Jurassic Waters

by E. Coulombe

  “I had to give it a lot of power, more than I was used to 'cause that water was moving so fast and I could barely keep up. I gunned the shit out of that jet-ski and pulled him behind. Just when we got to the spot, right in front of the gathering swell, going a good fifty miles an hour, I whipped the ski to the right, away from the wave and flung him off in front of it, placing him in what I hoped was just the right spot. But we'd missed the break, I'd hit it wrong and everybody on that shore, to a man, held their breath as Laird went under.”

  The wind whistled through the slats of the old boathouse. Water slapped against the old dock, and a musty smell of salt and fish and gasoline filled the air. No one said a word.

  “We watched that power hit down on Laird and we waited. That was all we could do. I was holding my breath. Seemed like an hour but someone clocked it; it was a full two-and-a-half minutes. God, that's a long time to be in the washer. Finally I saw his head pop up, and I gunned it. I was lucky, too. I didn't even look to see if that wave was breaking or not. I knew he couldn't take another hit, and I pulled him out just before the break. And that fool, man, you know what that shit-ass fool did? Soon as we got to the safe zone he said, 'This time, Dale, drop me just a little sooner.' Shit, that was it, man. We knew we could do it, thanks to Laird.”

  When the swell neared peak, the guys dispersed to get ready.

  “No way!” Nani told Lono flat out. She heaved up her large frame so he wouldn't see her cry, bending down over the cooking pot, pretending to stir the coals. When she had her face under control she got bowls down off the shelf and filled them with rice and laulau, Hawaiian pig steamed in taro leaves.

  “Make no sense. Surfin', that's one thing. Surfin in your blood, in all our blood. Our people always been surfin since forever. But this be different, Lono, this way you do with a machine. This not surfin', this suicide.”

  “Ah, Ma, I gotta try. Come on, this is the biggest wave all season. The one we been waiting for.”

  “Suicide.”

  “No Mom, it's not suicide. It's power, the most intense feeling I've ever had. Stay on top of a wave like that, and you can do anything. It's like…” he tried to find the words. “Like I just been practicing all my life, workin' my way up, getting ready for this time, now.”

  Lono paused. His mother was quiet as well. She especially loved this boy. There was something deep there inside Lono. Like he was an old soul, one that had come back several times and this time around, he was born wise. Born already knowing. But this big wave, this not very wise, she thought.

  “I can handle the big ones now, I can do this.”

  Nani shook her head. “No one else here doing the big waves, Lono. Why it gotta be you?” She sighed and turned her old bones round on the stool to stir the chicken, bamboo and noodles she'd been cooking in the pot. The dust, which had been momentarily disturbed, settled back down on her wide, bare feet. “But I know you're gonna do it, and I know I'm gonna be scared for you. You so young, Lono, and thinking you got this passion and you thinking it's worth risking your life for it; and I old, Lono, I been around and I know that it ain't. And this not a good time to be out in the water, there's something wrong with the ocean, something bad.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “I know, Tutu, it's not a good time, and I should be here with you. But please, this wave only comes once a year, maybe not even.”

  She looked at his handsome face and saw the rich brown color the afternoon sun brought to his eyes. God gave this one everything, so who am I to deny him? She thought.

  “You go on, honey,” she gave him a weak smile. “But make sure you come home. Just make sure you come back. I can't lose another one today.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  George was tired, dead tired. And as he sat atop Kahili Mountain he wrestled with the thought of turning back. But the vision before him of the deep green valley walls encasing the blue waters of Ko`olau kai drew him on. He descended to a single flattened rock which acted as a platform over which the stream gently spilled, dropping several hundred feet into the cavernous pool below. Red volcanic rock crumbled under his feet as he negotiated the precipitous drop alongside the falls. At the bottom, where guinea grass covered the seldom-used path, the sharp edges of the stalks slapped at his face as he picked his way to the stream's end.

