Island's End

by Padma Venkatraman

  As I move closer, my eyes make out the pitcher-shaped leaves. For a few moments, I do not dare to let myself rejoice, afraid that it is just my imagination. But the plants do not disappear as I approach them.

  Though my skin burns and my head aches, I rush forward as fast as I can until I am surrounded by the insect-eating plants. I sink down on my knees among them and take a deep breath of the sweet-smelling air.

  Drink.

  I tear off a leaf and swallow all the juice inside. Leaf after leaf I suck dry, until my throat is soothed and my thirst is gone. Even my stomach feels full.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  Rub the leaves onto your body.

  Like a snake shedding its old skin, I scrape off the dried mud still on me. Then I crush some leaves in my palm and smear them over myself. To my surprise, the pain in the bumps left by the mosquitoes lessens. When I rub the juice into my temples, my head stops aching.

  “This juice works faster than any of the medicines in my pouch,” I say, surprised by how refreshed I feel. “Why?”

  Think back to what brought you here today.

  “I saw the insect-eating plants in my first vision of the Otherworld.”

  And when did your spirit first enter the Otherworld?

  “The day the strangers came. But . . . but they make me angry.”

  Their ways also make you curious.

  I think of the strangers’ fast metal boat and the wonderful paintings inside Ragavan’s box. Unable to deny that the strangers’ magic amazes me, I remain silent.

  It is not wrong to be curious. The strangers are different, not evil.

  Remembering the disturbing aura around Ragavan’s head, I disagree. “If the strangers are not evil, why does Lah-ame want to keep us far away from them?”

  Lah-ame loves the way of the oko-jumu and the world of the En-ge. He brought your tribe to this island to protect them, like an eagle who builds a nest high up on a cliff to keep its eggs safe. But as every eagle knows, the eggs will hatch. And one day the young must grow wings and fly away.

  “We have everything we need here,” I say. “None of us wants to leave the island.”

  Maybe not yet. But this island is small and the ocean is large.

  “The Otherworld is larger.”

  Few spirits travel to the Otherworld as willingly as yours.

  I nod, thinking of how uninterested Natalang was in the Otherworld—and yet how fascinated she was by the fruit that the strangers brought from across the sea.

  Once, long ago, this swamp was part of the jungle. Then it turned into a swamp. Most plants found it hard to live through the change. But the insect-eating plants survived because they learned how to eat insects, just as animals do. And yet their spirits remain deeply rooted in the ways of plants. Somehow they held on to the beauty of plant life and took from animals only that which made them stronger. To live in their new world, they had to find a balance between the ways of animals and plants.

  “What does all that mean?” I ask. “How will this knowledge help me guide the tribe?”

  One day you may understand. But no one can ever tell you how to overcome the many tests that lie ahead.

  “Where should I go now?” I try not to sound disappointed, and yet I cannot help wishing the plants had something more for me—like a prayer or a magical object that would keep the strangers away from our island forever.

  Walk northeast for four days. By night on the fourth day, you will reach the cliff that stretches across the north of the island. Climb the rocks and you will find your oko-jumu waiting at the top. Take as many leaves and as much juice as you can to feed yourself and to heal your people in times of need.

  From my medicine bag, I take out the empty wooden vessels that Lah-ame gave me. Carefully, I pinch off many leaves and drain every drop of juice into my vessels. I fill them all and place the leaves in my pouch.

  The sooner you start walking, the sooner your journey will end.

  “I thank you,” I say, picking up my mangrove branch again. My spirit feels so calm and soothed in the plants’ presence that it is hard to leave them behind. Yet I am also eager to see Lah-ame again and celebrate my successful journey with him.

  Remembering what Lah-ame taught me about keeping direction by looking at the sun, I start walking northeast. At each step, I test the ground ahead with my branch, although I see no more pits of hungry mud. The juice of the insect-eating plants swells in my stomach, which feels as heavy as if it were filled with meat. And although my ears are irritated by the zzzt, zzzt of mosquitoes, the juice works better than fresh body paint to keep both them and the leeches away.

