This Is Paradise (20 page)

By the time Pili awoke the next morning, Maile had taken off to town for a hair appointment. He had slept well and deeply. He no longer felt as defensive as he had the night before, but he was reluctant to face Albert all the same.

Maile had left Pili a note to fix one of the hayracks, so as soon as he had dressed, Pili headed down to the outside paddocks. The fix was easy. The grill and rack had separated, so Pili cut a bit of plastic tubing to make a sleeve and hold the two pieces together perfectly. While he was with the horses, he took the time to brush them and check their teeth and hooves. They were in good shape, and their shared lot was immaculate. Maile must have raked before leaving for her appointment. Pili shook his head at her. He went into the barn and carried a bale out to the lot, taking the time to spread part of the hay across the ground and then leaving the rest in the corner for the horses to eat. Pili knew his sister would hate seeing such a mess, but
he was convinced the horses were more comfortable this way. If left to their own habits, they would spread excess hay across the entire lot.

In a neighboring paddock the old paniolos, Keo and Joe, kept their horses. These animals fed from the ground, no racks in sight. Harrison had always said horses were meant to eat from the ground. He didn’t trust racks and hay nets because of the unnatural angle they forced on a feeding animal. Keo and Joe obviously kept to this wisdom. Harrison had taught them everything they knew, and they weren’t likely to go against him. But Maile was eager to embrace another way. Did she honestly believe the racks were better, or were they her way of making her own mark on the ranch operations?

Pili reached a hand out to a red roan, one of Joe’s, and the animal nuzzled his jeans pocket, looking for a treat. He didn’t have any, but he rubbed the mare’s chin, and its ears tilted forward. The horses were well groomed and happy, their eyes bright, their coats glossy. They appeared no different from Maile’s, but Pili wondered if they felt different, if Joe and Keo’s horses might be a little happier, a little freer. He wanted to know what Keo and Joe thought of Maile’s way with the animals, and what she thought of theirs.

Pili made his way into the barn, poking his head into the unused stalls and the tack room, which looked much the same as in his childhood. His father’s office, though, was barely recognizable. Once it had been the hub of the
ranch. Ledgers and calendars had covered the desk, with Harrison’s appointments marked in red ink and notes on the herds penciled in the margins. Hawaiian hymns crackled from a record player, and over that the telephone was always ringing. Now the office had the hushed air of a museum. These days it stored awards, boxes of receipts held on to for ages, old bills long ago paid and filed, Harrison’s two favorite saddles, and a collection of decorated blinders he kept on hand for parades. An old hackamore, the leather stained black from sweat and twisted and falling apart, was abandoned on the planks that had once served as his desk.

Pili climbed the ladder to the hayloft. When he was a boy, he could scramble up and down the rungs with his eyes closed and a saddle blanket in each arm. Now he took the steps carefully, testing one and then the next, clinging to the railings tightly. He wished he could remember when he started to be fearful, when he learned to respect falling, pain, death.

In the loft, Pili lay back on the hay. Below him, the horses moved in their stalls and he remembered the joy he had felt when he came here as a boy. He breathed deeply, but the dust caught in his throat and made him cough. He laughed at himself. The loft had been more romantic when he was a child. He hadn’t seen its drawbacks when he was ten.

Back then, Harrison had collected saddle blankets, which he stored in the barn office. Harrison used a couple
of them, but the rest rose in precarious piles, spilling over his paperwork, breeding certificates and bills. He claimed the blankets were part of his filing system. After Pili’s mother died, Harrison kept her blankets there, too, and Pili would often steal the one with the blue waves and carry it up to the hayloft and cover the hay.

For Pili, that blanket was a flying carpet or a sled in mountain snow or an energy field ready to teleport him to anywhere he could dream of going. The cloth held magic—the brilliant dyes, the thick weave, the tiny, soft tufts of wool coming off it as it aged. Other times, typically at the end of winter when the hay was low, Pili would climb into the rafters above the loft and jump with the blanket tucked beneath his feet, surfing the air for those few thrilling seconds of freefall before he landed with a muted thump, a puff of grass-scented dust rising around him. Harrison used to get after him for thumping around in the hayloft, but he never got really angry about it, and Pili came to understand that his game was a secret between them, a tacit allowance on Harrison’s part in an otherwise strict and rigorous childhood.

