by Jane Peart
Eventually, as if by some silent signal, everyone started on foot down the path to the beach below, where they could already smell the tantalizing aroma of the roasting meat being prepared for the upcoming feast.
Pelo’s brothers and cousins had been up before dawn getting the pork ready to be roasted in the specially dug pit. A delicious herb-seasoned aroma rose with the spiraling smoke, prickling nostrils and whetting appetites. Tables were arranged in a large U-shape, decorated with piles of fruit and flowers, loaded with dishes of sweet potatoes, rice, and salads, and hovered over by colorfully mumu-clad “aunties” in flower-bedecked straw hats. Mats were placed on the sand, and groups of guests, friends, and families were settling themselves for the entertainment that would come later.
The scene might have been some exotic painting, Jana thought. She looked around at the gaily dressed company. Under the shade of the curved palm trees, their jagged-edged fronds languidly moving in the gentle sea wind, were clusters of guests happily chatting. Beyond the white-sand beach, the water of the lagoon stretched in rippling shades of blue, turquoise, jade. Down at the edge of the ocean, scores of little brown-skinned children played, shrieking as they chased each other, waded, and fell full length in the shallow waves. Their mothers and tutus sat not far away, watching them with tender tolerance.
Hawaiians were so joyous, so lighthearted, enjoying everything with a kind of happy nonchalance that Jana found most appealing. There was no stiffness, no studied awareness of social protocol to be observed—just simply living in the moment.
At last the meat was ready, and everyone began to serve themselves from the abundance set out: the tender white fish, freshly caught; the piping hot laulaus, seasoned meat wrapped in leaves and baked; and of course, inevitably, a huge bowl of poi set in the middle of the table for everyone to dip from. As Jana skipped putting any on her plate, she caught the eye of Uncle Kelo, Tutu’s brother, who winked at her broadly. Although through the years, especially when Kimo was present, Jana had managed to take some of the gluey taro and swallow it, it was not her favorite Hawaiian delicacy.
While everyone ate and talked, the drums began to play softly. There were drums of all shapes and sizes, gourds, coconut shells. Gradually the beat began getting steadily louder, until it filled the air with an insistent rhythm impossible to ignore. A murmur went through the crowd. Soon the dancers would begin. Young men and women seemed to emerge as if by magic from the grove of banyans to a place in front of where the diners were seated. The girls were dressed in sarongs, lengths of flowered material in bold designs of red, yellow, and black, one end brought up over the shoulder, caught up and knotted at the hips. The dance was the traditional Hawaiian hula-hula, the slow, graceful telling of legends, the hand motions spelling out the story to those who understood the signs.
It was mesmerizing to watch, the music haunting. The spectators could not keep themselves from swaying or beating their hands on their knees to the rhythm of the drums.
Behind the dancers, the sun began dropping—a huge, orange ball—into the now glazed, silver-toned sea.
Jana hated to see this beautiful day come to an end. She wished it would go on and on, but the wind off the ocean became cooler, the shadows of the palm trees fell gently on the sand. It was time to go. Unnoticed, the wedding couple had slipped away, and the other guests were gathering up their children, baskets, belongings, preparing to leave the beach.
As the last plaintive notes of the guitars, ukuleles, and drums echoed in the balmy air, Jana felt a strange ache, her heart hungry, her soul a little lonely. Something within her yearned to belong to this culture, so simple, so sweet. As she reluctantly said her good-byes to Akela’s family and turned to retrace her steps up the path to the church, a voice behind her spoke.
“Aloha, Koana.”
Unbelievingly, she whirled around and saw Kimo.
At first she was speechless. Then words tumbled out, one on top of the other.
“Kimo! What are you doing here? When did you come?”
“Just now. I tried to make it for the wedding, but the steamer from Oahu was late. Then I had to get a ride from the dock, and—well, it looks like I’ve missed everything.” He paused, then smiled broadly. “Except you.”
“Why didn’t you let anyone know? We could have met you—”
“I wanted to surprise everyone. Especially Akela and Pelo—” He stopped, looked around. “It seems everyone has gone.”
Jana followed his glance. A few groups were left. Parents were collecting their children, some of whom were playing hide-and-seek and pretending not to hear their mothers calling them.
“I’ve seen Tutu. She’s going home with Uncle Kelo. So may I walk you home?” he asked her.
Suddenly Jana’s earlier melancholy vanished. Kimo was back and their meeting was just as she had imagined it, only better.
Chapter Twenty
With the evening of Akela’s wedding and Kimo’s return, Jana’s life took a decided upward turn. Kimo’s first few weeks after coming back from Germany were spent visiting his large family of relatives. However, he found plenty of time to see Jana. He would come to the store at closing time, and they would walk home the long way, going down the beach. The awkwardness she had feared after their long time apart never materialized. They found they had much to say to each other. It seemed as if all the years of separation had been like waters dammed up for a long time but now let flow. Kimo told her of what it was like to be a hardworking apprentice in a foreign land, learning a new language, a new way of communicating with people, while learning all kinds of new skills.
