by Heidi Heilig
I refilled the pail with fresh water and put out another dish of pearls, but he did not return that evening, and at dawn the next day, I emptied the bucket back into the sea.
At sunrise, we sailed into Hana’uma Bay, escorted by a pod of dolphins, and we dropped anchor in the still, protected waters while they played tag between the hulls. Honolulu Harbor wasn’t an option; if we were inspected, I could not think of a single way to explain the silent terra-cotta warriors or the ancient junk to the harbor master, or to anyone else.
Hana’uma Bay was thankfully deserted. Someday Elvis Presley would stand there on the beach in the movie Blue Hawaii, but in 1884, the entire bay was still part of the estate of Princess Pauahi, and no one dared to swim or fish on the royal beach without permission. The water was pristine; peering over the rail, I could see the bright colors of the fish shimmering in the coral twenty feet down.
Slate had risen early in the morning with his disgusting coffee and a distracted air. “It’s going to be a long hike to Honolulu,” he said to me.
“Yeah.” I sighed, pushing away from the rail. I knew what was coming.
“I want you and Kashmir to make final preparations, so we can set a day to . . . to conclude the transaction.”
“Right.” I watched him blow the steam off his coffee. “Any preferences?”
“D and Kashmir can work the schedule out between them. Oh, and find a place to hide the treasure. Not on the beach like some cut-rate pirate story. The erosion will expose it too quickly.”
I licked my lips. Since my outburst in the tomb, I had been considering where we’d leave the gold. “I already know a place.”
“Really?”
“I promised to help, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “Okay. Good. The trip to Honolulu is twelve miles or so, and the terrain’s not easy. It may take you a whole day. Bring supplies, and enough money for lodging and so forth. You’ll need to stay in town until you hear from Mr. D.”
“Aye, Captain.” I started downstairs to make ready, but he called me back. “Yes?”
He was quiet for long enough I almost turned again to leave, but then he smiled at me. “You did good, Nixie.”
Something in my chest came loose like a knot slipping, and I smiled back, so wide it hurt. “Thanks, Dad.”
He leaned close, as though he were about to tell me a secret. “I always find—for me—knowing I have a . . . an escape . . . makes a situation less difficult. I am hoping, now you know you have an alternative, we might keep course together awhile longer.”
I regarded him for a moment, and the words formed and reformed themselves in my head, but I was too much of a coward to tell him what Joss had told me—that he would never reach 1868 with me aboard. “As long as we can, Captain,” I said finally.
He blinked at me. “Well. That’s more than I hoped for.” Then he grinned and came at me low, wrapping me up in a hug as he had back outside of Christie’s, before we’d come to this place. I locked my own arms around his neck, and I didn’t let go until after he did.
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Slate himself rowed us to shore, beating the water vigorously with the oars, as though he were trying to best it. When we reached the beach and stepped out into the warm water and the soft, shell-studded sand, Slate saluted us before he pulled away.
“He’s in high spirits,” Kashmir said.
“He’s happy it’s nearly over.”
“Aren’t you happy, amira?” Kashmir said.
“Sure,” I said, and I tried to mean it. Slate was right; I had an alternative. I could set out on my own if I liked. This was what I’d always wanted . . . only now I understood the meaning behind the old curse, “May your every wish be granted.”
I pushed the thoughts from my mind as I rolled down the cuffs of my trousers. I’d eschewed a dress for our hike, and packed simply: a change of clothes, a handful of coins, and a letter that I’d written in private, in haste, and shoved in the bottom of my bag.
Hana’uma had been formed by a volcanic cone, and it was a long, steep climb up a winding trail from the beach to the lip of the crater. We walked in silence, the path too steep to speak easily, but we listened to birds serenade from the scraggly trees that shaded the path. At the top of the dead volcano, we stopped to rest and drink. Below us, the water lay like a sapphire cabochon in a partial capture of the shore, marred only by the ships like flaws on the stone.
I sighed, and Kash quirked up an eyebrow. “It’s so beautiful,” I said, in answer to his unspoken question.
“This?” Kashmir shrugged. “It reminds me of Bengal.”
“It’s unique,” I insisted.
“Unique like everything else you’ve ever seen.”
I took another mouthful of water to consider my response. Then I reached out to grab Kashmir’s arm. “Look!” I pointed at a small black bird sitting on a branch above our heads.
Kash stared dubiously. “Does it heal things?”
“Wait till it flies away,” I said. “There are yellow feathers under each wing. The Hawaiian chieftains used them to make their golden cloaks.”
The bird called out, and Kashmir cocked his head. “Pretty melody, at least.”
“Fifty years from now, the last one will sing his final song somewhere on Mauna Loa.”
“Ah.”
We watched the bird fly. “Doesn’t that make you sad?” I asked, exasperated.
“Why? It’s here now, amira.”
We walked in silence almost directly west, over the black volcanic pumice of the crater’s edge, and down toward the water and the inlet of Maunalua Bay, where we passed a fish pond and a native village beside a stream where Hawaiians were shrimping with woven baskets. I stopped for a moment to watch, and a man offered us some shrimp. They were about the length of one of the joints in my finger, translucent pink, and still living as he crushed them between his white teeth. I took him up on his offer; they were salty-sweet and bitter, all at once.
