In the evenings, although Luca comes to most of the parties, he doesn’t drink any grog and usually leaves early with Kizo and one or two friends, but never with me. Nevertheless, we resume our little ritual of watching the sunset up at the signal fire, and it feels like everything is back to the way it once was. I thank the stars that Luca has beaten the grog, but I’m also hurt that he is not interested in me. I know he will never be mine, but all the same, I can’t seem to let him go.
“Why don’t you come back and live in the village?”
“What? And leave Luca Land so you and the others can keep an eye on me?” He gives me a sour grin.
“No, not to spy on you. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, Kiddo. I’ve got a few ghosts to wrestle with, and I need to be alone. Besides, Tin Man is always nearby.” He smiles. “I’m okay… really.”
“I know you are. It’s just….” I drop my head and bite my lip. Then half speaking, half mumbling, I say, “You’re my best friend—the best friend I’ve ever had—and I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to you.” I look up at him with longing.
He grins widely at me and leaps on top of me and begins to playfully bat my shoulders. “Kisses, kisses,” he calls out and presses his lips to my chest, making loud slobbering fart noises.
“Stop. Stop it!” I protest through my laughter, but I want him to go on and on.
About a half a moon after that, Luca leaves Kizo behind and sets off in a canoe on his own to explore Far Island outside the reef. I tell myself he’s a sailor and a great swimmer so he’ll be fine. All the same, I’m relieved when a few days later I hear him tramping up the stone trail to our lookout spot on the cliff, where I’m tending the fire before bed.
I want to grab him and hug him, but I’m nervous about showing him how much I missed him. Instead I feign ambivalence and make a little joke. “I hope you brought back a few fish and souvenirs from your holiday.”
“Good to see you too, Kiddo. Get buggered by the savages while I was gone?” His words burn like acid.
“Wow, what has you in such a pleasant mood?”
“I’m sick of this shithole: fish, coconuts, and faggots.”
“I guess that would include me.” I swallow and push back the rising lump in my throat.
Luca doesn’t reply. He steps around me and sits down on his favorite rock. I continue to poke the burning embers while Luca stares out to sea.
Then he drops his head and clasps it in his hands. Without turning to look at me, he begins to speak. “The Far Island is pretty desolate and a lot dryer than this one. I paddled around it to the other side. There wasn’t even a place to beach my canoe, so I dragged it up on some rocks out of sight and hiked up the hill to where I saw some crappy little huts—you could hardly even call it a village.” He scratches his head. “I took my fishing spear with me just in case, and it was a good thing too.” Luca pauses and rocks for a few minutes like he’s trying to calm himself. “When I got there, I stood in the center of the huts near a smoldering fire pit, spread my arms out to show I didn’t want to cause trouble, and called out.” Luca pauses again and sucks air in through his teeth. “At first everything was real quiet, and then I heard something like that noise the women make with their tongues coming from the bushes and trees all around me. You know that screeching noise they make?”
“Yeah, the one they make during the ceremonies.”
“That’s it. Anyway, I kept my arms spread out wide and called again, really friendly like.” Luca pauses again and scratches his butt.
“And what happened?”
“All of a sudden sticks and rocks and who knows what start raining down on me. I decided it was time to hightail it out of there, but not before I took a couple of blows to the head.” He clasps his head, spreads his hair, and leans over for me to look. He has a big bump on the side of his head, and the hair around is crusted with blood.
“Shit!” I reach up to touch his head, but Luca pulls back. “Well, did you see who they were?”
“I didn’t get a good look at anyone. As I said, they were hiding in the bushes. But one thing’s for sure—whoever lives there doesn’t want visitors.”
Luca is agitated, and I don’t want to stir the pot anymore, so I don’t tell him what Nando told me about Tara people living on the Far Island.
“I’m beat.” Luca rises. “And I need to be alone and think about some stuff.”
