by Di Morrissey
‘Seems so,’ Catherine managed to say and turned away. She walked to the beach where she and PJ had first made love. Was that an eternity ago?
She found no solace there. Her breath came in short gasps as if she’d been punched. At first she worried that something had happened to PJ, but quickly dismissed the notion. Why, why couldn’t PJ have contacted her, let her know that he would be away for months? But then, why would he? Why should he, came a voice in her head? There was no commitment, no claim on each other, no plans. Something Lester had once said, in a self-deprecating tone, about watermen: ‘They march to the drum of the waves and hear no other voice.’ Now she really understood what he meant. She was not as important to PJ as the ocean and the waves.
Catherine returned to the beach house to find Ginger and Summer. When they realised how distressed she was, the two women took her into a bedroom and sat on the bed.
‘Are you so in love with PJ? Not just a rebound thing?’ asked Ginger.
‘You must know what these men are like, they never grow up, they’ll never give up the surf,’ added Summer.
‘But look at you two, you’ve made a life with the men you love,’ said Catherine, close to tears.
‘Ah, doll, take a hard look,’ said Ginger. ‘Leif and Doobie come and go as they please. They love us, they love their kids. But what they want to do comes first. We count ourselves as lucky because they choose to come back.’
‘And we choose to accept how they are,’ said Summer. ‘That’s why Sadie left. She knew that and wasn’t prepared to compromise. Ginger and me, we don’t mind and we like it here. You, Catherine, couldn’t live like us indefinitely, waiting for your man to turn up.’
Catherine thought about this. They were right. She hadn’t imagined that she and PJ would simply drift around the Islands indefinitely, an itinerant life. She assumed there would come a time when that would end and they’d start their real life. But now she saw how it would be. She couldn’t change Bradley and now she knew that she couldn’t change PJ. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
‘He probably loves you, loves being with you, Catherine. But he loves his freedom more,’ said Ginger gently.
‘It hurts that he couldn’t explain this to me,’ said Catherine.
‘It’s how he is. He probably hasn’t worked it out in his own head. He is self-absorbed and selfish without knowing it. If he comes back and you’re here, he’ll go on as before. If he comes back and you’re gone, he won’t blame you,’ said Summer. ‘Tough, but that’s how watermen are.’
Catherine stared at the two women. ‘So what do I do? I miss him. I want him.’
‘Stay and drag it out until the end is inevitable. Or you live like we do, with kids, little money, happy, not appendages to husbands but never knowing where they are. You have to make the decision,’ said Ginger.
Catherine nodded. ‘Beatrice told me that I had should take charge of my life. And Eleanor said that I should let PJ go.’
‘Listen to wise women,’ said Summer.
They hugged Catherine and she knew they were right. The time to move on had come. But could she move on without PJ? She turned away, tears of unhappiness welling in her eyes.
In Hanapepe she packed up her things at The Joss House, gave Miranda’s bird and plant to Molo, left a thank-you note on the fridge for Miranda, telling her that she’d moved to the Palm Grove and locked the front door.
Abel John picked up her bag and surfboard, put them in his pick-up truck and smiled at her. ‘Ready?’
‘No. Not really. But, well, trying to move on with things.’
‘Good for you.’ He helped her into the front seat.
Catherine wiped her face. ‘My gosh it’s hot. Steamy and clammy. And so still. Haven’t felt it like this before.’
‘Kona weather. When we lose the tradewinds. Lucky, it doesn’t happen often. Oppressive though.’
‘Yes. Do people get cranky and depressed because of it, or is it just me?’
‘I think most people feel like you,’ he said comfortingly.
Catherine was grateful to Eleanor for letting her stay at the Palm Grove in return for working as her office manager. She enjoyed the company of the other staff at the hotel and she loved having a proper, challenging job and an interesting routine, but she quickly realised that the place was not as full as it should have been.
It was a few weeks later and Catherine had barely fallen asleep when she was awakened by a pounding on the door of her bungalow.
