On my first day in the house, I slept until noon. I was a bit confused and disoriented when I opened my eyes, but when I saw the pineapple-shaped fan over the bed and heard the enthusiastic bird choir and the loud sound of waves, I remembered where I was.
I wrapped a sheet from my bed around me and walked into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. Outside the sky was blue and the sun was shining. Lucky me.
There was a classic Bialetti espresso maker on the stove. I filled it with water and the freshly roasted coffee I had bought the day before, and then just stood and watched it slowly percolate.
A memory came back to me of my mom standing beside the stove, quietly relishing the scent of coffee slowly filling the room. I used to stand there silently with her, feeling I was part of an important ritual. The ritual of welcoming a new day.
I leaned over the coffeepot and took in the aroma. It smelled heavenly.
When it was ready, I poured the coffee into a mug with rainbows on it and walked barefoot onto the veranda. Still wrapped in the thin white sheet from my bed, I sat down on the top of the stairs that led down to the lawn and looked around.
Large, colorful bushes separated the intensely green lawn from the sand, and behind it was the crystal blue ocean for as far as I could see. It looked like diamonds were dancing in its waves.
I didn’t know that colors like these actually existed in real life. The only time I had seen colors this intense had been in Mom’s paintings. “These are the colors of paradise,” she had told me. And I realized that was where I was. In paradise.
As I sipped my coffee, a little bird with a red Mohawk landed on the stairs just below me. It tilted its head as if to say, “And who are you?” Three hens and a rooster walked right in front of me and carried on as if I weren’t even there. I was surrounded by life. And no people. This was paradise, alright.
A bit later, as I walked back into the kitchen to refill my cup of coffee, a familiar voice jumped back into my head. “Fine, Maya, here we are. Now what? What’s the plan? How are you going to spend the next week? And more importantly, what do you intend to do when you get back to real life?”
I shook my head. No way. I just got here. I am not going to listen to that voice today. “Shut up and give me a break,” I growled.
And with that, the voice disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. Thank goodness. Not only did I not want to listen to it judging me for not having a plan, I definitely didn’t want it around when I put on my new bathing suit.
In my defense, the suit was the only one they had in my size in the souvenir shop. Pink, with a white sash across it that read “Aloha Baby,” I wish I could say it was fun, ironic, or that I at least wore it well. Regretfully, all I could say about it was that it was better than being naked. But who cares? It wasn’t like I needed to look good for anyone on the beach anyway.
I tied a sarong around my hips and walked barefoot across the lawn toward the beach. The grass was thick and coarse; it felt like getting a foot massage on the short trip over the lawn. As I stepped onto the soft sand, I took a deep breath and let out a deep, happy sigh. It was like the warm sand hugged my feet and sent happy chills through my entire body. I was surprised to see many people on the beach: sunbathers, children playing in the sand, people in the water, and couples walking hand in hand along the shore. I realized the sounds of chirping birds and waves hitting the shore must have drowned out all the other sounds.
An old man who looked a bit like a sailor with his navy blue-and-white-striped T-shirt and white hat was sitting in a chair on the beach right outside the house next door. He gave me a smile when I looked over at him.
“Hello,” I said, smiling back.
“Hello. Welcome to paradise.”
“Thank you, it certainly feels like it,” I replied and was about to walk toward the water when something caught my eye.
I turned my head to the left of the beach. In the distance was a sight I never could have prepared myself for.
Bali Ha’i! Large, green, majestic, it looked like it was floating on a sea of liquid gold. The mountain seemed to be vibrating from inside, its peaks stretching up toward the sky, like fingers pointing upwards toward the heavens. Overwhelmed by emotions and memories, I just sat down in the sand and took it all in.
Suddenly I felt something tickle my arm. I looked down. An orange butterfly was dancing around me. It flew so close that its wings brushed my arm.
I followed the butterfly with my eyes as she flew toward the neighbor’s house and landed quietly on a rose bush right behind the old man’s chair.
GEORGE
“She’s quite a beauty, isn’t she?” the old man said. At first I thought he was talking about the butterfly, but then I noticed he was nodding toward Bali Ha’i.
His voice was deep and strong and sounded much younger than he looked.
“It’s out-of-this-world beautiful,” I said.
“Have you seen the movie South Pacific?” the old man asked.
I smiled and nodded eagerly. “At least thirty times. It was my mom’s and my favorite movie of all time.”
The old man smiled. Then, with a deep baritone voice, he started singing a familiar tune.
Most people live on a lonely island
Lost in the middle of a foggy sea
Most people long for another island
One where they know they will like to be
Bali Ha’i may call you
Any night, any day
In your heart, you’ll hear it call you
“Come away, come away”
Bali Ha’i will whisper
On the wind of the sea
“Here am I, your special island!
Come to me, come to me.”
The whole situation was so unreal; for a while, I thought I was dreaming. I just sat there, in the sand, listening to the old stranger with the stunning voice, singing the song that had meant so much for Mom and me, at this place that we had dreamt about visiting, without even knowing it existed for real.