  Slowly, the ground underfoot becomes firmer. Glad not to have mud squelching between my toes, I move faster. By sunset, I see short trees poking up into the sky. They are not as tall or as thick as in our jungle, but it feels good to see them and better still to leave the stink of the swamp behind. I stop and rest beneath a tree for the night.

  The next morning, Pulug-ame sends a gentle drizzle. I hold my mouth open to the sky and let the sweet water moisten my tongue and trickle down my throat. Over the next two days, the rain gets even lighter. I wonder if the tribe, too, is walking back up the island or if they have returned to the dry-season village already.

  Late in the morning on the fourth day, I see the cliff rising up like a distant wall. My footsteps quicken and I reach the foot of the cliff at twilight. Holding my rattle high above my head, I shake it in celebration.

  A new burst of strength gushes into my tired limbs at the thought that I will soon be with Lah-ame again. “I, Uido, found the insect-eating plant and I carry its healing waters!” I sing out, although there is nobody to hear me. My feet kick at the ground in a dance of joy and my triumphant spirit seems to leap as high as the cliff.

  19

  Eager to be back with Lah-ame, I start up the cliff path. The clay is smooth but not slippery and it smells pleasant, like wet body paint.

  A short while later, in the moonlit darkness, I reach the top of the cliff. I suck in a long stream of air, enjoying the salty taste I know so well. A soft wind kisses my bare skin as if in welcome as I listen to the familiar song of the ocean far beneath me.

  Although Lah-ame is not yet here, I sense that he will come soon. Too tired to go any farther, I lie down on my back, drenching my body in a great pool of moonlight.

  When I awake, midday sunshine pours across the ground and Lah-ame is standing near me. “Welcome back, Uido,” he says. “From the very beginning of your training I knew you would succeed.”

  He reaches down and pulls me into his arms. His breath is a calm breeze on my face and I feel his spirit glowing with pride and happiness.

  “Thank you for your guidance, Lah-ame,” I say, though the words seem too small. I can only hope he senses the depth of my gratitude.

  “So,” he says, letting me go, “your training with me is almost at an end. There is just one last thing. Uido, would you like to fly?” He runs his hand over his white curls and pulls out one of the four feathers tucked into his headband. “The sea eagle is my spirit animal, Uido. And I will ask that he let you fly with him one time so that someday, when you meet your spirit animal, you will have a sense of how to send your spirit into its body.”

  To fly with an eagle sounds more wonderful than anything I ever imagined. The thought of it sets my heart skipping like sunshine on water.

  Lah-ame faces east and raises his hands. The tips of his fingers seem to touch the clouds. “Kolo-ame,” he calls, “come to me.”

  I see an eagle appear in the east. The bird streaks toward us across the blue, carried by a sudden rush of wind from far across the sea. It hovers above us. Looking up, I see its soft white belly and the dark tips of its great wings.

  “Brother, this is Uido,” Lah-ame says to the eagle. “She has walked a long way with me and hopes to become an oko-jumu. Will you take her upon your shoulders?”

  The eagle screeches.

  Lah-ame leads me
to the edge of the cliff. We stop barely a hand’s width from where the rock drops straight down into the water. Lah-ame spreads my arms out to my sides. “Close your eyes.”

  I stand on tiptoe. Lah-ame lets go of me and I feel a spurt of fear.

  “Allow your body to become as light as an eagle’s feather.” Lah-ame’s whisper is the voice of the wind tugging at my feet. “Let the eagle’s sight fill your eyes.”

  I feel an eagle’s feather stroke across the tip of my outstretched fingers. I feel the air entering my body, cool and fresh.

  I am on the eagle’s back, hearing the beat of its wings. Below us, my island shines, the jungle as green as a parrot’s feathers.

  We swoop low over the cliff, eastward along the island’s edge, until we are at the tall rock that marks the highest point on the island. Then we fly above the steep jungle path that leads down from the cliffs to the wide expanse of our beach along the eastern shore.