Pili wished he could clamber up to those rafters again, but the hay was too low and he no longer had a boy’s casual confidence with heights. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the barn. He missed the way it felt heavy and sturdy in the wind, he missed the smell of the horses, their droppings and the honeyed perfume of dried hay. Only now the barn felt like a shell. The person who once filled it,
who had made it move and live, was slowly leaving. The horses and the bustle of the paniolos and the mountains of hay still lived in this place, but Harrison did not.

When Pili returned to the house, he was surprised to find Albert in the kitchen pulling a plate of food from the microwave. “You’re here early,” Pili said coolly, not forgetting their previous tension.

“I wanted to come early to see you. I’m sorry about how last night went.” Albert held the hot plate of food between them. “He’s your father, and I’m his nurse.”

Pili stood in the doorway.

“You know how I feel, but you will do what you will do.”

“That’s true.” Pili followed him into the study.

When Harrison saw them, he immediately protested the plate of food, claiming he wasn’t hungry. “You need this, Uncle,” Albert said firmly. “I know better than you.” He held the spoon in front of Harrison’s mouth, waiting with a patience that brooked no disagreement, and eventually Harrison relented and parted his lips.

Pili wondered if Albert knew better than him, too. After all, Pili wished for a rudder. Maybe Albert had given it to him.

He felt himself soften. When Harrison finally finished eating, Pili said: “Dad, what if I took Albert down to see the herd tomorrow?” He turned to Albert. “I mean, if you don’t mind driving up here on your day off.”

Albert shrugged, but Pili could tell he was pleased.

“Good tinking, son,” Harrison said. “And while stay, cut some kiawe wood fo’ give Keo.”

“What he like use it for?” Albert asked.

“He like burn fo’ smoke da meat. Wen’ hunting, him. Get one wild boar he like cook.”

“I like eat some!” Albert laughed.

Before they could speak any more of the trip, they heard the front door open and Maile’s voice came floating to them. “Eh, Pili? Dad? I home. Bettah not be napping you two.”

She appeared in the doorway. “Albert! You come early today.” She tossed her hair. “Nice, yeah?” She had dyed it a deep brick red, and styled it into a gigantic wave around her head that reminded Pili of Annette Cardona in the movie
Grease
.

“Beautiful,” Albert said, smiling. Pili nodded.

“Like one red hibiscus,” Harrison said.

“Tanks, Dad.”

“Ah, but. Tink I hea da flower calling. She like get ’er color back. Look mo bettah on her.” Harrison laughed, and then turned to Albert. “What else you like do when Pili come fo’ take you see da herd? Mebbe go down Joe place fo’ see da new foal?”

Maile looked stricken, then heartbroken, then livid. Pili watched the emotions like they were on a film reel, one leading into the next, finishing with a tight smile. She lifted her chin slightly and left for her room.

Albert had noticed her reaction too. He glanced sidelong
at Pili. If Albert hadn’t looked at him like that, Pili might have ignored Maile’s departure, but now he had to check on her. Without speaking, he slipped from the study. He stood in front of Maile’s closed door for a moment and then knocked softly. “What?” she called through the wall.

When he opened the door, she was seated at her desk, Harrison’s ledgers spread in front of her. She was filling them in for him. Later, she would take them to him to look over and approve.

“I was just checking you were alright.”

“What, I nomo look awright?”

“No, you look great. I just thought … you know how Dad can be.”

“What you mean?” She used that high-pitched voice that told Pili she knew exactly what he meant but wasn’t going to admit it.

“Him teasing you like that, about your hair.”

“I used to it by now.” She looked down at the ledgers again.

“You don’t have to take that from him. Really, it was too much.”

“It’s not important. You know how he get wit’ me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t let him.”

She studied Pili. “Ah, it’s better dis way,” she sighed. “It’s better me dan you, eh?”

“What does that mean?”

“Nutting.” She shook her head as if to banish a thought. “You really gon take Albert fo’ see da herd?”

“Tomorrow some time.”

“I jus’ no can believe … I say plenny times I like take ’im, and now he goes wit’ you.

“I said let’s go tomorrow, and he said sure.”

“But I said I like …” Her voice trailed off.

