Early in the morning, Alicia picked up one of the Jeeps and drove to the agreed-upon pickup point at Kimo’s fruit stand on the Wanaao Road, where he left his young friend Billie Hama to run the business. The vehicle had a canvas top that was on because it might rain, with the side zipper-windows open to let in the pungent air. She wore a khaki Australian-outback hat with the side flaps buttoned up, giving her a stylish appearance.
“As you can see, I’m a big-shot executive,” Kimo said as he climbed into the front passenger seat and pulled the door shut. He carried a small knapsack, which he put in the back. “I have people chauffeuring me around and running my store. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
With a grin, Alicia said, “Watch it, Mister, or this date will be over before it starts.”
He nodded. “Okay, I’ll be on good behavior. I promise. I brought some fresh papayas and bananas for us to eat. And something you might not like very much, a seaweed salad.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she said, noting that it was in a small insulated container. “I brought spicy Hawaiian chicken from the ranch kitchen,” she added, “and guava juice.”
“We’ll feast like royalty,” he said.
Alicia put the Jeep in gear, and they rolled along the bumpy, washboard surface of the road. “If I saw your normal personality, instead of the ‘good behavior’ version, would I like you?”
“My normal personality, eh?” He thought for a moment. “Well, you might. I am kind of playful, and I like to tickle people.”
“Just anyone?”
“No, only cute wahinis like you.”
She did not find his comment amusing; considered it somewhat sexist. But she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about him. He seemed a little nervous, and her own attitude was not helping the situation. “I see. Just hold off on that until I give approval, all right?”
“Sure. Sorry, I was only kidding.”
Alicia saw a red and yellow tour bus parked ahead, at a vista that was popular for looking out on the sea. The vehicle was a twenty-passenger model, with a canvas top, open at the sides. It was the largest bus normally used on these narrow, badly paved roads.
As they drew closer, Kimo said, “Pull up alongside. That lady boarding is my mother. She’s going to talk to the tourists, and we can listen in. She’s not a tour guide, but sometimes she’s asked to speak on various subjects that are of historical or spiritual significance. She knows many interesting stories about our area.”
“Sounds like fun.” As Alicia parked the Jeep she saw the large Hawaiian woman take a standing position at the front of the bus, where she held a microphone. Alicia had seen Kimo’s mother at the last town meeting, when she spoke of the need to stop polluting and plundering the ocean, and got into a horrible argument with Alicia’s grandfather.
“My name is Ealani Pohaku,” she said, to the tourists. “My family has lived in Wanaao for many generations, going back to the bygone days when Hawaiian royalty vacationed here. Some of my ancestors were warriors, and spilled blood defending our beautiful land. If any of you see me on another day, I may speak more of that. But now I want to tell all of you something that is very important. You must heed my words carefully, for your own safety, and for the safety of your families.”
Alicia looked quizzically at Kimo. He just nodded toward his mother, who didn’t seem to have noticed them there.
“Never, never take a piece of volcanic rock off any of these islands, not even the smallest fragment, or it will enrage Madam Pele—the goddess of the volcanoes—and she will put a terrible curse on you.” She paused, amid nervous murmuring and tittering among some of the passengers. “This is no laughing matter. Believe me, Madam Pele will hunt you down wherever you are, and your family, too, and awful things will happen.”
“My grandfather put up signs in the hotel warning about that,” Alicia said to Kimo, in a low voice. “I made them for him.”
He looked surprised, then said, “I am pleased to hear he did that. It shows respect for our traditions.” Then he leaned close, and added in a low voice, “That portion of the Madame Pele story might not be authentic, but my mother likes it anyway, because it teaches outsiders to respect our beautiful islands.”
Ealani proceeded to tell a number of anecdotes, which she insisted were true, including the story of a child who took a pebble back to Cincinnati and was then killed when a car veered out of control and hit him while he was riding his bicycle. She also told of a honeymooning couple who returned to New York City and put a piece of volcanic rock on the dresser in their bedroom. They were unable to conceive a child until after they learned of the curse, and made arrangements to return the rock safely to Hawaii.
