Freshly showered and smelling like soap and shampoo, Luka lies naked on one of the two twin beds we’ve pushed together at the hotel in Akuntsa’s village. My cheek is against his chest, feeling it rise and sink slowly. I close my eyes, marveling at the steady thump of his heart. It’s strange how understated the sound is, considering the all-consuming impact of the organ. Mortality; we got another taste of it on the trip to Tacua. Twice, Luka had to clear the child’s airways of phlegm in order for him to breathe.
“You didn’t feel good about leaving him behind there,” I mumble.
“Eh. They’ve got the equipment, and I didn’t. They wheeled him off. That’s all there was to it.”
We both know he’s right, but it didn’t hamper his crestfallen focus on the doors as they swung shut behind Levari and the doctors. “Only family, please.”
Akuntsa has opened her home to us until the child is well enough to go back to the jungle, but it’s one room and a kitchen. The warriors took her up on the offer, while Luka and I needed to visit our shipment anyway, and honestly, I looked forward to a nice shower and an actual bed. It’s been almost a month since the last time.
Luka kisses the top of my head. “He’ll be okay.”
“Yeah. I think you just saved your first little human life,” I say.
“Immune systems, man. It’s crazy, isn’t it, how fast little Muku went downhill? He was playing in his front yard just a week ago. Remember how he slipped into my flip-flops and tried to run off in them?”
I laugh. “Yeah, little rascal.”
“Immunology.” Absentmindedly, he rakes his fingers through my hair, leaving a pleasant chill in his wake. “It’s fascinating. Generally, our immune systems are able to prevent or eliminate microbial infections, but if it’s deficient, a cold can quickly turn into pneumonia, and the pneumonia can become fatal. You and I would probably have fought both on our own, but Muku couldn’t.”
He breathes against my hair, kissing the top of my head. “I’d like to specialize in immunology. Hell, I could make a difference. A good immune system is needed for everything.”
“You’d make a good immunologist.” I press my lips against his chest and lick a nipple. He chuckles in response, tightening his hold around my body.
“God, beds are amazing,” I moan out.
“Yeah, there’s nothing quite like them.”
Luka is the first to open his laptop and log onto the wifi. He has fifty-seven new emails. I bite the bullet too when his forehead scrunches in concentration. Mama is doing well, spending most of her time with her sister’s family. She’s with Julian at the cemetery every day, Luka reports, and we both swallow our silence over that.
I read emails from the department. Changes in class times for the upcoming semester and news about grants. An award for Dr. Bergstein. He never even mentioned that he was being considered for it. I email him. Congratulate him on the award. Then I continue,
Based on what I’ve seen, I’ll need to redefine my thesis statement. The truth isn’t as simple as former visitors of the Lara’ have stated, and I’m starting to believe it’s because of the anthropologists’ skewed focus. With that, I mean they didn’t spend enough time on the reasons to the banishment of new widows and what seemed like sexual exploitation. From my interviews and observations, it’s more complex than formerly deemed; the tribe as a whole, women included, believe that the grief of a wife over a husband is sacred. It can only be uprooted by a combination of solitude and introspection at daytime, and sexual comfort at night.
“What are you doing?” Luka asks, eyes training on me over our little table.
I smile. “Shooting off an update to my professor. It feels freaking amazing. It’s like I’m getting to the bottom of something we should have known for decades.”
He bites his lip, yellow gaze traveling over my face and landing on my mouth. “You’re pretty amazing yourself. You know that? It sounds easy the way you say it, but not everyone can get that kind of information out of people.”
“I’m a trickster, huh?”
His grin fades, stare turning darker. “No. You’re a natural at what you do.”
I’m replying to Joy’s email when Luka snorts from the other side of the table.
“What’s up? Funny update?”
“Hilarious. Belen, one of my colleagues, has found herself a few Fratters.”
“Are you kidding me? The bitch from your film set?”
Luka snorts again, and it lasts longer this time. “Guess you remember her.”
“How can I forget Ms. Obsessed-with-Luka-Verenich, and ‘that’s cute that you visit him at Lucid, but I keep him busy here?’”
“That her voice?” he asks about my whiny mouse-mocking.
“No, it was worse. She was a screamer too. Jesus Christ, I have no idea how you even felt like coming when she...” I feel queasy. “I think we should eat now. It’s been a while since we ate.”
Luka gets up immediately and pulls on a pair of shorts. “Yeah. There’s a small restaurant around the corner.”
“What’s she doing with the Fratters?” I get dressed without looking at him.
“Sleeping with them. Visiting, you know, keeping them busy.” He imitates my mouse-whining on the keeping-them-busy part.
“Are you fucking kidding me? More than one too?”
“What, did you think they’d remain celibate until you came back to the Queen?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just... How the hell does she know where you live?”
He watches me from the bottom of the hotel stairs as I stomp the last steps down. “She’s been there a few times.”
