Mermaid

Venus Neptune will avoid you. They will go into hiding, or they may escape into drink or drugs, all to get away from the other for reasons they may not even be able to define. It is not uncommon to see a normally hearty person, all of the sudden damned near disabled. It’s because the tide went out, that’s why. This is disturbing as hell on both sides of the equation. - My astrologer

"I am close to being tired of bursting into tears." There I said it, then burst into tears again whimpering, shoulders heaving. She sat, put her hand on my hand and pat.

"Not yet done. I know, the tide's out and this water is too cold to dive into. The mermaid has no place to go to renew." I let very few people see me like this, not even Raven gets to see the heaving shoulders very often. It's hard on him for all this magical ability, mortal fragility is mysterious to the silver-haired magician. Maha was one of the few who would not take my disappearing act seriously. Well, no that's not it at all is it. She takes it seriously and allows me to disappear without expecting me to cheer up before its time.

"It wasn't always that way," she'd told me back at The Cafe months earlier. "I was made to fix things," she explained when I saw my first Faceless Woman. "Being faceless myself over and over with a strong Taurus signature I don't mind messing in the mud. Coming up with new possibilities and plastering over the leaks. When I was agile and filled with energy that seemed endless I forged ahead with fixing myself and everyone in my domain. Aging made its play for my fixing habit when I could no longer reach for the tools that matters to me most: seeing and hearing." Then the woman who sat quietly tapping my hand as I cried without stopping was the Gypsy woman, nameless though titled I was seeing Maha through the veil of generality. Luckily for me, age was playing with the deck of Tarot when first I met this Gypsy. She recognized a mermaid out of water, a witch in need of her stick.

So today I cried myself into exhaustion while Maha sat and pat, sat and pat.


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Metal: the time of Autumn

I needed to go to the out house before Max began his story. Built just a few steps from the main house which was small--an open big room for the kitchen and eating place and living room. Two smaller rooms were built under the hips of the peaked cottage. Well-insulated with south-facing windows and a thick stone wall to collect the heat from the sun, electricity heated my home efficiently. Burning wood? No, I no longer did this. A shame really, since I lived on an island where Cedar, Alder, Hemlock and Fir grew thick and seemed to be proud of their ability to serve in so many ways. My cobbled and cross-stitched life had included wood when I was a very young woman, but now? Now, I lived surrounded with metal walls and roof the hard, shiny element. I lived with the reminders of Autumn, the season of The Father. Letting go has not been an easy process, so at least for now, or for as long as it takes, the metal feeds me regularly.

......

How little most people knew about witches ... oh well, that's a story for another time. Max is patient I thought. Used to the nature and cycles of humans. Relieved of the pressure on my bladder, I sprinkled a hand-full of peat moss over my leavings, covered the toilet and opened the outhouse curtain to walk the short distance to the cottage. Walking back the emotions swelled. They hide most of the time because my Capricorn Moon loves to hoard feelings. I let few people see me wet with emotions. The Gardener found ways to my hoarding moon; she was used to roots that swelled and traveled deep.


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Legacy

The stew sat well, warming me and the child growing inside. I patted my belly, rubbed loving circles as I cooed a message, a promise. "Plenty more to come," I said. Max insisted on washing his bowl, rinsed it and mine as well. There were leftovers; the stew cooled enough to be put into a smaller pan along with the tender noodles.

"Tea?" I asked, as I watched the large Kanaka move gracefully to the cushions on my sofa. A sofa which looked like a child's furniture under his near seven foot frame. Time had been gentle on my godfather, leaving his face a bronze work of art with few wrinkles. His eyes golden with green waves like limu clinging to tide pool rocks remained bright, inviting. An ocean man with endless stories to tell and only a fingertip's worth did he share even after his long history. Max knew I was looking at him though his back was toward me as he sat and knew too that it was the dreaming awake stories that entranced me most. The stories he would tell because no limits bound his imagination.

"I would love tea, whatever you have sweetheart. It makes no nevermind," he used that signature "nevermind" turned to look over his shoulder at me, and blazed me with his toothless smile.

Sometimes questions were asked outright, especially in the Nowadays community. But, the old ways wore themselves in my bones and when I was around family I was a girl again, waiting for story rather than answers.

"Do you know the 'AlaLA, Pale Wawae?" Max asked as he took the mug of strong Oolong tea from me.

"I do not," I said. Though even when I said the word it seemed familiar. I sat in the rocking chair facing Max and sipped. Too hot. Cautious of the baby, I set the tea on the glass-topped wicker table and let it cool.

"And, Alala?" Shifting the emphasis on the vowels, the word was different and right away I knew it.

"Sure, Alala is the name of the road where Bunny and Chucky live. In Lanikai back on O'ahu." My first cousin "Chucky" was Charles Kaulana Wawae and his wife Bunny, was Bunny Roberts. Flashbacks to Alala Place. Scenes I rarely allowed while awake. A time when it was I who was the Faceless Woman lit up scenes behind my eyeballs.  Now was not the time for remembering. I willed the memory away and listened to Max's voice.