“What about volcanic dust on our shoes?” a man asked. “Should we clean our shoes thoroughly before boarding the plane, or leave our shoes here?”
Alicia saw Ealani smile. “You may keep your shoes without worrying too much. Madam Pele regularly sends winds to the mainland to pick up tiny bits of volcanic dust that wander away.”
“What if a person is not aware of the prohibition and takes a rock home?” a young woman asked.
Ealani nodded. “That is somewhat like the question asked of devout Christians, ‘Can a person still get into heaven if he has never heard of Jesus Christ?’ They would answer ‘no’, and so must I. Whenever a fragment of a sacred volcano is willfully removed, Madam Pele does not recognize nuances of guilt, or even ignorance. Anyone coming to the Hawaiian Islands carries a moral obligation to learn our customs. There are no excuses for not doing so, no excuses for improper behavior. It is a matter of showing consideration for our culture, and we take this very seriously.”
The Hawaiian woman then told a number of amusing stories about the menehune, little fairy people who were said to live in the Hawaiian Islands. Also called “night marchers”, they supposedly walked over rooftops at night, and played tricks on people as they slept.
When Ealani was finished (and the tourists applauded her), she stepped off the bus, where Kimo greeted her and introduced her to Alicia.
“It is very nice to meet you,” Ealani said. “Kimo has spoken of you. You are quite lovely.” As the big woman shook Alicia’s hand, Ealani held on for a long time before letting go. Her large hands were calloused but gentle, and her round, tanned face seemed to have permanent smile lines.
“Thank you.” Though Ealani was obviously of Polynesian blood, like Kimo, her face was wider than his, and her eyes, nose, and mouth were different, bearing no resemblance to him.
Alicia offered the woman a ride, but she declined, pointing to a footpath across the road that led into the dense jungle, with its vivid green tones on leaves and broad, leafy fronds. “Our house is only a short distance up the hill,” she said.
At the ranch stable, Alicia had already arranged for the horses, without giving Kimo’s name, so they were saddled and waiting. The stable boy handed Kimo the reins of an energetic black stallion, while Alicia took a smaller Morgan named Hula that she had ridden often, a pretty brown mare with a white face and chest, and white hooves.
“I assume my steed is called Diablo?” he asked, as the American saddle horse pulled away from him and neighed. Kimo held on to the reins, with difficulty.
“You said you were an experienced rider.”
“That doesn’t mean I can handle anything. I was cow-kicked by a horse the last time I rode—it hit me with a hind leg when I was standing next to it.”
“That hurts. I’ve had it happen, too.”
“I don’t think this horse likes me. Would you like to trade?”
“We could find you something else, but he’s not dangerous. His name is Sundancer, and he’s just testing you a little. He does that to every new rider. Give the reins a strong pull to show him who’s boss—but not too hard. You don’t want to hurt him.”
She watched as he did as she instructed, just one firm tug that caused the animal to settle down immediately.
“Sundancer has never
thrown anyone, so don’t worry.” She put the food and several plastic containers of water into saddlebags on the horses.
After giving Kimo a few minutes to get accustomed to the stallion, she led the way through a wooden gate and across a sunny pasture, then headed up a grassy slope that was gentle at first and gradually grew steeper. They went through another gate, and reached a jungle trail that continued upward, at times zigzagging in shade and at other times going straight up the slope in the sun, over a path of pulverized lava. The horses were sure-footed, and walked at a strong, steady pace as they climbed.
She kept looking back to make sure Kimo was all right, and saw that he was leaning forward on the black horse, lowering his center of gravity as they went uphill and avoiding any overhanging branches or leaves. His instincts appeared to be good.
“We are still on my grandfather’s property,” she said. “It runs right up the side of the volcano, all the way to the top.”