  It was late in the day by the time he reached Ko`olau beach, and he was surprised not to see any of Grant’s boats in the bay. He figured they must have already come and gone in their search for Kane. Removing his pack, he sat by the stream to rest for a moment on the ground-hugging ilima vines. He picked off one of the minute yellow buds and chewed it. Salty, just like every other food the Hawaiians found so tasty, George thought. Feeling a sense of urgency, he rested for only a moment, took a quick swig from his water bottle, and headed south along the beach.

  He walked through a coral graveyard, enjoying the distinctive clinking of hollow limestone as fist-sized chunks of white coral crunched beneath his feet. This bay must have more coral than most, he thought. He walked to the water's edge to feel the temperature. Black pockmarked lava rock dropped several feet into the inky blue water below. Incoming waves smacked against the wall and found exit through a blowhole, releasing a plume of rainbow-colored mist. Power and grace, he thought, the Hawaiian yin and yang.

  But the surf didn't beat a steady rhythm. The waves came in with peaks close together, less than ten feet apart, then not at all for a while. “Gnarly,” the surfers called this type of surf. Odd, George thought, no wind and still the surf is unruly.

  He crested a rise and walked down to a small cove in the lava rock. He stayed on the ledge above, and where the channel narrowed, he leapt across. It was like walking on Mars, he thought, this surface made of jagged black lava interspersed with brightly colored tide pools. Feeling like a kid in a candy store, George knelt at the edge of the largest pool.

  The bottom was lined with various shapes and colors of seaweed. Some were green and soft, others red and crusty. Sea cucumbers dotted the bottom. George remained perfectly still and was rewarded when a brittle starfish poked its lanky black legs out from under an algae-encrusted rock. Suddenly a two-inch blennie jumped out of George’s pool and landed in the next one. George slowly reached into the water and gently touched the poky spines of the black collector urchin. Bits of rock and seaweed stuck to its rounded body. He liked the way the spines moved, gingerly responding to his touch.

  Then an odd creature appeared and disappeared so fast that George thought he might have imagined it. He stood and quickly crossed to the ocean side of the pool. What was that? A jellyfish? Kneeling down, he searched the pool systematically, visually transecting from one side to the other, but he didn't see it again. I must be seeing things, George thought. He mentally tried to reconstruct the vision, remembering only that the object was opaque, larger than a hand spread wide, slimy-looking, not quite a jellyfish, but what? What in the hell was that?

  Intrigued, he decided to wait by the pool in case the creature reappeared. He settled down on the jagged lava. His rear-end hurt and he felt warm and sticky in the hot sun, but he held still. Jellyfish are free floating, he thought. That thing was moving itself through the water, I'm sure of it. It couldn't have been a cnidarian.

  He shifted his weight and perched his feet up on the edge of the pool, then reached down and swept his hand along the bottom, hoping to scare up the creature. Bending over as far as he could, he turned a large rock near the middle of the pool, unaware that he had made the fatal mistake of Hawaiian waters – he’d turned his back on the ocean.

  A huge rogue wave slapped up against his back and knocked him over, headfirst into the tidal pool. He stabbed his hand on sharp black spines and screamed underwater. His head banged against the side of the pool. The water tossed him like a tetherball, panic seizing him as he felt the flow underneath head back out to sea. He wedged his feet under a rock at the side of the pool and ignored the pain in his hand. If he could hold on through the outflow, he might
be able to get out before the next wave came in, he thought.

  As soon as the current lessened he jumped up onto the lava surface, which had been dry when he first walked across it. Now he was standing in water above his knees. He sloshed through the sea foam towards the shore as the water drained out. He knew the wave would hit again, and could be even bigger than the last. Risking a fall on the jagged rock, he ran through ankle-deep foam. But another huge wave crested behind him. Oh, shit! He took in a massive gulp of air, curled himself into ball, and instantly was floating through the water; powerless, praying the wave wouldn't crush him against the reef.