“There’s a lovesick Tin Man looking for you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“I’m not worth it.” Luca starts down the trail. Then he stops and calls back, “Tell him I’m under a tree somewhere with a gourd of grog.” And he disappears into the shadows.
I clench my fists. “Damn.” Luca is my hero. He’s my Superman, but I guess the grog is his kryptonite. I remember how it was with Larry’s father back in my village, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When he wasn’t drinking, it was stupid jokes and fishing trips for Larry. And when he was, which was most of the time, Larry bore blackened eyes and swollen lips.
I sit there playing with the fire for a while more, then turn and look out to sea. It’s a purple void. I listen to the waves crashing against the barrier reef beyond the island and feel safe and protected. I think about all the stories and things Nando has told me—the thoughtful way he pronounces each word, the way he animates each character, and the sincerity of his gentle smile at the end of each tale. Automatically, I raise my forearm to my nose and sniff. I can even smell him on my skin. Why do I always fall for men who are unobtainable?
As I sit there staring out to sea, in the sliver of moonlight I catch sight of the mysterious canoe as it traverses the reef coming from the direction of the Far Island. It silently approaches the cliff at the far end of the bay, and I am able to make out the figure of a small woman paddling. This time I’m sure the woman is Kyle’s partner, Dzil, the warrior, the social climber, the one to watch out for. “What’s Dzil doing alone in the open sea at night?” I ask out loud. I close my eyes and think. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve Luca. I have a strange feeling—a premonition—that Luca hasn’t told me everything he discovered on the Far Island. I strain to follow the silvery craft as it glides across the purple surface and is swallowed by the night.
After about twenty minutes, I get up and go home to bed.
“Nando,” I say as we lie there in our hammocks in the darkness. “You must know something more about how to get off the island—an old story or a myth or something. If we don’t get rescued soon, I’m afraid of what might happen to Luca.”
Nando pushes himself up, causing his hammock to swing. The cords grunt against the beams. “Um, well, there is an old story about leaving the island we tell to the children.”
“Tell me anything that might give us a clue.”
“Okay, but I am sure it won’t help.” Nando sounds very unsure as he speaks. “Well, you see, a long time ago, before people came, there were only animals. The animals had lots of food and were very content. One day after a very big storm, a flock of fugi birds arrived on the island. Fugi birds have very big beaks, and they eat bananas, but they cannot swim. There were plenty of bananas on the island for the fugi birds to eat, but soon they became tired of eating bananas. They complained that they wanted other things to eat.
“The lizards suggested that they eat insects, but the fugi birds did not want to eat insects. The jaguar suggested that they eat monkeys, but the fugi birds did not want to eat monkeys. The monkeys suggested that they eat bananas, and the fugi birds became angry.”
“So what did the fugi birds do?” I grab the edge of Nando’s hammock and give it a tug to start my hammock swinging.
“The fugi birds said that the island was too small and they wanted to leave. So they gathered up all the bananas they could carry.”
“And what happened?” I sit up in my hammock.
“Well—” Nando pau
ses like he is searching for the right words or trying to remember the ending. “The fugi birds flew out towards the open sea with their beaks full, but they had gathered too many bananas and they could not fly very far. The other animals sat on the cliff and watched the fugi birds, one by one, grow tired and fall into the sea.”
“And?”
“And they all drowned,” Nando says quickly.
I say nothing as I rock back and forth in my hammock thinking about what message this story could have: the futility of trying to leave, the folly of discontentment and greed. Maybe both, maybe neither. “That’s a terrible story,” I blurt out.
“Well, it’s the only one I know. Besides, I have never seen a fugi bird, so something must have happened to them.”
“That’s not proof that fugi birds ever existed.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I know that I’m in trouble.
“Of course they existed.” Nando’s voice is agitated. “I have a plate with a picture of a fugi bird on it, and the story is very old, so there must have been fugi birds. Why would anyone make up the story?”
