DIFFERENT

DIFFERENT

A PAST LIFE

I was sitting on the beach, as always, watching other children playing – running around, in and out of the wet area, trying not to get caught by the incoming waves, and laughing if they did so. They never invited me to join them. I knew that there was something different about me, I wasn’t sure what it was, just that there was something about me that they did not like – over the years, I got used to it, being different, being alone, the watcher – still, one learned a lot, just by watching…

Then one day, ‘he’ came – my mother and I lived in a one room shelter in between the beach and the village and when I noticed him approaching our house, my curiosity got the better of me, and I started walking home – my mother met him at the door, when she turned to me, and told me to come, come to meet my father…

He seemed just as surprised as I was – I was not even a full five seasons old yet; still, she had never told me about a father, a seafarer apparently, the reason his visits were few, and far between - a fair-skinned seaman – who looked as surprised as I was – and also, not as enthusiastic to meet me as I was to meet him, either – instincts made me feel wary of the man. He didn’t rush to me, or take me in his arms, but nor did I feel inclined to greet the man who was not a part of our lives…

I had to wait outside while they were showing each other how much they supposedly loved and missed each other – I, on the other hand, wondered why he didn’t live with us, if he supposedly loved us so much – afterwards, she made us a meal – she always had fish smoking and other tasty seafood wrapped in greens that she had caught and grew herself and I was pleased to have something to do, than try to converse with a stranger – he seemed to be likewise inclined, although I did notice a furtive glance my way, from time to time…

Later, he lit something that I would learn to be a pipe, and we were happy to continue sitting around the fire bier, looking quite content after having just enjoyed a tasty meal – that’s when I studied him, the stranger that was my father – I wanted to ask his name, but did not – I wanted to ask why he did not live with us like other families in the nearby village, but I did not – I wanted to ask about his travels, but I did not – but most of all, I wanted to know why he was fair, with pale eyes and yellow hair, unlike anyone I had ever seen, but I did not…

If he had any questions about me, likewise, they did not come – and apart from the name she’d given me, Liliani, my mother told him nothing else about me as if she knew, that he did not care enough, or could not care enough, to know…

He only came to us a couple of times after that over the years, the last time, my mother was ailing on her bed mat, I was trying to comfort her, our village doctor had tried everything he could to help, but she died – that’s when my father surprised me – I thought that he’d just returned from whence he’d come, as always, with hardly a ‘hello’ or good-bye’, but unexpectedly, upon my mother’s death, he changed – he helped organize her burial, although the villagers would have done that, and I finally witnessed the emotion he must have felt for my mother and had kept hidden all this time, and he cried his heart out, for days – I was shocked – I had thought that this man only visited her when in town, for sex, they hardly spoke, so it couldn’t have been for company, what happened next, was even more surprising – he decided that he was going to take me with him, to his home ‘on the other side of the world’, he’d said – I can’t remember a time when he’d ever said so many words to me before, ever - I was prepared to remain living in my mother’s house alone, and never expected to see the man who had fathered me, ever again - I even considered fighting against him, telling him to leave, that I was quite capable of looking after myself, but I found myself going with him - he was tall, and strong, and suddenly talkative, and I suppose I might have been curious to know more about the man and life, of my father – we left my mother’s house as it was, my father obviously surmised that our few things were not important possessions, we said our goodbyes to the villagers, it was my mother’s family village after all, the children not encouraging a friendship because I was different to them, when suddenly they hugged me anyway, after which I found myself in the next town, where he bought me some European clothes along with a suitcase, and the next thing I knew, was that we were on a ship – sailing for England…

I did watch my home island getting smaller and smaller as we left, and that was the first time that I’d ever noticed how pretty it was and later, when in a colder and often greyer place, would I remember the mountain, the palms, and bright sun, that I’d never appreciated, while growing up there…

