Illumine Her

by Sieni A. M.

  She stepped out of the room and paused. “Do you think we’ll have to cancel the trip tomorrow?”

  Her mother smiled. “Never say never. The radio said it should be clear. Poor Sera has been cooped up in this house for days. Let’s just hope that it’ll be a good day for her sake.”

  Alana left to retrieve her mug. Sinking down on the living room sofa, she wrapped the throw around her shoulders. Somehow it felt wrong to feel cold on a tropical island, but since her family home was in the mountains, it tended to get chilly. Taking tentative sips, she looked out the window panes which were sprinkled with rain drops. A dense fog covered the earth, blanketing her mother’s garden and father’s grave stone. With steam flowing over her face, she relaxed and closed her eyes. She was tired. It had been a busy couple weeks of family obligations and work. Alana thought about the hospital and instantly looked forward to the two days she had off starting tomorrow. She, Sera, and Manu were heading to Namua Island for an overnight retreat and some much needed rest and relaxation.

  Work. Work. Work. One patient was a particularly difficult one, always crabby and never smiling at the nurses or her family when they visited. She could empathize with the suffering that went with an illness like diabetes. Both physically and mentally, it had to be the most trying of events to go through in one’s life. It was exhausting as a nurse to keep a straight face and see that the patient was as comfortable as possible, even if their demeanor was ungrateful. Alana wished there could be some way to break through that barrier. She knew she was no Florence Nightingale or Patch Adams, but she wished she could just do more. Be more. She feared years down the road distant professionalism and a sort of cold detachment would take over her work. She had seen how the other nurses handled their patients with their no-nonsense attitude, and lately, her allusions of being a variation of Mother Teresa were dwindling. She was probably deluding herself to think she could save the world.

  Relenting, she allowed her mind to wander to someone she hadn’t seen or spoken to for days. As a healer, he had to have witnessed unspeakable injuries throughout his centuries old life. How did he do it? How did he remain committed after all this time and not fall into a stoic stupor and become…uncaring? She was aware that he hurt when he was incapable of carrying out his work. After all this time, he still had compassion. It was that very reason that drove him to return after almost a hundred years following the influenza. Her throat tightened as she recalled his gentle touch as he healed her ankle and aligned her spine. He was more than a machine built to heal and offer physical comfort. He was capable of much more. He was selfless, kind-hearted, and thoughtful. She thought about the river, and the realization that came with it caused an aching longing in her chest. It was a good thing he was keeping his distance; it helped her to straighten out her emotions. There was no doubt in her mind that he could see exactly what was happening to her at that particular moment. What if he read her emotions and was now avoiding her as a result? What if he didn’t feel the same way? Alana stopped that thought process immediately. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to contemplate the idea that she was a mere human compared to his supernatural abilities. She didn’t want to admit that she was unworthy of someone like him. She decided that when she saw him next, she would protect herself by not saying anything at all. Ever. And then there was the fact that if the Council found out, Chase would probably be punished, and she didn’t want that to happen. No. It was better for the both of them if they parted ways now before anyone got seriously hurt…even if she was already well on her way there.

  Movement in the hallway caught her attention and broke through her quiet reflection. David strode idly into the kitchen and lifted the kettle to pour himself a mug of tea. He rattled around the pantry and brought out the tin of masi, locally made crackers. Retrieving the butter from the fridge, he lathered it generously on the crackers. David turned and leaned against the counter, one hand engulfing the cup, the plate of masi balancing on the other. His brows lowered down to eyes that looked like they had been roused from sleep. Alana shifted away to avoid his gaze. She knew her mother asked her to break the wall of ice that was between them, and she was ashamed that she hadn’t talked to him. She felt uncomfortable that it had gone on for too long.

  She heard his loud footsteps as they approached the living room before she heard the leather couch to her left creak and dip from his weight. She continued to gaze out of the glass louvers and noticed a little gecko clinging onto the damp screen. Beyond that, the porch was flooded with water, the cushions on the bamboo chairs dripping with rain and pooling on the wooden floor boards. The mutts were under the table huddling to keep warm, and for a split second, her heart went out to them.

  David cleared his throat. “Hey, Lana, do you want to play suipi?” Much of their time as kids was occupied by the Samoan card game when it was storming outside. Alana felt her heart pinch, and she couldn’t help but smile a little on the inside. She knew in his own way he was reaching out to her, letting her know he was sorry and asking for her forgiveness. Never one to come out and speak honestly about his feelings—she knew his level of comfort wouldn’t go there—he was asking her to move past her anger with him and return to what they were used to. The bantering. The jokes. The laughs. He was offering her an olive branch, and it was in her hands to accept it and move on. Sick and tired of being wound up with tension around him, she realized she wanted that as well.

  She turned her face slowly to him. “Yeah, okay sure.”

  For a brief moment she caught a flash of relief in his eyes before he deflected and reached for the deck of cards that was on top of a stack of magazines under the glass top of the coffee table. “Shuffle or deal?”

  Alana turned her body to face him, adjusting the throw so it covered her legs, and placed her mug down on the table. “I’ll deal.”