All of a sudden, I start to suspect that’s exactly what he’s done—made up the story for my benefit. I look over at his big brown eyes shining in the darkness, and at that moment, he can tell me anything and I will believe it. The only words I long to hear are “Love me and stay with me.”
The sound of frogs takes over as we lie quietly swinging in our hammocks.
Then just as I’m drifting off to sleep, Nando whispers, “You will leave with Luca?”
Maybe it’s not only his devotion to Tukuman that keeps us apart. Maybe Nando is afraid to love me, knowing that I will leave him someday. “Yes, probably.” I choke out the words. If only you would give me a reason to stay, I think. I bite my lip and fight back my tears in silence.
RICHARD SWAYED the swivel chair back and forth. Then he stopped. “So Guy on the island is faced with a dilemma. He realizes he will never have Luca. Nando, it would appear, belongs to someone else and won’t reciprocate his advances. At the same time, more cracks are beginning to show with the Tara people, who are obviously antagonistic and want to disrupt the peace and harmony of this little paradise.”
Guy nodded vigorously. “And don’t forget the moral of the story.” Guy held up his finger. “Nobody ever leaves the island!”
Richard interlaced his fingers and leaned forward. “Yes, but you are with me here and now—in this studio, in Toronto. What concerns me is, can you leave the fantasy?”
Guy grabbed the front of his undershirt and pulled it up, exposing his body mural. “This—” He pointed to a large glyph-like tattoo on his belly. “—this is a fugi bird.”
Richard squinted and leaned forward to take a closer look. “And do fugi birds really exist?”
“Of course they do!” Guy let go of his shirt and thumped his chest with his fist. “Me!” He stood up suddenly. “I’m a fugi bird. Too self-centered and greedy to know what I had.” Guy stomped out of the office.
Chapter 17: All for Nando
GUY’S COWBOY boots made a clopping sound as he walked down the corridor toward Richard’s office. He entered and placed both cups of coffee on Richard’s desk. “Got to take a piss,” he said and darted out of the room.
Five minutes later Guy clopped down the hallway again. He walked in, took his coffee from the desk, and sat down on the sofa. “Life, growing up, getting old, it’s all a comedy. It’s the long, lonely pauses between punch lines that are hard to take.”
“Guy, you live in the center of Canada’s largest city and teach at the largest university, yet you do your best to avoid human contact.”
Guy scrunched up his face. “I like to keep people at arm’s length. It’s safer and less complicated that way.”
“Why is that?”
“Hmmm,” Guy said flatly. “I don’t trust people.”
“Have you ever thought about getting a pet?” Richard delicately scratched his nape without ruffling his hair. “Many older people who live alone get a cat or dog. Owning a pet could give you something to care for and keep you company—something to love.”
“I could never do that.”
“You mean take the responsibility?” Richard’s foot was jiggling. “It might do you good.”
“I mean take ownership over another living thing,” Guy challenged. “What about you? Do you have a dog or cat?”
“Well, I had a cat.”
“What happened to it?”
“I had to give her to my sister. I didn’t want her to claw my new sofa.”
Guy nodded. “Yes, a new sofa is a big responsibility.”
Richard rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you have a dog or cat growing up?”
Guy smiled. “I kind of had a bull calf. Well, he wasn’t really mine, but almost every afternoon when I was about eleven, I’d go over to Stover’s farm on the edge of our village and sit in the pasture with the cows. I know, for you city kids, that sounds like a strange thing to do, but for a country boy it’s perfectly natural. We have a relationship—a type of love—for our animals. We birth them, feed them, breed them, and fuss and care for them. Their lives depend on us and ours on them. It’s not quite the same thing as having a pet.”
Richard looked curious. “Did your bull calf have a name?”
“Sure did. Leo. I helped Mr. Stover birth him and bottle-feed him.”
“That must have been fun.”
“Leo was robust and muscled. He had a deep red-brown coat with a white chest, belly, and muzzle. Oh, and he had these adorable white curly locks around his face and ears. What a babe! I spent hours sitting with him in the pasture, and in the evening I often helped Mr. Stover bring the cattle in and bed ’em down.”
