Forbidden Places

By Deanna Madden

Peter Hoenig, an anthropology graduate student from Boston, is having doubts about his future, both the field he has chosen and the woman to whom he is engaged. He is not even enthused about his research trip to five cultural sanctuaries, or Forbidden Places, to observe traditional wedding ceremonies.

On the island of Ni‘ihau, he meets Mele, a pretty strong-willed nineteen-year-old who persuades him to marry her so she can leave her island. Now he feels responsible for this young woman who knows nothing of the world and is so different in every way from him.

But there is no time to get to know each other. They must travel to the other Forbidden Places on his itinerary, a journey that takes them to remote corners of China, India, Afghanistan, and Kenya, where they witness sometimes shocking traditions and customs of the past as they struggle with doubts about the marriage they jumped into so impulsively.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deanna Madden
• Release date: Jan 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370500062

Deanna Madden

Deanna Madden has taught literature and writing courses at colleges in Miami, FL, upstate New York, and Hawaii. Her novels cross genre lines but often fall into the territory of historicals and speculative fiction. She lives in Honolulu, and when she isn't writing, she can be found reading a book, enjoying the lush landscape of Hawaii, or spending time with her family.

Book preview

Forbidden Places

Deanna Madden

Copyright 2017 Deanna Madden

Discover other titles by Deanna Madden:

Helena Landless

Gaslight and Fog

The Haunted Garden

The Wall

Cover Design by SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt

This book is available in print at most on-line retailers.

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Flying Dutchman Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1 – Ni‘ihau, part 1

Chapter 2 – Ni‘ihau, part 2

Chapter 3 – Boston, six weeks earlier

Chapter 4 – Honolulu

Chapter 5 – Yunnan Province

Chapter 6 – India

Chapter 7 – Afghanistan, part 1

Chapter 8 – Afghanistan, part 2

Chapter 9 – Kenya

Chapter 10 – Boston

Chapter 11 – Boston, seven months later

About the Author

1

Ni‘ihau, part 1

Peter was still feeling a little seasick when the barge pulled up to the dock. He had been warned that the crossing would be choppy, and it had been. He had never been seasick before, but then he had never been in such rough water before either. Still, he would have put up with even more to reach this island that few were permitted to visit. It was still dark and so he could not see much of the island. That would have to wait for daybreak. The barge banged up against the dock, and four men stepped out of the shadows and tied it. Ignoring him, they went straight to work unloading the supplies that had been brought from Kaua‘i.

Well, you going ashore or not? the skipper asked. He was a local man of indeterminate age, missing a few teeth, his skin weathered and eyes furrowed with crow’s-feet. Peter sensed that the skipper found him amusing. He was not sure if it was because of the way he was dressed—the new polo shirt, jeans, and athletic shoes he had bought for the trip—or because he was so clearly ill-at-ease on the barge and didn’t know how to keep his footing but lurched with the barge and felt repeatedly as if he were going to be flung over the side into what he suspected were shark-infested waters. Then too it didn’t help when he puked over the rail. It wasn’t easy to keep your dignity while losing your last meal.

He picked up his bag but hesitated to leave the barge. There should have been someone there to meet him. At the very least there should have been someone there to ask who he was and what he wanted. It seemed terribly lax for the dock to be so unguarded. Well, what had he expected—police with guns? Natives with spears? Of course not. But all the same, anyone could have come ashore. He glanced back at the skipper, now busy directing the dockhands as they heaved boxes onto shore and leaped nimbly after. They made it look easy, so he tossed his bag onto the dock and then jumped after it as they did, pleased with himself when he didn’t fall on his face. Once he was on the dock, he saw a young woman walking toward him, materializing out of the dark. She was beautiful in the way so many Polynesian women were—a sculpted face with full lips and large languid brown eyes, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, a white top with a V-neck where a small pendant glinted, slim hips hugged by jeans. She was young, late teens maybe.

Peter Hoenig? she asked as she came up to him.

Yes, he said, startled.

She held out her hand. I’m your guide.

He was surprised. He had expected a man. The fact that his guide was a woman and such a young one was one more sign that the island was not as secure as it ought to be. She barely looked old enough to be out of high school.

He shook the hand she had extended. It felt warm and firm in his.

Follow me, she said.

Grabbing his bag, he walked after her to the end of the dock, near which stood an old blue pickup.

You drive? he asked.

Of course I drive, she said with a toss of her head. Why do you sound so surprised?

I didn’t think there would be cars here. Or trucks.

We don’t have many, but we have a few. Most of the time we just walk, or on the ranch we ride horses. Should I have brought a horse for you?

No, of course not. He felt he was getting off on the wrong foot. He tossed his bag into the back of her pickup, then, after a bit of tugging, got the passenger door open and climbed in. He hunted in vain for a seat belt.