“Ancient Hawaiian land grants ran from the top of the mountain to the sea,” Kimo said. “There are remnants of old rock walls around here that marked those old land boundaries, before the immigrant white families combined many smaller native plots into large parcels.” He pointed to a section of black lava wall.
She knew the story of such rock boundaries, had seen a number of intact, picturesque examples in the Wanaao region.
Partway up the slope, at around two thousand feet in elevation, Kimo said he’d been here before. He led the way onto a rocky side trail that went to a vista point where they could see part of the winding ribbon of road that continued up to the top. A number of bicyclists were speeding down the paved road, an exhilarating experience that Alicia had done once, and intended to do again. She could also see two young men on hang gliders, soaring out away from the mountain on thermals. Having lived in Hawaii for less than a year, she had not tried that yet, but was anxious to do so.
Kimo called out to her, and pointed to a side trail that went down slope into a jungle clearing, where there was a lookout. “There’s a nice picnic spot over there. Shall we?”
“Sure, why not?” She had lowered the flaps of her outback hat for more protection from the sun. Her horse fidgeted, moving its feet around on the rocky surface.
They negotiated the short trail. Then, after making sure the animals were tied up in shade and had water, Alicia joined him on a sunny lava promontory. He had set up a picnic cloth there, for the chicken, fruit, small bottles of locally-produced guava juice, and an unusual salad with pieces of kelp and leafy, dark-green seaweed. The lookout perch provided sweeping views of the pastures, homes, and roads below, with the vast turquoise ocean beyond. Alicia saw a cruise ship offshore, as well as a big oceangoing container ship and the smaller eclectic boats of local fishermen.
“The chicken is quite spicy,” she warned. I hope you like it that way.”
He nibbled on a piece to test it, nodded, and ate it quickly, followed by several more. Watching him eat voraciously she was glad she had brought a lot of food, but as the two of them talked, the supply dwindled quickly. Alicia found that she actually liked the salad he’d brought, which he described as “vegetables from the sea”. He said the kelp had been washed, cooked, and chilled, while the seaweed had just been washed. It was all mixed, with a delicious, creamy vinaigrette dressing.
“I like your mother,” Alicia said. “She’s quite an interesting lady.” She hesitated. “I hear your father is a fisherman?”
“No more, not since he became sick and bedridden.”
“Yes, I heard that, too. I’m very sorry.”
“They are wonderful, both of them,” Kimo said, “but I fear my father will not be with us much longer. He grows weaker by the moment, and my mother, even with her kahuna healing powers, can do little to help him now.”
“I assume he is getting good medical attention. Who is his doctor?”
“Dr. Wilson,” he said. “He’s new on the staff, but seems bright and helpful. Tiny also has many friends, and they visit him often, bringing him little gifts to keep his mind active, and his spirits upbeat.”
“That’s good.” Alicia wished something could be done to get Tiny Pohaku even better medical care, but there was so much animosity between the two families that she didn’t dare ask her grandfather to see if his personal physician could attend to the old fisherman. Dr. Taj Chandrapur was the town hospital’s chief of staff, and had a very select clientele that he tended to personally, including Preston Ellsworth. Dr. Chandrapur, well-known as a physician to the rich and famous in Beverly Hills, had moved his practice to Wanaao Town twenty years ago, deciding he wanted to live and work there instead of in the hectic Los Angeles area. Some of his clients flew all the way from the mainland to see him, and besides that a number of actors, actresses, and other famous people had either retired to Loa’kai island, or maintained part-time residences there. Because of Chandrapur’s status in the medical community, he’d been able to get wealthy donors to pay for the best medical equipment money could buy. He often said that he ran the “best little hospital in the world”.
The two picnickers talked of people they knew in Wanaao, including the eccentric Jiddy Rahim, who had saved tourists from drowning at Olamai Beach, where her grandfather allowed him to maintain his cave (with a few simple wicker furnishings inside), while also allowing him to eat gratis at the hotel on occasion.
