The Waves Burn Bright

by Iain Maloney

  ‘So, what’s your name?’ she said. A New York accent, but not strong.

  ‘Carrie,’ I said. ‘You?’

  ‘Ashley. Ash. You’re Scottish?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well that’s just perfect.’

  The wine came and the waiter poured two glasses. Ash raised hers in a toast. I looked at it, looked at her, the sand sloping down to the sea, the oceans between us. I picked up the second glass. ‘What should we toast?’ she asked.

  ‘The South Seas.’ We clinked. I sipped. It was fresh and light, floral and fruity.

  ‘So, Carrie, what are you doing on the other side of the world?’

  ‘I’m in exile.’

  ‘Banished from the kingdom?’

  ‘Self-enforced, but yes, something like that. How about you? Do you live here?’

  ‘I wish. I live in New York but I try to come here as often as I can.’

  ‘You don’t like New York?’

  ‘I like it fine, but it’s not like this. Besides, New York is work. Hawaii is only pleasure. Are you here for pleasure?’

  I still couldn’t see her eyes but there was no doubting the glint in them. Her whole face shone, her mouth upturned in a playful smirk, laughter lines beginning to show. I told her about my work on Kilauea, about taking the weekend off.

  ‘So you are here for pleasure, but only until Sunday night? Me too, I fly back Sunday afternoon. I do like coincidences.’

  She moved to top up my glass. I flinched, arm already jutting out to stop her, but the glass was empty, I’d finished it without realising. The shush of the breakers, the rustle of wind in the palm trees. I dropped my hand in my lap, let her pour. ‘Why did you come and talk to me?’

  ‘You looked lost.’

  She took her sunglasses off. I looked at her over the rim of my glass as I drank.

  It was dark outside. We lay in bed, worn out, happy. Ash flicked the news on, nothing but SARS and Iraq. ‘There’s Monday morning, right there waiting for me,’ she said.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m a lawyer at the UN. This whole Iraq war is, as our beloved army would say, a clusterfuck, and a lot of it has landed on my desk.’ She switched the TV off. ‘But it’s Saturday, that’s Monday. You want to grab something to eat or would you prefer to love me and leave me?’

  A twin room with Beth. Emails from Graeme. ‘I assume the room service here is good?’

  The walk of shame might be easier to pass off when you were wearing beach clothes the day before and have short, mussed up hair anyway. But it’s impossible to fully pass off when you share a room with a nosy Kiwi.

  ‘What sort of time do you call this young lady? I was worried sick about you.’ She was sitting up in bed reading her book. ‘Did you get some? Look at that smile, you got more than some. Tell me all about him.’

  ‘I need a shower.’

  ‘I bet. You hungry?’

  When I came out she was up and dressed. I quickly towelled my hair, threw on a pair of combats and a strappy top, threw everything into my backpack and followed her to the lifts. ‘What did you do yesterday?’ I asked her as we waited.

  ‘Nothing like you. Did a tour of the malls, got some real bargains, came back here, waited for you and went out to a couple of bars when you didn’t show.’

  ‘Sorry, it wasn’t planned. It just sort of happened.’

  ‘Hey, don’t apologise, I’d have done exactly the same. I still want all the gory details though.’

  We filled our plates from the buffet and got a seat by the window. The fresh orange juice tasted gorgeous. ‘So what have you got planned for today?’ I asked her.

  ‘No idea. Some sightseeing maybe. Do you want to hang out or are you rendezvousing?’

  We had swapped mobile numbers, but Ash was leaving for the airport at one o’clock. ‘We might have lunch, but after that I’m definitely free.’

  ‘We fly back at six?’

  ‘Yeah, though I could do with it being later. I’m on the seismics from tomorrow.’

  ‘Night shift. Lucky you. Are you moving back in or keeping your tent?’

  ‘Back in if it’s okay with you. A campsite during the day isn’t the ideal place to get a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Sure, I guess we’ll pass each other morning and night. So, what’s he like, this man of yours? Lunch the day after means it’s not a one-nighter. Is he local?’

