“Isn’t the table pretty!” Mavis exclaimed, and turned to one of the women. “Do you think I could help?”
“Sure. Ask in the kitchen. There’s plenty to do.”
Mavis went toward the rear of the house and I started after her. Troy’s wife had certainly suffered a sea-change. Anne was looking at her too, and Anne’s face was sober. She met my glance and shrugged, then caught my hand.
“Let’s change, shall we?”
We got into bathing suits and went down to the beach where Archie Kamaka had already prepared the pit. People were rushing back and forth, heaping fuel on the near-by fire which heated the stones. Archie raked coals aside and nodded; the rocks were red. Next came the ritual of putting the pigs into the imu.
Reverent assistants scraped fire from the rocks. Archie, scowling in concentration, dipped into a calabash of cold water and snatched a stone which he flung into the pit. More followed until the imu was lined with hot stones; then fresh banana leaves were laid over them and the pigs carefully placed in the center. Their sides were braced with red yams, packages of laulau were added, and breadfruit and bananas and crayfish and small mysterious bundles wrapped in leaves, until at last hot rocks were stuffed into the middles of the pigs and the whole was covered with leaves, more rocks, a layer of wet burlap, and shovelfuls of sand.
“Hey! Isn’t this something?” The Garrisons had joined us. “My mouth is watering already,” Bill said. “How long will it take to cook?”
“Three or four hours.” That was David Kimu, coming to greet us.
I heard Peggy’s indrawn breath as she saw David, who had just come out of the water. Wet black hair curled on his head, muscles rippled in his thighs as he moved toward us, wearing a red malo. He winked at Anne and me, fully aware of the sensation he was causing. Peggy stammered that it was delightful to see him again and avoided looking at her husband, whose opu bulged over Polynesian print shorts.
“The idea,” David told them, “is to keep busy. We’re about ready for the hukilau. Come along to the water.” He led us seaward, explaining to Bill that huki means pull and lau means leaf, from the ti leaves which are used to frighten fish into the net.
At the shore a crowd had gathered, and we saw Troy there, with Lala. They were watching Keoni and two other men launch a boat loaded with the long net which would be dropped in a horseshoe pattern into the sea. Anne and I walked behind the Garrisons and we heard Peggy say, “Is that his famous model? What’s so terrific about her?”
Her husband chuckled. “Take another look, Peg.”
Lala was wearing an old woolen bathing suit which was mended in moth-eaten spots. It was tight on her, but Lala was indifferent to that. Her long hair blew into her face, and she brushed it back and laughed and said something to Troy. The net was being dropped and he picked it up and they took hold, Troy’s hands grasping the rope behind hers.
Bill muttered, “Now I understand why Troy forgets everything but his art.”
Peggy’s voice was sharp with spite. “It’s a good thing he has Mavis to handle his affairs for him. Otherwise he might find himself in a mess.”
We caught up the net and waited for the boat to return.
“Troy insisted the other day he doesn’t want to keep up his policy.” Bill seemed to feel a need to explain his wife’s remark. “He’s carrying thirty thousand life, and claims he won’t be making enough in the future to meet payments. I tried to convince him he was crazy, but evidently it took Mavis to bring him to his senses. When I reported to the home office, they wrote back that they had just received his check for the premium.”
We had taken our places behind the Garrisons; now we moved forward as the boat finished its slow circle and dropped the last of the net. Peggy began to squeal with excitement. Under cover of the noise, Anne said to me, “I want to talk to you.”
I left the group and followed her to the house. We sat in the shade and lit cigarettes. Anne’s face was serious as she watched the group on the sand. Keoni squatted with shoulders bent over the mullet he held; bright scales flew from his knife. Lala was beside him and Troy knelt opposite. They laughed, then their faces sobered at something Troy said, and Lala put her hand on Troy’s arm and spoke very solemnly. Keoni looked at Troy and nodded. The young couple seemed to be making some kind of promise.
Anne said, “I don’t like this.”
“What don’t you like?”
“The situation between them.”
“Between whom? Troy and Lala?”
“Between Troy and his wife. They are trying—at least, she is trying—to make us believe something which is phony.”
My wife was not a worrier by nature. I asked, “What do you mean, ‘phony’?”
“I don’t believe they really agree about staying in the Islands.”
“Do you think he’ll change his mind?”
“I think Mavis will try to change it for him. If she isn’t able to do that...I wish I knew how he really feels about Lala.”
“Well,” I said, rising, “there’s one way to find out. Let’s ask David.”
Before we could talk to David, we were interrupted by the arrival of one of the most honored guests. A very old Hawaiian lady appeared and was greeted by shouts of welcome. She was Lala’s grandmother, come from Kauai that day to give her blessing to the young couple. Kaahumanu Kaiulani Kealoha was snowy-haired and dignified, the purple holoku she wore hung loose on her tall, thin body. She embraced Lala, and hung around her neck a lei of mokihana and maile from their valley home; she went through the same ceremony with Keoni.
Then she was seated in a canvas chair while David announced, “It is time to drink a toast, to drink many toasts!” There was a buzz of agreement and paper cups were handed around. The first toast was to Lala’s grandmother, with congratulations for her bravery in making the trip to our island by plane; her first and probably her last flight.