And after what seemed like a long time travelling across the sea, my father’s place finally came into sight and soon after, I was entering my new life in what seemed at the time like being suffocated, surrounded by loud crowds of people, pushing and haggling over produce and wares, until thankfully, my father helped me up into what I would find out later was called a ‘coach’, with also what I would find out later were called ‘horses’, pulling it, to my new home…

And my new home, took my breath away – we drove through a tall gate with lanterns on either side of it, through a huge garden wall into a picturesque garden of immaculately kept lawns, hedges and beautiful flowers, but the house that we were approaching was the largest I’d ever seen – so many windows – so many steps – with people (servants I’d find out later), waiting to welcome us home – my father apparently was not just a sailor, he owned a shipping fleet – I didn’t know whether to feel in awe or shock – if he lived like this, why did my mother and I live in a one room shack on the other side of the world all this time, she’d died, lonely and poorly, without even knowing how grandly her lover lived, or who her lover was. If he really loved her, why did he let her live like that when he lived like this? But my thoughts were interrupted with a too quick an introduction to the servants, I thought, was then quickly followed by one of them taking me up a flight of stairs to my room, holding my suitcase. I could tell that person seemed reluctant to serve me, I was treated differently at my mother’s place, and I thought that was because of my father – but I was expecting to be treated as though I was normal now, while being with him, but I still wasn’t – I sighed – grandeur, or the lack of it, made no difference to what I was – I was still treated as though I was different – I sighed – luckily, I suppose, I was used to that…and while the maid was unpacking my suitcase, I ran my hand over the furnishings in my very own room – raised seats, and I blinked in awe, a raised bed, with the thickest, softest, pillows and quilts – but – I almost ran to the windows, and gasped at the views – rolling hills and trees and a winding river – I should be tired from travelling, but I was too astounded to rest and I leaned against the window sill – my mother’s window hadn’t been glazed – nor did she have a table and chairs, or raised bed – why did my father let us live like that when he lived like this? I would find out later, while understanding their language more and more each day, from the servants, that my father had had a wife, who also had died, not so long ago – so he had a woman here in his own country, and a woman in mine – did he have other women at other places he travelled? Would our home soon be filled with children of his from all over the world? But I digress – I spent most of that first day in my new home sitting in my window, wondering about the strange turn of events, since the passing of my mother…

******

Dinner, in a room just for dining, and only for my father and I, also took some getting used to – there was a room just for eating, and another just for sitting, and that’s where we ended up, after dinner, my father smoking his pipe beside his large fireplace, and me, sitting near him – and just like at my mother’s house, he was silent – I had so many questions, like why did he bring me here? What did he want me to do? But he kept gazing at the fire – for what seemed like ages – the fire started going out, I was about to put another log on it, when a servant did – I just gazed into the fire myself, until he finally stretched, stood, said ‘goodnight’ to me, and left the room…

I was about to retire also, when a horse rider arrived, and pulled up just outside our porch – the drapes had been pulled to help keep the room warm, so I couldn’t see what was happening outside, but I could hear what was happening, a man yelling at someone to take the horse, then running up the stairs, and pushed the door open before any servants had a chance to get to it, and hurriedly making for the lounge room that I sat in. He bounded in, seemingly flustered and angry, so much so that I stood up as if I was not supposed to be sitting there – as if I was not supposed to be in the lounge, or house – I stood, and faced him, not knowing what was expected of me, servants also, acting as though they did not know what was expected of them. He looked at me so angrily, that I was bewildered – I did not know this man, I did not know what I could possibly have done to make him so mad. He looked at me as though he was going to yell at me, but he suddenly changed his mind, looked surprised instead, and breathing heavily, started calming down. I presumed that he was angry at my father and thought that he’d find him still smoking in the lounge. At that stage, I still had not learned enough of the language to tell him that my father had retired for the night. I wondered why the servants weren’t trying to tell him, I wondered why the servants had let him in.

The only words I managed were, “good evening, can I help you?”

