by Anne Ostby
—
It’s not the least bit difficult going to dinner alone. She knows she looks good. The white dress she hasn’t worn since she came to Fiji swishes airily around her legs, and the large jeweled necklace lends the outfit a touch of artistic free spirit. She sits down at an empty table with four chairs and has barely ordered a drink before she is joined by a couple, quite a bit younger than she is, who ask whether the seats are taken. Alan and Donna are from Sydney, they tell her. This is their third time in Denarau, their first time here at Royal Davui. “And it’s so cheap now in the off-season!”
Alan smiles at her, and Lisbeth feels an old reflex kick in: Was there something special there in the corner of his eye? A little glimmer as he turns his head partly away so his wife won’t see?
But Donna sees nothing. She’s already hung her purse over the back of the chair and is heading for the buffet, the long table where the food spills out toward the guests in two tiers. Grilled fish. Steaming pasta. A boatload of shrimp. Lamb chops accompanied by asparagus glistening with butter. Chicken curry, beef rendang. A dedicated barbecue station where chefs with tall white hats carve out your favorite cuts: Roast beef, ma’am? Some pork?
The woman in the white dress has a great time at the table with her new friends. They don’t know her, she doesn’t know them, they’ve never been to Reitvik, have never been shopping at Høie Building Supplies. They have no idea how many children Harald Høie has. When they ask whether she’s vacationing alone, she nods without volunteering any more information. “Let me treat the ladies to a glass of champagne,” Alan says gallantly, and Donna and Lisbeth smile as they accept. And when the dessert bowls are empty—Lisbeth is satisfied with a small portion of fruit salad, kiwi and passionfruit—she gets to her feet and smiles. “I think I’ll have to retire a bit early since it’s my first night,” she says casually, and thanks them for the great company. “Have a lovely rest of your evening!”
The dress flares out a little more around her legs as she walks toward the exit; she can feel Alan’s gaze on her back. She follows the flagstones around the pool and up the footpath toward the hotel building. Behind her, she hears the waves patiently washing up on the beach. It suddenly strikes her how harmless the whole thing is. I’m just myself, Lisbeth Karlsen thinks. And everything is fine. I can eat dinner with friendly people I meet at a hotel. I can look forward to going to bed alone.
—
She wakes up early the next morning. Savors the quiet in the room, the pale shimmer through the blinds that tells her the sun has begun its daily march across the sky. Lisbeth opens the sliding door to the balcony and leans against the railing, delighting in the luxurious plush bathrobe. The Royal Davui Plaza hotel slowly comes to life beneath her. A man in a beige uniform stacks fresh towels on the shelf by the pool; an older woman shoves a cart with a mop, broom, and bucket down the path. Gardeners reposition sprinklers around the lawns. They wear soft fabric hats the same color as their uniforms; they move around down there like little worker ants, trimming an unsightly branch here, moving a few decorative stones there. Two of them work side by side, kneeling on the ground, half concealed in the shadow of a big bush. One of them laughs at something the other one says and punches him playfully on the shoulder. Lisbeth admires him, watches the muscles move under his cotton shirt. He removes his hat and wipes the sweat off his brow. When he turns his head and the sun strikes his face, Lisbeth gasps: It’s him! Him, the mugger, Vilivo’s friend! The young man for whom she had ached with desire as she stood there with his knife in her hand. It’s Salesi with the rugby shoes, on his knees on the lawn down there. Blood rushes to her head, the cigarette drops out of her hand onto the balcony floor. Now the second gardener emerges from the shadow, and Salesi gets up. They gather their tools and walk toward a side door of the hotel. Lisbeth hurries to retreat into her room; her pulse throbs in her neck. She slams the balcony door shut and just stands there, gasping for breath. Then she whacks the door frame with her palm. “Bloody hell!”
Her voice is hoarse and unrecognizable, and she looks around, afraid that someone might have heard her. Why is she cursing? It’s a good thing that Salesi has gotten a job at a hotel in Denarau! One less unemployed youth in Korototoka. One less person throwing his life away, idly sitting under a tree and waiting for something to happen.