Then we drank to Lala and Keoni and wished them happiness and success with the fishing hui and many children.
And last, to Troy, who laughed with delight and when he finished his drink said, “Now I have a small gift for my two friends. To remember this time, and because—” He put an arm around each of them and finished: “Me ke aloha patt ole.”
My love for you will never die.
David handed him the package we had brought in the car, and when Troy unwrapped it everyone moved forward to admire his gift. It was a portrait of Lala and Keoni, in the pool near the cottage. Both were naked, as Troy must often have seen them. Lala was sitting at the edge of the pool, leaning slightly backward and laughing as Keoni knelt and fastened ginger blossoms in her hair. Scattered around them and floating on the water were petals of white ginger.
This was a new Troy girl—without a yearning look.
Anne and I had moved to the edge of the group. Anne whispered, “Look!” and I glanced toward the house.
Mavis stood there, clutching to her chest the tray from which she had just been serving drinks. She seemed frozen in that position. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips curled back in open hatred.
I averted my eyes and muttered to Anne, “I’m beginning to see what you mean.”
Announcement of the engagement sparked hilarity. Umi’s boys began to play and everyone called to the engaged couple for a hula. Lala protested, but finally went into the house and came out in a yellow holoku, a circle of flame hibiscus on her head and around her throat. Keoni joined her. Then they began a courtship dance, the kind of dance the tourist never sees.
Smiling, dark eyes shining, they faced each other with knees bent and worked down with hips moving in a figure-eight; then they rose slowly. Keoni began to circle as. Lala did the olappa, the measured sway of her body accompanied by voluptuous undulation of hips while her knees lifted sharply in counter-accent and the train of her holoku jerked across the sand.
The boys chanted the song; a woman offering herself, reciting to her lover her own charms, clinging lips and warm breasts and encircling arms,
the yearning and fire of her flesh; watchers grew tense as Lala’s fingertips caressed her brown skin; when she lifted her eyes to Keoni in challenge he let out an exultant cry and moved toward her in frankly mating motions while onlookers held their breaths. They finished side by side, panting, and the crowd yelled.
Then, to uproarious applause, Troy began to dance. He didn’t do badly, and what he lacked in grace and technique he made up in enthusiasm as he courted Lala’s delighted grandmother. The old lady simpered, she made mock protestations of modesty, and finally she rose and finished the dance as his partner.
Troy came over to us a few minutes later, his face flushed. “Having a good time?”
“Wonderful. We think your picture is wonderful, too.”
“I’ve never enjoyed doing one more. How about a drink? I’m taking it easy, this is one party where I don’t want to miss a moment. But let me bring you something.”
“Thanks, Troy, but we’re doing fine—”
Yells from the vicinity of the imu indicated that the big moment had arrived. Troy started running, eager as a child.
As we walked toward it, Anne said, “While I was changing into my suit, I read a letter that came just as we left the house. It was from Leila Morgan.”
“Is she feeling better?”
“Yes. She mentioned how sorry they are to hear that the Purcells have changed their mind about giving up the apartment.”
“But Mavis said—” I had stopped dead still. Anne caught my elbow and urged me forward.
“That is what she said.” Her voice was low. “I wish we knew when Troy made the final decision about staying here.”
“We can ask David. We were going to ask him anyway.”
“That isn’t necessary now.”
I had decided the same thing. If Troy were in love with Lala, he would never have painted her with Keoni. Troy was in love, yes. He had fallen in love with life. I wondered whether Mavis understood this.
We looked for David, but he was helping at the imu. Archie, who took full advantage of his dramatic moment, was waiting while his helpers scraped away the sand. He posed with impressive dignity, straining the patience of his audience to the limit as they stared at steam rising from the pit. Then with a magnificent flourish he swept aside brown and wilted leaves to reveal the roasted pigs, sizzling with fat, emitting savory vapors. A concerted hungry moan rose to the evening sky.
“Hele mai e ai!” a woman called. Come and eat! The crowd broke ranks and rushed for places.
Four men carried the pigs on huge koa platters carved with supporting feet, and set their steaming burden in the center of the table. Lala’s grandmother rose and there was a hush as she began to chant, first a kuauhau, the genealogy of the family, then a long prayer for the happiness of the young couple. She finished and sat down, food was passed, and the feast was on.
Imu pork, white and succulent inside crackling brown skin, red yams with the sweetness of honey, steamed mullet, chicken in coconut milk, briny lau-laus, baked bananas, tender crabmeat, cool lavender poi which blended perfectly with other flavors.
Troy and Mavis sat near Lala’s grandmother, opposite Lala and Keoni. The Garrisons were beside them, then there was Umi, who beamed at the success of his sister’s party. Anne and I had taken seats next to David.
Mavis, I noticed, picked at her food; Troy ate as if famished. Drinks were passed during dinner, and he emptied several glasses. David caught me watching this and said, “We tipped off the bartender. Troy’s drinking ginger ale.”
I said, “David, I want to talk to you after dinner.”
He gave me an odd look. “Okay.”
