Telesa - The Covenant Keeper (19 page)

The woman dropped her arms and pouted. On her it looked sensuous. I could easily imagine her using it on some unsuspecting male with devastating effect. Some man … like my dad? The question came unbidden to my frozen mind.

“Oh Pele. How cruel to have been parted for so long. It pains me that you do not recognize me, that you do not know your own mother.”

“My name is Leila. My mother died when I was a baby. I’ve never had a mother. My
father
raised me. You must be mistaken.” My tone brooked no arguments.

“Pele.” her voice dropped an octave, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You have been misled all your life. By people who surely did love you, but who wanted to keep us from knowing each other. As you can see, I am very much alive and now we have found each other.”

I shook my head, raising my voice over and above hers. I didn’t want to hear this. My voice was ice. It was perfect Grandmother Folger delivery.

“I think there’s been some mistake. Thank you for stopping by but I think it best if you leave now. Matile and I – we would both like it if you left this house immediately.”

The woman pouted. “You speak without thought, without consideration. Don’t make me get all legal on you and drag up the necessary paperwork to prove to you I am your mother.” A pause, a tilt of her flawless face to the side as she considered my rigid stance, “You know in your heart who I am, and so does Matile.”

I looked at my aunt with searing questioning eyes. She refused to meet them, standing there in the hall, shoulders slumped as she cried silently. I hated this red nail-polished woman for hurting my aunt, a woman who had taken me in – in spite of all her reservations, who sang songs from Mama Mia to her ugly dog when she thought no-one was listening and insisted on cooking arrays of food every night in an attempt to fatten me up. Even while she sourly complained that she was tired of having me here. I clenched my fists and stepped away from the still-open doorway.

“You need to leave. Now. We don’t want you here.”

The beautiful woman smiled but her eyes were cold and hard. “No matter. We will talk again.” She took two graceful steps past me then paused to turn and reach out, holding my chin in her hand. “You are as beautiful as I always imagined you would be. These people, they will tell you many things about me, but all I ask is for you to remember – why did you come to Samoa? Why are you here? We all want to know the truth of our beginnings and, as your mother, I can answer your questions, I can give you what these people cannot. Remember that. We will speak again.”

I stood straight and tall, without words. Watching as the woman walked out of the house, down the drive and into her sleek car. Both Matile and I watched as she reversed and drove away. A soon as she was out of sight, Matile was on the phone to Uncle Tuala, telling him in hushed, frantic tones what had happened, begging him to come home at once. I waited calmly for her to finish. I had waited eighteen years for this moment after all. What were a few more minutes?

Sitting on the creaky sofa in the living room, I waited for Aunty Matile, my mind a swirling mass of questions. The silence was expectant as Matile walked in to sit on the opposite chair.

“Aunty Matile, that was my mother.” It was a statement not a question.

She nodded. In her eyes there was sorrow and fear? What was she afraid of? “I don’t understand, you have to explain to me – why did my dad tell me that she was dead? Why did he keep me from her all these years?” I wanted to scream and rage all at once. But I refused to give in to the torrent of confusion that was raging within. I wanted, I needed, the truth.

“There are many things you do not know, that you do not understand.”

I interrupted, my voice raising several octaves as my control began to erode. “Obviously, which is why I want to get some answers, I’m tired of being lied to.”

Matile tried again. “I’m trying to explain, but you have to understand, there are many things that even I don’t know. I didn’t know your father well, so I cannot speak for him or try to explain his choices. But I will try to explain some of what happened.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “First, you must know, your mother, Nafanua, is not my sister. We are not closely related. We are many years apart. She is a great aunt of mine.”

I was impatient. What did I care about their familial relationship? This wasn’t about Matile and her maybe sister, this was about me and my parents, and why my mother, who was supposed to be dead, was in actual fact alive and well. Sensing my irritation, Matile hurried on.