“It was different than when I was at school in Honolulu,” he told her. “There I was among my own race, other Hawaiians. Even though we all came from different towns, even from different islands—some were from Kauai and Maui—still we were all Hawaiians. In Germany it was different. Sometimes I felt very alone.”
“I wish I’d known—”
“I didn’t want to write, worry Tutu or anybody. It seemed better just to work hard. That way, the time would pass faster. Push the loneliness back. Suppress it, get on with what I had to do.”
“I’m so sorry, Kimo. If I’d known, maybe I could have helped somehow. Written to you about things here—”
He shook his head. “No, that would have hurt too much.
It was probably better this way. I managed. Most people were kind, and my master’s family tried to help. Actually, they were very kind to us—the apprentices. Had us to their house for dinner.” Kimo made a face. “The food, though. Very heavy, very rich.”
“It must have been really hard.”
“It was. At least at first. But I learned a great deal. Not only in woodworking. I had to learn the language, of course, to understand directions, just to get along every day. And German is a hard language to learn.” He laughed. “Maybe especially for a Hawaiian. It is very precise, very practical. Just like the Germans.”
Jana recalled how she had once said that Kimo’s woodwork was like poetry.
“No poetry, then?” she suggested softly.
He looked surprised that she had remembered that. “Of a sort. German woodworkers have their own poetry. Of course, it’s different than mine. Poetry comes from the soul, and each country has a different kind of soul. Different doesn’t mean inferior—just different. However, it was a valuable experience. I got a lot out of it. Things I intend to apply to my own work here.”
“Then, you’re going to stay here? Not go away again?”
Again Kimo seemed surprised at her question. “Of course. Hawaii’s my home. Why would I want to go anywhere else?”
Jana’s heart leaped. That was just how she felt.
“I don’t plan to ever go away again,” Kimo said definitely. “I will do my own designs, make them out of native wood, become a master woodworker here on the island.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Kimo. I’m so glad.” Jana sighed. “I was afraid. People assumed you might either stay on in Ger
many or go to the mainland.”
“I don’t know why they’d think that. I’d never do such a thing. I was so glad to get home. To see Tutu, my family—” He paused. “And you, Koana. I thought about you all the time. I missed you more than you know.”
As it turned out, within weeks Kimo and two other woodworkers formed a cooperative, opening a carpentry business together in Hilo. It would be slow going at first, but all three men did outstanding work. They were all ambitious and hardworking, and they hoped that soon more orders would begin to come in as their work became known.
It was only on weekends that Kimo and Jana could spend uninterrupted time together. They usually met after church and took long walks on the beach. They found they could talk to each other about almost everything. Sometimes their conversation turned serious.
Jana discovered that Kimo had become politicized. He and his coworkers often discussed the future of the Hawaiian islands. They were afraid, he told her, that little by little Hawaii was being taken over by foreigners, was losing its sovereignty. They felt that Hawaii should be for Hawaiians, not for the English or the Americans.
“I don’t understand. Isn’t it?”
“The Americans have too much influence, want power. Besides, Americans do not accept Hawaiians as equals.”
“What do you mean? My parents are Americans, and so are the Prestons. They don’t feel that way, I’m sure.”
“Maybe not on the Big Island. But elsewhere. I’ve traveled in the States, on the mainland, Jana. I’ve seen things firsthand. Americans have prejudice against dark-skinned people. I experienced some of it myself. Nothing bad. Just a few curious looks. Still, I felt it.”
Jana felt an inner rage. She knew enough history to be aware of the treatment of blacks that had led to the Civil War in the United States. But that was over now. It couldn’t be that someone like Kimo, the descendant of kings, although dark haired and bronzed of skin, could be considered inferior by Americans or by anybody!
“I wish the queen had more Hawaiians as advisors,” Kimo continued. “Right now she is surrounded by men who have their own influence to peddle. She has some powerful enemies.”
“But if royalty cannot rule well, wouldn’t it be better to have good counsel?”
“As long as their motives are pure.” Kimo shook his head. “I don’t have the answers—I just know we should have our own people deciding things for us. I don’t like to see my country exploited.”
Not all their conversations were of this depth. Something else was happening between them. It was on these walks, in this time they spent together, that their childhood friendship and youthful uncertainty with each other began to develop into something deeper. Perhaps Jana knew it first. She realized that the girlish attraction she’d had for Kimo was now much more. The handsome boy she had admired had become a man of strength, character, and integrity. The kind of man she could love with the kind of love that would endure for a lifetime.
With Kimo back, everything was just as she often had imagined it would be, had hoped it would be, only it was better. They seemed to have reached a new level of relationship. Jana did not yet dare call it love, because she was unsure of Kimo’s feelings.
The cooperative kept Kimo very busy. The three men had to work very hard to earn enough to cover the rental of their shop, pay supply bills, and meet other expenses. Orders were slow coming in at first, and they sometimes had to take other work, plain carpentry, to make ends meet. It seemed a shame to Jana for Kimo to work on ordinary things, when his own designs were truly “poetry in wood.” However, Kimo remained optimistic about his future. His dream was to one day have his own shop in Waimea or Kona where he could create beautiful original furniture.