  We turn inward, dipping beneath the trees that separate the beach from our dry-season village. There, over the clearing, we hover for a few moments, watching the women at work below. I see Mimi and her youngest sister sitting close to our hut, weaving a basket from strips of cane. She looks up as we swoop down and I wonder if her spirit senses my presence close to her. At the edge of the village, between the circle of huts and the jungle, a few children are swinging on a vine. Tawai is with them, taller since I last saw him, but no fatter. I hear his happy shouts before we rise high up again, above the treetops.

  Away we soar toward the south of our island, passing over the huts where Lah-ame and I stayed in the rainy season and above the large communal hut where my tribe was living. Far to the west, I glimpse the mangrove swamp. We glide back, north and east, over the waves of our fishing beach where the strangers came ashore.

  The strangers’ island lies in a straight line from here.

  I gaze down at the white flecks dotting the blue sea. It is dusk as we fly further east, away from my island, until through the darkness I see a beach I recognize—where Lah-ame’s friend stood in my vision on the cliff long ago. All night, we fly among the stars. But at dawn, I hear the eagle screech four times as though to call me out of the Otherworld. I float down through the pink sky like an eagle feather. My feet grow heavy again and my toes feel the earth beneath them.

  I open my eyes and see the eagle perched on Lah-ame’s shoulder.

  “Well done, Uido.” His eyes twinkle.

  I reach out to the eagle but it turns away. I withdraw my hand, feeling a little hurt.

  Lah-ame says gently, “This is my brother, Uido.”

  “But he carried me. Is he not my spirit animal now too?”

  Lah-ame shakes his head. “He only did what I requested, Uido. Someday you will find your own spirit animal—one that you may touch and call and speak to at any time.”

  “What kind of animal is it, Lah-ame?”

  “I sense yours is a water spirit, unlike mine.”

  “Must I seek it, like my special medicine plant?” I ask.

  “Your spirit animal will seek you out,” he replies. “It will challenge you to a fight. And either it will kill you or else you will win and the animal’s spirit will become a reflection of yours.”

  “I do not understand, Lah-ame. What does it mean to win over its spirit?”

  “Your spirit animal is a guide whom you can call upon for help. You may send your spirit into its body, just as you can send your spirit through the Otherworld. When you do so, you will sense everything through your spirit animal and travel with it. And your spirit animal’s wisdom may help you lead the tribe.”

  At these words, the eagle screeches and takes flight again.

  Lah-ame turns to face the rising sun and bows his head. “Biliku-waye, Pulug-ame, I thank you for guiding Uido on the spirit paths and I ask you to protect her when she meets her spirit animal. May she always carry not only our songs and stories and medicines and memories, but also the happiness of each day on these islands.”

  “Lah-ame, may I rejoin the tribe now?” For a moment I worry that I sound ungrateful.

  Lah-ame places his palms on my shoulders. “You learned faster than I expected. But the air of the cliff top is light, Uido. Here it is easy to balance the worlds of spirit and flesh. Once you are back in the village with the others, it will be hard to keep your mind clear enough to enter the Otherworld and let the spirits visit you. The most dangerous part of your oko-jumu training lies ahead, not behind.”

  I try to stifle the impatient sigh that rises to my lips, hoping he will let me go soon.

  Instead, he continues, “And one final warning: until you meet your spirit animal, you will not have the strength to heal someone else on your own. If you try to heal another person before this happens, you will endanger yourself and shake the tribe’s faith in our ways.”

  Lah-ame blows his breath across my face and hands me a bag of water. “Go well, Uido. I will follow later.”

  My spirit is so full of anticipation at meeting my tribe again that I barely listen to Lah-ame’s warnings. I thank him, tighten the knot that holds my medicine bag in place and blow across his cheeks. My breath feels shallow, as though I am already running home.

  20

  As I race away from Lah-ame, the wind blows a fresh strength into my body. I leap across the stones in my path, eager to be surrounded by my tribe again. I do not rest for long, even during the hottest part of the day, because I feel cooled just thinking of the shady trees surrounding our village.

