Burned (5 page)

“So, you want another go-out?” he said through stuffed cheeks.

“Yeah, the wind is offshore,” Bethany noted with a small smile.

“The tide is a little low right now,” Pod said. “It's surfable, but you need to be careful, especially on the takeoff.”

A few minutes later the boat puttered out of the river and into the sea. Pod drove extra slow as the lower tide had made navigation over the reef passage far trickier. He dodged in and out of deep cuts in the coral while the nervous passengers kept an anxious eye on the water around the boat.

Eventually Pod found deep water and gunned the boat out to the break.

Even from the boat, Bethany could tell that the surf spot had changed since morning. The swell had picked up a foot or two of size, and the lower tide made the waves throw out sooner and thicker. A misstep anywhere down the line could mean a brutal wipeout.

“I brought the video camera,” Pod said. “The sun is in a perfect position to get some great footage.”

The three surfers hurled themselves into the ocean after their boards. Pod fished around in his ice chest for something cold to drink with one hand while digging out his video camera with the other.

With only the trio in the water, Bethany and Malia assumed that the surf session would be a far mellower event and that there would be plenty of waves to go around. But Liam, hearing that this session was to be videotaped, suddenly turned what surfers call
agro.

With every wave, Liam tried to put himself into position. Sometimes he was successful; other times he paddled neck to neck with either Bethany or Malia.

“Gee whiz! This guy must think he is in a contest,” Malia said to Bethany after Liam outraced her for a wave.

“He's trying to be a star for the camera,” Bethany said with more than a hint of annoyance.

When a small lull occurred, and the three surfers found themselves sitting near each other, Bethany decided to use the opportunity to try and talk to Liam.

“Liam, there are only three of us out. Why don't we take turns?”

“'Cause I don't want to,” Liam said. His jaw jutted outward as he looked for the next wave.

“It'll be more fun!” Bethany tried again.

“More fun for who? You two maybe,” he shot back.

Suddenly, a large set appeared on the horizon. All three surfers saw it and started paddling frantically toward it.

Bethany gambled that the second or third wave would be larger than the first, so she kept paddling as Malia turned and stroked into the first of the giant swells.

Third wave,
Bethany told herself as she paddled over the second swell.

As she had anticipated, the third wave was the largest in the set; and it jacked up and crested as Bethany spun her board around.

With one stroke, she entered the steep decline of the wave and launched to her feet. The speed of the drop surprised her a bit, but she planted the weight of her back foot and snapped the board up the face just in time to see the nose of another surfboard begin to enter the wave.

It was Liam, and he was about to drop in on Bethany at the most critical part of the wave.

The wave stood straight up on the reef and pitched out in a huge cylinder. Bethany found herself deep inside watching the white tip of Liam's board enlarge as he entered the wave ten feet ahead of where she rode.

The intrusion of the other surfer changed the mechanics of the wave. It suddenly sectioned off and collapsed on top of Bethany.

Bethany felt herself being rolled up the face of the breaking wave and then hurled down again. Somewhere in the foam and water was her surfboard. If she landed on it, she could be hurt. If the fins were up, she could be hurt badly.

The power of the wave swallowed Bethany up. She spun and rolled, keeping her hand and arm around her head in the event she collided with board or reef.

Opening her eyes underwater, Bethany saw only darkness. Then suddenly her foot touched the reef, and she withdrew it reflexively.

The pressure of the wave had driven her to the bottom of the ocean floor and was trying to hold her there.

Bethany reached up and grabbed the leash that held the surfboard to her leg. She climbed up the rope until her head broke through into a sea of foamy air. Then she looked at the nose of her board. It was cracked in two, the parts hanging by a thin skin of fiberglass.

Red-hot anger swelled up in her. As she paddled back to the boat, she wondered how in the world she was going to get through this trip God's way —and not hers.

As they headed to their fale, Bethany's mom met them on the path to remind them they were all going to have dinner at Pastor Samuel's.