Sometimes he wasn’t able to get home for the weekend. Other times he surprised Jana by showing up unexpectedly. A kind of telepathy developed between them. If he arrived too late to attend the Sunday service, she would often get a feeling of his presence, and when she came outside, she would find him waiting in the churchyard. The growing bond between them was difficult to explain but very real, and it grew stronger and stronger.
Jana was unaware that anyone else noticed how often they were seen together walking, talking, sharing coffee in one of the small outdoor cafes, or meeting after church to go down to their favorite spot on the beach. She forgot it was a small town.
Chapter Twenty-One
One evening Mrs. Wantanabe, the elderly Japanese lady who owned the fabric store, had a toothache and left early to see the dentist, asking Jana to close and lock up. She had just stepped outside and was turning the key in the lock of the door, when she heard a familiar voice call her name.
“Jana.”
She turned. “Bayard! My goodness, you startled me! I didn’t know you were back. I thought—”
He sauntered toward her, a cynical smile lifting the corners of his mouth under a new, neatly trimmed mustache. “I’m a fugitive.” He held both hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Escaped.”
“Escaped? From what?”
“A fate worse than death,” he said sarcastically. “Had to save my sanity. I had no idea it took so much planning to arrange a wedding. Edith’s seemed simple enough.”
“That’s because you didn’t do anything! You should have seen all the hard work Meipala and your Aunt Ruthie did behind the scenes. Even so, Edith rushed things so that she and Greg could go to Europe. I think his passage was already booked when they decided to get married before he went—”
“I think it was Edith who decided. That poor fellow didn’t know what hit him.”
“That’s a fine way for her brother to talk,” Jana chided him as she pocketed the store key and began to walk along the wooden sidewalk. Bayard fell in step alongside her. “And you certainly don’t sound like a man planning to embark on the sea of matrimony himself.”
Bayard didn’t respond to her teasing bait. Instead, he plunged his hands into his jacket pocket and, head down, remained quiet for a few minutes.
“Do you have to go right home? Could we go somewhere and talk, Jana?” he asked her.
Surprised, she looked at him.
“Please. I really need someone—need to talk to you.” He sounded serious.
“All right. We can take the beach road—that’s a little longer. But if I’m not home at the usual time, Mama will wonder.”
They strolled to the end of the street, then turned to take the narrower road that led to the beach.
“I must tell you, I’ve gained a great deal of information since I last saw you. About weddings. Things I never heard of before. Did you know that it takes six months to have a silver service monogrammed? Or that you have to order a full set of dinnerware from England a year ahead of time? Linens from France take almost as long. Did you know you cannot possibly get married without any of these?” His tone was sarcastic, with a tinge of bitterness.
Jana glanced at him. Bayard looked angry as he continued, saying, “And then there are endless parties, dinners one has to sit through, long lines of relatives to be introduced to, be ogled by, approved or disapproved by—”
“Surely Vinnie must know how you feel and can help you get out of some of these?”
“Vinnie? She adores all this. Revels in it. She’s the one who’s insisting on the whole shebang. I suggested eloping, even coming here to be married at the ranch—” He shook his head vigorously. “But oh no, not my darling fiancée. Besides, she has always spent the summer in Newport. She couldn’t dream of being anywhere else. And of course, we will have to spend at least four months of every year on the mainland, besides a month in Italy.”
Jana stopped walking and stared at Bayard, who also halted.
“Bayard, you don’t sound very happy.”
“Happy? Of course I’m not happy. I’m miserable. And furious. And I could kick myself every time I think of the mess I’ve got myself into.”
Jana hardly knew what to say. At last she managed, “Does Vinnie know?”
�
��No, of course not. I was too much of a coward to tell her.
I felt as if I were strangling. Trapped. All I told her was that I had to get back to Hawaii, to the ranch. I made some excuse about Father’s needing me. It wasn’t the truth, but—” He shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” Jana said lamely.
Bayard turned toward her. It was fast getting dark, and his features were indistinct, but she could tell his expression was anguished.
“It was a mistake, Jana. An impulsive proposal. Blame it on too much champagne, the desire of the moment, the crazy feeling that making a decision about my future here on the island would somehow make things…right. But I was wrong. A girl like Vinnie doesn’t any more belong here than I belong in Newport.”
He put his hands on Jana’s shoulders and, clamping his fingers tightly, drew her close so that their faces were inches apart.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake. It’s you I should have proposed to. You and I, we belong here on the island, both of us. You understand. We could have—” It sounded like a groan. “I wish I’d had the good sense to ask you when I was home last year—” He broke off and pulled Jana to him. Before she could pull away or protest, he had drawn her into an embrace and was kissing her.
She was too astonished to resist. There was a desperateness in the kiss. It was neither tender, gentle, nor loving. Finally she found the strength to press both hands against his chest and break away. Breathlessly she said, “You shouldn’t have done that, Bayard.”
“I’m not sorry, Jana. All the way home, back here to the island, I’ve thought about you. What a fool I was not to recognize what we had last spring, what we could have—marry me, Jana. You won’t regret it. Whatever you want, we’ll do. But the island will be our home, our anchor. You love it as much as I do, but I want you to see the world. And I can take you there. And we can always come back to Hawaii, to home.”