‘Catherine, get up, quick.’
She dashed to the door. ‘Abel John, what’s up? What’s happened?’
‘We’ve just been told there’s been an underwater earthquake recorded in the eastern Pacific. There will be aftershocks and a tsunami maybe heading this way. Better be prepared to move inland, to higher ground. We are on low-lying land here and across from the beach so we can be flooded if there is one. We’ve organised trucks, cars and a bus to take guests out if it looks likely.’
‘How will we know?’
‘We’ll get some kind of warning from the coastguard. Just be ready to grab anything important if you have to make a dash for it.’
‘Oh. Righto. What can I do now?’ It was so calm outside, no wind, no rain. It seemed weird.
‘Get dressed and go to the office, see if you can help Eleanor.’
‘Thanks, Abel John.’
Lights were coming on, people gathering outside, chatting, some were dragging bags to cars, others simply stood around saying, ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry. This sort of thing has happened many times. Too far away.’
‘It wasn’t a huge quake apparently,’ said Eleanor briskly as she put documents into a folder. ‘But it can do anything as it travels across the ocean. Better to be safe than sorry. Here, help me stack all these files up high in case we get a bit of water under the door.’
But an hour later as the kitchen was serving sandwiches and coffee in the dining room, Abel John returned looking grim. ‘To be on the safe side, I think we should send guests up the hill. To Pokua Park. I told Helena to bring our kids over here, so get them into a car will you please, Catherine, when they arrive.’
‘Of course. Where are you going, Abel John?’
‘Around the beach and park along the shore just in case there’re any campers, people sleeping on the beach who haven’t heard the news.’
‘Aren’t the emergency people, the police checking the beach?’ said Catherine.
‘It was a pretty sloppy job, but I know where the kids like to go and they might have been missed by the authorities. It’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.’
He gave a big smile, gathered up his torch and, barefoot, in his colourful shorts, red T-shirt and baseball cap, jumped back into his pick-up and drove away.
Catherine was kept busy ushering people into vehicles, handing out packets of food and fruit and reassuring everyone that it was just a precaution, a bit of an adventure, nothing for them to be worried about. When she saw Abel John’s wife, Helena, and their three children, Catherine smiled and said he’d be glad to know that they were safe.
‘You better come away too, Catherine,’ said Helena, looking worried. ‘The tide has gone way out and that’s a bad sign.’
‘Where’s Abel John? Is he back yet?’
Helena shook her head and tried not to show how concerned she felt as the children began to ask when their father was joining them.
‘You go. I’ll get my things and I’ll see you up there. I might get a ride up the hill with Abel John,’ said Catherine cheerfully.
As the small bus departed, Eleanor appeared beside her in the hotel buggy. ‘We’re running out of transport. I have a few things in here, Kitamura has taken some of my more important documents, just in case. You’d better hop in.’
‘You’re leaving the hotel?’ said Catherine.
‘Some of us should be with the guests. A lot of staff have gone home to move their families and secure homes, although those who live away from the coa
st aren’t so worried. Grab your bag.’
Catherine had a cotton hold-all with her wallet, passport, jewellery and camera. She hopped in beside Eleanor and they trundled along the road behind the hotel. Some people were standing outside their homes, a few cars were also on the highway, driving towards the hills.
Up at the Pokua park no-one seemed to be taking the event too seriously. It was more like a late-night picnic. Catherine glanced at her watch. It was just after one a.m. Mr Kitamura joined her and handed her his binoculars.
‘Too dark to see much. Get your eyes used to dark. Look at beach.’
Catherine thought she was looking at a silver stretch of sea but then she realised she was looking at a vast stretch of sand, exposed far beyond the normal waterline. ‘Where’s the water gone?’ she whispered, handing the glasses back to Mr Kitamura.
There was a shout and someone pointed. Looking through the binoculars, Mr Kitamura said urgently. ‘Wave coming. Not so big. It okay.’
In the moonlight Catherine could see the long, low wave travelling at great speed as it raced across the naked beach.
