Chapter 5

The day of celebration fell on a warm, slightly windy day near the start of summer.

My relatives had arrived two days beforehand and were surprised and delighted to find themselves just in time. Our housekeeper had prepared the most sumptuous foods, all Ilafa's favorites, and he had ordered a full assortment of wines. Adelna had tended to the decorations, flowers and ferns mostly, but also special paintings and sculptures for the walls, the tables. Fafara and I were left the two remaining tasks: Overseeing the ceremony and preparing the new Kaimana.

I was with him arranging his hair when Fafara came in to tell us Arafa had arrived.

"Oh, Ila, you look lovely," Fafara remarked, lifting Ilafa's chin.

I had woven dried white flowers in his dark brown hair and edged his dark eyes in black. His robe was of the darkest blue with a silver belt fit snug around the hips. Truly, he had never looked more like his father.

"Thank you," said my son. "I feel so pampered."

"But naturally you must be," Fafara soothed. "This day is for you."

Earlier we had made a great show of redecorating Ilafa's bedroom. A larger bed was something he certainly needed, but beyond that, we had let him choose the colors, decorations, changes in furniture. He was now an adult and more than ever, he would be exercising his own judgement and taste. He had chosen colors all in green and brown, the colors of the garden he had helped Fafara to tend for so long.

At last my son was ready. Taking his hands, Fafara and I led him out into the garden. All eyes shifted and a murmur rolled over the crowd. What a lovely young har I had brought into the world. Ilana's hostling wept tears of joy, to see in his grandson the memory of his son who could not be witness to that moment.

It was a day of wine and music, dancing and laughter. Fafara led the ceremony that pronounced Ilafa ready for flowering, or should I say deflowering. Ilafa was now Kaimana and would afterward begin his caste training. Gone was my little harling.

A half hour before midnight, I led my son to his bedroom. Earlier I had decorated it with bright berries and scented the air with sweet-smelling herbs. Feeling romantic, I had strewn the bed with white flower petals. Candles burned low and the curtains were drawn.

"And now I will leave you, my Ila," I said, pulling him to my chest. "Do not be afraid, but let nature do as nature desires. It will be the best."

Ilafa smiled. "I hope so." Gracefully he approached the bed. "Should I get undressed?" he asked.

"No," I told him. "Just take off your sandals and slip under the covers. Arafa will enjoy taking away your clothes."

He did as I suggested. I knew that at that moment, my son still had little but an inkling of the pleasure of aruna. How can such a thing be known, except through personal experience? We had tried to prepare him well, but true knowledge would come only after this night had come to pass.

Ilafa was beautiful as he lay in the bed. I thought about his father and in my head, I said a silent prayer: "May there be one for Ila just as for me there was Ilana, just as later there was Fafara. Please, let this be."

I placed a gentle kiss upon his forehead. "Good luck," I whispered.

On the way back from the bedroom, I passed Arafa, accompanied by Fafara.

"He's all yours," I gestured.

That night, despite all the excitement, all the guests and all the cleaning up we had to do, Fafara and I managed to have our very own tender moment.

I was curled up beside him enjoying another of his massages when he suddenly spoke. "Dera, I'm so glad I found you!"

It seemed I could never tired of that particular declaration.

"Me, too," I murmured, meaning it. If he hadn't found me, I would have died and Ilafa would never had been born.