“Your father came here as a Peace Corp volunteer many years ago. He stayed with us for a short while, we were his host family when he first arrived. Before he went to teach at a school in the outer village of Gagaifo, Lefaga. Which is where he met your mother. Your mother was, is, a certain kind of woman. She is
telesa
. Difficult to resist. They are powerful. And when they see something they want, they always get it. She wanted your father and he – everyone could see – he was very much in love with her. Those who knew what kind of woman she was, we were sorrowful. Because we knew it could not end well. But what could we do? She is
telesa.
” Matile started crying again, sobbing into a handkerchief.

I was more befuddled than ever. “What the heck are you talking about Matile? What is te –le – sa?” I stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “What are you trying to say about that woman? About my mother?”

Matile only shook her head. “No, it is forbidden. I can’t speak of it. She is
telesa.
”

Frustration made me cruel. I jumped to my feet. “Maybe that woman was right, maybe she’s the one I should be talking to for answers. I’m wasting my time talking to you about this, You’ve been evasive ever since I got here. You know why I came to this country, after all I’ve been through, why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

“I’m so sorry Leila.” Matile was almost incoherent with sobbing, and cold shame at my attack on her cut through me like a knife. “She is
telesa,
that’s all I can tell you about her. Your father, he loved her so much. They were married in the village and she stayed with him for a short while. For a while she acted like a wife. Then she was pregnant. Your father, he was so happy. We would see him going home early from work every day, taking her special food … she always wanted to go swimming at night. He would take her down to the beach. People would talk and stare. We all wondered what kind of child she would have.” Matile’s eyes took on a faraway look at the memory. “She gave birth to you on the beach, you know. It was late at night, under the moon. Your father ran to get the
taulasea,
the healer, to help. It was difficult because there were two of you.”

I was reeling with shock, holding my breath, unwilling to make a sound that might halt Matile’s recollection, but those words hit me like a blow to the solar plexus. “Two of us? You mean twins?” My mind raced to the creased photograph hidden in my suitcase.

Matile nodded, the tears still streaming down her cheeks as she looked up at me. “Yes, two of you. The
taulasea
told us you were born first. She said she had never seen such a strong new-born before. Your mother pushed you out onto the wet sand and already you were trying to hold up your head. Your brother didn’t come for several minutes.”

My words were a whisper. “My brother? I have a brother?”

For some reason, that seemed to jolt even more crying from Matile. “Not anymore. He died. When you were four months old, there was an accident and your brother died. Your father left the country with you the next week. Right before the hurricane.”

“What happened? How did he die? Why did my dad take me away? Why didn’t my mother go with us?” The questions tumbled out over each other, eagerly running after slippery eels of elusive truth. But Matile just shook her head.

“I don’t know. Your mother is
telesa
. Your brother died. Your father left, taking you with him. He never came back here. Your mother went back to her life. After the bad hurricane. It was so bad. Many people died. I remember the wind tearing the roof off our house. We had to break a hole in our cement water tank and hide in there to be safe.” Matile shivered as if somehow the horror of the hurricane was again in the room with us. Again, I was impatient with her reminiscing about things that didn’t seem even remotely connected to my life story.

“Aunty, I don’t understand any of this. My dad told me my mother was dead. That she died in a hurricane. He said he loved her very much and he wished I could have known the woman he fell in love with. He never spoke a single bad thing about her. This doesn’t make sense. How could she be alive? My dad loved her, I know he did. If he knew she was alive, he would have been here with her. He wouldn’t have taken me away, he knew how much I wanted a mom. He wouldn’t have kept me from her, he wouldn’t …” my voice died as the cold facts tripped me. Because that’s exactly what my father had done. He had taken me thousands of miles away to Washington D.C. Told me my mother was dead. Told me it was just us two against the universe. Yes, he hadn’t talked about her much, but I always understood that to be because thinking about the love of his life was painful for him. When I was little, I used to pester him, “
What did she look like? What did she sound like? What food was her favorite? What kind of mom was she?
”
I remembered the sad smile he would give me. The comfort of his answers.
“She was beautiful, Leila, just like you … she was an amazing dancer, so graceful … she liked eating marshmallows. Your grandmother would send me some in my care packages and your mother – she had never tasted them before. She loved them! And she adored you. She really did. She had eyes for no other child. In fact, she didn’t even like me to hold you, she said I couldn’t understand the bond between you two, that it was going to be you two girls against the world, together.
No. None of this made sense. I wanted to scream and rage. Smash things. Mirrors, vases, plates and glasses. Wildly, I looked around, but the silent sobbing of Aunty Matile stilled my emotions. The sombre pictures of Jesus gazed down at both of us. Slowly, I walked over to my aunt and awkwardly put an arm on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry that woman came here and upset you so. You and Uncle Tuala have been so good to me since I got here. You don’t deserve to be upset like this. I know that you don’t like to talk about … my … mother. I don’t understand what’s going on, but I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me. You and Uncle.”

