Read Online Island's End by Padma Venkatraman - Free Book Online Page A

me in the moonlight.
    I return to my lonely banana-leaf hut. When I fall asleep, I dream of seeing my tribe again as if from a great distance. The faces and bodies of my people blur together in my mind, all growing into one person. I see this person’s spirit as a bright glow, but as I move toward it, the glow shrinks into a dot no larger than a little spider. Frightened, I reach out my hand. As the bright spot climbs into my palm, I understand that this delicate spirit is mine to protect. For a moment at least, I am not afraid of what awaits me; instead, I fear only for the tribe whose safety I will hold in my hands if I become oko-jumu.

16

    W hen I awake, I feel refreshed and determined to find the insect-eating plant. I must collect its healing waters and learn what it has to say—for the sake of my people. If going through the swamp will give me knowledge to help guide the En-ge into the future, then I must do it.
    Later that morning, Lah-ame goes into the jungle with me to choose a tree trunk for a canoe. It takes us nearly half the day in the pouring rain just to drag the trunk back to my leaf hut. He shows me how to carve out the trunk using his stone adze. While I work, he sings stories of how our ancestors used waves and currents, as well as the movements of birds and stars, to guide them from island to island in days long gone. I do not understand why I need to learn any of this since I will never need to canoe far into the ocean. But I am glad to learn something new because it keeps me from worrying about the upcoming journey. Lah-ame keeps me up late into the night, naming the stars that help the En-ge keep direction.
    For the rest of the rainy season I continue to hollow out the log canoe while Lah-ame teaches me many things. I learn how an oko-jumu must predict the change of seasons by watching the patterns drawn across the sky and sea and the behavior of the plant and animal spirits. In the evenings I practice fire making and at night Lah-ame tells me more about canoeing across the ocean. His songs and stories feed my body as well as my spirit. My back and shoulders grow broader still from hitting stone against wood, and my spirit’s determination to pass the test ahead strengthens as well.
    By the time the canoe is carved, along with two poles and paddles, the wind and rain have weakened. On the morning after the moon has grown into a circle for the sixth time since we left the tribe, Lah-ame says, “Tomorrow we will set out.”
    We spend much of the day preparing for when I reach the swamp. Lah-ame gives me many empty wooden vessels with lids.
    “These are to store the waters from your special medicine plant,” he says.
    That night, I keep my thoughts on the image of my tribe sleeping together in the communal hut. It helps me stay determined to find the insect-eating plant and ignore my fear of the swamp.
    Lah-ame wakes me at dawn. I knot my medicine bag to my waist belt with two vine ropes, to make very sure it will not fall off. We pile everything we need for the journey into my canoe and heave it onto our shoulders. The canoe is heavy, but I lift it with ease. My footsteps are steady as we walk to the stream. We lower the canoe into the cold, mist-covered water.
    “You have a new strength this morning,” Lah-ame remarks. “This is good, because there is a new skill to learn today.” He leaps into the front end of the canoe. “Watch what I do.” I hear monkeys screeching with curiosity in the treetops as Lah-ame pushes off the bottom of the stream with a pole.
    Lah-ame shows me how to use the paddle. I am amazed how easily this skill comes to me—as though I have been canoeing since my childhood. The monkeys follow us, swinging from the trees along the bank for a time. Their happy chatter encourages me. But soon the canoe is too fast for them to keep up. I am sorry when we leave them behind.
    As evening approaches, we lose the distant chatter of monkeys, then the songs of birds and finally