‘It’s going to cross the road. We’ll get a bit of water in the hotel grounds for sure,’ exclaimed Eleanor.
There were a few pinpoints of light. ‘There’re people taking photos! I should get closer,’ said Catherine.
But Mr Kitamura shook his head. ‘No. You stay.’
The excitement seemed to be over. People gathered together, finishing their food and suggesting that it was time to go down the hill back to the hotel. But Eleanor refused to allow any of the vehicles to leave until they had been given the all clear. Nevertheless, some people started to walk back down.
‘What’s that?’ asked Catherine.
Mr Kitamura looked at Eleanor. ‘Here it come, big one.’
There was a distant rumble of what seemed to be thunder in a cloudless sky.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Catherine, suddenly fearful.
The noise that came to them standing on the hill was a dreadful sound that Catherine would never forget. The sound of a growling sea that swallowed and pushed all before it. In the grey night light, they could see the dark wall that suddenly appeared against the skyline. It grew larger as it rolled faster and faster towards the shore, overtaking the original film of water that had washed over the road. This wave pushed a wall of water several feet high further inland, overturning cars, before it was lost from sight among the coconut trees.
‘My Lord, this is going to be disastrous. Tragic,’ said Eleanor.
‘What about the horses? The animals?’ asked Catherine suddenly. ‘Did Mouse move them?’
‘Abel John told him to,’ said Eleanor. ‘But I think we’re going to have a lot of damage.’
‘Nobody go,’ said Mr Kitamura sternly as the crowd had grown silent, moving together as they listened to the noise below.
‘There could be more water coming. Though they say the second wave is the worst. I didn’t need this,’ said Eleanor in a trembling voice.
It was daylight when they got word that it was safe to go down. There was no electricity, so there had been no lights except for the emergency vehicles and a spotlight that had been rigged up.
Eleanor stopped her buggy blocks away from the hotel. As she and Catherine began to wade through water and debris toward the Palm Grove they realised what a disaster the tsunami had been. People were paddling surfboards, canoes and small dinghies along the low lying streets where the water hadn’t escaped. Finally the two women were spotted by Kane who had one of the Palm Grove’s long canoes and he helped them into it, shaking his head.
‘Tings very bad, Mrs L. Much breaking. Coconuts all gone.’
Catherine took out her camera and, with tears spilling from her eyes, she focused on the battered remains of the hotel. Once the banks of the ponds and canals had been breached, the water had swept through the bungalows and buildings, washing away the gardens, uprooting and breaking the grove of palm trees. She couldn’t see how this destruction would ever be repaired. They couldn’t even get near the main building as the huge thatched roof had gone and the columns that had held it up were now leaning and collapsed. Furniture was scattered like a broken doll’s house.
But then, as they skirted the main devastation, they came to the heiau area.
‘The parts that the bulldozers haven’t moved don’t look as thought they’ve been touched,’ said Catherine in surprise.
‘They’re stones, too damn heavy to move,’ said Eleanor bitterly.
‘This one sacred place. Night marchers come through here, scare every ting away,’ said Kane. ‘Powerful spirits here.’
Suddenly Catherine thought of Beatrice’s warning. ‘Has anyone seen Abel John?’
Eleanor looked up. ‘He must be somewhere safe.’
All through the day the work to restore this section of the island to some normalcy continued. Although there was no electricity or phones, at least there had been sufficient time to evacuate people and there were no reports of casualties. Guests were moved to other hotels and guesthouses. It would be days before the water could be drained from the hotel grounds so a clean up could begin and Eleanor could start to assess what was salvageable.
Eleanor was grim. ‘I don’t know how I’ll be able to start over.’
Beatrice arrived and found Eleanor and Catherine trying to work out what could be saved and what could not.
‘We can stay with Beatrice I’m sure,’ said Catherine to Eleanor.
‘I can’t leave here. I have to be near here,’ said Eleanor. Then as Beatrice got out of her car, Eleanor stopped and looked at Beatrice’s solemn, sad face.