  I near the village at dusk. In the fading light, the joy I felt earlier weakens, and I remember that my tribe looked at me like I was a stranger only moments after Lah-ame announced that I was to be his apprentice. My steps falter and I worry about how my people will treat me now. But even as I slow down, a ra-gumul boy sees me and cries out, "Olaye, olaye, odo-lay, odo-lay! Come, everyone! Uido is back!”

  He races up to me, sits cross-legged on the jungle floor and holds his hands out, waiting to take me in his lap the way our tribe always welcomes someone who has been gone a long time. With relief, I collapse into his lap.

  “Uido!” Danna bursts out of the trees and pulls me to my feet. His face is as round as ever, his smile still as wide. But he is much taller. Fresh scars run across his upper arms and thighs. He has cut a beautiful pattern of lines and dots into his own skin, but seeing his tattoo upsets me because it means I missed my best friend’s manhood ceremony.

  Danna breathes across my face. I notice that his mouth has a pleasant scent like earth moistened by the first rain.

  He sits and draws me onto his lap. I shift awkwardly, sensing his rock-hard legs beneath mine. It feels different from sitting on the other boy’s lap moments ago. The Danna I knew was a boy; the one who holds me now is a man.

  “I missed you.” His voice has deepened into a man’s voice as well. He pinches my waist gently. “You have grown muscles.” The pebble-smooth skin of his chest presses against the full length of my back. My body trembles as if a cool breeze has wrapped itself around me instead of Danna’s warm arms. “And you have also grown very silent.” He holds my chin and turns my face to meet his.

  His eyes look just as warm and caring as before—and it comforts me to see that they, at least, have not changed. I let my fingers wander over the scars on his shoulder. “Does the tattoo still hurt?”

  “Not at all. Do you like it?” He sounds anxious to hear my approval.

  “Yes, very much.”

  Tawai tumbles into my lap, interrupting us. I hug him, but he quickly wriggles out of my arms, jumps up and takes me by the hand. Danna takes the other and together they drag me closer to our village. "Olaye, olaye, odo-lay, odo-lay! Uido is here again!” Their shouts are echoed by other voices.

  Kara strides over to us, exclaiming, “We did not expect you back for another season at least!”

  “Lah-ame said I learned faster than he imagined possible,” I tell him.

  “I am so proud of you, Uido.” He lifts m
e onto his shoulders and carries me to the center of the clearing before he sets me down on his lap.

  A fire is already lit and I smell roast boar and turtle stew. I take a deep gulp of air, swallowing the wonderful scent of cooking as men, women and elders buzz around me like bees on a hive. “Welcome back, Uido!” “How much bigger you have grown!” “Where is Lah-ame?”

  I feel the joyous thump of Mimi’s heart as she clutches me tightly and pats my cheeks with her slender fingers. “You are thin as a twig!” she says, blind to the muscles bulging on my arms and legs. “Did Lah-ame feed you nothing at all?”

  “But Mimi,” I say, “the training was wonderful. Truly.”

  “We must fatten you up,” she says. “I will see to that.”

  Kara folds me and Mimi in his arms, while Tawai squeezes himself in between our legs. It feels wonderful to have my family wrapped around me, until I realize that Ashu has not joined us. Nor has Natalang greeted me yet. As my people pass me from lap to lap, I search for the two of them among the crowd.

  At last, Natalang bounces over. She remains standing, but I am so happy to see her that I jump up. “You are not still angry with me, are you?” I ask.

  “No,” she replies, but she makes no gesture of affection that shows we are friends. “Welcome back, Uido.”

  I feel stung by her stiff tone. I want to say something to make it all right again between us, but she steps away and one of Kara’s hunters snatches me up in his lap.

  Then I see Ashu, sitting close to the bachelor hut. Like Danna, Ashu wears the scars of manhood now. He does not look up from the bone knife he is sharpening with a piece of tolma crystal. But I refuse to be angry with him. I break away from the others, run toward him and put a hand on his back.