"It is the same word, but in the Nowadays pronunciation is lax. The word is 'AlaLA with the accent on the final syllable. It is the word, the name, of the Hawaiian Crow. A crow, a bird that is now extinct in the native places." Max paused and looked to me for any connections newly made on my part. None yet. I cocked my head, and the kahuna began his story.

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One bowl of food

I was glad my kitchen included the large saimin bowls I'd found, and kept since Max and No'e were children. The sturdy restaurant ware held up with all the packing and unpacking of a lifetime with only minor chips. Like wrinkles I could account for every one of the nicks; a hasty washing, an angry morning of cold cereal and hot words. There were six bowls in all, I found two with no old wounds and set them on the drainboard. The egg noodles were nearly ready, just a second cup of cold water to cool them. I covered the old porcelain pot and dug in the frig for green onions.

"Can I help?" Max asked.

"Sure." I washed the tender onions and handed them to Max, noticing his incredibly large hands and thick fingernails. Not for the first time. He found a knife in the crockery pot where I stuck the cutlery and felt the edge.

"The sharpening stone," I pointed to the drawer. With long sure strokes Max honed an edge to that knife and all the others in the pot.

"Thank you," I kissed his cheek, and then added, "I have scissors that need it, too!"

"Don't do scissors." We laughed and Max finished trimming and chopping a cup of green onions in time to sprinkle over the now-drained noodles.

I served up a portion of noodles and green onions into our bowls, then ladled chunks of chicken, carrots, celery, and rosemary sprigs over the top. The aroma and the color of the stew warmed us and hid the rich noodles until we dug into them with chopsticks. Neither of us added additional seasoning though I had roasted sesame seed oil and a batch of freshly mixed Coleman's mustard. Max said a prayer of thanks, simple and quick. We ate mostly in appreciate silence, slurping the succulent stew until the last noodle slid slowly past our lips.

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Pregnant

I have been pregnant twice before. Max my oldest was near forty-five with a great love for adventure and travel. Thinking of his namesake I chuckled, and without wishing the old kahuna for whom my son was named appeared.

"Ageless Ehu-hair," I said, unsure of his permanence I simply enjoyed the wavy view of the man who has been protector, translator and so much more. The steam from the pot of chicken stew bubbled coating the winds with a blurry vapor.

"It's the smell of the rosemary, gets me every time!" Max lifted the lid and drew in an appreciative swallow of the aroma. "Nearly pau?" With the question, the tall red-haired traveler set more solidly. The wool bowler hat. Its familiar designs of sea urchins and curling waves. Skin as deep as mahogany, and hair the color of fresh lava fell in a braid down the middle of his back. Re-positioning the lid, my godfather faced me with his hands outstretched to hold my face. Greeting in the old way, we welcomed each other.

"And," when we finally released one another, I laughed in answer to the question about the food, "the stew is good enough to eat." His smile as big as bowls dissolved any of my discomfort.Word travels quickly. It was not yet a full ten risings of the moon. It comforted me to know family was interested in my pregnancy. Max's visits always came with purpose. "It is not that we worry about you, Pale Wawae," Max considered my long-standing reputation for being independent. He weighed his words, admitting it had been almost twenty years since his last visit. Evolution was a slow process, and he knew my predispositions. Still ... he was on my side and continued this way:

"You are hapai with a child of magic and a third pregnancy will..." Max chose his remaining words carefully as he sat in the wooden chair facing me across from the small glass-topped table. "A third pregnancy will build quite a bridge." To draw a picture, the kahuna used his ten long fingers to make a grid, lacing them like a woven mat.

"Over, under, over, under," his deep voice chanted simply.
"Nothing different, nothing new"
"Over, under, over, under." Max flipped his hands over and tugged them apart.. They separated easily.

"Now let's do this together," he said and reached for my hand. I offered him the right, "No, the other one," asking for the left hand.

My fingers are slender and tapered, but not nearly three-quarters are long as Max's. Like teaching a child, Max inter-twined our fingers. The thumbs barely involved, but essential. Reading my thoughts he said, "Oh yes, the thumbs are always involved. It's they that make all the difference," Awkward though the lattice was when we were done the spaces and the lacing created a beautiful mat.

"Pull apart," he instructed. I did as told. Nothing. I caught his gaze, aware that the lesson was being cooked into me. I relaxed and our fingers fell naturally apart.

"There is room for the unpredictable. Gene pools broaden now just as they have since the voyaging canoes crossed oceans in search of new land. It is not uncommon for the Magic Ones to mate with common, or uncommon mortals." I was not quite 'common' though the label was something I had yearned for at different times through my life. Max continued, "Try as they did, the mothers' mysteries eventually trickle down to us. Some secrets were uncovered in spite of their best efforts to conceal. Now, you, Pale Wawae, are to bear a child of Raven. What is necessary to know?" Over bowls of chicken soup and egg noodles my godfather answered.


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