‘What has happened? What else could?’ asked Eleanor.
‘It’s Abel John.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Catherine. ‘Is he back at his place?’
Beatrice shook her head. ‘Three bodies have been washed up.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Abel John is dead. It is thought that he tried to rescue some trapped kids. They have all died.’
Eleanor’s cry and Catherine’s shocked gasp stopped Beatrice from speaking.
‘Oh, no. No. His poor family,’ said Catherine.
Beatrice looked sadly at Eleanor and Catherine. ‘I did not wish for this retribution. It is a great, great loss.’
There was too much sadness. Yet still the sun shone, the sky was angelic blue, the sea calm, the surf flattened, holiday-makers lounged by waving palms in this picture-postcard paradise. But on the other side of Kauai, tears still fell. The death of big, strong, affable Abel John, respected and liked by all, was difficult to accept and comprehend.
Mourners, friends and family began gathering in the afternoon at Abel John’s favourite beach for his final journey. It was a surfing beach, there were no houses, no amenities. From early in the morning friends had helped clear the wild scrub and kiawe bushes and set up thatched shelters and spread kapa mats for seating and eating. Women prepared food, children played quietly, aware of the gravity of the day.
The kahuna arrived to conduct the ceremony. Musicians, all friends of Abel John, came to play. His surfer friends, his friends from Nirvana, arrived with boards and everywhere were flowers and leis. Helena, in a muted coloured muu-muu, sat silent and withdrawn, her youngest child in her lap, the others sitting quietly close by. A flatbed truck arrived with canoes stacked on it and when they were unloaded, the musicians used the flat bed as a stage. Beatrice and Lani and their families and a retinue of Abel John’s friends settled themselves next to Helena. Hundreds of people lined the foreshore as the sun began to set and the kahuna gathered Abel John’s family and friends in front of him. All fell silent.
The kahuna made a signal to start the ceremony and Abel John’s elder son stepped forward. Dressed in his father’s red lava lava, rolled over at the waist to shorten it, and wearing his father’s kukui nut necklace, he carried the great conch shell his father had blown to begin the torch-lighting ceremony at the Palm Grove.
The kahu
na gave the boy a nod and an encouraging smile. Everyone held their breath as if summoning their own lungs to give strength to the young boy so he could force air through the shell to give it voice. From somewhere deep inside his narrow chest, it was as if all the pain and sadness, the weight of being his father’s son, exploded in a tremendous burst. His chest heaved, his cheeks filled, his face flushed and from the conch shell, held to the sky, there came a mighty, mournful cry that made the earth shudder and rose through the soles of feet to clench at the hearts of all there. For as long as he could, an impossible time it seemed, the boy held the note, until his breath escaped and was gone, like his father. He lowered the shell, bowed his head and waited for the final, final reverberation to drift away.
The silence was broken by the men, rising up and beginning their chant. It was a tribute to a great man, a good man, and they called to the chiefs and the gods to accept and honour Abel John. The drumming took over and then the women joined in, their voices harmonising with the resonant sound of the men.
To accompany the powerful yet lilting song, Kiann’e came forward to tell in dance the story of Abel John – his strength, his fishing and surfing prowess, his love of his wife, his gentleness with his children. And as they prayed, a flotilla of canoes and surfboards gathered at the water’s edge. Solemnly, the kahuna led Helena, her daughter and baby son to a canoe being paddled by Kane. They all carried flowers. In a separate canoe Abel John’s elder son sat holding a small open calabash containing his father’s ashes.
The music on shore continued as everyone filed to the water’s edge. They held flowers and watched the canoes, surrounded by the surfers paddling slowly on their boards, as they stroked towards the start of the wave break. The sun was sinking, throwing an embracing light across the sea to those on the beach.
The canoes stopped and drifted on the surface of the sea. The men sang quietly, the kahuna lifted his arms and prayed as Abel John’s son slowly leant over the side of his canoe and set the koa wood calabash atop the water.