  ‘No, from New York.’

  ‘A holiday romance, how sweet. What does he do?’

  ‘A lawyer.’

  ‘A step up from a snowboarder.’ Her face portrayed sweetness and light. ‘No wonder you stayed over. His hotel must be better than this place.’ My phone chimed with a message. ‘Speak of the devil?’ It was Ash. I arranged to meet her at eleven thirty. ‘Well,’ said Beth, ‘do you fancy doing some sightseeing with me in the meantime?’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I haven’t decided. The art gallery is near here but it seems a shame to be inside.’

  ‘We’ve seen nothing but outside for the last month, the gallery sounds good.’

  ‘You’re not going to see much sun for the next month. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

  The gallery was a good choice as there was an exhibition of students’ work. I always prefer students’ work to the ‘masters’ because you come at the piece with no preconceptions beyond the connotations of the word ‘student’ – still learning. Before I go to an exhibition by Picasso say, or Monet, I already know what to expect and the experience either satisfies my expectations or disappoints them. You never hear someone coming out of a Van Gogh show saying, ‘I had no idea he could paint sunflowers so well, I’m quite flabbergasted.’ The work was mixed, some moving, some baffling, some funny. One student, a Japanese girl judging by her name, had taken the ukiyo-e style of Japanese art and used it to portray modern women, so you’d get a stylised Japanese woman with pale skin, kimono and hair done up in the old fashion, but using her cellphone, or watching TV, using hair curlers. Another had a series of almost impressionistic paintings of police chasing a naked man through streets, parks, up mountains and along beaches. We both really enjoyed it, commenting on the work, collecting postcards and flyers when they were available. One day when I finally settled somewhere and bought a house, I’d like to fill it with this kind of art. Originals, but not by names, by artists still learning to express themselves. Flaws are more beautiful than perfection.

  It was just after eleven when we came out. ‘I’d better be off. See you back at the hotel after lunch?’

  ‘What about checking out?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Sorry to be a pain, can you do it? My stuff’s all packed. Can you leave my bag with yours behind the desk? She has to leave at one so I’ll be back just after.’ There was a pause. ‘Is that okay? If not I’ll come back with you now.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. Off you go. I’ll see you later.’ She left me at the crossing.

  I picked an olive out of the salad while Ash fixed her hair. Her bags stood ready by the door next to my shoes and trousers. ‘Do you want some of this?’

  ‘No, you go ahead. I’ll get something on the plane.’

  ‘This is better than airline food.’

  ‘Not in business class. How long are you in Hawaii for?’

  ‘Two more months. End of June.’

  ‘I’ll be back in six weeks. I’d like to see you again.’ She slipped a thin black coat on and checked her bag.

  ‘I’d like that, but I don’t know if I can come back to Honolulu then.’

  ‘Then I’ll come to you.’

  She tossed my trousers at me. I scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled them on. The phone rang bright. It sparked something, a memory.

  ‘My taxi’s here. What were you going to say?’

  Phones ringing in hotels. ‘I’m in a relationship. In New Zealand.’

  ‘You don’t want to see me again?’

  ‘I do.
’

  ‘Well then.’ She took an olive and popped it into my mouth.

  I picked up my bag from reception and called Beth. It rang out. I found a park near the hotel and walked through it, the chirrup of insects and the squawk of birds fizzing the air, the deep, rich scent of the flowers enveloping me in cocoons. I wanted to hang onto that mood for as long as possible. The weekend, the whole month had been a break from reality. Emails from Graeme. An email from Dad. My mobile rang and the memory surfaced. That night, the night, standing in the hall with the phone to my ear.

  A voice, male and full of sleep, ‘Yes, Frank Carpenter, what is it?’

  Graeme.

  The missed call was from Professor Seung. He followed it with a text. A few folk were meeting at the Hard Rock Café for a drink before Beth and I went to the airport. Directions included. I looked around the park. The colours were garish, gaudy, the fritz of bugs set my skin on edge. I turned my back and left, waved down a taxi and went to the airport.