  Chapter 21

  An hour later, with laughter and bickering stirring Sera awake and joining in the game, Alana settled in David’s truck and drove to the hospital for her night shift. The rain had stopped and the road was slick with water. Taking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It felt good not to be at odds with her brother anymore. Flicking on the radio, she turned the volume up when the reggae strains of J Boog lulled through the speakers. Shifting gears, she pulled into the front entrance of a small shop, its walls plastered with faded advertisements for laundry detergent and bubble gum. With the purpose of buying something sweet to help her get through the dull moments at work, she jumped out of the truck and entered the store. For its small interior, the dusty shelves were packed with canned food and packages of dried goods. The aisles were small and dirty, and there was little light to illuminate the room.

  Perusing the junk food aisle, she grabbed a packet of fried banana chips and quietly hummed her way to the bakery section. Alana turned the corner and her heart careened to a stop. A woman in a loose-fitting muumuu had her back to her and was holding a child on her hip. She knew her. There was something familiar about her movements and the way she wore her hair in a tight bun that made her stomach uneasy. Alana walked forward just as the woman turned around and froze. Her attacker’s wife! The woman’s eyes lowered and her mouth turned into a sneer. Alana looked around anxiously for her husband but there was no one else in the little shop.

  “He’s not here.” Her angry voice sliced through the silence.

  Alana looked between the woman and her young toddler and persuaded herself to relax. She didn’t want to start a fight here. Not in front of her child. Holding her head high, she coaxed herself to move forward and ignore her. Trays lined with lamingtons, keke pua’a, and sugary twist rolls greeted her, but her stomach was far from craving them. Taking even breaths, she picked out two German buns and turned to make her way to the cashier.

  “I left him,” the wife said from behind, her voice loud but shaky.

  The words shocked her. Alana stopped and faced the woman
with a look of regret on her face. Why should I feel guilty about this? I’m not responsible for their marriage, she thought. But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help the feeling that she played some role in their demise, even if it wasn’t her fault. Perhaps it had something to do with the wide, innocent eyes of the child who was clutching a packet of Bongos to his chest, snot oozing from his nose.

  “Oh, you feel sorry for me?” she continued in her snarly tone. “Don’t. You were nothing special to him because you were not the first. You were only the first to fight him. All the other women fell for his charms.” She cackled a fake laugh.

  This admission only made Alana pity her more. No woman deserved this, no matter how snarly she was.

  Alana stepped closer. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way you’ve been betrayed by someone who should have been your rock, your support, your love. You didn’t deserve this, your children didn’t deserve this, and neither did I.” She rolled her shoulders back. “But you know what you can do about it now?”

  The wife looked at her with animosity, wondering how someone her age could tell her what to do. But the look didn’t deter Alana or make her back down or shrivel in intimidation.

  “You have the power now to raise your son to become the kind of boy that will respect his mother, his aunties, grandmother, and teachers. When he’s an adolescent, he will be the teenager who’ll look out for the girls in his class, the girls in his village, his sisters, and his cousins. And after that, when he’s an adult? He will become the kind of man that will honor his girlfriend, his fiancé, and be a loving husband to his wife. When he looks back at his life, he will see you, the beginning of it all—his selfless mother. Through your struggle, tough love, and fiery discipline and guidance, he will be grateful for it all. Grateful to you and only you. His wife will be grateful to you, his children, your grandchildren. And it would have all started from here. Now. Through your power and choosing.”

  Alana paused and looked at the little boy on her hip who was staring at her intently. She shifted her gaze to his mother and observed the change of emotions on her face. The lines of tension were gone, replaced by a look of contemplation, cold eyes filled with pain and affliction. They were the eyes of a woman whose path ahead of her would be the one less traveled, the one forced upon her without her choosing. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Alana noticed a flicker of defiance in the subtle tip of her chin, her lips thinning again, eyes determined. Yes, she was going to be a fierce mother. One who would throw all of her passion into raising her son to be the man she painted in front of her eyes. But something flashed in her eyes and it was gone, replaced by the same prideful look she saw earlier. Alana knew that look—the one where walls were built to avoid feeling the pain. After all, she had mastered it so well. Without a word, she sniffed, turned away, and strode to the cashier, child and Bongos in her arms. Alana stared at them. She didn’t know if this woman would take her words to heart, but if she did, Alana knew without a doubt that she would be able to achieve it all.

  ***

  Alana parked the truck in the space reserved for staff, a lot poorly lit by the flickering lamps above, and made her way to the nurses’ station. Several nurses greeted her as she dropped her bag on a chair in the corner.

  “Hey, Lana, where are you working tonight?”

  Alana turned as she pulled out her hair tie and wrapped her thick waves into a high bun. “I’m going to be in delivery shadowing Litia.”

  She was met with sympathetic looks. But as soon as it was there, they were gone. Litia was a renowned midwife—renowned for her professional expertise, but not so much for her bedside manners.

  “Good luck with that,” said one.

  “Let’s hope you don’t get put off with the way babies are delivered in this country by the time you get pregnant,” spoke another. “Because there is no epidural or drugs, just good old fashioned labor pains and a midwife that tells you to suck it up.”

