The Islands

by Di Morrissey

  She was surprised at how light it was and as PJ helped Lester regain his feet and his balance on the sand bar, she waded through the water beside them. At the water’s edge Lester lowered himself to the sand and PJ dropped beside him. Catherine carried the board up the beach and put it down carefully beside her camera.

  ‘Yeah, it felt good,’ Lester was telling PJ. ‘Wish my legs could hold me up better, can’t jump up easy like I used to. Something you never thought about, you just stood up.’

  ‘Yeah, when something’s natural that’s how it is. But you caught a few today.’

  ‘Been a long time since I can say that,’ agreed Lester. ‘Thank you, young man.’ Lester smiled at Catherine. ‘You want to learn to surf?’

  ‘No. But you made it look fun.’

  ‘Take my board out,’ offered PJ.

  ‘No, thanks. I might just get wet in the channel.’ She waded across the bar, stepped into the cooler current in the channel and swam along, noticing that there was a bit of a pull and the swim must have taken a lot of energy out of Lester. She saw a patch of light-green water and stroked towards it. It was a clear patch that looked different from the rest of the channel, but once she reached it she realised it was much deeper and faster flowing.

  She tried to stand but it was way over her head, she looked back and saw she was further out to sea than she’d imagined. She caught her breath in sudden panic, turned around and started swimming fiercely, but found she was swimming against the current, which was taking her backwards quicker than she could swim. She looked for PJ but he had his back to her as he helped Lester up the beach towards the parking lot.

  Catherine now tried heading straight towards shore aiming for the sandbar, but as she kicked and flailed she found she wasn’t making any progress and she was running out of breath. ‘Tread water, call for help,’ she told herself.

  But PJ still had his back to her and there wasn’t anyone else in sight. She felt as though she was on a rapidly moving walkway that was taking her swiftly along the channel. Ahead she could see tossing water and breaking waves. Perhaps if she let herself be taken to the waves she could catch one and glide closer in as Lester had done. But she knew she was in entirely the wrong position, these waves were not smoothly rolling onto the sandbar but looked menacing and she just knew this current would pull her towards the reef.

  PJ and Lester had picked a spot that was safe but she had now gone too far out and the currents had suddenly changed. She was getting short of breath as she struggled and her head went under and she swallowed water.

  ‘Oh no, God, no, don’t let me drown, out here, alone . . .’

  It was her worst fear. She might be a competent swimmer in calm water, but she was completely inexperienced in the open sea. She spluttered then gulped for air.

  ‘PJ! PJ!’ she screamed.

  But she was now so far out that she couldn’t make out the distant figures on the beach. She knew she must be a long way down the channel now, her legs and arms were so tired. If only the pulling, pulling water would let her go. The water was more turbulent. Where the drag of the current had been below the surface, a secret, dangerous unseen thing, the water was now rougher, slapping in her face.

  It suddenly seemed easier to relax, give in and let go. She closed her eyes. But then she seemed to hear a voice shouting at her and she knew she mustn’t give in. Gamely she started thrashing against the water, forcing her arms and legs to churn in a last effort to get to calmer water.

  But it was useless, she knew she was wasting energy, getting nowhere. She lifted her head.

  ‘Stop swimming!’ came a shout.

  Catherine looked up to see PJ’s face looming in front of her. She was so relieved that she stopped flailing.

  His surfboard sped close to her and he held out an arm. ‘Hold on to my board! Take my hand,’ he shouted.

  Catherine grabbed at his hand, clinging on desperately as he came alongside and reached for his board. She found it too slippery and she lost her grip and felt herself slip from his grasp.

  But PJ’s board bobbed next to her again and he reached over. ‘Grab my ankle and the board if you can!’

  She found his foot and the narrow end of the board and held on tightly, trying not to pull PJ off as he dug his arms into the water and pulled towards the shore. She closed her eyes, feeling the power of PJ’s strokes carrying them both through the water.

  Then suddenly there was no more current, they were in calm, shimmering, harmless water and she could see the shore and PJ’s panel van appearing closer.