“You have an hour to get ready, girls,” Cheri said. Then noticing the two long faces, she couldn't help but laugh. “Come on! It'll be fun!”

Just great
, Bethany thought.
Just what I need
after the day I've had
. She glanced at Malia whose face seemed to mirror her thoughts.

On the hour, a young man in a lavalava and white shirt appeared at the surf camp. The Hamilton family and Malia were waiting in the dining room.

“You come for dinner at Pastor Samuel's?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Tom.

“I show you the way,” he said with an eager smile.

It was still light out as the Hamiltons weaved their way back through the village. In the center of the village, the group came to a large cinder-block home — one all too familiar to Bethany and Malia. It was painted bright yellow and had lace curtains strung in the windows. Outside the home was a garage-size fale which sat several feet off the ground. The roof was thatched and the floor was concrete, covered with thick woven mats. There were no tables or chairs in sight.

Pastor Samuel, now wearing a colorful lava-lava and a white shirt with a red necktie sat cross-legged on the mat, surrounded by his sons.

“Talafoa!” he said, greeting the Hamiltons warmly.

“Talafoa!” Tom replied as the rest of the group watched the movements of their guide, trying to figure out what to do next. As soon as he dropped his sandals at the steps of the fale, they quickly did the same.

“Sit! Sit!” Pastor Samuel said, and they quickly plunked down on the mats around the pastor.

“Don't sit so that your feet are pointing at another person,” Cheri whispered to the kids. “I read that it is considered rude to point your toes or the soles of your feet at someone.”

Bethany stifled a giggle as she watched Malia glance at her feet with a worried expression. Bethany's mom had a way of picking out the strangest facts from travel brochures and books.

A few young women, dressed in beautifully printed long dresses, appeared at the door. Pastor Samuel spoke to them quickly, and then they left the fale and went into the house.

When they returned, they were carrying heaping plates of food: a giant red snapper, pork, yams, fruit, and poi. They set the dishes in front of Pastor Samuel who then offered up a prayer in both English and Samoan. After that, it was down to business.

Plates were passed out but no eating utensils. Bethany, Malia, and the rest of the Hamiltons played follow the leader. Using their fingers, they ripped chunks of fish off the plate and scooped in pork and rice in the same way. Pastor Samuel and his sons smiled their approval.

The food was awesome — and not that different from what Bethany would have eaten at a Hawaiian luau at home. Bethany hadn't realized how much she was eating until she glanced up to see Pastor Samuel nudge one of his sons and point to her with a happy grin.

At the end of the meal, the women appeared again bringing large mugs and a huge enamel coffee pot steaming with a scrumptious-smelling liquid. After passing the mugs around, the women filled each from the pitcher. Bethany peered into her mug. It smelled like hot chocolate — kind of looked like hot chocolate too.

Bethany glanced at Malia, lifted her mug and took a swig.

“Go ahead, Malia, it's really good,” Bethany said, holding her mug out for more. Then she noticed people watching them from just outside the open-air fale.

They stood at polite distances or casually walked past, glancing at the family sitting cross-legged on the mats. More than once Bethany saw that the stares were directed at her.

“My people know of you, Bethany Hamilton,” Pastor Samuel said, setting his mug down with a heavy thud. “My wife knows of you too. She said you were on TV. My people showed me a magazine with your story. They say you tell others about God. Could you tell me your story?”

Bethany cleared her throat and looked around. She'd never become totally comfortable speaking in front of people, but she said a quick, silent prayer and plunged forward, trusting like always that God would lead her through it. And he did.

The more she talked, the more she felt an inner push inside to keep going . . . like this was something God wanted her to say.

She told about the morning it happened — how beautiful the sun and waves were — and how in an instant the fourteen-foot tiger shark had made everything go black. Then she told of how God had placed people at the beach to help her at just the right time — and how he had given her the courage to surf again.