“You’ve slept with her after hours too?”
His shrug is enough of an answer.
“But she knew you weren’t there, though, right?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Something about wanting to pick up her dildo. Pink thing, supposedly. I can’t keep track of people’s shit. I just throw it in my toy drawer.”
Toy drawer. Grr!
“You’re an asshole, Luka Verenich!”
“Oh lord. Okay, here we go again.” He extends his hand for me to take it. I slap it away but follow him out the door. I am hungry. My stomach churns hard now. Once I’ve eaten, I’ll know if it’s from hunger, remembered scenes from Lucid Entertainment, or just that bitch in general. What the hell is she doing visiting the guys?
We don’t speak until the waiter has us seated in a romantic corner of the six-table restaurant. Luka looks calm, sipping off his water glass, while I’m seething. He pushes the breadbasket in front of me. I pull out a hot bun, smear butter on it, and—it’s the single most delicious thing I’ve tasted in my entire freaking life.
My mouth waters. I hurry to bring the napkin to my lips, because I’m producing spit at an alarming rate, here. Jesus, bread is good.
Luka can barely contain his humor. “Tasty?”
I nod. It’s hard to scowl when you’re in Heaven, it seems.
He orders regular wine—I’m talking red wine of the cabernet type—and this too is incredibly delicious. It’s slightly cool and melts on my tongue. I want to drink a lot of it, apparently, because I down my glass so quickly that Luka orders a whole bottle for the table. I don’t object.
He covers my hand with his. “The guys can handle themselves. Okay? Belen can’t do them any harm. She’s fastidiously clean and would never risk getting pregnant.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you jealous?” His voice is silky.
I think about it while I meld my lips around the brim of the glass, sucking the bloody liquid in through my teeth. Then I put the glass down. “No. I’m not jealous. I don’t have a problem with the Fratters being with other women at all. I think it’s time they start finding themselves girlfriends—it’s been a while since any of them have had a serious relationship. But Belen sucks, and I wish she’d stay fa-a-ar away from any men I know.”
He lets the obvious hang between us in the air for a few seconds before asking, “Does that include me?”
I look down at our joined hands. Lift them high enough for me to breathe a small kiss against his knuckles. Then I finally admit what I could have admitted weeks ago. “Especially you.”
A night on clean sheets in Luka’s arms calms me. The man can fill a girl’s mind, body, heart, and soul. I didn’t know he had so many sweet words in him.
He says he loves me, again he says it, and it’s not after a moment of passion. It leaves a warm spot in my belly, between my lower ribs where my abdomen is soft and yielding. I chew on my own three words. They’re there and wanting to be released. They’re dangerous though. Once they’re out, what do I do? There’s so much wrong with the two of us together.
Here, in this strange place, we complete each other. But would we work in the Valley where Julian’s memory is heavy, where the pain is thick and more visceral dangers loom?
He kisses my worries away with lips that are present and full and soft. This is not the kiss of a man willing to share his body with anyone but his girl, and I think that I am that here. I’m his girl, and Luka, he’s my man.
I gasp.
“What, baby?”
“I’m afraid.”
He squeezes me tighter. “Of what?”
“Of this. I think that maybe...”
“Maybe...?” He turns my face with a gentle grasp on my chin.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I whisper, “but it feels like I... love you... back.”
My chest is full of relief and misgivings. I just gave away a game I hadn’t planned. I’ve left myself fragile to him. Now he can treat my heart the way his brother did, crush it, make me suffer and fear for the night and for tomorrow.
“Don’t be scared, baby. Nothing changes, okay? I’ve known for a while now. It’s why you’ve been so angry with me. Woman are odd creatures.”
He huffs a laugh and kisses me again, sliding his mouth over mine. I have comebacks. He’s dead wrong; women are not odd creatures, and I’m not angry with people because I love them. But beyond those arrogant words, what Luka says is you’re special and I love you.
How did it come to this? I let my question curl off like smoke. Let happiness and comfort coalesce, the way I hope Raka does in the jungle.
Muku was out of the danger zone the morning after our arrival to Tacua, but the hospital kept him for a few extra days. Now that he’s released, we quickly learn that the little guy is a chatterbox.
He hasn’t been out of the jungle before, and there’s much to point at and comment on as far as the two television sets in a store window, the restaurant with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths, and the ferry taking us back into the jungle. Levari’s interpreter job has turned fast-paced since a lot of Muku’s questions revolve around us.
“Papa says you want to learn about everyone in Lara’ Nation. You want to learn about me? I have a scar on my ankle.” He lifts his leg backward like a horse and points. “It’s from the short-eared zorro when I tried to hold her puppy. She was ma-a-ad and bit me. I could have died!
“That there is a black caiman. It took all of Tujy’s leg and the blood oozed out of him until he died right away.”