Pili could guess how Maile’s invitation had played out: She had mentioned taking Albert to see the herd, a half dozen times probably, but without any clear intentions. She had never set a date, never arranged to leave her duties at the ranch, never asked Albert which days might work for him. Albert, aware he was merely the nurse, hadn’t pressed the issue. And now Maile was angry at Pili for making the trip happen. He took a deep breath. “How about we go together then?” He tried to sound genuinely enthused by the idea.

Maile stared at Pili through her thick eyelashes, a withering look she had perfected as a teenager. “Den who can take care of Dad? Tink, Pili. Fo’ jus’ one second, tink.”

“What do you want then? Do you want me to stay with Dad and you can take Albert out? I’ll do it if you want me to.”

She sighed heavily. “No, take Albert. It’s fine.” She used a tone of voice that said it wasn’t.

“Maile. I’d like to make it okay.”

“And you no know?” Maile threw her hands up in the air.

“Do you have feelings for Albert? Is that it?”

“Auwē, you neva get it.” Her voice dripped with condescension.

“For goodness sakes! You’re not getting anywhere with Albert, you know. He’s not straight.” Pili crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her response.

She remained silent, staring at him, and when she finally spoke she did so very quietly. “You tink I no know dat? Us friends, remember? Good friends. Best friends.”

Pili let his arms fall to his sides. “I didn’t realize …” He felt embarrassed, as if he’d been scolded. He had deeply misjudged his sister, and Albert, too. Apparently Maile was more understanding than Pili gave her credit for, and Albert’s secretiveness the previous night had been about protecting Pili, not himself.

“He is my only friend dese days.” Maile spoke slowly, with a sense of regret. “He is da only person I like talk to. Da only one I tell tings to. Since Dad got sick, you tink I can go drive, go fo’ visit Kona, or fo’ see my old friends in Hilo? No way! Even in Waimea, da women I know no like come sit hea, do nutting, jus’ whisper and Dad in da uddeh room dying. But, you know, I neva worry ’cause I have Albert. And den you come.” She paused to look at Pili, and when she spoke again, her words came faster and louder. “Suddenly you like talk story wit’ him and you like be wit’ him, and what about me? All da time, you-him-Dad, and I jus’ some woman who cook fo’ da tree of you. Das all you care about. When I make da next meal.”

“You know it’s not like that,” Pili pleaded. “We loved when you joined us that one evening. I wish you would sit with us more often.”

She puffed air through her nose, a sound of disbelief.

“Really, Maile. I like when you’re there.” Pili stopped. He wanted to say more, to tell her more, as he’d promised himself he would do. But first, he had to soften her. “I’ll make this thing with Albert up to you. I’ll make dinner for all of us on Sunday and we’ll sit and eat with Dad, okay? And on Monday you take a day and go to Kona and I’ll stay with Dad and you can have some time to be with friends.” He waited for her to respond.

“You really like make it right?” She crossed her arms over her chest, but her expression was soft, ready to forgive.

“Yes. Really.”

She sighed again. “I guess dat hastu be enough.”

“And Maile, there’s something else.” Pili looked down at the ground and took a deep breath.

“No, das enough,” she interrupted. She patted Pili’s cheek and then rested her hand there, cupping his jaw. “I done wit’ all dis now. Let’s jus’ let it go.”

“But Maile—”

“You make dinner tomorrow and take Albert fo’ see da herd, and I like see my friends Monday.”

“Yes, but, Maile, I want to—”

“Das it.” Her voice was firm. When he looked at her, the lines on her face looked deeper, her eyes were puffy,
and he didn’t push to speak again. She was finished with the conversation. He would be, too.

He stepped toward the door to leave, and she called after him. “Be careful tomorrow, yeah. Albert, he’s Dad’s nurse.”

Pili chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mai. I’ll make sure no cows trample him. I promise.”

On Sunday Pili borrowed Harrison’s truck to drive out to the winter pasture. From the ranch they took a wide two-lane road toward town. It curved through pasturelands—some theirs, and some belonging to other ranches—past the housing development they saw from the front porch and alongside a windbreak with trees hunched like a line of old women. In the afternoon light the fields were a deep gold. As they approached town, a cluster of children playing outside a red ranch house spotted the car and froze like statues. One boy couldn’t stop giggling, though, and Albert laughed and waved at all of them. After the car passed, the children broke their poses and began to run around, tagging each other.