  PJ slid off his board and stood up and helped Catherine to her feet, but her knees were shaking and she felt so weak, she stumbled. PJ put one arm around her, picked up his board with the other and helped her to the sand where she crumpled and sat in a shaking heap.

  He sat beside her as she caught her breath, then lifted her head.

  ‘Thanks.’ She coughed.

  ‘Just breathe slowly and deeply. You’re fine. No big deal.’

  She was shaking and as she looked out at the sparkling sea, she shook her head. ‘I’m never going back in there again.’

  ‘You picked a bad patch. It happens. Try not to fight these things.’ He touched her shoulder. ‘You’re fine. Ready to head back to the car?’

  ‘I suppose so. I hope my legs hold me up.’

  He jumped up, picked up his board and her camera, held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. Holding her hand, he led her back along the beach.

  Lester had his shirt and sunnies on and was sitting by the car.

  ‘I feel so stupid, Lester. That was scary,’ she managed to say. She found her towel and rubbed her hair, hiding her face.

  ‘Good lesson to learn. Respect the sea,’ said Lester.

  ‘Do you ride a horse?’ asked PJ.

  Catherine nodded. ‘Yes, I have one of my own.’

  ‘When you fall off, best thing is to get straight back on, right?’ said PJ.

  ‘So they say. And yes, I did,’ said Catherine feeling better and calmer now.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go.’ PJ picked up his board.

  ‘What! Back in there? No way.’

  ‘With me and the board. You can’t be scared of the ocean. You just got to understand it. C’mon,’ said PJ calmly.

  Catherine shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘If you don’t go, Hawaii will never be the same for you. Trust PJ,’ advised Lester.

  PJ took her hand and silently they walked back across the sand towards the ocean, which now looked so benign, so safe, so inviting that Catherine wanted to shout at it as though it were a creature that had frightened her.

  PJ held tightly onto her hand until they reached the shallows and then he pushed the board into the water and stood beside it. ‘Get on, just lie flat.’

  Catherine lay on the board as PJ waded beside her pushing the board into the deeper water. As soon as they hit the channel and PJ was forced to tread water, she began to shake.

  ‘Just keep still, try to feel as one with the board. Feel how it’s moving with the sea, you’re all one. Go with it, don’t fight. Put your head down, close your eyes. I’m holding on to you, you won’t go anywhere.’

  She lay on the board as it bobbed gently, restrained by PJ. The sun was warm on her back, water trickled across the board under her body. She felt herself begin to relax.

  ‘I’m turning the board, keep your eyes closed,’ said PJ softly. ‘Okay, now look up.’

  She lifted her head as he thrust the board like a javelin from his grasp. For a split second she felt suspended and then she felt the rush of water, heard it, but before she could glance back, the board was picked up and pushed smoothly and swiftly forward; the beach, the dark hills and PJ’s van zoomed closer towards her.

  It was exhilarating, the sense of power and speed. She assumed she wasn’t going very fast and that the wave wasn’t very big but, like Lester, she felt elated.

  The board slowed and stopped, bobbing on the sha
llow sandbar. She rolled off and stood up in knee-deep water and saw PJ splashing towards her, a large grin on his face.

  She picked up the board and together they waded to the sand.

  ‘So how was that?’ asked Lester.

  ‘You’re both right. That was great. It felt terrific. But that’s it. I’m not learning to surf, I’m not going into the ocean alone again.’

  The two surfers were smiling at her and nodding.

  ‘Okay,’ said PJ easily.

  ‘Thanks, PJ,’ said Catherine. ‘Would you like to join us for some lunch? I owe you that at least. Where’d you like to go, Lester?’

  ‘Back home,’ he said.

  ‘I have a few things to do, thanks,’ said PJ. He touched Lester’s arm. ‘We’ll do it again, hey? Hit the waves, have a bit of a swim, sit in the sun. Suit you to hang out a bit, Lester?’

  ‘Only if you have the time and don’t mind an old man and his thoughts,’ said Lester gruffly.

  ‘It’s an honour. You’re still a legend. I’d enjoy just hanging loose with you.’ PJ smiled at Catherine. ‘See you round. Give me a call. Give Lester my number.’