But after dinner, it was difficult to find David. Night had come by then and torches had been lit and tied to several posts. Anne and I looked among rocks, behind the house, and along the shore where the light did not reach.
“Do you think he’s avoiding us?” I asked.
“Perhaps. We’ve got to find him.”
I called his name several times, and finally David stepped out of the shadows. “What do you want?”
“We’re worried about the Purcells,” Anne told him. “Do you know when Troy decided definitely to buy the house from Umi?”
“Two weeks ago,” David said. “Maybe longer than that. I’m not sure. Why?”
“The date is important.”
David shrugged. “Maybe Lala can tell you. She saw Troy every day.”
Anne started immediately toward where Lala and Keoni stood. They were near the steps of the lanai, holding hands as they watched a fat, giggling Hawaiian woman dancing opposite wizened Archie Kamaka in a very wicked hula. Troy was with the musicians; he chanted with each chorus.
David started to walk away, and I followed. “You knew what might happen when you sent Troy to Kauai. Why did you do it?”
David turned. Torchlight flared behind him, silhouetting his body. For a moment he was David the primitive, the perfect native specimen Mavis had labeled him. But it was David the civilized who answered. “He asked for it.”
“But his wife—”
David’s voice was harsh. “She won’t stay. Soon she’ll hate it—and us and everything we mean to him—even more than she does now.”
“Then it can’t possibly work out. She’s his wife.”
David jerked his head toward the house. Mavis, dainty in her white dress, was passing drinks to the Garrisons on a tray, then carrying one to Troy, laying an affectionate hand on his shoulder as she offered it.
David looked at me. He made a gesture with his two hands like a man twisting the neck of a barnyard fowl and flinging it to the ground to flap its life out. He wheeled and left.
When I reached the house, Anne had drawn Lala aside and they were sitting together on the steps. As I joined them Anne said, “She doesn’t know me very well, Johnny. Please talk to her.”
I sat down beside Lala. “We wanted to ask about Troy and his wife.”
“Yes?” Her lids dropped, and she was remote.
I began again. “We know that Troy loves you very much, Lala.”
She looked up with quick protest and I went on. “We know what kind of aloha Troy has for you. Please do not misunderstand. We’re glad for Troy, that he is so happy here. But we’re concerned about his wife. Do you think she really wants to stay?”
Lala said suddenly, “No! She has said that she will not stay. I heard her tell him so.”
“When was this?”
“Two weeks ago.” Lala began to speak rapidly in a low voice. “I heard her tell him she will not stay, she cannot endure this place. She wants to go home, she says, where they can live like civilized human beings.”
“How could you know this?” Anne demanded.
“We live next door. The first time I heard them they had a terrible fight. That was the day Troy told Umi he will buy the house and will pay cash for it when his check comes from the magazine. She yelled at him that night. Troy told her to shut up, but she kept on yelling. Finally he rushed out of the house and went up to the pool and stayed until very late. The next day she started again. This time she was more quiet.”
‘‘Then how could you hear what she said? Did you listen deliberately?”
“Yes. Keoni and I—Troy still had posing for us to do, and we needed the money. I was afraid she might persuade him to leave. So I listened. I went to the windows on the other side of their house, the side away from ours. I heard everything.”
“What did you hear?”
“Troy told her he wanted a divorce. He said she could go home, and according to Territorial law he could divorce her for desertion after a year and nothing would be in the papers. She could have what was in their New York bank account and all the furniture. She said their savings wouldn’t last her six months. He was very angry that night. He said she could sell some of the expensive trash she had bought and have enough to live on for two years. They had a big fight.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
�
�What do you mean, Lala? No more fighting?”
“That’s right. Next day I listened again, but they had made up. She told him she didn’t want a divorce, she loved him and only wanted him to be happy. He said that if she really meant it she would stay here with him and make a new life, that he never knew how to live until he came here. When she said living costs as much in Honolulu as in New York, he told her it depends on what you mean by living. He could sell enough of his paintings, he said, or he could take on a commercial job once in a while, and they would be comfortable. Then they made up.”
“What happened after that?”
“Nothing. Troy worked every day, he finished the paintings.”
“What did Mavis do?”
“When she was home she stayed in the house, reading. She went out a lot. Shopping, she said, getting ideas for furnishing the house. And she went to parties. I pressed all her clothes one day. She has beautiful clothes.”
“And she and Troy never had another argument?”
“No.” Lala stood up. “But I don’t believe she will stay here long. She is an empty woman. It takes a lot of money to fill her kind of emptiness, and then it is never filled.”
We watched as she went to join Keoni. He asked a question and she shook her head and smiled, and then they disappeared in the crowd.
“Let’s walk,” Anne said. We headed for the beach.
As we paced up and down we heard behind us the voices of singers, occasional shouts of laughter, cries of “Kani ka pila!” On with the music. The luau was just warming up.
Anne clung to my arm. Her bare shoulder brushed mine as we walked. “Before you joined us, I asked Lala if she remembered the night Troy got drunk at the Erickssons’. She did remember it because that was the time the car rolled down the hill, and they saw how frightened Troy was when he ran after it. I think it was shock which made him drink that night.”
The Lethal Sex Page 21