I know it’s not what you’re used to, the girl said, starting the engine, but it beats walking.

I’m sorry, he said. I wasn’t aware you had vehicles here. It just came as a bit of a surprise.

You were expecting a glimpse of old Hawaii, were you? she said as they started down the dirt road. Well, sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know why they don’t prepare visitors a little better before they send them here. We don’t live in grass shacks or wear grass skirts. We have refrigerators and stoves and sleep on mattresses. Don’t think they didn’t try to take some of those things away from us when we received protective status. It practically caused a revolt. Everyone here was in favor of becoming a Forbidden Place until they heard they might have to give up their cars and TV’s. Especially their TV’s. Not too many people had cars. Finally they compromised. They agreed to give up some things if they could keep others. Reception wasn’t all that great anyway.

I thought this island was forbidden long before that, Peter said.

It was. Since World War I. No one is allowed to visit without permission. And basically everyone stays here who is born here. If you leave, you can’t come back. Except of course for the kids who go to Kaua‘i to attend high school.

That’s permitted? he said, surprised again.

I studied there. There was an unmistakable note of pride in her voice.

But doesn’t that— He hesitated, uncertain how to say it. He didn’t want to offend her. If young people were being allowed to go away and experience the modern world, then surely they were bringing back ideas to the people who stayed behind. The culture on the island would not be as pristine as he had hoped. It was disappointing and he wondered how valid the results of his research would be. He assumed Professor Rinehart, his dissertation adviser, didn’t know about this; otherwise, the professor would surely not have suggested he include Ni‘ihau in his study.

It’s because I went over there that they let me be a guide, the girl explained. They figure I already had my chance to choose and I chose to come back here, and so they think contact with outsiders is not going to make me want to leave.

Well, I’m sure you’d regret leaving here, Peter said. You’re very fortunate to live in a place like this.

You haven’t even seen it yet.

He gave her a quick look, but her serene face offered no clue as to what was going through her mind. She really was beautiful. He wondered if she ever got visitors who tried to hit on her, and just as that thought surfaced, they jolted over a particularly bad bump.

Sorry, she said. They hardly ever bother to fix the roads around here. There aren’t many vehicles anyway. No place to drive to. I think the Alliance is hoping we’ll just give them up altogether one of these days.

You know, you haven’t told me your name yet, he said.

Mele Keaulana.

When he tried to say it, she broke into laughter. She repeated it slower for him. Meh-le-Ke-au-la-na. Just call me Mele.

Have you been doing this very long? he asked.

About a year now. Ever since I came back from Kaua‘i.

And do visitors like me come very often?

You mean watchers?

I beg your pardon?

Watchers. That’s what we call people like you. They come to watch. I suppose we get about one a month.

He felt relieved. One a month wasn’t bad. And if visitors really were prevented from interacting with the islanders, then maybe Ni‘ihau was still useful for his research project.

What sort of things do they watch? he asked, curious.

She shrugged. Last time it was a birth. The time before that it was a death and a funeral.

Peter shivered. Both were traditional areas for anthropological research. However, he would have been embarrassed to watch women giving birth and he would never have chosen something as morbid as death rites for his dissertation topic. What kind of scholars were attracted to a subject like that? At least the topic he had chosen for his dissertation was preferable to watching someone die and be disposed of.

So am I your first wedding watcher? he asked.

The road turned sharply to the right and he had to brace himself to keep from being thrown against the door. As they bumped along, he found himself watching the girl’s bare foot in its rubber slipper on the accelerator. In comparison his athletic shoes seemed large and clumsy.

Gradually the sky was growing lighter, and as it did, the bleached and barren landscape of the island emerged, strewn with rocks, pebbles, and scraggly plants, while in the distance the ocean shimmered.

It’s not much to look at, she said, as if apologizing.

It’s beautiful in its own way, he assured her.

She made a face. That’s what they say about a homely woman.

Many people would give a lot to come here and see this.

She glanced at him curiously. And where are you from? How far did you come to see our island?

He hesitated, not sure he should tell her that. She was only supposed to show him the islanders, act as interpreter, and answer questions when he asked, not socialize with him. He couldn’t remember anything in the contract he had signed about not telling where he was from, but it seemed kind of inappropriate for her to ask. She lived in a Forbidden Place, and he ought not to interact with her any more than absolutely necessary.

What are you afraid of? she asked, glancing at him. Are you afraid I’ll be so smitten by your description of where you live that I’ll immediately want to leave Ni‘ihau? I told you. I’ve been out there and I chose to come back. They trust me.

They may have trusted her, but he wasn’t sure he did. She was so young, practically a kid. Was it possible the Association had hired her sight unseen?

Look, I’m just saying, it would be interacting with the people—you’re clearly one of the people—and interacting is strictly forbidden by the Association. You should know that.