We continued for a while along the shore, giving wide berth to basking sea turtles and startling a small gray monk seal. We crossed a flat of tide pools where tiny red crabs scrambled in and out of the pocked holes formed by ancient bubbles in the superheated liquid stone, and I made Kashmir stop to watch as a woman and her daughter pried opihi off the mossy rocks with dull flat blades. We passed a thicket of Kona oranges and pulled fruit from the trees, filling my bag near to bursting. Kashmir offered to carry it, and I handed it over gratefully. Finally we turned inland to avoid hiking up Diamond Head—or Leahi, Blake’s map had labeled it—jumping over streamlets and tramping down tall grass.
The sun followed behind for a while and then overtook us, leading us along like a beacon as we approached Waikiki, where white peacocks walked at a stately pace under the tall trees. I led Kash onto the sand to walk along the water’s edge. I knew it was the longer route, but I felt an odd reluctance, a push and a pull, running away and running to. I shied away from the natural end to our journey, and I gave in to the draw of seeing all I could in the time I had left. My native time.
Kashmir must have noticed me dragging my feet. The last few miles he’d been quiet, his usual humor fading with the afternoon, but he hadn’t made any effort to hurry me. The sun dipped into the ocean as we caught sight, in the distance, of the black forest of masts in Honolulu Harbor, and it was just a slip of molten red above the horizon by the time we reached the last stretch of beach before the blasted coral of the esplanade.
I stopped on the sand. Kashmir continued a few steps, then turned around.
“Maybe we can stay on the beach?” I said. “Tonight, I mean. It’s very late to try to find lodging at a hotel.”
Kashmir held my gaze for a long time before answering. “As you will.” Then he dropped the bag and flung himself down beside it.
I tried to smile. “What, Kashmir?” I gest
ured out across the ocean, taking in the fiery sunset, the soft sand, the nodding palms. “You don’t like the accommodations?”
He didn’t answer at first, but his green eyes shone in the dying light. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper, holding it up between his first two fingers. My heart sank and I snatched the letter from his hands, but his expression didn’t change. “Dearest Mr. Hart,” he recited, still watching my face. “I have little time to write, and even less to visit, so instead—”
“Kashmir—”
“So instead, I have left something for you in the place you promised one day you’d show me, the day we went on the hike. I cannot say more except to ask your forgiveness. Nix.”
“You don’t understand.” I shoved the letter back into my pocket.
“I thought I did, the other day. When you kissed him.”
I blushed, deeply, but I didn’t drop my gaze, although Kash didn’t make it easy. Finally he broke, looking down to pull an orange out of my bag, and I was grateful for the small mercy.
“But then I wondered,” he went on. “What on earth could you be leaving for him?”
I folded my arms and watched the waves advancing, receding. “He wasn’t supposed to make a map that worked. I practically spelled it out for him.”
Kashmir laughed softly. “You expected him to let you go so easily?” He dropped the orange peel all in one piece beside him and sectioned the orange. “Not everyone has your skill for it. I will admit, I was relieved to read that you would not see him. Although I did notice you didn’t say good-bye.”
“It’s implied. Like I said in the letter, I didn’t have much time.”
“If the captain has his way, you could have your whole life.” He offered me a slice of orange, but I stared at it. He shrugged and ate it himself. “I know you’ve considered it.”
“Kashmir . . .” I fumbled for the words. What could I say to him, this boy who knew me so well? The truth, of course; he knew already. “It’s compelling. I can feel it now, the pull my father feels toward a place and time. This is where I would have grown up. This is the life I would have had. The friends and . . . the family.” I took up a handful of sand and let it pour through my fingers. “And maybe—maybe if I’d never known another life, it’s a life I could’ve loved. But that’s not what happened. I won’t be staying. The Temptation is my home.” I reached over and took his hand. We were quiet for a while. The sun was gone, and only a slender belt of gold along the horizon remained. “At least, for now.”
He squeezed my fingers. “Until when?”
I put my other hand to my throat. “Do you remember that night in New York? When you gave me my necklace? Remember we talked about jumping ship?”
“I do.”
“Now that I can Navigate . . . if I did leave the ship—I’m not saying I will. But if I did. Would you come with me?”
His answer was immediate. “You know I would.”
I let my breath out; I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it. Then I grinned at him. “We could get our own boat.”
“I’ve never stolen a boat before.”
“You’ve stolen enough we could buy a boat,” I said, thinking of the pile of jewelry he’d given me over the years. All the treasure I hadn’t cared for at the time. I might not even need the map of Carthage.
“Who would be captain?” he said.
“Uh, I would.”
“Oh, no, no no. Guess again.”
“You can’t mutiny, we don’t have a ship yet.”
“I’m planning ahead.”
I grinned at him, suddenly feeling free—expansive—like full sails and an open horizon. “If you could go anywhere, where would you want to go?”
“Could we find a map of someplace perfect?”
“Like paradise?” I asked, teasing.