  Miraculously, it didn't, but the ocean churned him through what the locals called 'the washing machine' as the wave spun him helplessly over and over and in all directions. Fortunately, there was enough water for him to remain suspended above the reef, and as soon as he felt the power of the water lessen he started swimming in. As he neared the shore, he sucked in his stomach, stretched his hands out in front of him as far as he could reach, and filled his lungs with air to become as buoyant as possible.

  He knew that wave sets usually came in threes, and so he wanted no chance of being pounded again. He pulled his feet underneath him, trying to stand and run, only to realize that he was standing in another deep pool up to his chest. He placed both hands on the pool edge in front of him and hoisted himself out. But what was that? Slime? He retracted his right hand, and it came away covered with clear goo. No time to think; he turned and pulled himself out the other side, running up to the sandy berm, stopping only when he was well above the watermark.

  He flopped onto the hot sand, exhausted, but grateful to be alive. His hand hurt from the sting of the spines. Don’t vanna contain a neurotoxin? He wondered. And then, recovering his bearings, he remembered the creature that had driven him to danger. What was that strange thing? He wondered. And what in the hell was all that goo?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kerri chased after Andrew as they exited the lab. He charged on ahead of her.

  “Andrew? Andrew! Wait a minute!” she yelled. She didn’t even know her way back to the bus stop.

  He turned. When she caught up, he looked at her flushed face with a blank expression. “Sorry,” he said curtly. “I've got to get back to work.”

  For the first time since arriving, she felt as if she wanted to leave, to get away from him, and she sensed that he wanted her to go, too. Oh you arrogant, impudent man! She wanted to scream.

  “What is it? What's wrong with you?” she snapped, the anger in her voice surprising both of them.

  He sighed. “I am sorry, Kerri, really…it’s just…”

  “What?”

  “This ability to make genetic changes in a system we don't understand is frightening. We have the ability…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There's truth in what Govinda was saying. There are hundreds of genetic research labs around the world, maybe thousands. Maybe we'll be lucky and nothing harmful will escape into the environment, get transferred into our food, our drugs, and our clones. But then again, maybe we won’t be so lucky.”

  Until now she hadn't seen Andrew as a man concerned about the world's welfare. Something else was bothering him, she just knew it, and clearly Govinda's work had alarmed him.

  She looked at him, probing. He returned her stare.

  “I have to get back to the lab,” he mumbled. “I may have done something….”

  “Done what?”

  “Something I overlooked before…but I need to make another stop first. We need to hurry.” He took off ahead of her again, again not even turning to see if she had followed.

  Kerri trailed behind, heading south down Manoa Valley towards the bus stop. He stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the light to change and she caught up. They stood in silence. She fumed, furious at him for treating her like a research assistant. She was so tired of male scientists who didn’t respect her. She was damned if she would say a word to him now.

  Her anger must have pierced his preoccupation, because he broke the stalemate, speaking in a soft voice.

  “All right, Kerri, let's talk about what Govinda said. About the eyeless gene.”

  “Sure, whatever you want.”

  “I've already worked out the mechanism for the directed mutations in your genetically designed bacteria. Your earlier work.”

  She wanted to appear disengaged, but instead, curiosity got the better of her. She blurted out, “Really? You're kidding?”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “Your bacteria created a mutation in exactly the gene that needed to be fixed. It mutated that gene in order to ensure its own survival.”

  “But how did the bacteria know to repair just that gene?”

  “Actually, it’s easy. The bacteria were starving, and so they were stressed. That kicked in the mutatorsome.”

  “The mutatorsome… Where have I heard that before?”

  “John Hadrick’s term. He found it in mice. A short piece of DNA which they think causes the rapid number of mutations which have to occur in order to make the antibody response system in mammalian species.”

  “Right, it’s a protein that triggers new configurations of DNA when there’s an abnormality in the organism…such as an invading virus, is that right?”