  Alana swallowed hard and exited the room. Chuckles followed her on the way out, and she brushed the comments aside. Making her way to the labor and delivery ward, she passed doctors and acknowledged nurses with a smile. She had been present once during a delivery in nursing school, but this was the first time she was going to take an active role in this hospital. Anticipation rolled around in her stomach as she approached a woman who was clearly in labor, supporting herself on a post outside the ward. Her head rested against her elbows as her husband rubbed her lower back. Alana smiled encouragingly at him as she passed and entered the wide doors. She walked to the main counter to make her presence known, and an older nurse looked up from behind a computer, large glasses that looked like they were from the seventies framing her face, dark hair that needed to be seriously waxed growing on the corners of her mouth.

  “Are you Alana Vilo?” she asked tersely.

  Alana shifted her eyes away from her mustache and nodded. “Yes, I’m here to assist Litia.”

  “Good. She’s expecting you in room four,” she said, pointing down the long hallway.

  Alana nodded again and made her way, passing several rooms divided by long curtains for privacy. She heard whispers and painful moans behind one and a woman’s anguished cry in another. Oh boy. She took a deep breath. This was going to be a long night.

  When she reached room four, she slipped past the curtain and came to a halt. The room was small and clean, its white concrete walls engulfing her in intense heat where there was no fan or air conditioner to chase it away. The next thing she noticed was a young woman sitting on the iron-framed bed. Alana guessed she was seventeen or eighteen years old, not much younger than herself. Her T-shirt stretched and rode up and did little to cover her protruding stomach, lavalava wrapped carelessly around her waist. Her thick hair was messy and fell around her shoulders, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. Her thin hands gripped the sides of the bed, and her knuckles were white from the force. Another woman much older than Alana stood to the side, eying her warily. There was no sign of Litia, and she took a deep breath and stepped closer.

  “Hello, my name is Alana, and I will be assisting with your delivery tonight.”

  “Aren’t you a little too young for this?” the older woman asked suspiciously.

  The younger woman looked up, and Alana could see the lines of strain there, a clear indication that she was in agony. She didn’t say anything in return.

  “Has anyone been in to check on you?” Alana picked up the chart that was attached to the end of the bed and browsed over the information. Name: Telila Kenese. Date of birth: 17 February 1993.

  “No one has come to check her since we filled out that chart. Her water broke hours ago. We came in when the contractions became close and have been here for over forty minutes now,” the other woman said irritably.

  Where was Litia?

  Alana looked at her. “Who are you?” she asked politely.

  “I’m her mother’s cousin, Marama. She has been staying with me since her parents kicked her out of their home when she got pregnant. I called her mother and informed her about what is happening—whether or not she comes is another matter.”

  “And the father of the baby?”

  “He’s not coming…” Telila spoke up quietly.

  “Good!” Marama clipped. “Because if that boy shows his face around here, I will kick him where he won’t get another girl pregnant again!”

  Ignoring her, Alana stepped in front of Telila and bent down so she was eye level with her. “Ok, Telila, I’m going to check to see how far along you’ve come, okay? I need you to lie back on the bed so I can examine you thoroughly.” Telila nodded and stretched out as Alana straightened and propped the pillow under her head. “That’s it, very good.”

  Alana placed gloves over her hands and gently widened Telila’s legs. She’d never checked a woman’s cervix before and was instantly nervous. You can do this, she encouraged herself. She knew nurses were far and few in between, and now that she was here, she was
determined to do all she could to help Telila. Plus she didn’t want to give any reason for Marama to doubt her credibility. Without a water-based lubricant in stock to make it comfortable for her patient, Alana slowly eased her fingers in. Telila hissed at the intrusion.

  “I’m sorry, Telila. I know this is uncomfortable for you.” The coppery smell of blood and sweat rose to Alana’s nose, and she blocked it out of her head. Calling to mind her training, she suspected Telila was dilated to eight centimeters. Almost there.

  Telila groaned loudly as a contraction ripped through her abdomen. Her stomach tightened in reaction, and Alana instantly withdrew her hand and took off the gloves.

  “Don’t you make a sound, Telila,” Marama snapped. “You got yourself in this situation, and you’ve caused enough headaches to everyone around you; this pain will teach you a lesson.”

  Was this woman seriously berating her patient at a time like this? Alana wanted to throttle her.

  “Marama, I need you to come help Telila sit up. It’ll be more comfortable for her if she’s not lying down,” she ordered with as much patience as she could muster. Marama pursed her lips and came around to Telila’s side to lift her. “If you want, Telila, you can face the headboard of the bed and prop your hands up to support yourself,” Alana continued. Telila simply nodded and gripped their hands. “Let’s help move her around,” she said to Marama.

  They shifted her until she was in a crouching position, resting her head on her elbows against the iron headboard of the bed. Alana rubbed her back in slow, firm motions while Marama wet a cloth and smoothed it over her forehead and the back of her neck.

  “This child better not look like the father,” Marama grumbled quietly while she gently pulled Telila’s sweaty hair up to tie into a bun and took over the massage.