Molokai Reef (33 page)

“
Are
the lovers having a spat?”

“
Screw
you ‘goose. One more word and I’ll pull my diaphragm
over your ears.”

A wad
of half-inch rope splashed on deck announcing Gybe’s return to
Ferrity
. Flyn helped him out of the scuba pack. Kara
returned with another pot of fresh coffee.

“
You
bring no lobsters for breakfast? What were you doing down there,
lose your contacts?” The ‘goose asked the sour-faced
Gybe.

Gybe
shrugged out of his wetsuit and rolled the neoprene to his waist
before sitting down. He took the steaming mug from Kara.

Their
mouths gaped as Gybe described what happened. “Someone, who
values his life little, removed the shackle that attaches the anchor
to the chain. A five hundred dollar anchor. But that wasn’t
enough. The bastard then took a fifty-foot chunk of rope and tied
one end to the anchor chain. The other end he ran aft and tied
around the prop.”

Gybe
paused for more coffee while the others absorbed his statements.

“
I
woke up with a sense that something was wrong with the boat. The
wavelets had stopped slapping the bow, yet I could still hear the
wind. That’s when I got up and looked outside.”

When
he discovered
Ferrity
adrift and closing on the reef, his
first reaction was to start the engine and motor back. But when he
shifted into reverse, the rope wound up around the prop and pulled
the dangling anchor chain against the hull.

“
Ferrity
was drifting towards the reef and the engine was useless If the
winds had been any stronger or if the asshole had disabled the dink,
Ferrity
would be on the reef right now.”

61

It
was Saturday morning, so the group walked the causeway towards town.
The farmer’s market was in full swing when they arrived.
Vendors offered tomatoes, green onions, Maui onions, garlic,
cucumbers, mangoes, avocados, apple bananas, papayas, and other
produce. In addition to the garden products, local artists displayed
their craft wares. Some artists had ferried over from Maui to take
advantage of the holiday season.

From
an old hippie, Gybe bought a hat woven from dried palm fronds. Kara
found a table of salad bowls, serving trays, and desk accessories
hand-carved from koa, monkeypod, and mango wood. Another craftswoman
displayed necklaces, earrings, and bracelets created from seashells.

Five
ukuleles sat on one table. The merchant told them that if they
didn’t see one they liked, he could make one to order.

Under
a tree near the center of the market, three teenage sisters sang in
accompaniment with four men who strummed ukuleles and drummed.

Two
high school girls stood behind a counter offering shave ice. They
told Gybe that they were raising money for a senior trip to Waikiki.
Several hormonal teenage boys hovered nearby. Gybe bought everyone a
shave ice and they continued to walk.

He
explained to Kara that shave ice was first used as an afternoon treat
for the plantation workers nearly a century ago. Shave ice was
similar to a snow cone, but different because rotating blades shave
the ice from a block. The shave ice was mounded atop a cup or cone
and sweet syrup was poured over the top. The girls in the booth had
offered strawberry, pineapple, lime, mango, vanilla, and other
popular flavors.

“
If
you go over to O‘ahu, you should visit the Matsumoto store in
Hale‘iwa. It’s on the North Shore. Their shave ice is
world famous. It has been featured in magazines and television
shows. When I was there, they had over twenty-five flavors including
lihing mui, lychee, and lilikoi.”

Gybe
was in tour guide mode, so no one asked him to describe lihing mui.
Flyn and Kara thanked him for the tourist spiel then walked away from
the two men.

“
Some
people just don’t appreciate the culture.” Gybe
commented.

Gybe
spotted Jean’s gardener behind several baskets of fresh corn.
A cardboard sign displayed a column of decreasing prices. All but
the bottom price, one-fourth of the top price, had been x-ed out.
The latest price was five for a dollar. Gybe was surprised to see so
few customers.

“
Five
for a dollar is a bargain.” Mongoose selected ten ears while
Gybe talked with the gardener.

“
Corn
looks great. I’m surprised you haven’t sold out.”

The
gardener told him that he had taken the corn from Jean’s
greenhouse. “No one tells me what to do, so I keep tending the
corn. The ears were ready for harvest so I asked three local kids to
help me pick it. No one ever came around from Jean’s company.”

“
Why
isn’t anyone buying? I don’t see any competition.”

The
gardener picked up an ear and peeled back the husk. Both men stared
at the green corn. Each kernel was a deep forest green, a color not
often associated with corn.

“
Wha
da hell dis dat?” Exclaimed a passerby.

All
the corn was that color, explained the gardener. He had expected to
earn unpaid wages by selling the corn at the market. No one was
buying. No one except the ‘goose who was undeterred by the
unusual corn. The corn almost matched his teeth.

“
That
reminds me,” Mongoose said as the men walked away, “I
heard from my friend on the mainland. He thinks that he understands
what Jean and Ray were researching in their caramel corn project.”

Gybe
took several more steps before his impatience boiled. “And?”

“
He
wouldn’t tell me just yet. He wants some samples of the corn.
Not just the kernels, but one of the plants.”

“
Why
wouldn’t he tell you what he found?”

“
Don’t
know. But he was very excited. He said that if the tests on the
actual plant supported the documents, then Ray and Jean had made an
amazing discovery.”

They
found the women talking with an artist while viewing her paintings.
“We’re headed back to the boats, you coming?” Gybe
asked.

“
We’ll
see you later.” Kara answered.

After
dropping their purchases on the boats, Gybe sat behind the wheel of
the ’vair and twisted the ignition screwdriver. The starter
cranked the engine through several revolutions before it caught and
issued its trademark backfire. Bill landed on the seat next to
Mongoose and squawked “Fire in the hole. Fire in the hole.”

Across
the pier, a fisherman screamed as she fell into the harbor.

