Page 4 of Ghosts and Ginger Tea

And returned.

It came and went like waves. One moment she’d be healthy and fine, and the next moment she’d be pale as ash and unable to rise from her bed.

Kiki and I prepared ourselves for the moment it would finally take her.

The thought of losing her, however, was unbearable. But I couldn’t stay by her side forever; failure to pay the land tax on our home would cause its confiscation. With foreign governments coming in and teaching us their ways, dress, and manners, we now had money systems, paid taxes, wore corsets and dresses, and our homes were transforming from lonely shacks to homes made of wood, stone, and cement.

And since I wanted to help mother and Kiki live comfortably in one of the sturdy homes inspired by the foreigners, I had work to do.

If only father didn’t waste whatever fortune he’d mysteriously won, I thought, reflecting on how father had somehow become overwhelmingly wealthy just a month before his death. He wasted all ‌his wealth on drinks, and that angered me. He should’ve used it to buy Kiki and mother a new home.

I shook my head.

Today’s catch will help earn funds to afford a pleasant home for them, I thought, trying to be positive, though I knew it would take a miracle to create a better living situation for them before my impending marriage.

I rowed closer to the looming black cliffs of Ka‘u, our hometown, where I attached my canoe to some ropes hanging off the side.

Father had taught me how to spearfish when I was younger, and I was a natural. Although… perhaps my “natural” ability came because I truly wanted to help my family afford the luxuries and goods that the foreigners brought. Father always spent our money on alcohol, but with him gone, it was encouraging to see our savings build up.

Water hit the sea cliffs ahead of me.

I held the fishing spear in one hand and a line of impressively colorful fish in my other hand. My legs felt like jelly after a long morning of diving. But I caught hold of a rusted old ladder and began my climb up the sea cliff.

Unlike other islands and locations throughout the Hawaiian Islands, the terrain here, in my hometown of Ka‘u, was rough. Lava rock covered everything. We had one green sand beach and a few black sand beaches, but the rest of the terrain was sea cliffs. The sea cliffs didn’t bother me though, because they made it faster and easier for me to go deep-sea diving and fishing. All I had to do was dive off a cliff, instead of swimming forever to find the deep waters where the best-tasting and biggest fish swam around.

One fish, a pink-colored thing, flapped in my face, and I shook it.

“I know, I know,” I told him, as if we were old friends. “It’s high, but you get used to it.” I finally reached the top of the ladder, and to my dismay, saw a group of fishermen approaching.

I was modest, of course, wearing a one-piece swimming suit with a tank-like top and leg pants that almost reached my knees. But it wasn’t my modesty that concerned me.

Among the group of approaching fishermen was my betrothed, Pulu. Hoping he would ignore me as much as I ignored him, I avoided eye contact. I hurried to lift my small canoe out of the water and onto the cliff’s edge. I had barely finished when I heard my name.

“Oliana!”

I looked up and didn’t even try to fake a smile.

“Well, you look grumpy as usual,” Pulu said. He was old, with a toothy smile, and his breath reeked of alcohol. I don’t know why I thought father would betroth me to someone young, handsome, and healthy. Perhaps it was my fantasy that made me dream of a happily ever after—I mean, what young woman didn’t desire an attractive husband and a happy home life?

I should’ve known better.

This man, Pulu, was my betrothed. He had already been married twice and had a daughter who was not much older than me. Open gossip in town claimed my father lost a bet when drunk, which led him to betroth me to this man.

It was sickening, really. And infuriating.

When my father died, I went to the chief of our little community and asked if he could cancel the betrothal. My father was dead anyway, so shouldn’t I have my freedom to choose who to marry? However, to my dismay and embarrassment, he denied my request. Even though the local chief had a distaste for father, he still respected his wishes.

Or his horrible luck. Father’s luck that lost him a bet and got me betrothed.

“And you look drunk, as usual.” I folded my arms, and the man’s eyebrows drew together.

“When we’re married, you’ll be watching that tongue of yours.” He spat on the ground.

A million words sat on the tip of my tongue, waiting to rain down on him like the spewing lava from Kilauea volcano.

But I knew better. There was nothing I could do except accept my fate and hope that, by the wedding in a few weeks’ time, I could make enough funds to provide a comfortable home for my sister and mother. Who knew? Perhaps I could secure their passage to a different island, somewhere they could start fresh and Kiki would have more promising prospects for marriage. I did not want her to end up in the same situation as I had.

Marrying a drunk fisherman would be like trying to catch fish with a net full of holes—nothing but frustration and emptiness. But this was the life ahead of me, whether I wanted it to be or not. I might as well accept it.