You’re a very cautious person, aren’t you? she said, looking amused. I bet you’re the sort who never breaks the rules.

He wasn’t sure how the conversation had taken such an awkward turn, but he was not going to let this girl who was—what? maybe eight years younger than he was?—make him look like a fool. He broke rules. He’d smoked pot once, hadn’t he?

I’m from Boston, he said. It sounded ridiculously stiff. He half expected her to laugh.

There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? She flashed him a smile that showed perfect white teeth. So tell me about Boston. What’s it like?

He had a feeling she would keep pestering him until he told her, so he might as well get it over with. He couldn’t imagine Boston would sound attractive to her anyway, not when she was from a place as undefiled as Ni‘ihau.

In winter it’s cold, he said. And the traffic is terrible. It has a population of about five million. It’s not as big as New York, but it’s larger than Honolulu.

I’ve never been to New York or Honolulu, she said. The biggest place I’ve seen is Lihu‘e.

Lihu‘e was the small town on Kaua‘i where he had landed by plane yesterday afternoon.

It’s bigger than that, he agreed.

I suppose there are lots of tall buildings?

Of course.

And in winter it snows?

Yes, we get a lot of snow.

I’ve always wanted to see snow.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t very well say someday you’ll see it, because she never would, not if she stayed on Ni‘ihau. He couldn’t say it’s like you see in the movies because they didn’t have movie theatres here either. They didn’t even have TV she had said.

He tried to change the subject. Look, are we almost there?

You certainly are impatient. We’ll get there eventually. I want to show you something first.

What?

You’ll see.

In a few minutes she pulled to the side of the road and stopped. They were near the ocean. Come on. She climbed out, and he had no choice but to do the same. She kicked off her rubber slippers and walked barefoot across a pale gold beach. He tried to follow, his shoes sinking at every step. She went right up to where the water lapped at her toes.

Isn’t it beautiful? she said.

The sky was flushed pink with the dawn, and the ocean in the early morning light stretched as far as the eye could see.

Yes, it’s beautiful, he agreed. You’re very lucky to live here.

This is my favorite place on the island.

I can see why.

I think if I left, this is what I would miss most.

Well, since you aren’t leaving, you won’t have to miss it.

He expected some quick retort, but none came. She gazed at the ocean as if her mind were far away. It was very beautiful, he thought, but she wasn’t supposed to be showing him the sights. He wasn’t a tourist. He had permission to watch a wedding and that was all. He had signed a contract agreeing not to do anything else. Well, of course it hadn’t said anything about watching the sun come up over the ocean; it had only specified not interacting with the local people. And there were no other people around besides Mele. If she insisted on talking to him, was it his fault? He couldn’t very well be rude. Not when he was a guest on her island.

Maybe you should take off your shoes, she said, looking down at his half buried sneakers.

He didn’t relish plowing his way back through the sand, so he did as she suggested and pulled off his shoes. Of course then he had to take off his socks too because he couldn’t very well walk in the sand in socks. As they trudged back to the car, the feel of the sand between his toes reminded him of when he was a kid and his family had vacationed at Cape Cod. It had been a regular summer ritual he had looked forward to until one year when he was twelve and they had suddenly stopped going.

Back in the truck, Mele was much quieter, lost in thought. He found himself wishing that she would start talking again. He liked it when she talked. He stole glances at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. It was incredible really to find himself sitting here with this young woman from a culture so unlike his own. He had not foreseen anything like this. When he got permission to visit some of the Forbidden Places to do primary research for his dissertation, he had only thought of it in terms of what he would see. He never dreamed that he would have as much interaction with any of the people as he had already had with Mele.

As they approached a cluster of houses which he assumed must be Pu‘uwai, the only town on the island and home for most of its two hundred inhabitants, he had his first glimpse of the people who lived here. A few children playing in the dusty street turned to stare as they passed. An old man with a broad brimmed straw hat sitting on a porch lifted a hand in greeting. A woman sweeping her front steps stopped to gaze curiously after them. He saw chickens in one of the yards and a skinny mongrel roused itself on a porch to bark at them but didn’t bother to get up and give chase. They passed a quaint old white church with a steeple and three wood-frame buildings that Mele said were the elementary, junior high and high school.

Here we are, she said, stopping in front of a low bungalow-style house nearly identical to all the others.

Is this where you live? he asked.

She nodded. They said I should bring you here instead of taking you to the ranch. This way you’ll be closer to the church.

He retrieved his bag from the back of the pickup and followed her to the door. She didn’t pull out a key, he noticed, just opened it. It flashed through his mind that this would be one of those things he would tell about when he returned to Boston and people asked what Ni‘ihau was like. Imagine living in a place where people didn’t have to lock their doors, he would say. He looked around at the neatly arranged little living room. The furniture was old and worn, but the effect was homey. A cheery orange-flowered throw covered the sofa, and framed family photos and half a dozen seashells, including a conch, sat on top of a crudely-made bookcase crammed with paperback books.