When I realized I wasn’t dreaming, that I was actually here and this was really happening, it was almost more than I could handle. Tears were streaming down my face.
How I wished Mom had been here to experience this with me. Then I had to smile. It was like I could see her here, dancing barefoot in the sand, dressed in a beautiful dress and with the happiest of smiles on her face.
As the old man finished the song, the orange butterfly lifted from the rosebush behind him, circled around his head, and softly landed on another flower, closer to my house.
I dried my tears and walked over to him.
“Wow. Just wow. I am speechless. Thank you so much!” I extended my hand. “I’m Maya. I’m renting the house next door.”
His handshake was strong and firm. “Delighted. I’m George.” His face wrinkled up in a friendly smile.
“Are you a professional singer or something?” I asked.
The old man seemed pleased.
“I used to be. Many, many years ago.” He was beaming. “I was actually one of the singers in the movie.”
I could feel my jaw drop. “In the movie? You mean South Pacific?”
He laughed and nodded. “I was young. It was only a tiny part, and if you blink you will have missed me, but I was there, alright.”
When he smiled, I could see how handsome he once must have been. And charming, too. I bet all the ladies on set had swooned over him.
“You know, Maya. You’re standing on the beach where many of the scenes in South Pacific were filmed.”
He pointed to his left.
“Just over there is where Lieutenant Cable and the marines came the first time they visited the island of Bali Ha’i—which of course, as you can see, isn’t a real island. You know, what is Bali Ha’i in the movie is actually the mountain of Mount Makana. But many of us still, affectionately, like to call her Bali Ha’i.”
I recognized the spot and started to replay that scene in my mind. I still
couldn’t believe this was happening for real.
“What was it like here back then, when you were filming? Did it look the same?”
“Yes, pretty much,” George said. “You should have seen it—the cameras, the crew, actors running around preparing for their scenes.”
He pointed toward my beach house.
“In your backyard, there used to be a food truck where they fed the entire crew. The food was dreadful. But it was the only food around, so we ate it anyway.”
I laughed. This was all too much.
“So, how did you land a role in South Pacific and get to experience all that?” I was curious to hear George’s story. I had a feeling he was only happy to share.
“Please, have a seat,” he said and opened the folded beach chair that was resting in the sand beside him.
I sat down next to him. He seemed to be just as eager to tell as I was to listen.
“It was 1956. I had just arrived in Los Angeles from Chicago. I was one of the many hopefuls that wanted to make it in the city of lights.”
I could easily envision a young George stepping off a Greyhound bus, wearing his best suit and carrying a small, worn-out suitcase in his hand.
“Hollywood was at its most glamorous. You could bump into Marilyn Monroe or Cary Grant in one of the fancier lunch places in town, and whether you were cleaning floors or standing in front of the camera, you were part of that big adventure called Hollywood.”
“Amazing! I can’t believe you were actually there.” I shook my head in awe. Listening to him speak was like being transported to a different place and time.
“I was working as a driver for one of the movie studios. Mostly I drove crew here and there, but sometimes I was lucky enough to drive a movie star or one of the big powerful film moguls. One day I was driving Joshua Logan, the famous film director, to the airport. He was complaining to his secretary that two of the actors in his upcoming film had been in a fight over some girl in a bar and were facing prosecution, so they would not be allowed to leave the city for the next couple of months.”
My eyes widened. He knew the Joshua Logan?
George didn’t seem to notice my awe. Instead, he continued, as if what he was talking about was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“With filming starting in less than a week they wouldn’t have time for new auditions, and Mr. Logan told his secretary that he didn’t have any hopes of being able to find anyone on the remote island where they were going to shoot the movie.”
As I listened to George, the bird with the red Mohawk flew over and landed next to me in the sand. I watched as it tilted its head and looked back at me, then at George, who continued with his story.
“Sometimes we are given unique opportunities in life, and it’s up to us whether we act on them or not. That day I had my big chance, and there was no way I wouldn’t take it.”
The red-headed bird inched closer to George’s chair.
“‘Sorry for eavesdropping, sir,’ I told the famous film director. ‘But if you need an actor that can sing, he just might be right in front of you.’”
George and I chuckled. I couldn’t wait to hear what came next.
“Mr. Logan just stared at me, then continued talking to his secretary as if he hadn’t even heard what I had said. With nothing to lose, I started to sing that song from Oklahoma, ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning,’ and boy, did I give it my all.”
I laughed. This was unbelievable!
“When I finished, he was quiet for a while. Then Mr. Logan said, ‘Go home and pack your bag, son. You’re coming with us to Hawaii.’” George grinned. “And that was the end of my life as I knew it—and the beginning of an entirely new life.”
I was enthralled by his story.
“Life is a funny thing,” George continued, “the way one choice, one chance, one opportunity, can entirely change the course of a life. That is, if we let it. I thought being rich and famous and living in Hollywood was my calling, but then I came to Kaua’i in 1957 and found what I really wanted. Something way better than being rich and famous.”
“And what was that?” I asked.
George smiled. “I found love. I found happiness. I found paradise.”