“I want to swim, like Attu. You know Attu? He’s my papa’s warrior. He has a scar too. It’s from the great king jaguar, and he tricked him into not taking him. Attu is the bravest warrior of them all. He has many, many sons.”
We get off the ferry, and the little guy is still pointing and talking from his position on Luka’s shoulder. His body is weak and has a few days to go on antibiotics, but his mouth can’t be stopped by a mere near-death experience. By the time we reach the village, I mutter to Luka, “He’s adorable, but you know what? I’ve got a headache.”
Muku squirms down from Luka’s shoulder and runs ahead of us into the village, shouting off the top of his poor little lungs. I can only imagine what he sounds like at full capacity.
“What’s he saying?” Luka asks Levari.
She shakes her head. “He says, ‘Don’t be afraid. I have come back to you.’”
“He’s the center of the universe.” Luka grins.
“Oh yeah, Muku always was.” Levari smiles. “If he continues this way, despite being the youngest son, he’ll be a serious contender to the throne of Lara’ Nation.”
I visit Raka in the jungle every day. Some nights, I go there with Luka. We remain out of sight, leaning against a palm tree, and watch the warriors come. The change in Raka occurs faster than expected. The young warrior from the first night, the one who slept with Raka in his arms, returns more and more frequently, and at the four-week mark of Tujy’s death, the miracle happens.
Luka and I are usually here first, ahead of the arrival of the warriors. This way, I can document any changes in their pattern. Tonight, when the young warrior appears out of the forest, he’s alone.
Luka and I exchange a glance.
“He doesn’t need backup anymore?” I whisper.
“Seems like it.”
I lean back against Luka and let him link his arms around me. His chin drops to my head, and together, we watch Raka stand from her crisscrossed position on the ground, eyes lifting and fixing on the warrior as he stops in front of her. He speaks in sweet, low syllables, and that’s when it happens, when everything changes. Raka replies!
“Oh my god,” I choke out. Luka squeezes me silently.
The young warrior holds her face tenderly. He tips it up so he can look deep into her eyes. He speaks again, and her eyes flood with tears, but—
“Is that a smile on her lips?” I ask.
“Yeah. She’s happy to see him.”
The young warrior lifts her. Stands there for a moment with his fairytale maiden who needed to be rescued. She’s Yarunami all over again, fulfilling her cycle when she kisses him back. They take their time like this, in each other’s arms, until he lowers her into the hammock and climbs in.
I turn in Luka’s embrace and kiss my man too. Instinctive, he presses me close.
“Let’s go back to the village,” I murmur.
“You don’t want to make sure he sleeps over?”
“I know he will. What we just witnessed was Raka’s surrender.”
Luka lets out a slow exhale, heating my temple with it before he finds my lips again.
Three days later, Muku comes running into our hut. He hops a little on his feet. Naked from the waist and down, he wears the t-shirt I bought him in the village. It was the only one in English and reads I still live with my parents. Luka thought it was hilarious. Everyone else found it to be true and therefore a valid choice.
Words stumble out of Muku’s mouth at record speed, but without Levari we’re pretty lost. I understand “celebration,” and “jungle,” and when he opens his arms wide and adds something that includes the name Raka, I get up and run after him.
Levari ducks out of her family’s hut at the same time. Her grin is so big she must have had a visit from our little messenger too. “We’re getting Raka back from the jungle today! She’s chosen her husband, and the men are repairing the middle-house for them next to Yarunami’s now. As soon as it’s ready, we go.”
“The middle-house?” I thought I knew most concepts related to widows’ grief amongst the Lara’, but this expression is new.
“Yes. It’s where the new couple lives and rides out the last part of her waves of sorrow, until she’s clean enough to move back into the village.” Levari presses her hands together happily. “Many make babies, and then it’s easy to see the wife is ready to move back to the living.”
I smile at how simple that sounds.
An hour later, the whole village is congregated outside Chief Pap’s hut. They talk loudly. They laugh. The children chase each other the way they often do. I notice Raka’s sister there with a baby on each hip. The fussiest of them has Raka’s eyes.
“All right, it’s time!” Levari translates the chief’s orders. He speaks with a toothless grin, pointing at the young warrior we now know well. I’ve wanted to talk with Raka’s suitor for a while, but Levari advised against it. “Wait until we know for sure. Wait until she’s out of the jungle.”
In only a week, Luka and I will be on a plane that takes us far away from Lara’ Nation. I can’t believe how fortunate I am to be here for this, so soon after Tujy’s death. Maybe it’s divine intervention. Maybe the great king jaguar felt like showering me with random luck as an adopted member of the Lara’.
At the front of the group, the young warrior straightens, his black mane bejeweled with shiny red and yellow parrot feathers.
“I didn’t know that anyone but the chief wore parrot feathers.” I frown. “Wait. Are they related?”