“What happened to Leo?”
“One day I went to see him and he was gone. Stover had taken him to the sales barn. Never even told me.”
“You felt responsible for him, didn’t you?” Richard’s face was compassionate.
“Of course. He was my baby.”
“Go ahead.” Richard nodded.
“Well, he often tried to lick my crotch through my jeans, but that’s as far as we ever got, romantically speaking, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Guy hunched his shoulders.
Richard shook his head and blew out a breath of air, as if to acknowledge he had fallen into another one of Guy’s little traps.
“Now, enough of your fantasies about us simple country boys.” Guy tried not to smirk. “Can we get back to my story?” Guy closed his eyes and continued with his tale.
IT’S THE end of another day in paradise. After we come in from fishing, Luca and Kizo trek up the hill to their camp loaded with supplies, and Pico and I, as usual, head back to the village.
“What did you bring for dinner?” Nando says as Pico and I trudge up the steps.
“Some nice fat yellow jack,” I say. “Oh, and this.” I hold up a small squirrelfish.
Nando looks. “What’s that? It’s hardly worth cleaning.”
“It’s a gift from Tiki. He was at the beach fishing with some of the big boys.”
“Tiki? At the beach with the big boys?” Nando opens his eyes widely.
“Omi.” Pico sings the word.
Nando grins. “At last.”
Pico pokes me and begins to giggle.
“What’s an omi?”
“Tiki gave you the fish so the other boys could see you are his omi.” Nando’s smile stretches across his face. “You are his first love.”
“Me!” I gasp. “Oh no, not me.”
“Yes you. Tiki has finally started his journey towards manhood.”
“But he’s a kid! There is absolutely no way I’m having sex with him!” I vigorously slash both hands back and forth in front of me.
“Of course not!” Nando’s smile instantly turns sour. “Omi is not that kind of love.” Then his face softens again, as if he is about to explain something to a child. “It is the kind of love a boy has for a man he admires and wants
to be like.”
“Who would want to be like me? I don’t want to be his ommo.”
Pico begins to laugh loudly. “Omi,” he corrects and starts poking me again.
“Omi,” Nando echoes and begins to giggle. “Ommo means the hair in your nose. Besides, the choice is not yours to make. Tiki has chosen his man.”
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do for the kid.”
“Nothing.” Nando hunches his shoulders and turns his hands upward. “Just be yourself. Show him how to do things: make baskets, throw a spear, shave, fish, and dance. When he is ready, you will carry him to his initiation ceremony.”
Pico jumps up and wraps his arms around me. “Omi, omi.”
“Who was your omi?”
Nando looks to the ground. “One of my fathers.” Nando tries to swallow. “But he went away before he could prepare me for my initiation.” He has a lost look in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I reach out to hug him, but Pico is still holding me tight.
The next morning at sunrise, Pico and I trot down the path to where the men are gathered on the beach. And, as usual, amongst the men preparing their boats, spears, and nets, numerous boys are in attendance. I suddenly realize that this is probably what Nando is talking about. These boys are not simply helping out in the hope of receiving a fish when the men return. They’re there to be close to their omi in the hope of being asked to come along.
Kizo and Luca push the boat into the water, and three boys appear and hold it steady while we climb in. “Wait, I forgot my spear on the beach.” I hop out again, and I wade back toward shore. Tiki appears from nowhere and comes running into the surf carrying my spear and a water gourd. He holds them out for me.
“Thanks, Tiki.”
He beams.
As I turn to go back to our boat, I catch sight of his father, Molap, in his boat nearby. He scowls at me and barks at Tiki to bring him his net and spear. Den, who is sitting midcanoe, watches Molap, then drops his head and covers the side of his face with his hand. I look over at Kizo, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Come, get in. The fish are not getting any younger.” I hop in the boat, and the boys push us out.
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