It’s nice, he said.

She made a face. No computer, no TV, no phone, not even a radio.

You have books. He immediately went to them, curious, and spotted The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Pride and Prejudice, and The Odyssey. Impressive. He wouldn’t have expected to find books in a place like this, especially works of literature.

If you ask my mother, she’ll tell you I spend too much time reading.

What else do you do besides read books?

I work at the ranch, like everybody else.

He had read about the ranch in the information packet he had been given before his trip. It belonged to a family from Scotland that had bought the island from a Hawaiian king in the 1800’s. The islanders worked on the ranch and also raised crops and fished. It didn’t bring in much money. In fact, they made just enough to make ends meet.

This is where you’ll sleep tonight, she said, showing him a small bedroom, which appeared to be the only bedroom in the little bungalow.

What about you? he asked.

I’m sleeping at my grandmother’s.

Is it near here?

Everything’s near here, she said with a wry smile. Why? Are you afraid to stay alone?

Of course not. I only meant— He stopped. She was teasing him, of course. He could see her trying to hide a smile. She must think he was an idiot.

Are you hungry? she asked.

He hesitated, trying to decide how to answer. He had eaten breakfast early that morning, then had thrown it all up during the rough crossing, but he didn’t intend to tell her that.

Come on, she said. I’ll fix both of us some breakfast.

Soon she was making pancakes and pouring hot coffee in mugs for them to drink.

You didn’t bring a laptop with you, did you? she asked after his first sip of steaming coffee. It was just what he needed after the arduous crossing from Kaua‘i and the bumpy ride in the pickup.

Of course not, he said. They’re not permitted here, are they? He had brought a notebook, prepared to take all his notes by hand.

Or a cell phone?

No. I couldn’t have used it anyway. There’s no signal, is there?

No, she said with a little sigh of disappointment. But all the same, I thought you might have brought one. Sometimes watchers do.

You should report them. The contract clearly said no cell phones. He was shocked that other researchers did not abide by the rules. The Association ought to set up more rigorous safeguards. Visitors should not be allowed to bring in forbidden items that could be adopted by the local people. That was the whole point of having Forbidden Places. Visitors could leave their cell phones in a locker at the Honolulu airport, just as he had. He planned to use it in between Forbidden Places to keep in contact with people back home, but he would not have dreamed of bringing it to the island.

The last watcher smuggled in a cell phone, Mele told him, but people noticed right away and it was taken away from him. He was really upset. They wouldn’t give it back to him when he left either. She smiled, remembering.

That helped to reassure him. What happened to it?

Oh, it was confiscated, of course.

By the Alliance?

She shrugged.

Well, I didn’t bring a cell phone, he said.

You can use a small camera though. That’s permitted.

I have one in my bag.

You came prepared.

Yes, I think I did. Again he had the feeling she was making fun of him.

Are you married? she asked, watching him with those amused dark eyes.

Now this question was a little too personal, but not to answer might seem strange, or rude, or stiff, none of which he wanted her to think him.

No, I’m not.

Do you have a girlfriend?

She was like a child who thought there was nothing wrong with asking any question that popped into her mind, no matter how personal. No doubt it was the result of belonging to a simpler, more naive social system than his own.

What does it matter if I have a girlfriend or not? he said, trying to sound off-hand.

I think it matters a great deal, she said. If you’re not married and you don’t have a girlfriend, why are you so interested in weddings?

It was a good question. He had to admit she seemed fairly intelligent in addition to being attractive. It’s just a topic my adviser suggested. I needed a research topic.

And so you aren’t really interested in weddings? she asked, her dark eyes never wavering.

No. I mean yes. Why did she make him feel so awkward? He wished she would stop staring at him. It was unnerving.

I see, she said, although what she saw he had no idea. Perhaps he should tell her the truth, be absolutely up front about his unavailability, even though it was none of her business. There was no possibility of anything developing between the two of them. Even if he were available, she was absolutely off bounds. He didn’t need the contract to tell him that. But he also didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

Just for the record, I do have a girlfriend, he said.

This bit of information didn’t seem to discourage her. She leaned forward with interest. What’s her name?

What? He had taken a rather too large bite of pancake and she had caught him with his mouth full.

What’s your girlfriend’s name?

Why do you want to know? he asked when he had managed to gulp down the oversized mouthful and follow it with a swig of coffee. What does it matter what her name is? This was ridiculous. He knew he should put an end to it, but he didn’t know how.

Why won’t you tell me her name? she asked. What are you afraid of? It’s not as if I’ll ever meet her.

That was true. They would never meet. Why was he being so