She lets the bathrobe drop to the floor and gets in the shower.
—
At breakfast she meets the couple from last night again.
“We’ve already secured our sunbeds by the pool,” Donna says with a satisfied smile. “You know what the trick is? You have to claim them with towels that are different from the ones they hand out down there.”
“Oh?” Lisbeth looks at her, surprised.
“Yes. That way people will see that they’re taken, you know? We brought towels from home just for that reason,” she says, and drags Lisbeth over to the window. “See?”
Sure enough, there are two lounge chairs side by side in a prime spot on the long edge of the pool, with lemon-yellow and dark-red towels draped across them.
Lisbeth nods, full of admiration for her new friend’s resourcefulness.
“You’re more than welcome to settle in next to us. Did you bring anything you can run down and leave there?”
“Thanks so much,” she quickly responds. “But I was thinking of checking out the spa after this. I might book an appointment for later today.”
They walk out of breakfast together and stroll through the airy lobby that opens onto the ocean: the sound of trickling water from a fountain, the aroma of coffee and frangipani. They take the stairs down to the ground floor, where Donna turns right to head toward the pool, Lisbeth left to follow the sign with carved letters: “Heavenly Bliss Spa.” As she raises her hand to wave goodbye, a door to the stairwell behind her opens. A gardener in hotel uniform comes up beside them, smiles politely, and is poised to deliver his standard “Bula!” when he freezes, his mouth wide open. Salesi’s eyes are just as clear, his features just as soft and young as they were that night. And he sees who she is. The recognition spreads across his face like a curtain being pulled back, and he mumbles a confused “Ma’am? Bula…ma’am!”
She instantly feels her face flush and a prickling sensation rise in her throat. Lisbeth senses Donna’s eyes on her and knows she must look breathless and flustered. She tears her eyes away from Salesi and quickly tosses a “Bula!” out in the air. Donna furrows her brow, perplexed—She can tell we know each other!—and looks from one to the other without saying a word. And before Lisbeth can piece together a single sentence, the moment has passed. Salesi pulls away, throws her an uncertain look before turning his back and shuffling down the footpath in his cheap, worn-down rubber sandals. She can barely make out a few bluish green curved lines on his arms under the edges of his shirtsleeves, like animals trying to escape.
“I’m sure I’ll see you later today,” Lisbeth says, and nods away Donna’s wondering gaze. She doesn’t know what the taste in her mouth is. Embarrassment? Mixed with the glimpse of his stooped shoulders hurrying around the corner far ahead, it turns into a chewed-up wad of disappointment and shame.
—
She noticed it when she arrived. The poster in the lobby that read “Free Wi-Fi,” and something about the business center’s hours. Lisbeth’s thoughts slowly ripple back and forth under the massage therapist’s skilled fingers. Up along her temple, charting a steady course back along her skull; she gasps as they reach the tender spot on her neck. One little pressure point, and violet lightning flashes behind her eyelids. Oh!
“Does it hurt?”
Lisbeth nods into the hole on the massage table. “A little, but keep going.”
She’s convinced herself that she’s not hurt by how rarely she hears from Joachim. Part of her had felt as much disappointment as Harald back when their son decided not to follow in his father’s footsteps, yet she had known, deep down, that Joachim was making the right choice for himself. He is c
ompassionate, her son. Gentle. A caregiver. Completely different from his sister. Linda has never denied that her own needs and wants come first.
Their emails show them just as they are, Lisbeth thinks as she stands in the shower and lets the hot water rinse off the last traces of coconut oil. Linda has hinted several times over the past few months that she wouldn’t mind a trip to Fiji. If Lisbeth could find her a good hotel, and since she lives down there, maybe she could get her the local rate? She and her boyfriend would like “one of those bungalows all the way down on the beach, the ones with the thatched roofs, you know.” But with air conditioning, of course, and the hotel has to have a real gym. Linda doesn’t envision visiting her mother in Korototoka—“It would be so complicated, and we can’t take more than a week off work”—but maybe Lisbeth could come to Denarau and spend a few days with them?
