Bird Season, Page 2

was so scared,” she added as he squeezed her little fingers within his larger hand.

  “Aww, Hefua. You never need to be scared of anything. You’ll always be safe here.” It felt good to tell her that she’d be safe.

  He knew her fear had been genuine, even though she was never in any real danger. He also knew, deep down, that part of what he told her was a lie. Even at that age, he knew there were dangers in the world that it was sometimes impossible to protect people from, even with the best efforts. But he adored the way she reacted when he made that reassurance. Even though he’d said she’d always be safe “here,” what he’d really meant — and what went through his mind — was that she’d always be safe with him here.

  Hefua had giggled at him, giving him her other hand so he could hold both of hers at once. “Promise?” she cooed, thrusting her head towards him playfully. “Promise I’ll always be safe?”

  The feeling of both her hands within his, the hands of a girl that oozed innocence in every way, made him want to grab and hug her. But he resisted the urge that day, and instead held both those hands tightly, using his grip to swing her around in a circle. She laughed giddily, her fear forgotten, as he moved around and around in a circle, her stubby legs flying up into the air.

  He left a complex array of footprints in the sand as he swung her, a pattern of feet splayed at millions of random angles. The number of prints was immense, so many times did he swing her around. And every time he completed a circle, her laughter and carefree happiness seemed to increase. It had been a magical moment for him, that day he found Hefua.

  “I promise,” Poke whispered to himself, feeling the rough rock of the outcropping against his back. He became aware of the sounds of the others beginning to eat the bird. He could discern some of their words — not many, but enough to know they were talking about him. “Coward.” “Hiding.” “Afraid.” They came only from the five minions, not from Teto himself. Poke knew that Teto would understand those comments for what they were.

  Indeed, after a short time, he heard Teto’s deep voice, carrying more clearly to him than the voices of any of the others. “Quiet. That is enough about Poke.”

  Teto. He was very much in Poke’s thoughts as he felt the grumble in his stomach, thinking that he should get a stick to catch a fish. But he could not help but replay a second memory in his mind, one in which the two of them, Poke and Hefua, were older. He had by then begun to feel the maleness of his body, even though he was really still a child.

  Poke was different than most of boys on the island in the way he dealt with those feelings. They were in some ways foreign to him, but in other ways felt completely natural and enjoyable, and he wanted to understand the conflict. For as his body continued to mature, they were deeply powerful feelings. While other boys on the island were open about expressing what was happening, encouraged by the adults and elders of the village to be uninhibited about them, Poke remained introspectively reticent and shy.

  Hefua had been collecting shells by the shore in the morning, her bare feet leaving wet prints in the sand that were quickly washed away by the surf, surrounding her ankles with bits of foam. Dawn had still been fresh and she was unaware anyone was there to see her. Poke hadn’t intended to sneak up on her, but when he saw her shape silhouetted by the low sun, he couldn’t help but stand and watch. She selected different shells with exquisite care, often smiling when she found one she liked and decided to keep, placing it delicately in a small wooden bowl. Oh, how Poke loved to see that smile of hers.

  He’d felt as though he could stand there forever, just watching her. Her body was at the very beginning of its own transformation and Poke was unable to explain even to himself the full nature of his draw to her.

  It was while he was watching her that he’d seen Teto walking towards her along the beach, flanked by two of his everpresent friends. He was just close enough to hear the exchange.

  “Hi Teto,” she said. Her voice was pleasant enough and friendly, but with a subsurface quality that suggested some hesitation. Discomfort, even, at being confronted alone by the three older boys. Even more than that, though, was the way her whole body changed. The carefree girl, who seemed at one with the beach and sea, was gone, replaced by one who was slightly stiff and cautious.

  “Hello, Mikena. Hello, Ra’ato.” Of course she addressed the other two boys only after greeting Teto.

  “What are you doing, Hefua?” Teto asked, after giving only a curt nod in response to her greeting.

  She couldn’t help but smile when she answered, her discomfort forgotten for a moment. “Just collecting some shells.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m making a lei, for someone very special.”