Gybe
and Mongoose drove away unaware that during the backfire, pressurized
exhaust gases launched papayas from each of the twin pipes. The
starboard papaya hit the fisherman in the small of her back. From
the port pipe, the papaya followed a low trajectory before fragging a
trash can.

Gybe
drove around Jean’s house and parked near the greenhouse with
the car facing the street. Inside, they discovered that the gardener
had harvested most of the corn. From the few stalks still standing,
Mongoose selected the healthiest for shipment to his friend. He
counted eleven ears of corn on the four-foot plant.

“
Look
at this Gybe. There’s eleven ears on one plant.”

Gybe
studied the plant. “When I visited my uncle in Iowa, he told
me that his corn produced only one ear per plant. On average,
anyway. He said the plants along the edge might produce a few more,
but he never said anything about a dozen per plant.”

“
This
plant is half as tall as the ones on his farm. This must be why your
friend on the mainland is so excited.”

Mongoose
wrapped the plant in large lawn bags and took it to the car. When he
returned, Gybe stood looking at a pile of fresh-shucked corn. Next
to the pile, someone had converted the south facing wall into a solar
dehydrator. Dozens of ears were drying on the rack.

The
men walked through the back door and crossed the lawn to a small
two-sided shed. The south and west sides of the ten by fifteen foot
building were open to the weather. In the protected corner, Gybe
found a small grain mill attached to a three horsepower electric
motor. A two level commercial pizza oven with rusted Domino’s
Pizza labels towered over the mill.

“
We’ve
found the mother lode.” Gybe mumbled.

By
the time they left an hour later, they knew the source of the
mysterious forest green tortilla chips loved by everyone. Maybe to
hide their discovery, Jean and Ray had decided to turn the corn into
nacho chips. Gybe knew that most corn plants were sterile hybrids.
The seeds would not grow new plants.

His
respect for Ray and Jean soared. If they had created a new variety
of corn that produced ten fold the amount of corn and on a four-foot
stalk that used resources for the ears instead of tall stalks, then
they had made a remarkable and profitable discovery. And since they
went to great efforts converting the ripe kernels into tortilla chips
to hide their discovery, Gybe guessed that the kernels were fertile.

“
Gybe,
how are we going to get this plant to the mainland?”

“
Pack
it in a box and FedEx it.”

Mongoose
pointed out that the USDA inspected all agriculture products, not
just the ones coming into Hawai‘i, but the ones going to the
mainland as well.

“
Don’t
sweat it. Everyone is more interested in box-cutters and bombs these
days. The only species protected by government agencies is the one
least endangered and most dangerous.” The men drove back to
the pier.

Kara
and Flyn were about to board the dink when they heard the ’vair
approaching. After parking the car, Gybe and Mongoose explained what
they had found in Jean’s greenhouse.

Kara
volunteered to take the package on the ferry to Maui and FedEx it
from there. It was time for another visit to her friend, Susan.

When
the ferry carrying Kara was outbound, Mongoose announced, “Party.
My boat. Now.”

Motoring
back to
Makani
, Mongoose paralleled two outrigger canoes.
“Hey guys and gals, party on
Makani
tonight. Bring your
own drinks.”

The
paddlers focused on their race, but both steersman signaled a thumbs
up.

Gybe
returned to
Ferrity
, pulled an amber ale from the reefer, and
lit off his laptop. The deadline for his article was less than a
week away. It was time for the third and final edit. In the
article, he had described his visits to six of the inhabited Hawaiian
Islands. The owners of Ni‘ihau prohibited visitors to the
seventh inhabited island. Instead, he had circumnavigated the island
and taken several photographs.

An
hour later, he closed the laptop, rose from the cockpit seat, and
went below to the saloon. In a secret compartment, he stashed a
backup disk of today’s work, then stowed the laptop in yet
another hidden compartment. As a deterrent to theft, he kept an old,
non-working laptop near the nav station. In the past two years,
thieves had stolen three of the decoy computers.

Gybe
slipped into a pair of swim trunks, climbed through the companionway,
and walked to a point near the shrouds, almost amidships. Arching
his back, he dove over the side and swam towards the sea buoy at the
harbor entrance. This morning’s anchor dragging drill had
interfered with his daily swim.

When
he returned from the swim, he scaled the boarding ladder and dropped
the swim trunks on the sole of the cockpit. He uncoiled the shower
hose from its compartment on the aft side of the cockpit, took a
quick shower, dropped below, and moved forward to his stateroom.

Gybe
donned a clean pair of cargo shorts and topped them with an aloha
shirt. The shirt was not strictly aloha motif. Instead of tropical
sunsets, palm trees, or hula dancers, new and ancient sailboat
designs decorated the shirt.

In a
practiced move, he untied the painter and leapt into the dink in one
motion. Fifteen seconds from the cockpit, the outboard was humming
with the bow pointed towards
Makani
. With the noise and music
emanating from the schooner, even a blind man could have found her.

Gybe
tied
Aweigh
to the stern. The inflatable nestled among four
other small boats. Two outrigger canoes were rafted alongside
Makani
. Three more six-person canoes, tied end to end,
dangled from the stern like a string of sausages.

The
deck drummed with the weight of numerous male and female bodies.
Keali‘i, their server from the hotel, watched Gybe’s
approach. She handed him a cold Lavaman ale as he stepped aboard.

“
Thanks,
Keali‘i.” He swallowed a deep slug. “Do you know
all of these people?”

“
Sure.
Except for you blow-boaters, everyone lives on the island.”

She
had included Kara in her vernacular for sailors. After Kara’s
action with the anchor this morning, Gybe wasn’t prepared to
correct her. In Gybe’s opinion, Kara had learned a lot about
boats and sailing since she had arrived on Moloka‘i. Best of
all, she possessed the common sense gene, so rare in today’s
society.