Since she’s been in Fiji, Joachim’s emails have been few and relatively short. No outbursts or accusations when she left, no mentions of Harald. He has only inquired how she’s doing, whether there’s anything she needs.
Joachim’s emails have been about Lisbeth. Linda’s emails have been about Linda.
—
As she dries off and pulls her clothes on, she thinks about Joachim’s daughters. He’s barely mentioned them in his messages to her. Such a distance between them, she thinks, and pauses in front of the mirror with her hairbrush in her hand. Her grandchildren. She doesn’t know much more about them than their names and how old they are. Suddenly it hits her: He thinks I don’t care. Harald rejected him, and I turned my back on all of it.
She tucks the brush into her purse and walks toward the lobby with quick steps. “Could someone show me how to use one of the computers in the business center?”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Hello from Fiji
Hi Joachim and the whole family!
I’m writing from Royal Davui Plaza Hotel on the vacation island of Denarau. I know that sounds luxurious, and it is! I’ve just come back from a spa treatment after a beautiful breakfast buffet, and I’m about to head down to the pool. There are no fewer than three pools here, one of them has several water slides and a wave machine. There’s entertainment every night: meke (Fijian dance), and sometimes a lovo, where they bury the food in a hole in the ground. It might sound weird, but they wrap the food in palm leaves so it’s all clean and safe. The meat comes out incredibly juicy and delicious!
There’s a gorgeous beach just below the hotel, and every day there are young boys who walk by and offer horseback rides. It’s mostly little kids sitting in the saddle as the horses are walked up and down the beach, but I’m sure it would be easy for an experienced rider to set off on their own.
I don’t know if you guys have any interest, but it would be really great to have you come visit me here. I think Viva and Sara would love the beach and the pool and the horses. It would be nice if you could visit me at home too. I have a pretty big room in Kat’s house, and maybe it wouldn’t bother you to be a little cramped for a few days?
I know plane tickets to Fiji are expensive, but I can help you with that. I don’t know if you have time either, but maybe next year? It would be so great if you could meet my friends. I would really love to show you what my life is like now.
Lisbeth pauses. Deletes the last sentence. Puts it back in. Signs off, Hugs from Mom.
Then she hits Send.
44
Ateca
Can you please watch over Maraia, Lord? There’s something special about Sai’s little girl. She’s always willing to help, and easy to love. No wonder Sai would rather keep her at home and hasn’t sent her to school yet.
You know it’s been hard for Sai, Lord. Her husband is gone, no one’s seen him since he went to Suva to find work. Sai does what she can with her vegetables and her chickens, but she can barely scrape together enough for schoolbooks and a uniform for one of her two daughters. The older girl is the smarter one; Sai says she’s going to be a doctor. Maraia is thoughtful and wise. As if she knows the secret of the sea turtles, or why the tagimoucia flower is the color of bleeding tears.
—
I’m a little scared to take her with me down to the ladies too often. They all like her, that’s not the problem—Madam Lisbeth has even given her a gold necklace! And when Madam Maya gets lost in the dark, Maraia takes her hand and shows her the way out.
But do you see that she can get a little cheeky, Lord? Like today, when Madam Sina and I were making roro and Maraia was helping us rinse the leaves. Madam Kat came in the kitchen and her face lit up when she saw the girl. But when she asked if it was her mother who had taught her to rinse roro, Maraia brazenly shook her head. “I just know how,” she said.
Madam Kat didn’t get annoyed, Lord. She just stroked her cheek and let her hand rest on top of her curls, without touching the human head, which is pure and sacred. “Tulou,” she said. Forgive me.
—
Bless Maraia, Lord. Let the Star of the Sea shine for all the ladies of Vale nei Kat.
In Jesus’ holy name. Emeni.
45
Kat
It was a good idea to let Lisbeth take a few days in Denarau. Ever since Sina made her revelation, the roles have changed, the balance in the house is thrown off. Sina is still pale and washed out; she lurches when she walks, like a ship in a storm. But she’s assumed a kind of dignity too; the confession has straightened out her stooped shoulders. And Lisbeth, dear God, she was completely bowled over; she needed to get away for a while.