His face twisted, as if in agony, but he managed to go to my father’s chair, lean on the back of it for support, then looked at me again. I’d seen that look enough before. In my own land, and now this one. The look of hatred. I was different. Something vile. And it seems as though that was something that I was never going to escape from. But I tried again. “May I help you?”

Now that he was closer to me, did I notice a slight softening of his eyes? Of surprise? He slumped down into my father’s chair. A servant, a young girl, poured him a drink. So, they knew him. Then she started to leave the room, without pouring a drink for me. But I was my father’s daughter, I lived here now, this was my home, and I was going to act like it, and managed to ask for a drink also. Both the servant and man looked surprised, and although grudgingly, she did. Then I slumped back down in the chair I’d been using, thinking that perhaps I was right, my father had children from all over the world, living in his house. I was to find out that he indeed was my father’s son, but the only other child that also lived in this house.

On that first night though, for the third time, I asked if I could help him, when he finally replied, “yes, you could return from whence you’d come…” and I understood his words. Well perhaps not every word, but by his body language and hostility towards me, I knew what he meant.

I calmly took a sip of my drink. “But I’ve only just arrived,” I answered softly, slightly surprised to find myself speaking the English language, but also realizing, just the simple everyday ‘hello’ ‘good-bye’ ‘arrive’ ‘help’ and ‘you’ and ‘drink’ sort of words.

He was studying me. I ignored him. Like my father, I stretched out, and calmly watched the fire while enjoying my drink.

“You’re not…what I’d expected,” he continued, but this time, I had no idea what he said, so just behaved like my father, who never had much to say, and kept looking at the fire, sipping my drink.

“You’re not…” he tried again, but luckily, a servant interrupted us by bringing a tray of supper for him. That kept him busy for a while. He was hungry. But he kept glancing my way, and I kept watching the fire, determined not to let his adverse reactions affect me – I’d had a lifetime of this, so it was not a difficult thing for me to do.

The fire had died down again, there were no servants in the room, so I got up to place another log on the embers.

“A lady doesn’t do that!”

I understood him. “I am not a lady…”

“No, you’re not!” He drowned his drink. Being close to the drink wagon, I grabbed the decanter and refilled his glass. He looked up at me in surprise. Despite his insults, I smiled down at him. And he somehow managed to smile up at me.

“Enjoy your meal,” I replaced the decanter and started to leave the room.

But as I passed him, he grabbed my hand. “Maybe having a sister won’t be so bad…”

I pulled my hand out of his and groaned at the thought of us both having to live in the same house together. “You’re my brother?”

He looked as though he was having difficulties deciding if he was angry, or happy at the thought. He nodded. “Yea…”

I sighed. He sighed. Then we laughed.

******

His name was Simon. We never actually introduced ourselves, nor did our father bother doing so, I overheard the servants – and I guess that’s also how he found out my name, Lili – Liliani actually, but as if they had trouble remembering it, Lili was what I ended up being called, in my new home.

I could still feel some resentment emanating from my brother, but something else also, with time, unless he couldn’t help but show off in front of me, I couldn’t hide the admiration when he was taming a new horse, and he decided that he’d take it upon himself to teach the sister until just recently he knew nothing about, how to ride – he taught me how to ride like a man would ride, legs astride – I suppose he would not know how ladies were taught to ride, and I noticed later, with legs on the same side - and he beamed over at me when soon after, watching me tuck my skirts under my legs, we got into the habit of galloping together along the riverside that bordered our land. While letting the horses rest up before returning home, we’d sit under an old Oak tree, just enjoying our surroundings when one day, he surprised me, by asking what my home was like. By this time I knew enough to reply in his language, and described the warmer climate, the simpler dwellings, and he seemed to be listening, as if really interested.

That made me suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Do you…miss it?”

I leaned against the tree. That’s when I realized. Upon arriving, I didn’t think that I’d ever get used to the busy city, but, it hadn’t taken me long to get used to the lovely mansion. “No…”

“You never think of…going back?”