“I was wondering if the ranch ever gave Jiddy anything,” Kimo said upon learning these things. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Kimo also told her about Puka Charlie (whom she didn’t know), a one-armed soldier from the mainland who lived in a hollow outside of town. (His name, “Puka”, meant “hole” in Hawaiian.) Kimo also told her of old Portuguese and Japanese families in the area, and how they liked to tell him stories of bygone days in Wanaao Town, before outsiders and tourists arrived in such abundance.
“The locals keep the Wanaao Road unpaved and bumpy for a reason,” Kimo said. “We don’t want it to be a super highway. Enough tourists get through as it is. Don’t get me wrong; we like tourists. I sell fruit to them, and my fellow Hawaiians provide services as well, but we don’t want the high-rise hotels and condominiums that are on the other side of the island, and on the more populated islands. We don’t want this paradise to become like Waikiki Beach.”
“Neither do I,” she said.
“I am pleased to hear that,” he said, as he sipped a bottle of juice.
When they left the picnic spot, they took everything with them, not leaving the smallest article of garbage. On the way back down, Alicia showed him another trail that eventually led to a dirt road strewn with fallen mangos and leaves from trees that stood on either side. It was early afternoon when they crossed the Wanaao Road and continued downhill on a path, reaching the seashore a short while later.
She noticed a commotion just offshore, where fish were leaping out of the water and stirring it into a white froth. Three people were on the beach looking outward, Fuji Namoto and the ranch employees who were guiding her.
Kimo said nothing.
“I know that woman,” Alicia said, as they dismounted. “She’s an oceanographer from Honolulu, here to research what’s going on. She said a school of butterflyfish frightened her yesterday while she was in the water. Obviously the fish are still upset. I see orange-spotted jackfish out there now, and other reef species. They’re all worked up about something.”
With a sad expression, Kimo gazed at the frothing ocean, saying nothing.
“They’re stirring up the water like piranhas,” she said.
“This is very unlike them,” he said. “These species are normally calm, the kind I see often when I dive.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“The ocean is gravely ill,” Kimo said.
“Due to damage caused by humans, as your mother said at the town meeting?”
“Exactly, and my father says so, too. He was a fisherman for more than sixty years, going out on the sea every day to
bring in the plentiful harvest. Something must be done to heal the waters and the creatures that live in them. Something must be done….”
“Yes,” Alicia said. “But what?”
He shook his head, without providing any answer.
On the way back to the stable, Kimo rode silently, keeping any additional thoughts about the matter to himself. He seemed despondent, and Alicia didn’t know what to say to cheer him up. The end of their date had become uncomfortable, but she was not angry with him. On the contrary, he was obviously a very serious young man, with important things on his mind.
She liked him, and hoped to see him again.
***
Chapter 18
Governor Heinz Churchill’s old military office—which he preferred to his state office—featured a sweeping view of the naval base and the warships in Pearl Harbor, as well as the USS Arizona memorial on the opposite shore, over the site of the sunken battleship and the bodies that were left aboard. He saw a squadron of carrier jets flying low overhead, making him think of the Japanese attack in December, 1941—a decade before his birth, but not in Hawaii. He was from Connecticut.
Heinz had been in this corner office for years, going back to when he was Admiral of the Third Fleet in the Pacific. Despite his present duties as Governor of the State of Hawaii, he’d been permitted to keep his old office here, in recognition of his outstanding service record.
He glanced at his watch: 9:59 am, and heard the familiar voices of two women talking in an outer office, one of his assistants and his wife, Fuji Namoto, who had just arrived.
Then, just as the minute hand touched the hour, he saw his ever-punctual wife march through the open doorway. The slender Asian woman carried a brown leather briefcase on a shoulder sling.
“As I told you in my e-mails, the situation is perplexing,” she said, removing a laptop computer from her case and setting it up on his desk. “I gave Mr. Ellsworth a summary of my findings before leaving, and I’ll put together a more comprehensive report for both of you. But this is what I have so far.”
Ocean: The Awakening Page 10