  Catherine nodded. ‘Hope we see you again.’

  ‘You will.’ He picked up his board. ‘Might head out to Rocky Point, see you, guys.’

  Catherine was about to ask Lester how he felt about his swim, but the expression on his face as he gazed at the ocean stopped her. There was an intensity in his eyes, but also a sadness and something else she couldn’t fathom that almost shocked her. She’d found Lester so easygoing and friendly, his life a seemingly open book by newspaper accounts, that she never imagined there could be a side to him that hid pain, anger, dark secrets.

  By the time they returned to his apartment and he’d settled in a chair on his lanai as Catherine made them both a sandwich, he was back to his old self. Sometime, she thought to herself, I really want to talk to him about the old days.

  A group of the Wives’ Club were gathered in Catherine’s sitting room, some spilling out onto the lanai. She was glad Mrs Goodwin hadn’t been able to attend today’s meeting to discuss a suitable charity for the club to support as they were looking for a new project. Mrs Goodwin’s presence always made Catherine feel as though she was in school. Julia Bensen topped up coffee cups as Catherine handed round a plate of Mrs Hing’s malasadas and freshly baked pineapple cream pies.

  ‘I think it would be nice to do something for the local community, don’t you?’ suggested Catherine. ‘A children’s play and activity centre perhaps. A place that specialises in Hawaiian culture where they can learn dances and songs and stories, and mainland kids could also go along and join in.’

  The women stared at her, a silence falling over the group.

  ‘I’m sure they do that in their schools. Or families show them that sort of thing,’ said Amy Cord.

  ‘Our hula show was fun. Learning the dances,’ said Julia thoughtfully. ‘Maybe our kids would get a kick out of doing the same thing.’

  ‘I was thinking of a sort of cultural exchange. We could show them how we do some things, they teach us how they do some things. It’d be great to connect with the locals. Win a few hearts and minds,’ said Catherine with a smile. ‘After all, there have been a few . . . incidents. Bradley told me there are a lot of hapa streetkids whose fathers were servicemen based out at Manakuli Point.’

  ‘What’s a hapa kid?’ asked a newcomer.

  ‘Mixed races,’ said Julia. ‘Left over from men who have been stationed in Hawaii. There are thousands of single men on an aircraft carrier who go wild when they get into Waikiki or downtown. You can bet those kids are never going to see their fathers again.’

  ‘It’s not our boys’ fault, really. You can’t blame them for being red-blooded. Some of the local girls are a bit, well, loose,’ protested Amy.

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, surely,’ said Catherine, amazed at the turn in the conversation. ‘Hawaii is touted as the melting pot of the Pacific – Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, whites, they’ve intermarried and had children.’

  ‘And you know who gets treated worst? It’s not the hapa kids. It’s the white kids,’ said Amy. ‘Especially in school. D’you know some of the girls get harassed in the bathrooms? My friend’s little girl refuses to go to the toilet all day. Another time her brother came home and said tomorrow was “Kill Haole Day”. When she went to the school the principal just said it was harmless fun. They’ve been put in private schools now.’

  ‘Well then, a sharing of cultures might be a good thing,’ said Catherine. ‘Why don’t we talk to Kiann’e about it?’

  ‘We’d better ask Mrs Goodwin what she thinks,’ said Julia.

  ‘Why? Surely we can do a bit of sounding out beforehand so we have all the information when we discuss it,’ said Catherine, wondering why these women were so scared of the commanding officer’s wife. Then she remembered: their husbands’ career prospects rested in not rocking the boat.

  But Catherine didn’t feel as wrapped up in Bradley’s life as these women were in their husbands’. They always talked about what their husbands were doing, saying, thinking. They didn’t appear to have lives of their own. Once again, Catherine was so glad she’d met Kiann’e, Aunty, Lester and Vince.

  She raised the idea about the club’s project with Kiann’e the next morning.

  ‘Mmm, basically it’s a good idea, but these things can be tricky. It can’t be called a school or have a teaching component, but you could call it Hale Pihana Kanaka – a shared gathering place – where they learn to appreciate that everyone is different and we’re all special and that’d be a positive thing. God knows there have been enough problems from the forces. Our people hate having the military bases here,’ said Kiann’e.