A memory of being ignored by my mother’s family in the village went through my mind. “No…”

For a moment, I thought that he was still trying to convince me to return. But he stretched out beside me and peered up into my face. I inwardly gasped. I’d never noticed his chiseled handsome features before, perhaps because of his angry scowling at me when we’d first met. He lowered himself so that he was lying across my legs, across my dress. “Tell me about it…”

“Well, it’s so small, that the whole island could probably fit on your large property…” I started, but trailed off, as I realized, that he had dozed off to sleep. So did I.

Later, we both raced back home before it got too dark. We had our usual dinner with our father in silence, followed by our usual (by then I’d realized that the ‘after dinner drink in the lounge’ was supposed to be a men’s only thing, but they didn’t seem to mind my presence) drink in the lounge in front of the fire, whether it was chilly or not, in silence, our father smoking his pipe, the three of us watching the fire, until finally, our father would say ‘goodnight’ and retire, and soon after, we’d follow.

But tonight, I decided to pour myself another drink.

He cleared his throat. “Ladies don’t usually…”

He was about to say drink, but I interrupted him. “I know…” I sat down again. “But I’m not a lady, am I?”

He grinned. “I…actually like the way you tuck your skirts when you ride, and the way you drink…so refreshingly…” he thought of the pompous women who did all the right things they’d been taught to do as ladies, like deportment and etiquette, yet still literally throwing themselves at him, flirting with him, like street sluts, “refreshingly different…natural…”

“Why were you asking about my home earlier?”

He shifted in his chair and faced me, “I’d like to go there…”

“A holiday?”

He nodded. “To live…Dad loved it…”

I frowned. My memories were of a man who breezed out of it as quickly as he’d breezed in. He never sat on the beach with me. He never took my mother to the town. We never even just took a little walk together. I shook my head. “I don’t think he did…”

“I remember when I was a boy. One day he came home from his travels saying how he’d found Paradise on Earth…”

I frowned, thinking of our little shack. I held my glass up, shook my drink to watch the dark liquid swirl around the finely chiseled and gold tipped crystal glass sparkle before my eyes. “This…one small exquisite glass of liquor, is worth more than that little island…”

He returned his gaze to his own glass. A dimple played around the corner of his mouth. He turned to me and grinning broadly, held his glass towards me. “Cheers, then…”

I held mine to his. “Cheers…”

I downed my drink then rose to leave. But as I was going out of the lounge, I looked back at him. His grin had disappeared. He was gazing at the fire like our father was prone to do. And somehow, that’s when I finally understood, that quiet gaze, was hiding something – something that was not right, something bad…

And as I was walking up the stairs, it dawned on me – my father and brother were not gazing at the fire in silent indifference, they were gazing at the fire in deep thought…something definitely was not right, and they were worried…

******

Worrying, sometimes tears families apart. But our family, grew closer – the three of us started opening up about family concerns, over our ‘after dinner drink in the lounge’. Our shipping business was struggling. It had been for years but somehow, it had been scraping by, just…

Perhaps because I rode and drank like a man, or perhaps because I was ‘different’, or perhaps because I was there, in the lounge with them, and always had been, when they realized that they really were in dire straits and knew that decisions had to be made, or, perhaps because leaving might be their only alternative, they included me in these discussions.

Of course, I knew nothing of business or shipping, but I was grateful to be included in our family crisis and managed to mumble the odd ‘oh dear’ or ‘I agree’ from time to time. Dad had already sold most of his ships, years ago, he admitted, and had hoped that we would survive, but that had hardly covered the business debts. The reason we didn’t entertain, apparently, his friends had been his business colleagues and with losses, soon became his enemies instead. So, it was agreed that we’d have to sell everything not needed and let most of the servants go. I was not used to having lots of possessions anyway, nor had any of the servants liked me, and resented having to serve me, so I didn’t feel sad about that either. I would miss my horse, though. This idea helped for a while, but it wasn’t long before we realized that we’d have to downsize as well.