If we’re going to survive, this is how it will have to be. Lisbeth will have to live with this new truth, and Sina will have to accept the rest of us looking at her differently.
We have each taken in the news about Armand in our own way. His father is none other than Harald! I have a thousand questions I’m never going to ask, and I’m sure the others’ heads are buzzing with them too. Ingrid’s reaction was typical Ingrid: a mixture of astonishment and indignation, as if the revelation of Armand’s paternity only confirmed the bad impression of him she already held. Rational, practical Ingrid was also the one to bring up the question of whether he had a claim to any inheritance. Without warning, she raised the subject unceremoniously at breakfast one day.
“So they’ll have to share it between the three of them now. Harald’s estate, when the time comes.”
Lisbeth stiffened in her chair; her hand holding the mug jerked so hard the coffee spilled over the edge. She stared blankly at Sina. I held my breath and silently swore at Ingrid. For Christ’s sake, was this really necessary?
Sina was the only one who wasn’t fazed. She just kept chewing and swallowed her mouthful of bread before she replied: “Armand doesn’t know who his father is. And he’s never going to find out, either.”
To be honest, I wasn’t surprised. Sina has been carrying this around for almost fifty years; I highly doubt she has some secret plan to throw down Armand like a trump card in the very last round of the game.
But for Ingrid her reply wasn’t good enough. “Surely you don’t mean that! He’s going to get what’s rightfully his, isn’t he?”
Had I been able to reach her under the table, I would have kicked her in the shin. This is none of Ingrid’s business! Sina may be poor, but she’s not greedy. Armand is both, but this time Sina doesn’t want to give him the opportunity to demonstrate that.
It was like a well-choreographed dance: Sina reaching for another slice of bread, Lisbeth slowly placing her mug down. The confusion in Lisbeth’s round gray eyes, the relief shuddering through her slender body. Her shoulders quivering as Sina shaved off a piece of cheese without looking up.
“We’ve always managed. I’ve supported both Armand and myself. Now it’s time for him to support himself, goddammit.”
But Ingrid wouldn’t drop it, her eyes flickering back and forth between Sina and Lisbeth. “But we’re talking about a lot of money here! Høie Building Supp
lies is a hugely successful company. He has a right to part of it, after all!”
Then Lisbeth finally opened her mouth. Her face was flushed, and her voice was breathless. “Fairness isn’t all black and white. You don’t have a right to something you’ve never been part of!”
Ingrid quieted down after that, but it was Sina’s face I noticed. It was wide open and full of wonder. And something else too. Respect.
—
It’s hard to tell what Maya thinks of all the commotion these past few weeks. She stays by Sina’s side as always, but hasn’t shown any sign of understanding this business with her son. Or maybe they discuss it on their walks, what do I know? Not that their relationship is based on conversation.
And Ateca? I’m not sure whether she’s registered it either. She didn’t ask any questions when Lisbeth packed her suitcase to go away for a few days, at least. But I’m sure Ateca has her own thoughts on the matter, she always does. Her own thoughts and her own conclusions.
—
A walk by the shore is always calming. The sand is warm and inviting; I stop for a moment and scoop up a handful. Let it run through my fingers before continuing down the beach, which is almost completely desolate this early in the morning. But Jone’s awake. I wave to the burly figure on his way down to the boat.
“Bula, Madam Kat!”
“Bula, Jone. Going out so early?”
The laughter bubbles out of his mouth like liquid brown sugar. “I’ll have to if I want to catch anything.”
I hang around for a minute while he preps his fishing equipment; one of his sons shows up to help after a while. They work in silence; the sun already quivers with heat some distance above the horizon. Jone raises his hand and waves goodbye before they shove the Vessel of Honor into the waves and jump in.
I trace the path of the red boat as it bobs up and down on its way out to sea. The moment stands still around me, the reflection in the water, the wind barely rustling the palm trees. This is what we are. Everything we say, everything we do to each other, it’s all nothing in the end. All that matters is having your feet planted firmly on the earth. Feeling your breath move in and out.