Levari nods. “You didn’t know? Raka has chosen Makajanti, Chief Pap’s oldest son. Even as children, he followed her everywhere, and look. Look at his face now.”
I squint, homing in on him. With red brushstrokes of celebration streaking his cheekbones, his features are smooth with anticipation.
Makajanti leads the village into the woods. Branches and leaves rustle under our feet, but hushed concentration sinks over us as we approach Raka’s temporary home. I squeeze my notebook, aware that I won’t be writing in it. I’ll be soaking up every second of love-in-bloom as its petals unfold.
In the small clearing surrounding her hammock, Raka sits with her legs crossed. Her food basket is empty, and she isn’t staring into an invisible abyss tonight.
“Does she know?” I ask Levari, who shakes her head.
“No. This is a judgment call made by the elders, after examining the widow from afar and discussing with the new husband.”
I tap Luka’s shoulder. Point to a curve in the path that leads toward the side of the hammock. “Let’s get a better view. I want to study both of their reactions.”
He takes my hand. Notices my half-assed hold on the notebook and shoves it into his shorts pocket without ceremony. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Eyes fixed on his bride, intention radiates off Makajanti. I’m lucky, so lucky, when Luka and I reach our position before Raka reacts. I’m blessed to see her look up, stand, and freeze at the sight of Makajanti. I watch him still for that one heartbeat that suspends in time and becomes all-encompassing.
Silent, nimble, he moves toward her, a jaguar himself. She knows what’s about to happen, and I can’t tell how she feels. Is it too early, or is this the night? Her eyes flash in the semi-darkness of this eve chosen by their elders.
Makajanti halts. From a foot away, he looks down at her with a smile that grows. My heart stutters, hoping it’s a good sign. He sinks to both knees and forms his hands around Raja’s hips. There’s so much hope in the way the muscles of his arms tense, in the way they quiet her anxious shifts.
The audience doesn’t breathe. On their mothers’ hips, even the babies remain silent. Makajanti lowers his head until his forehead meets Raka’s thighs in supplication.
Hesitant, Raka’s fingers twitch. What does she want, to push him away or accept him? I hold my breath. The warm wall of Luka against my back keeps me moored.
She breaks the stillness, arms rising from their position along her thighs. I watch as small, feminine hands settle on Makajanti’s shoulders, as he cautiously raises his head to meet her gaze.
She lets go, touch suspended until she cups red paint that screams celebration. Her lips move, jerk upward, and it’s what Makajanti needs. He springs to his feet, grabs her by the waist and swings her in the air. His shouts of victory echo through the forest.
The villagers explode into action. They hug, dance, barge forward. They pat Raka’s and Makajanti’s backs. Chief Pap initiates a song that’s nothing like the laments of the funeral party. The children chant, and as Makajanti sets his future wife on her feet, he waves her sister forward. A fussy baby is handed off to his mother, and at that I have to turn away. I’m going blurry-eyed, and for once it’s not out of sadness.
Luka laughs softly. “That’s what it took to break you? Raka getting her baby back?”
“But look at them,” I snivel.
“I know. They’re happy.”
Goodbyes are never good, but this one was especially tough. I came here to study Lara’ Nation, immerse myself in their culture and describe their coping mechanisms for my little scientific nook of the world. I got so much more.
This amazing people shared their love and their laughter. They let me in, in ways I could never have dreamed up. They shared their pain and their deepest grief, and in addition to it all, they taught me about myself.
“You miss them already.” Luka’s smile is mischievous. I love when he curls one side of his mouth more than the other.
I wipe my nose, chuckling while I fasten my seatbelt. “I guess. That was ten full weeks, huh? Whoosh.” I shrug helplessly. “So much happened. These guys, I swear.”
The plane engines revv up outside.
Luka’s eyes narrow with tenderness as he pulls me close. “They’re fucking special is what it is.”
I swallow hard. I’ll never see them again. If one of them gets pneumonia, Luka won’t be there. What will the future bring them? Us?
When we land in L.A., will Luka and I slide apart? Will I see him in that old light, of someone with a past that’s indigestible? Will I? What will he do?
What if I return to the darkness of memories and the comfort of men? No. I am past it.
“Luka,” I say once we’re in the air. “Where will we be when we land?”
“In Los Angeles?” he replies as if he’s not sure he understands. “We should go visit Mama as soon as we can. If you don’t mind? She’s eager to see us.”
Us.
“I’d like that.” My lips purse, forcing air out in a slow circle. “But where will you and I be?”
He rocks me in the small cocoon of our seats. Kisses my forehead and lets his lips linger there. “I thought you were finally mine. Is that not so?”
My face plumps with a smile, but I shut my eyes over this unlikely bliss.
“I love you, Geneva. You love me. So why wouldn’t it be us?”
“It should be us, right?”
“I think it has to be us.”