  The first night was tough. I hadn’t been able to sleep much during the day and I needed to be sharp. Setting off explosive charges in the ground is not something you want to be dozy for but it had to be done at night to minimise contamination of the readings by things like traffic. When I got back to the house I couldn’t even manage a shower before collapsing on my bed. I woke late afternoon and, still groggy, got a bottle of water from the fridge. It took a minute or two for the haze to lift. Beth’s stuff was gone.

  She’d arrived at the airport, all beer-merry and clutching souvenir bags. I thanked her for leaving my bag at reception and she said, ‘you’re welcome.’ I asked her if she’d gone straight to the Hard Rock Café but she went off to the bathroom and never replied. On the plane she sat by herself. When we got back she went to bed and when I woke in the morning she had left. I had no idea when she took her stuff. I ran through the list of my possible misdemeanours, striking out until I remembered the conversation outside the gallery. Despite my best effort to play the pronoun game, I’d said ‘she’. Was this really because of Ash? Because I’d used the female pronoun? I sat on the bed and ran both hands through my hair. A bitter taste dripped down the back of my throat and burned in my stomach. I wasn’t going to let her get to me. Of all the things that were wrong with sleeping with Ash, the fact that she had a vagina wasn’t one of them.

  I’d just showered and dressed when my phone rang. It was Professor Seung. ‘How did the first night go?’

  ‘Looks good,’ I said to him. ‘Everything coming through okay?’

  ‘All within expected parameters.’

  ‘Great. What’s up?’

  ‘Two things. Professor Lau asked to join you. I said it wouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. Did she say why?’

  ‘I think she’s just nosy.’

  ‘Fair enough. Tonight?’

  ‘Yeah. Can you pick her up? She gets in at seven thirty.’

  ‘No problem. The second thing?’

  ‘Delicate. I hear there is some issue between you and Beth.’

  I took a breath. ‘I haven’t spoken to her since we left Honolulu,’ I said. ‘At least, she hasn’t spoken to me.’

  ‘I want this fixed. This is science, not a soap opera.’

  ‘Yes, Professor.’

  ‘Will this affect your work?’

  ‘No, it won’t.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I had a couple of hours before work so I had ‘breakfast’ and stocked up on rations to get me through the night. After my coffee I sucked it up and logged into my email account, dealt with the ones from my postgrads first – none of them had any real issues, just needed hand-holding – and a few other work-related ones. Then I went through Graeme’s increasingly irate messages and replied as quickly as I could. Having a lovely time, Hawaii lovely, people lovely, work going well, miss you. As I typed this string of platitudes, the memory of Ash’s fingers in my hair, her lips on my neck, signing off with a love. How easy it was to lie. I’d always been astounded at the way Hannah could lie about conferences and meetings and consultations but it really wasn’t that difficult, not when your priorities were different. I guess that’s what I never understood. Frank Carpenter was her priority. Dad was different, for all he screwed around. He never really lied about anything, he never had any relationships. He just fucked a cabin attendant or a woman in the hotel bar and the next day it might as well never have happened. His family was still number one. Not for Hannah. I thought about replying to her as well, but what would I say?

  One email left.

  Professor Lau was waiting by the car, hiking boots and a warm checked shirt, ready for the mountains. I threw my bag in the back and got in behind the wheel. The professor kept her bag on her lap.

  ‘Where to?’ I asked.

  ‘Have you been to the Mauna Loa Observatory yet?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘It’s just a weather and CO2 measuring station but the view is superb. Let’s start there.’

  I eased out into the road. The car wasn’t in the best shape, an old Toyota that had been offroad more times than was good for it. It was like driving a tank.

  ‘So what do you think of our university, Doctor Fraser?’

  ‘Please, call me Carrie.’

  ‘Then call me Kiana.’

  ‘I don’t think I could do that, Professor. I’m very impressed with the set-up you have here, and getting practical experience with the equipment and techniques is invaluable.’