He took a deep sigh and looked over the ocean. I could see he was overwhelmed by all the memories.
When he looked at me again, he had tears in his eyes.
“Her name was Aimee. She was one of the actresses in the movie. First time I saw her was on set. She came walking toward me, wearing a white dress, looking directly at me, and I had this strange feeling that I had seen her before. When I looked into her eyes, it felt like coming home, and I just knew she was the woman I would spend the rest of my life with.”
My hand went to my heart. I had always been a sucker for romantic stories, even though I was rarely part of them myself.
“It took some convincing, but on the last day of filming, right here on this beach, I asked her to be my wife in front of the entire crew. Two months later we were married. We spent the next fifty years together, on this beach, where we first met.”
Tears continued to well up in his eyes, and he dried them off with the back of his hand.
“This always happens when I remember her,” he said.
I was starting to tear up, too, but had to smile when our little bird friend circled above our heads and landed on a small log in the sand right in front of us. It seemed to be a sucker for romantic stories too.
“We had a wonderful life together. So many happy memories. I only wished it had been longer. Ten years ago, she passed away. I know she is waiting for me on the other side, but I am apparently not allowed to join her just yet. It seems like my life still has some kind of purpose, that there is something else I should do before I leave. I just don’t know what it is. At least not yet.”
His eyes were sad now. I wondered what it would be like to love someone that much. My heart was aching for him and his lost love. And it was aching a little bit for myself too. I’d never felt that kind of love and probably never would.
“Did you ever consider living anywhere else than here?” I asked.
“No, never. We knew that life would be much tougher for us on the mainland, because she was Tahitian. Interracial marriages were still taboo back then. Even today some people seem to have a problem accepting that people are people, regardless of the color of their skin or the shape of their eyes.”
George’s story stirred something deep inside me. I thought about Mom again.
The orange butterfly that had been sitting silently on a purple flower lifted softly and circled above our heads. George followed my gaze and smiled, then looked back out over the ocean.
“Aimee and I just wanted a happy life for ourselves and our son, William. We couldn’t have asked for a better or happier life than the one we had right here. After all, how many people can say they have spent their lives in paradise on earth?”
For a moment, he seemed lost in the memories.
Then, as if just waking up, he shook his head and shifted in his chair. He leaned forward and looked directly at me with the warmest of smiles.
“But enough about me. What is your story? What is a beautiful woman like you doing all by herself in one of the most remote places on Earth?”
The little red-headed bird was still there and cocked its head, as if it wanted to hear my story too. What a funny little creature.
I told George about my mom, about our trips to the cinema, and about losing her when I was eleven. How I always tried to make my dad proud and had studied and worked hard my entire life.
I told him about how I had made a career in the corporate world and what I had come here to do—and then couldn’t do it. How I had gotten to know Betsy and found out that Bali Ha’i existed for real and suddenly had just known that I needed to come here.
“Of course. Bali Ha’i was calling for you. I saw that the moment that you stepped on the beach.”
I nodded. “I think you may be right. T
his feels weird to say, but I have this strange feeling that I belong here.”
“I think so too, Maya. Believe it or not, I normally don’t sing for strangers. But for some reason, for you, it just felt like the right thing to do. I thought you deserved a proper welcome.” He smiled, his whole face wrinkling up again.
“Well, I certainly appreciated it.” I smiled warmly back at him.
George reached over to the side of his chair. “Please excuse my bad manners. I haven’t offered you anything to drink.”
He reached his hand into a beach bag resting in the sand beside his chair and pulled out a thermos and two coffee mugs, one orange and one blue, both with “Aloha” painted across them in a child’s handwriting.
“Care for some coffee?”
“Yes, please. Nice cups,” I said.
He looked proud. “Yes, aren’t they? My son William made these for Aimee and me when he was ten years old. We have been drinking from them ever since. I still bring Aimee’s cup with me down to the beach. Somehow, I feel she is a bit closer to me when I do. Sometimes, in the wind, I can still hear her voice.”
He filled the orange cup up and handed it to me.
“No one else has ever drunk from this before, but I know Aimee would be honored to have you drink from it.”
My throat tightened. I thought it was one of the most beautiful gestures anyone had ever made to me.
We drank our coffees in silence and looked out at the ocean. I was fascinated by George and his story. Imagine living your entire life on one of the most remote islands in the world and being so happy. I assumed it would have its challenges, too, as with most things in life.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked, realizing it was a very personal question, but still feeling it was OK to ask.
“No,” he said and shook his head slowly. “I don’t regret a single thing. I wake up every morning and go to bed every night with gratitude in my heart for my life, for the people in it, for what I’ve experienced and what I have learned.”
He leaned forward in his chair. There was so much warmth in his eyes.
“I always told Aimee and William how much I loved them. Every day. I tried to be and do good, and if I didn’t, I apologized afterward. I don’t have any enemies, and there are no people in my life that I don’t truly care about. I’ve laughed a lot and I’ve had a lot of fun. All of that makes up a good life in my book.”
Fly, Butterfly Page 8