  “Exactly, the mutatorsome directs the DNA to create new proteins capable of binding with the exact configuration of the antigen thus immobilizing it. “You think that the mutatorsome is in my bacteria?”

  “In all organisms actually; that or something similar.”

  They had reached a busy crosswalk. A 'go' signal blinked at them, but neither moved. Kerri felt blood rush to her head; her heart pounded. Had Andrew really worked out the solution to her problem? Was it possible? She turned to him to regain her bearings, but instead, her eyes found his and her heart pounded even faster. She looked away, reeling.

  “Andrew,” she said, “did you know that at least twenty laboratories are now working on this problem because of my work? None of them have come up with a mechanism to explain it.”

  “That's because they're not looking for it. They're just trying to prove or disprove your results. I'm not interested in doing that.” Checking in both directions, he gently took her arm and led her across the street. “That's our bus.”

  Too stunned to even ask where they were going, she followed Andrew onto the bus and into open seats in the back.

  “I don’t know. It’s too complex Andrew. It won’t translate to other mutations.”

  “No. It doesn’t account for all occurances, for example, sweeping changes in the regulation of genes, or their expression might not happen this way, but for incremental mutations, yes, I think it explains alot. It’s very simple, that’s the beauty of it.”

  She sat looking out the window, her mind working through what she’d just heard. Slowly, a dimpled smile spread across her face, and with a mischievous look in her eyes she said, “remember that Einstein said if you can’t explain it to an eight year old child on the bus ride home from work…”

  “…you haven’t got a working theory,” he finished for her. “Alright then.” He surveyed the bus and boldly took a seat next to the boy behind them. A haole boy who appeared to be about ten years old and was wearing a St. Andrew’s school uniform – which indicated he might be one of the brighter kids on the bus. After a brief introduction Andrew explained his theory to the young man and in no time the student was engaged, closely following Andrew’s every word until a few minutes later he got up and took the seat next to Kerri.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” the boy said, as he cleared his throat, and slowly, methodically and in child like terms explained the how the mutator worked to make DNA which could process lactose and enable the starving bacteria to survive. “And that’s how the bacteria were saved by the mutatorsome!” He smiled at his own prowess. “Mutatorsome. That’s a cool name, did you make it up?” he asked Andrew.

  “No. This is real. I di
dn’t make any of it up.”

  “Oh, well it’s cool.”

  Kerri had to laugh. “By Jove,” a cat like grin crossed her face, “I think you’ve got it young man!”

  Andrew looked at his watch. “Six minutes,” he smiled at her, “and I do believe this is our stop.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  At four o'clock, Dale and Lono headed into the surf, nervous and excited. Dale drove the jet-ski, Lono sat behind him, the waveboard trailed behind. When they were about a mile out, Dale circled the jet-ski to the backside of the waves. Even from that position the waves appeared monumental-- like thirty-foot walls of water rising up out of the ocean. They could hear the muffled thunderclap when the waves broke on the other side.

  Peahi, Lono thought -- the Hawaiian word for thunder. Did the ancient Hawaiians ever try to ride Peahi, or did they just sit and listen? They didn't have skis, they didn't even have fiberglass, but they did have guts. And time. Hawaiians had a lot of time to play in the water. But he had never heard of them trying this; no legends, no stories of heroic acts as they faced the big waves. As far as he knew, he would be the first to ride the Nakoan Jaws. He could only guess where the reef lay underneath, or how strong the currents would be. And Dale wouldn't know where to look for him if he got sucked down. This is some crazy shit! But I’ll be first…

  “You sure you want to do this Lono? You don’t have to you know,” Dale shouted above the roar of the waves. He was genuinely concerned for his friend. He had long admired Lono for his honesty, and his forthrightness. Several times over the years Lono had intervened when Dale was taunted by tough local ‘mokes’, and Dale knew Lono had courage, but this might be too much.