August 1965 – Walini Arrives.
Yvonne was a pregnant 16-year-old girl who had thought that falling in love meant that she was required to have sex with the college professor in his late thirties, that had convinced her that was how it was to be expressed at 15 years of age.
She was kinda short, with shoulder length blonde hair that bounced to and fro as she marched in circles that day in the park. She looked like your typical good girl conservative in a 60’s black and white photo, that had been seduced by a liberal statutory rapist post-secondary educator.
It was an anti-war protest in the park, the conservative white dress shirt, black tie and black slacks squares, we’re going head to head with the unbathed, hairy, unemployed, raggedy clothed hippies. The argument was the same as it was the day before and would be tomorrow, and the day after that. One side wanted the killing to stop, and the other side maintained that the killing was needed to stop the killing. Both had very little to do with the reality of what was happening on the other side of the world, where mud and blood were on the menu 24/7.
She went into labor with a smile on her face, and a homemade sign in her hand, chanting the latest slogan that sounded good to the news cameramen in attendance.
The first pain shot up her spine as she fell while her water broke. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. Other girls had described contractions, the pains rhythmic in their timing. The pain would come, then it would go. This wasn’t what was happening, it was nothing like she was expecting. She needed help, but her fellow protesters had seen fit to use her labor pains as an epic event for the television audience to witness, as to how the man had caused this misery, live at five, the war was killing this poor girl.
The sirens on the ambulance were actually rather loud she thought. She was trying to concentrate on the pain, while the gurney she was on, rattled and bumped with each pothole and dip in the road. Swaying to the left and right, but stopping just short as the straps that held the gurney in place stopped it with a yanking motion, each time the vehicle turned.
Technology being what it was in the 60’s, everything that went wrong, did just that. The bleeding was unstoppable, she felt so cold, she felt so scared, she felt so alone. She knew where this was going. She knew she would never see her mother and father again. She knew she was going to die, in sobs and tears, alone.
The baby boy arrived, barely. His sister and mother died on the table. The nameless baby boy lay crying until the doctor came in, but it was too late.
The girl had just recently become his patient. He had the form she filled out, and one visit to his office as knowledge to pass on to the crying child when the day came that he wanted to know.
The doctor felt empty, he had plans for adoption, plans to gather information, plans to give the boy a Jump Start in life, but as the policeman stood in front of the shell of a man that was the pregnant girl’s doctor, he felt like he had failed, as both a physician, and a human being.
“This girl is a domestic enemy doctor. She is a subversive communist sympathizer. What can you tell us about her.” The officer said professionally, with pencil and notebook in hand, ready to gather evidence against a nameless baby boy, and the misguided teen that died in order that he could live.
“Yvonne was her name. She had come from New York City to live with her aunt. As to where the aunt lives, I do not know.” The doctor said with a blank look on his face, staring out into nowhere as he spoke. “Well, the child will be seized, as a possible enemy. An officer of the county juvenile probation department will arrive to impound the evidence.” The doctor held back being choked up as the officer so coldly told him that. “Impound the evidence? God, please forgive me, I should have done this differently. I wanted to take care of this immediately, but she said she needed to talk to her aunt first. Please God, forgive me for not insisting.”
“This has nothing to do with you sir, an officer will be assigned to this, once the family court has had the opportunity to read the report. The only one to blame is the immoral hippie that will now be the burden of the county to dispose of.” The officer calmly rattled on with, displaying the very disdain that those immoral hippies accused them all of.
The County Juvenile Probation Department was assigned the case, after the family court heard the petition, and declared the child a ward of the court. California had a rather calm, cool, and collected way of handling this. It was prudent to hide the potential subversive in another county, because the mother had been on a list, that the county next door claimed never existed, only two years later find themselves ordered by the court, to destroy that very list, that never existed, to begin with.
Juvenile hall, boys farms, and ranches, or group homes were the only available placements for the boy born an enemy of the state. His crime was surviving where his sister, luckily had died innocent, even though if given the opportunity, the county would have still put the corpse of his sister on the list, just to ensure that the populace was safe. Adoption would have been a long process, with very little hope of success because of his criminal status, he had been awarded when the umbilical cord was cut.
Walini would have to sit dormant for quite some time, something he was not accustomed to. In the past callings, he would usually awake rather early, and be on hand to see the world, all through his public school years, and prepare for the Kaliki to find him.
The duty, or job of the Walini, was to monitor and learn as much about the people and landscape of the appointed meeting area as possible, before the arrival of the Kaliki. He too had seen the same sign, advising him of the same meeting place.
The last time the Walini and the Kalki were called, was Hawaii, in the 1940’s. Yes, it was obviously part of the second world war that they were called to attend to. The calling was simple, just keep the old ways in place, and stay faithful to the preservation of the land and sea, during times of great turmoil.
The Walini imparts wisdom to the youth, teaching them patience, and peace, until the time the Kaliki arrives, at which time, they together can restore the sands and sea, as the Walini has planned and plotted for. His job was to prepare, her job was to execute. He advises her, and she adapts, and implements.
Walini was shocked when he saw the image of what he was to be upon awakening, which was the main reason he went into the outer mist when the transformation took place, moments before the call. His departure takes place by exiting through the outer mists, and hers is to return, to sleep, and wait to be woken later, after his arrival, and preparations at the assigned meeting place.
Brown and grey long hair, curly at the end. Something wrong with his legs, something he couldn’t see in the mist. The water that ran through the mist was calm and crystal clear, providing a usable place to view his image. He looked tired, he looked like he had been through much. Most noticeable was the feeling of despair and hopelessness he felt when looking into the water. Whatever was going to happen, he needs to depart and to fix whatever was going to happen.
“If the Kaliki sees this, something will fail. There has to be a mistake, maybe this is just temporary until Ka’wani and Tua’a make changes down the road.” He thought as he splashed the water with his hand, before rising to stand, from the kneeling position he was in, over the water.
“Who the people are, and what they themselves have become, will be your true enemy Walini.” The soft female voice said from the water. The sun shining down from above, not clearing the mist, but making it blinding, began to roll down deep sounding words, “You have failed already, and you will fail completely, once you allow the people to become your voice.” Standing tall after turning into the light blindly, he asked, ” Why the spoiled lands, why now? Why are we forced to go in as failures? What have we done, to deserve this punishment?”
“It is you who are being taught this time. For many callings, you have placed the Kaliki above yourself. You have not seen the value of your own calling, and for that, you must now earn back your value, and only you can retrieve it, only you can give it back to yourself. If you fail, you and the Kaliki will not return to the corridors. Upon your vessel’s death, you will simply fade away, as well as the Kaliki. You Walini will eternally carry the blame for the destruction of the one you value more than yourself. The love you have for her is a lie. How can you call your love for her something to be valued, when you yourself do not value the source of it.”
Shaking his head at the light, with his hand and arm over his face, he tries to continue the discussion from his confusion. “What?”
“The people will defeat you because you will allow it. When all else is lost, rely only on yourself, because without you, you have nothing.”
“Remember only one thing Tiki…”
“For if what it is Walini that you seek, you cannot find within, then forever lost you are Walini, seeking to find it without.”
The final message, and of course one he would have to remember word for word if he were to survive this.
“Walini?” Kaliki said through the mist. Approaching to grab his hands, a tear rolling down her cheek. Turning to her, and holding both of her hands in his.
“Will I have to wait long…?”