Yes, I was foolish. Instead of eating me, he healed the wounds of my body and spirit. Your tribe took me in, and from them I learned how to laugh again. I hunted and fished with your men and ate the food your women cooked. I sang my wife’s favorite songs, hoping my voice would carry to wherever she was. On your island, I felt I was part of something larger. I understood that to the spirit, crossing over from life into death is only the beginning of a new adventure, a start and not an end.

“I wanted to stay with your people, but Lah-ame told me that I should return here and teach my people to respect yours. He feared that others of my world would tempt the ra-gumul boys and girls of your tribe away from your island by showing them our magic. And he wanted me to find and help the En-ge who had chosen not to follow him.

“I agreed to go, but coming back here was not easy. How could I convince my people that although I had traveled to your island, they should not disturb you?”

I whisper, “I shall have the same problem now with my tribe, Uncle Paleva.”

He nods and continues. “To keep my promise to Lah-ame, I had to learn many new things. I had to gain the respect of everyone on my island and become a leader that people listened to. I left the Karen village and went to a place called college, where there were wise people who taught me a great deal.

“Then I built this village we are in, where I welcome tribes whose homes have been destroyed. Here, I also invite people like me. We try to learn from and also protect tribes like yours.”

“Protect them from what?” I ask.

“We try to help tribes save their jungle homes—or find new ones if their homes are already gone. We work to protect the animals and plants of these islands too.”

“But why do people of your world want anything from us?” I say. “Maya tried to tell me that Ragavan wants our wood, but I still do not understand. You have so much here.”

“There are some men who are just greedy, Uido,” Uncle Paleva replies. “Always, always they want more and what they have is never enough. There are also a few people who believe our way of life is better than yours. They think you would be happier living in our world.”

“Did these people stop you from helping the En-ge whom Lah-ame left behind?”

“I almost gave up my work when I realized your people were all gone,” Uncle Paleva says. “But I was able to help save other tribes just like yours, Uido.”

“How?”

“When an oko-jumu dies without passing on his wisdom, or when people lose faith in their oko-jumu, a tribe is weakened. This happened with the En-ge. But when an oko-jumu was able to lead a tribe forward by finding the right balance between the ancient knowledge and the new, the peoples’ spirits remained strong. And then I could help them find ways to live in our world without losing faith in theirs.”

“That gives me hope, Uncle Paleva. If other tribes are able to survive in your world, all is not yet lost for us,” I say.

Uncle Paleva smiles. “Sometimes you think a path has ended, only to find it has led to something new. Once, I washed up on your island, and Lah-ame found me. Five days ago, you came ashore on ours, and we found you. Just as the wisdom of your tribe helped me build another future for myself, I pray that your time in our world will help rather than harm you.”

For a few moments, the three of us are quiet. Then Maya fetches me a sleeping mat and wishes me good dreams.

“May your spirit have happy visions of the future, Uido,” Uncle Paleva says, touching the place in the wall that makes the light go out. After they leave, I curl up beside my brother and think of Uncle Paleva’s words.

Maybe the path across the sea was a new beginning. After all, it was between the strangers’ island and ours that my spirit animal found me and made me feel complete. Here, a woman oko-jumu became my friend and together we cured Tawai. My thoughts drift over all I have found on this journey that gives me confidence, a confidence I will carry back to Lah-ame and Danna and the rest of my people.

As I lie in the dark, the scent of moist earth floats into the hut. It reminds me of Danna’s skin. My chest swells with longing and I wish he were close enough to touch. It is a while before I fall asleep.

T
he next morning we leave for home with Maya and Uncle Paleva, in his metal boat. As soon as the strangers’ island is lost from sight, Tawai pulls off the ugly cloth covering his body. I do the same. After being forced to hide my body for so many days, my bare skin enjoys drinking in the warm sunshine.

The sky looks bright and clear, but a mist hangs over my spirit, a sadness I do not understand. Tawai is well and we will soon be in the green shadows of our jungle. So I should be happy. Lah-ame might be upset with me for leaving, but once I tell him I have won over my spirit animal, he will surely be pleased.

I try to turn my back on the feeling and look at the dolphins leaping in front of the boat. Running my tongue across my lips, I taste the spray that flies off their smooth bodies. But still my spirit does not feel their joy.

“If our tribe had a boat as fast as this one,” Tawai says, “we would catch many more turtles, because we would not be so tired from paddling. Everything you have is stronger, like the medicines that cured me.”

“No,” Uncle Paleva says. “Some of our medicines come from the same plants in your jungles that your oko-jumu use. You also have magic to heal the spirit that we have forgotten.”

“Your healers may even know medicine plants we do not,” Maya says.

But Tawai does not seem to hear. He chatters on about how much easier our lives would be if we could use the strangers’ magic.

Uncle Paleva sighs. “Tawai will tell the others about our world,” he warns me. “And they will want to leave. My friend Lah-ame will be unhappy.”