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into the valley, toward deep, ridged mountains that swallowed them. For hours they climbed up lava boulders, clinging to roots and knotted vines. Up to their refuge behind a hidden waterfall, formed through centuries in the flutings of the rocks. Years back when they first braved the falls, they had discovered behind them an eerie grotto draped in moss, full of scattered bones.
    Now, crawling behind those thundering drapes, they fell exhausted into the cave, into man-shaped hollows centuries old. In the dimness, bones glowed blue and green. They lay down side by side feeling warmth from the sun the earth had swallowed. They were children again, cradled in stone.
    “Sometimes I see things,” Rosie whispered. “I hope they don’t see me. I hope they don’t come after me.”
    Ana suspected Rosie was afraid she would inherit her mother’s and grandmother’s craziness. It seemed to run in that line of females.
    “Do you think your mama’s mama did the same things to her?”
    “Maybe. Maybe if Mama shaved her head, we’d see the scars.”
    They stayed behind the falls all night and in those hours Rosie tried to change her life. Take it off like a coat, leave it behind.
    “I’m a woman now. Next time Mama hit me, I strike back.”
    The next day they shot out of those falls like bullets, plunging feet-first into a swirling stream. Ben, out searching for them with his boar-hounds, found them exhausted on the rocks. They marched home like women warriors, full of resolution.
    Ava must have sensed it. She never mentioned Gum, but at night she stood in Rosie’s room, staring at the empty bed. One day Ana heard little Taxi scream, then muffled silence. Blue moons appeared on his arms and legs, small bruises the size of a pinch. Ben saw them, too, and started throwing furniture, telling Ava to get out for good, he would raise her kids. She fell to her knees, pleading. Ben relented and she stayed, but he sent the child, Taxi, to his father.
    For days Ava sat in her room, whispering and rocking. Then withoutwarning, she stood in Ana’s doorway, crept close and, with dreamy precision, tapped Ana’s hand.
    “Your papa was real mischief. He once put a lizard in my handbag.”
    Ana sat stunned. She felt like something with its mouth stitched shut. “You knew my father?”
    “The cop. Ho! What a dancer.”
    She leaned so close, Ana saw her fillings, blue-black as lava. Strands of saliva clung to the roof of her mouth.
    “I had him first you know. But he was nothing. He just lived. I gave him to your mama.”
    Ana looked her in the eye. “What was his name? What happened to him?”
    “Johnny. Shot to death. That’s what men do. They shoot each other.”
    She stood up, full of hate. “I don’t believe you. You’re crazy, you beat your kids. Look at Rosie … all those scars.”
    “Scars make her
interesting
.” Ava’s skin grew tight, her cheekbones whittled down to knuckles. “Where’s my boy, Taxi?”
    “I won’t tell you.”
    She grabbed Ana’s wrist. Shook it like a club. “You get him back. Else I burn this house down.”
    One night Ana woke, gasping for air. She had been dreaming of the sea, and now her dream of water was put out by flames, the sounds of men shouting. Uncle Tito flew past her in his wheelchair. Someone lifted her and ran. Then the bright yellow jackets of firemen, their hoses snaking through the yard. Only Ava’s room had gone up, charred bits of which now fluttered in the smoky air, then descended with infinite listlessness.
    They found her semiconscious with her neck slashed, having attempted to cut her jugular. The box of matches beside her. She followed her mother to Kāne’ohe State Hospital, and for weeks folks drove past their burned house taking pictures. Ana ran out with Ben’s old camera and shot back.
    It took two years to repair the house and shortly thereafter her mother showed up in her life again. Still exuding that steady, quiet perfume. Folks dispersed, leaving them