“Here? No.” He stared upward, the first stars shining in his eyes. “A better place. Someplace where nothing goes wrong. There must be a myth like that somewhere.”
I bit my lip; my shoulders fell. “Navigation involves the beliefs of the Navigator and the mapmaker. And I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who truly believes in a world without suffering.”
“Ah.”
I dragged my fingers through the soft sand. “You know, Slate was right. This place is dying. If I’d grown up here, I would be seeing it firsthand, like Blake is.”
“And you wouldn’t have met me, which is the main thing, of course!”
I laughed. “Of course.” I let go of his hand, and then, a moment later, I wished I hadn’t. “I will admit though. It was fun.”
He sat up, cross-legged, facing me. “Being in Hawaii?”
“Flirting with a stranger.” I ducked my chin, suddenly shy. “I can see why you like it.”
“You should have taken my word for it, and not wasted your time testing the theory.”
“It wasn’t a waste of time,” I said.
His mouth opened a little, closed again, and the muscles of his throat worked. But all he said was “Oh?”
“Don’t judge me,” I said, exasperated. “You and Bee and Slate and Rotgut, you all had lives, you all have stories and memories. You’re worldly and experienced.” I wrapped my hands around my knees and watched the rising moon lay a path of silver on the sea. “I’ve never had anything or anyone outside the ship.”
He reached into the bag for another orange, turning it over and over in his hands. “Why does it have to be someone outside the ship?”
I tensed, cautious—suddenly sensing the reefs only inches below the surface, but I couldn’t go back. I had to keep my eye on the horizon ahead. “Knowing something has an ending . . . makes it easier to begin,” I said carefully. “I never want to be stuck missing something I didn’t expect to lose.”
“Baleh, I understand.”
“You do?” I checked to see if he was making fun, but his face was earnest.
“Of course.” Kashmir started to peel the orange; the smell of citrus perfumed the air. “When I was young, I learned to expect loss. Every time you slept, something disappeared. Whenever you woke up, someone else was gone. But . . . I also learned that every day, you created everything anew. And whatever you had, you enjoyed as long as it lasted. Spend money when it’s in your pocket.” He took my hand and put the orange in it. “Eat fruit while it’s ripe.” His other hand found my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “Paradise is a promise no god bothers to keep. There’s only now, and tomorrow nothing will be the same, whether we like it or not.”
I bit my lip and tasted oranges; the juice was very sweet. “Is that really true?”
His smile was bright in the moonlight. “I promise.”
“Then I suppose . . . just tonight—”
This time I did not turn away, and so I discovered that his lips were even sweeter than the orange.
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I woke naturally before dawn and went to stand watch at the water’s edge. The sky lightened from the color of stone to the soft purple of lavender blossoms, then to the rich blue and orange of a gas flame, all reflected in the mirror of the morning sea. As the sun began to glow gold, Kashmir came to stand beside me, very close but not touching, giving me space. Flecks of foam washed our feet. Words came to mind and then melted away like spun sugar on my tongue. Last night, there had been so much to say, but tomorrow had become today, and everything was different.
I turned from the sea and kicked sand over the coals of our little fire. Kashmir washed his hands and face in the Pacific. In silence, we gathered our things. Finally I spoke. “Breakfast?”
“Absolutely.”
We found a saloon that was serving eggs and hash to patrons who looked like they’d had a liquid supper. After we’d had our fill, we hired horses and bought shovels and torches from the general store downtown. Then I l
ed Kashmir up into the mountains.
We took Nu’uanu Road, past the little stream, by the boxy white house, onto the track in the woods, through the empty clearing where we tied our horses, and up to the waterfall Blake had shown me.
“He told me there were caves above the falls,” I said.
Kashmir put his hands on his hips and assessed the craggy mountainside, a wall of orchids and bromeliads and wet, mossy stone. “Did he tell you how to get up there?”
“There’s an old trail somewhere,” I said, walking along the edge of the greenery. “But it may be hard to find. The Hawaiians used to keep the bones of their kings in caves along the ridge, and the locations were very secret because the bones had great power. Ah.” I pushed aside a tangle of ferns to reveal a slippery trail, little more than a path for runoff. “Let’s try this.”
We explored the mountainside, ducking into caves and crevices, finding the occasional petroglyph but, thankfully, no graves. We settled on a narrow cleft near the stream with a loamy floor where we dug a deep trench, working side by side in companionable silence. It only took an hour, but better now than the night of the theft.
When we finished, we left the supplies there and climbed gingerly, slowly down out of the mountains. I made sure to map the location in my head, the twists and turns of the narrow track that led us back to the ghost village where our horses grazed in the slanting afternoon sun.
We arrived at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel covered with mud to the knees and endured the tight-lipped disapproval of the concierge, but Kashmir put on a show and pulled out a heavy handful of coins, and suddenly rooms became available. We lingered in the lobby that night, being seen, and the next morning there was a message waiting for us at the front desk.
Dinner at the Palace, December 1. Will you be able to attend? —D
“December first?” I glanced at the newspaper on the counter. “So, ten days from now. That should be . . . just after full moon. A Monday night?”
Kashmir laughed. “Why are you asking me?”