  Catherine slowly digested this. She felt like her life was divided into sections: her life with Bradley with its regimented, structured naval lifestyle and her involvement with the local people with whom she felt such a bond and whose company she far preferred to the naval wives.

  ‘So do you think I should push this wheelbarrow for the club, or just sit back and let them run another handicraft stall or something?’

  ‘Catherine, you have to realise that the other wives aren’t like you. They know that they’re only going to be here for a short stay and they aren’t interested in the problems of Hawaii, even if the navy has done a lot to create them. They just want to help their husbands’ careers and not worry about anything else because they’ll soon be moving on. Even though you want to make a difference, you’re not going to change the Navy. So what are your plans for today?’

  ‘Mr Kitamura is in town, he and Paul want to see me. Something about my photography course.’

  ‘You must know everything about a camera by now.’

  ‘That’s what Bradley says. He doesn’t appreciate the challenge of learning all the finer points of things you can do with exposures. I’m now learning to print my own photos. Wish I had a darkroom at home.’ She sighed. ‘That’s the downside of Bradley’s career, not having a permanent home where I could set up a little studio, a workroom, a desk, that sort of thing. My mum has a lovely sewing room at home. It’s her space, Dad never goes in there.’

  ‘You have to weigh up the other advantages – travel, free housing, the commissary and PX. These things sound very attractive to people struggling to pay bills and live in an expensive tourist city,’ said Kiann’e. ‘They say the price of gasoline is going to shoot up with the Middle East oil crisis. The cost of freight is going to add a lot to the price of food brought in to the Islands.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to live on pineapples and sugar cane juice,’ said Catherine.

  ‘And coffee. Boy, I’m ready for a cup of Kona,’ said Kiann’e.

  Mr Kitamura rose and shook Catherine’s hand, beaming at his favourite pupil. Paul was also smiling.

  Mr Kitamura picked up an envelope and handed it to her. ‘For you.’

  ‘What’s this all about?’ She ripped open the enve
lope and drew out a formally printed certificate announcing she had won the Photographic Portrait Prize.

  ‘My goodness! Wow, this is so great.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Paul. ‘It was a terrific picture of the surfers. You have really captured the essence of the Hawaiian surfing culture. But most of all your use of light and shade to highlight the respect that the young surfers have for the old man is exceptional.’

  ‘You can take your prize soon,’ said Mr Kitamura, ‘While we have a break between classes as it is a vacation week.’

  ‘The prize!’ repeated Catherine in a bit of a daze. She knew that she had spent a lot of time and effort into getting just the right photo, but she also knew that she was up against really stiff competition and she hadn’t expected to win.

  ‘Yes, a week on Kauai. Staying at the famous Palm Grove Hotel,’ said Mr Kitamura with a big smile. ‘Mrs Lang has been very kind. You will enjoy to be back on Kauai?’

  ‘I might wait till my husband comes back from sea.’

  Mr Kitamura looked uncomfortable. ‘It would be more convenient to take this trip soon. Mrs Lang has put the room aside, our classes are on a break . . . Is it possible for you? To also take photos of the Garden Isle . . .’

  ‘Oh, I understand,’ said Catherine quickly. She wondered if she could get in touch with Bradley but then thought why did she need to ask his permission. It was a wonderful opportunity, she knew Eleanor at the Palm Grove, she’d look up Kiann’e’s mother, Beatrice. She’d send Bradley a letter to explain and anyway, she knew Bradley wasn’t all that keen on the Palm Grove.

  ‘Of course. It sounds great. Really wonderful.’

  ‘The Hawaii News wants to use your prize picture on the front page. So you could talk to Vince about that when you see him,’ said Mr Kitamura.

  ‘I’ll ask Lester if that’s okay with him,’ said Catherine. ‘I’m sure it will be.’

  Vince greeted her effusively. ‘Hey, what a star photographer we have working for us! Well done. Can you do a bit of a write up on Lester to go with it? Not the old stuff, everyone knows that, what he’s up to now.’