  “Oh?” Teto added, “Who?”

  Hefua giggled a bit, bending her head down to her shoulder to expose the left part of her neck. “Just someone who’s special, Teto.” Her smile broadened, the thought of that special person bringing back some of the carefree nature that had been there just moments before. “It’s a secret,” she whispered.

  Teto seemed to think she was laughing at him, almost taunting him. But it wasn’t that way at all. She was just embarrassed being caught with her preadolescent emotions.

  Teto looked left and then right. He pulled himself up to his full height. Even at that young age, it was easy to see his physical power. He made an intimidating sight, towering over the small girl with his two friends to support him. He struck her bowl with his right hand, knocking the carefully selected shells onto the sand.

  “When I ask a question, I want an answer.” As commanding as it was, his tone lacked confidence, as though trying on a voice of authority that was yet to grow with him over the years. Mikena and Ra’ato were startled by his action, but only for a moment. Already Teto’s charisma drew a powerful allegiance from his friends that would forever cause them to overlook their own sense of things in favor of his.

  Hefua immediately began to cry. There were a million things an older girl might have said or done, but even though her body had begun to change, she was inside still a little girl.

  Poke heard Teto’s familiar guffaw, laughing at Hefua. He started to sprint across the short distance from where he’d been watching. “What a crybaby,” Teto sneered. His taunting was deliberate, wanting to make her cry harder for him. “Crying over a bunch of stupid shells.”

  His cohorts took their signal from him, starting to laugh also, but with a hesitation they would learn to hide from him in later years. “A bunch of stupid shells,” one said. Whether it had been Mikena or Ra’ato did not much matter.

  When Poke reached the four of them, he quickly positioned his body before Teto, his posture a protective one that would brook no attempt to reach Hefua. His unique kind of strength, one that all would grow to respect, was already obvious. But even more than that, it was clear his lean body would be built for speed. His sprint to intervene had been fast, with a long stride, and still his breathing remained calm and shallow.

  “What are you doing, Teto?” he said, so quietly the other two boys could not even be certain they heard the words.

  Teto regarded him carefully, although it was impossible to know precisely what options were running through his head as he looked Poke up and down. At first, his mocking smile left his face and he looked very serious, perhaps even a little frightened. But that smile came back quickly enough that he could present his facade of good cheer. “Just talking to Hefua, Poke.”

  Poke turned his head to look down at Hefua, whose tears still streamed down her face. “I don’t think she likes what you’re talking about.” As he spoke, Hefua lifted her hand to slide it into Poke’s, letting him wrap his fingers around hers like he had done before. His squeeze was warm and reassuring.

  “You’re too funny, Poke,” Teto replied. “But it does not matter anyways. We were just walking by when we ran into the little crybaby.” With that, he laughed again and continued on his way, leaving Poke with Hefua.

  Wiping the tears from
her face, he asked, “Are you all right, Hefua?”

  She sniffed and responded. “Yes, Poke. Thank you.” With that, she bent down to pick up the shells she’d collected, being careful to brush the sand from them even though she would be washing them later when she made the lei. Poke moved to bend down also and help her retrieve them, but she said, “No. Please, Poke.” Something about the look in her eyes made him want to respect that preference to retrieve the shells herself.

  So he stood there, over her. The still-rising sun stroked his brown back and shoulders with strong rays, letting him feel the heat of the rising day and casting a long shadow of his body that completely covered Hefua. She looked small on her knees, within the shade of her protector, collecting the shells one by one with the same care she’d chosen them.

  It was a memory that always brought a dual sense of things to Poke. There was anger at the memory of Teto, but also comfort in the memory of standing over Hefua, letting her feel safe as she went about her task. Today, as Poke leaned still against the rock outcropping, hearing the fading sounds of the group finishing their meal, the sense of anger was stronger. But he could still feel a hint of that comfort, and he brought his hand up to stroke the shells of the lei that he always wore. Closing his eyes, he grasped several of them, bringing them