My words only seemed to provoke more tears from her. I was hugely thankful when the door slammed open and Uncle Tuala came in, panting out of breath like he had been running. Eyes full of worry that turned to soft relief when he saw Aunty Matile sitting there on the couch. Two big strides and he was beside us.

“Did she hurt you Matile? Are you alright? What happened?”

Matile shook her head and kept crying. I answered for her. “No, she’s just upset by things that woman said that’s all. But she’s gone now. We’re fine. You’re alright aren’t you aunty?”

Inside, I screamed for answers but I knew this was not the time to push the issue. This was not the person to push for explanations. The person I most wanted to talk to was dead. And the only other person with the answers I needed had just walked out the door. Uncle took Matile to lie down in the room. After fetching her some ice water, he came to sit across from me in the living room, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Leila, you must be very confused. I’ll understand if you are angry at us for keeping your mother’s presence from you. But you have to know, that we were only following your father’s wishes. Many years ago he took you away from here, away from that woman, Nafanua. He had his reasons. I am sure they were reasons that he shared with your grandmother because she said that what you were doing was against your father’s wishes, isn’t that right?”

Shadows wrapped me in a cocoon of comfort, hiding the red flush of shame that burned my face. I hung my head, my reply was muffled. “Yes. She’s right. My dad, he didn’t want me to come here. He asked me not to. Before he died, he asked me to promise that I wouldn’t come to Samoa.”

Tuala continued, “Well, you see then that we were only trying to do what your father would have wanted, what Mrs Folger asked us to do. She was very anxious that Nafanua be kept from you, and we agreed with that decision. I don’t know much about your mother but I can tell you, that she is not a good person. She has done things bad things. When you arrived and we told you that school and this house were the only safe places for you, we were not being merely strict Samoan parents, we were hoping to shelter you from a meeting with Nafanua.” He sighed and smiled resignedly, “Only one more month to go for your trip here, we almost made it.”

I smiled back at him. At this gentle man who was trying so hard to make sense of my chaos for me. “ I don’t know what to say, what to think, what to do. I’m so confused, but what I do know is that you and Aunty Matile have been nothing but good to me since I got here and I appreciate that.” I stumbled awkwardly over the words. “You didn’t even know me but you were willing to host me. I’m sorry that Matile’s upset. I didn’t want to make trouble for you both.”

He nodded wearily. “I know. You are a good girl. But you are wrong about having no family. We’ve told you many times before, your grandmother loves you and worries about you. Like her, we only want what’s best for you. I think it’s time for you to go home. Back to America. We can call the airline office now and get you on the first flight out. Matile and I, we will miss you, but you belong with your grandmother. Not here.”

I took a deep breath before replying. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I mean no disrespect and I don’t want to hurt Aunty any more than I already have – but I can’t go back. Not now. All my life I’ve wanted a mother. My father knew that. I know he loved me, but I need to find out why he lied to me, why he kept me from that woman. Please don’t make me leave now.”

Another deep sigh and Uncle gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders. The gently creeping evening was beginning to fill the room. “As you wish. Of course you can stay here with us as long as you like. We have grown to care for you. Even Matile – in her own way – would miss you. We will let this matter rest. At least for a while.” He turned to leave the room. “I must tend to your aunt. This day has been very difficult on her.”