“I didn't really expect all the attention that came after it happened,” Bethany said finally. She glanced at Malia, and then she smiled a shy smile at Pastor Samuel. “I guess it's like your sermon; all things do work together for the good of those who love God.”

Pastor Samuel sat back with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Yes, this is true,” he said finally. “Now, I tell you a story about a man who also didn't expect God to use him in such a way. A man who came to our islands to die, but ended up teaching my people to live. He was called
Tusitala
, which in our language means ‘Teller of Tales.' To others he was Robert Louis Stevenson.”

The guy who wrote Treasure Island,
Bethany thought as she glanced at her mom, and then at Malia and the rest of her family. They were all leaning forward to hear the rest of the story.

“Tusitala was famous everywhere for his stories,” Pastor Samuel continued. “But he was famous among my people for his good heart . . . and his faith in God. With their bare hands, the natives, chiefs, and all built a road for him from the sea to his house. They called this road,
Ala Lota
Alofa
, the Road of the Loving Heart. My people traveled this road many times to hear him speak of God — to listen to the prayers he said to his God — prayers he taught to them.”

Bethany saw tears fill Pastor Samuel's eyes as he paused for a moment. He smiled softly. “When Tusitala died, the chiefs spread fine mats over him and sat with his body in silence through the night. Then, by torchlight, two hundred Samoans cleared another road — one up the side of the mountain to his grave. They carried his coffin on their shoulders with songs to God. The chiefs forbade firearms on the mountain after that so the birds could sing over his grave.” Pastor Samuel glanced at Bethany. “Tusitala did not know he would touch so many. But God did.”

Pastor Samuel stood then, signaling that the dinner was over. He shook hands with Bethany's dad and brothers, and then surprised everyone by the great bear hug he gave Bethany.

“Thank you, Pastor Samuel,” Bethany said as he finally released her. “For the dinner — and the awesome story.”

“And we know in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” Pastor Samuel said with a wink.

“Well, Bethany, I guess you have a place to go if Mom and Dad ever kick you out,” Tim chuckled as he and Noah headed to the dining room at the surf camp for a late-night snack.

Bethany stuck out her tongue at him, and Malia laughed.

“How can you two be hungry after all that food?” Cheri asked, exasperated.

“When aren't they hungry?” Tom laughed.

“Dessert!” Noah called out without turning around.

“Good night, Bethany and Malia,” Cheri said with a chuckle as she kissed both girls. “Sleep tight.”

“Night, Mom, Dad,” Bethany said hugging her mom and then her dad.

“You might want to check under your fale in the morning,” her dad whispered to her. “I think Tagiilima spent all evening fixing your board for you.”

“That was a cool story, wasn't it?” Malia asked sleepily as they lay on their beds, watching the outof-kilter fan go round and round.

“Yeah,” Bethany said slowly. “I was just thinking how mad I was about my board when we left for dinner. I was definitely not in the mood to go to Pastor Samuel's.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I guess 'cause it was the right thing to do.”

“And Tagiilima was working on your board the whole time . . .”

“Yeah,” Bethany glanced over and saw that Malia had drifted off to sleep. She turned and stared up at the ceiling again.

In the next fale over, Liam was wide awake as well. He had heard the Hamilton's banter when they came back from dinner — heard the love in Bethany's parents' voices when they told her good night.

Sleep tight, Bethany
, he thought, feeding on a bitterness he didn't quite understand. But he welcomed it almost like a secret friend. It was better than being alone.
Don't let the bugs bite
. . .

four

What time is it?
Bethany bolted up in her bed and looked around. No Malia. She frowned, vaguely remembering Malia trying to wake her up earlier —and her telling Malia to go catch some waves for her.

Bethany grimaced. She'd had such a hard time falling asleep. The rusty fan wobbled as she tossed and turned, trying to sort out her feelings —wanting to have it out with Liam versus what she thought God wanted her to do. Was this trial in her life really going to be used for his glory — or was it just a silly problem between surfers? In the end, she again asked God to lead her — and that's when she finally fell asleep.