  ‘How do you like Otago?’

  ‘I like it very much, it’s a good department and there are some very beautiful volcanoes in New Zealand to work on.’

  ‘How do they compare with ours here?’

  ‘I don’t think I can compare them. For beauty you can’t beat majestic snow-covered peaks but Hawaii is… Hawaii is volcanoes. There’s something more… spiritual about the volcanoes here.’

  ‘You’ve been reading about Pele?’

  ‘A bit. I read about her when I was a girl.’

  ‘Me too. I’ve been reading more of your work as well. Your paper on degassing rates is very impressive.’

  ‘Thank you, Professor. Coming from you that means a lot, but it’s little more than a series of questions, none of which I’ve answered yet.’

  ‘But you raised them. That’s often more important. Turn here.’

  I was driving into the setting sun, the clouds turned rusty crimson, the horizon a strip of terracotta between the slopes of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, and turned off onto a single track. The rock and scrub terrain looked Martian in the light as the Toyota struggled up and around the twisting road. I hoped we wouldn’t meet anyone coming the other way. The last of the daylight faded fast and I needed all my concentration to keep us on the road, the headlight beams like searchlights through kicked up dust. Any one of the jagged rocks along the side could rip the chassis out from under us.

  We found the observatory perched on the shoulder of the volcano, a chain of one-storey buildings like teeth against the sky. As I got out and opened the gate a memory flickered up of watching Taka do the same thing at Sakurajima. I meant to go back to that volcano one day, go back as a professional and meet Pele again. I wondered if Taka was still there. If he was still in touch with my dad. I parked the car and retrieved my bag.

  ‘You look adventurous, Carrie, how would you like a hike to the North Pit?’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit dangerous at night?’

  ‘Very. Any flashlights in that rust box?’

  I got two from the boot, plus some spare batteries and jogged after her. ‘Professor, I thought you wanted to see our work?’

  ‘Ben needs things to be straightforward and logical, so it’s best to tell him what he wants to hear.’

  The flashlights were expensive, powerful ones and the beams, sharp and tight, showed the path clearly. As I walked behind Professor Lau, the ground around my feet bright, I wondered if there were ther
e any snakes in Hawaii. One of the downsides of being a volcanologist, one I hadn’t appreciated until my first field trip outside Europe, is that volcanoes tend to be in countries with a high number of dangerous animals, insects and spiders, many of whom live on the slopes waiting for unsuspecting geologists. I kept the light low, searching for any movement, anything coiled. I could ask Professor Lau, of course, but something in the atmosphere hinted at silence. The stars were coming out and, despite the light pollution from Hilo and the observatory, the sky was glittering. If I hadn’t gone into geology, astrophysics would’ve been my second choice. To try and explain the universe, that was the point of science, and what bigger mystery than the beginning of everything? But geology was always first. As much as I loved physics at school, I’d never be able to visit another planet or galaxy. I’d never be able to touch anything I was studying. As a geologist, I could hop on a plane and in a few hours be in Iceland or the Philippines or Chile. It would take many more lifetimes before astrophysicists could visit Andromeda. Even a field trip to the moon was off the table. I did harbour a fantasy when I was much younger of being the first volcanologist to visit Olympus Mons, the shield volcano on Mars. It stands three times higher than Everest. Imagine mapping that.

  We’d been walking for more than an hour, climbing slowly, stopping occasionally, following the twisting trail through stacks of black volcanic rock, when we reached the summit and the quality of the ground changed. In the torchlight it glinted, smooth curves, almost liquid. It had been, I realised. We were standing in the North Pit, part of Moku’āweoweo, the summit caldera of Mauna Loa, on hardened magma. The lip of the crater and a higher ridge beyond it blocked much of the light from below, and the sky opened up even more. There was a new moon and a perfectly clear sky. I stood, head back, staring at the ungraspable infinity of it, the stars, the galaxies, all those worlds and the space between them.