It didn’t take long for the beautiful property that briefly had been my new home was sold and we moved into a three floor townhouse in the city. To my father, this was deplorable – to my brother, it was acceptable - to me, it seemed almost as lovely as our mansion, without the large gardens and grounds – our father though, seemed devastated at the loss, he saw it as failure, failing to provide for his children and suffered a heart attack, and died.

My brother though, down to one ship and a townhouse, tried to stay positive about our situation and worked hard at the family business. So it was, that I had no alternative but to do the housework and cooking, but I only knew how to collect and prepare Polynesian food – I found fish at the market though, vegetables also, and supposed I could prepare the food similarly to our fish, Taro and Kumera in the islands, and Simon seemed grateful to have anything on his plate, let alone complain about it - I hadn’t realized at the time that similarly to our father, he blamed himself for our predicament.

Our very close neighbors (one could hear them through the walls), left us alone, for the same reason I presumed, that I was different – but we were pleased for that, we had no servants or spare cash, for entertaining. We were just happy that they weren’t discriminating against us (me), well, not for a while…

With Simon spending a lot of time with his manager in a small office, and negotiating shipping deals with clients in theirs, he spent most of the day away from home, which was noticed, by a hateful neighbor who had been slowly fuming since we moved in, until he had reached boiling point – he’d noticed my routine and waited until I was returning home one evening from the marketplace and grabbed me at the beginning of our row of townhouse building and pushed me into the shadows at the side of our building – what started out as a hateful assault ended up with him attempting to rape me, when luckily, Simon was returning home earlier than usual, and came to my rescue – he was so maddened that he hit the man harder than he realized and as he was helping me up, noticed that the man was lying still, a pool of blood spreading across the ground – we raced to our townhouse, without even picking up the spilled produce…

“We have to get out of here,” he ran around getting only the important things we’d need, like our paperwork. I stuffed a few clothes into a suitcase.

I nodded. Everyone in a court case would side with the white rapist, instead of an islander, I was not English, and that was all the court would need to blame the girl that was ‘different’.

Luckily, the ship was in town, the manager still in his office and the crew were still on the ship, making last minute checks and cleaning, before locking up for the night, when we got there – a quick ‘Bill of Sale’ written up by the manager with a lawyer he knew saying that the ship and townhouse now belonged to him, extra money for the captain and crew’s wages, and we set sail – the captain and crew did not even ask why, when they saw Simon giving them all he had left of our money. The manager, captain and crew were getting a bargain. And we escaped, before the body had even been found.

******

I knew that no-one witnessed the crime. I knew that apart from some produce, we left no clues behind to identify us. I knew, that ever since that time we sat under the Oak and Simon asked about my island home, that he had seriously considered a new life, when our life started crashing down around us – and an attack on me put him in action - a new start, in a new place, in what he thought might be Paradise…

And when the island finally appeared in sight, I must admit, it did look like Paradise – I hadn’t thought of it as such before, but then, I had nothing else to compare – still, I wondered what Simon would think when he found I only had a one room shack. I needn’t have worried. With the biggest grin on his face, he tore off his shirt, and ran to the beach – I followed him – he turned to face me with arms outstretched, and I ran into his embrace…

For a moment, we stood there, unsure what to do next, when he whispered in my ear, “Oh, how I wish that you were not my sister…”

I looked up at him and smiled. “In Polynesia, it is not uncommon for brothers to marry sisters…”

We kissed.

******

MODERN DAY

Upon meeting my husband, I felt as though we’d met before, already knew each other. As if I recognized him. When he took me (I’m Polynesian by the way) to England (I’d only been to London before), his homeland, he took me to places I recognized and felt as if I’d been there before when in actual fact, I hadn’t – not in this life, anyway…