Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

“Please,” I say, panting. “They’re trying to kill us. Thank you.”

Our protector smiles grimly. She leaves the door open and sits down at the kitchen table, watching us, uncertain. “We’ll do what we can. Quiet, now.”

Dad kisses the back of my head and hugs me from behind. “It’s going to be okay. Hang in there.”

I wipe rainwater and tears from my eyes as the woman and I stare at each other. The terrifying sound of dogs returns. They’re excited; they know we’re near. I close my eyes and hold my breath.

I hate dogs .

A voice calls from the street in Hawaiian. I catch a few words—“enemy,” “duty”—as the woman’s eyes narrow in fear. A voice translates into English, competing with the rain on the aluminum roofing. “Don’t even think of harboring these murderers. Give them up now and no trouble comes to you.”

Murderers? Did Dad kill that man?

The woman and I lock eyes. Her expression is tortured, terrified. “Please,” I whisper.

She rises and paces between the counter and the table. The dogs are nearer. One growls in the stairway above. Others yelp and bark. With a trembling touch, the woman turns on an old record player connected to a car battery. She carefully sets the needle down on a spinning record and raises both of her shaking hands to her temples to steady them.

The ukulele music haunts me with the promise of comfort.

Hawaiian words, then English, ring out from the street. “If we find him hiding in your house, Kana`ina will banish you. Do it right. Serve your Hawai`i!”

The woman looks at us. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“No!” I whisper. “Please. You’re all we have.”

“Ma’am, please.” Dad’s voice is shaky.

The voices grow stronger. “He killed seven dogs! He shot a deputy in the face! Don’t you dare help him!”

I close my eyes as warm tears stream down my cheeks. I pray to God. I invoke the aid of my ancestors. I beg Pele, and all the gods of Hawai`i above her. I scream out with my mind to the Emerald Orchid to do something—anything. Please. Let us get out of here .

“There’s nothing I can do. The dogs know. There’s nothing.” The woman is still holding her fingers to her temples, slowly shaking her head.

Dad pleads. “We don’t want anything from you. Just a chance. Tell them we stopped here and then went up the road. We’ll run back to the forest. A chance.”

The woman listens. She’s considering it. I hold my breath. Please .

A dog appears at the sliding door to the back lanai and barks in triumph. The woman cries out in surprise, then: “They’re down here! They have a gun. Down here.”

Dad nudges me forward. “Run!”

As I spill out of the closet, a Hawaiian man appears in the doorway. We lock eyes, lethal victory in his cold gaze. I gasp and back up into the hole, pushing Dad in. I swing the door shut. We’re lost in darkness. “Dad, oh, God. I … wa …” I can’t breathe. He squeezes me tight.

“Cover your ears.” I hear the hammer of his pistol cock, and I shrink into a ball. We’re going to shoot our way out of here. Okay. Okay. We have to .

Then the deep voice speaks a foot away. “Push your gun out. I’m pointing one right at you. You fire, I fire. I kill you and your daughter.”

A groan escapes Dad. He pushes open the door and tosses his gun.

“No, Dad!”

The stout man strides over, tucking a pistol into his pants with a vicious grin. He snags Dad’s gun and reaches a hand into the closet, grabs me by my hair, and drags me into the kitchen. I scream and slap at his clenched fists.

“No! Stop!” Dad rushes my captor, eyes afire, but the man whips him in the face with the side of the gun. Dad spills over a chair. The woman whimpers, eyes shut tight.

“Dad!” I cry. “Dad!”

He stirs, dazed. Two more men push into the kitchen. One in a police uniform. A gold star over his heart. Pure muscle.

“Stop this!” I shout. “What’re you DOING?”

The sheriff looks me over.

The stout man laughs. “Shut up, hapa .”

“Please!” Dad says. “Her mother is the first daughter of a kahuna. Lani Hawika. Spare her.”

The sheriff stiffens. “ Lani Hawika? Was a cop over here?” Dad nods.

“Kahuna? Kahuna my ass.”

My captor spits on Dad and yanks on my hair. I scream. The sheriff looks at me. “Lani Hawika’s granddaughter?”

“Yes,” Dad says.

“Malia’s kid?”

“Yes!”

The sheriff looks at the ground. “Goddammit. Put her over there.”

I’m dragged to the far side of the dining table.

The sheriff eyes Dad, pulling his gun from his holster. Realization dawns.

He’s only going to spare me.

Dad’s eyes are closed; he knows that this is the end.

“Stop!” I say to the sheriff. “Please. Your men tried to kill us. The dogs attacked. We hadn’t done anything. We didn’t mean to hurt anyone .”

The sheriff points at me. “You should’ve surrendered. We only wanted your stuff. No one comes through here without payment. No one sneaks iodide. I decide who gets medicine. Sure as hell no one shoots my men in the face.”

The Hawaiian grabs Dad by the shirt, drags him into the middle of the kitchen, and tosses him down.

“What are you doing?” I scream, jump up to go to Dad. Someone grabs my arm.

The sheriff points his gun at Dad’s head.

“Stop! STOP!” I scream. “NO NO NO!”

“I love you, Lei.” Dad looks at me with eyes that are calm and fearful. “I’m so proud of you.”

The woman crouches in a corner, hands over her face. “No! NO!” I shriek, struggling to free myself. “This is your new Hawai`i? This is your gods and your people?”

My vision flickers. The sheriff lowers the gun. My head begins to buzz. Knocks echo in distant parts. Not now, goddammit! Go away! I stare at the sheriff.

He studies me. Raises the pistol to Dad’s head. Cocks the hammer. Dad looks at me with eyes that have already moved on.

“NO! STOP!”

A thunderous crack. Darkness. Lightning flashes across the void, and I fall backward. Magma boils my skin and melts it away. I’m engulfed, swallowed by Po . The shaking stops. The lightning dies. There is only darkness and a gentle breeze. In the silence, I listen.

I am Leilani. You are Leilani.

The pulling tide. The yellow fire. I am worn .

Can you hear me? Do you know I’m here?

The giving has purpose, but I am weary. I crave the depths, the comfort of no tides. I will show the peace of the depths to the new one that I gave .

Please. Hear me.

The islands that ooze the heat are good. But I have had my fill. This island hotness will linger—it will ooze for a while now .

The giving was good but very hard. I have had my fill. I will leave the rest for my return .

No. Stay. You cannot go.

Oh, God, Daddy’s gone. He’s gone.

The sheriff of Hana sits over me. He’s looking out a window. I’m on a bed in a small room, dimly lit by the evening light (or is it morning?) passing between the gently rustling curtains. I study his profile. He is weary and preoccupied.

He executed my father on the floor of a kitchen. I heard the thunder. And for what?

“Where’s my dad? Let me see him. What have you done with him?” But I’m not sure it came out that way. The sheriff looks down, realizing that I’m awake. He watches me. He must see my eyes filling with hatred, but his only narrow.

I can feel it coming again, like the blade of a fan slowly getting faster. An angry mob stampeding down the next street, torches raised. They’re coming for my body and my mind.