Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart_ A Novel - Alice Walker [27]
There was no way to tell, from her smiling, complaisant mien, that she was angry.
He would never have guessed. Except that later, leaving the party, he heard an argument, a heated argument, going on as a couple approached their car down the street. He drew abreast of them just in time to see Leilani hit the white guy over the head with the bag that had held her dancing clothes, and to see him draw back and punch her. Yolo of course grabbed the guy, who immediately began to cry and to say how sorry he was.
Oh God, Leilani sneered, wiping a trickle of blood from her nose, a crier.
She was wearing highly polished black leather boots that glistened against the snow.
She unlocked the door of her car, a silver-colored SAAB, and prepared to slide in.
Wait, said the guy. I don’t have a way home.
Tough, she said, spitting in the gutter near his feet. Take a fucking boat.
This seemed incredibly funny to Yolo, who began to laugh.
Soon they were all laughing.
I’m sorry, said the white guy, who introduced himself as Saul.
I’m not, said Leilani.
Yolo and Saul watched as she made a tight bun of her billowing hair, started her car, and almost ran over them driving away.
A Hawaiian in New England! said Saul, stamping his foot in the snow.
That would make a good title for a book, said Yolo.
He’d met her again several weeks later. On a street downtown. This time kicking a parking meter.
Is anything wrong? he’d asked.
She looked at him as if to say: Let me count the ways.
She had found a parking place, after driving around for half an hour, gratefully put her money in the slot, but now it would not go down. The big red “Expired” would signal the ever-circling meter maid who was notorious for giving large tickets.
I don’t understand this civilization, said Leilani.
You know, Leilani, neither do I. Here, he said. I have a paper bag we can put over it.
It’s so fucking cold, she said. Why do they have to charge people to park?
She took the paper bag and stuck it over the meter.
There, said Yolo. That means the meter maid will have to get out of her car and look under the bag. When she does that, she’ll see your quarter.
My name isn’t Leilani, she said. It’s Alma.
What? he said.
Leilani is the name everybody thinks a Hawaiian woman should have. Especially if she dances hula.
I enjoyed your dancing, said Yolo gallantly.
Alma was again dressed all in black that matched her large black eyes. Her long cashmere coat was buttoned up to her chin. On her head was a big black furry Russian-looking hat.
America was so Third World, Yolo thought, considering all the people from everywhere who now lived here. And then, catching himself, he thought: Hawaii is America. But he could not really believe this.
Over coffee and a Danish they properly introduced themselves.
Yolo? she asked
A Poewin Indian word, said Yolo. I gave it to myself. It means a place in the river where wild rushes grow, lots of them. I think of rushes as impulses, as energy. It suited me. My given name, by my parents, was Henry. Well, he said, taking a bite of his Danish, a Henry I am not. Besides, what does Henry mean?
Exactly, said Alma, who was named after a Hawaiian kahuna. I’m not really an Alma either, but it seems to take a while to find one’s true name.
Alma means soul, said Yolo. That’s not bad.
Still, said Alma.
Yolo looked at her intently, then closed his eyes. When he opened them he said: I get a fragrant wood for you, something precious, tall and straight, perhaps endangered.
Koa? she asked. Hmmm.
What is koa? he asked.
Just what you describe. Except, maybe not koa, but sandalwood? Some of our islands were covered with sandalwood trees. You could smell them far out to sea.
Were covered?
The forests were completely exploited. No trees at all are left. They went to Asia, Europe, America. They were made into incense, matchboxes, doodads.
Well, you wouldn’t want to be called Sandal anyway, sounds too much like shoe, said Yolo.
She smiled, sadly.
Koa, though.
I like it, she said. It’s gender-free, as well.