Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (12 page)

Clearly the focal point of the quaint Hawaiian
village, the drab and peeling brown façade was painted colorfully
with racks and bins of various and sundry items- fresh fruit,
vegetables, flowers, leis, clothing, shell-work, jewelry and more.
Wrapping around the corner of the structure and continuing along
the side of the building that led toward the beach, a row of
brightly hued surfboards stood at attention, each patiently
awaiting their chance to glide upon the waves. Above the
low-slanting roof that spanned the wide front porch was a wildly
colorful, elaborately carved and hand-painted sign that read- ‘Home
Grown – Genuine 100% Hawaiian!’ And in stark contrast below that,
two simple printed lines declared in faded white paint- ‘Family
owned since 1924’ and ‘K. Nakamura – Proprietor’.

Chris pulled up in a cloud of red dust and shut off
the engine, the howl of the car echoing into the low, green hills
in the distance. He stood, stretched and basked in the sunshine as
he took in the scene on the beach, where a multi-colored myriad of
sun worshippers crowded the tiny shore in a riot of summer fun.
Pasting on his lopsided grin, Chris strode up to the sagging
screen-door and pulled it open with a screech of rusty hinges, and
then gently pushed open the door behind it and stepped into the
cool, dark interior.

A small tinkling brass chime announced his arrival
as Chris stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkened inside of
the quaint country store, slowly closing the door behind him. The
store seemed oddly deserted, and Chris wandered aimlessly through
the racks of merchandise, noting with curiosity the unusual fans
made of woven palm that spun on a long, metal rod attached to one
wall, and the library-type ladder that apparently rolled along
floor-to-ceiling shelves that were stocked with foodstuffs from
anywhere and everywhere.

Chris finally found a shelf bulging with beachwear,
and after sorting through a myriad of designs he selected a pair of
Hibiscus-printed board shorts and a matching beach towel. Cradling
his purchases in one arm, he sauntered over to the counter at the
front of the store where he discovered to his surprise that the
place was not completely deserted after all, seeing for the first
time the slim tan shoulders and glossy dark hair of a girl who was
leaning over its edge and peering down at an unseen individual.

The girl was chattering rapidly in what sounded to
be Japanese with what turned out to be a tiny Asian woman, one who
suddenly reached up on tip-toes and chastely kissed the girl on the
cheek. The woman turned and the two exchanged waves as the
diminutive woman exited through the tinkling front door, and the
girl abruptly disappeared below the counter to fuss with something
below.

Chris leaned over to address the
girl, who he suddenly realized with a tingle of recognition seemed
oddly-
familiar,
“Hey- uh, excuse me. I was wondering who I could talk to
about renting a board.”

The girl rose and turned in one
fluid motion, the move of a dancer, and then froze, her eyes
widening in recognition- it was
Alani.

Chris flashed his patented grin
and smiled. “Uh- wow. Hi! Small world. What are
you
doing here?”

Alani’s sparkling jade orbs
narrowed into contemptuous slits. “I work here,” she said flatly
and then suddenly turned and hollered to the back of the store in
an exotic, melodious language. The words were softly musical,
almost poetic in their sound, and when translated came to
approximately something like-
“Hey Sonny!
It’s the stupid Haole tourist who almost killed me today! Wants to
rent a board and try to kill someone else!”
And then she turned her back on Chris, calling over her
shoulder with an air of dismissal, “Sonny will help you.” She
crouched back down below the counter, muttering under her breath as
she did, this time in English, “Maybe we get lucky today and he
kill
himself…”

A few seconds later, a gangly fifteen- or sixteen
year old boy emerged from the back of the store, wearing a greasy
white apron and a smirk of knowing on his smug teenage face. He
untied the apron, hung it from a peg and sauntered casually out the
front door, barely acknowledging Chris as he passed. He stopped on
the wide porch and leaned lazily against a post, addressing Chris
with a slight frown of disdainful calculation as he emerged, “So,
you gonna surf today, bro?”

Chris replied jovially, “Yeah, I thought I'd give it
a try.”

Sonny stole a quick, covetous glance at Chris’ car
and then said with hint of incredulity, “Give it a 'try'? Yo, dude,
you ever surf before now?”

Chris shrugged, “Uh, no, not actually. Bunch of
snowboarding back East, but I figured it can't be much
different.”

Sonny slapped his palm to his face
and then looked briefly through the windows of the store. “Bruddah,
‘Lani was right, you one crazy Haole!” He pointed out to the raging
surf beyond, “You nevah surf before now, and you want to go out
on
them
waves?
You maybe get yo'self killed!”

Chris responded with a snort of
derision, “Oh, please! I've slid down 2,000 vertical feet on one of
the hairiest mountains on the planet! I've outrun an
avalanche
- twice. A
measly little ten foot wave can't possibly be that big a deal…”
Chris hooked his thumbs in his pockets as he puffed out his chest
and added confidently, “In fact, I'll tell you what- I got twenty
bucks says I can outlast you, best two waves out of
three.”

The dick-waving contest now in full fledge, Sonny
sniffed as he retorted and puffed out his own chest, “Make it
fifty, and you got yourself a bet, haole-boy.”

Chris’ face flickered with a nanosecond grin and his
head gave the tiniest of nods, a dimple creasing one cheek,
“Done.”

“
Fine. Let's get you a
board.”

Sonny strode around the side of the store, gesturing
grandly to the group of somewhat rundown, used and abused
surfboards. “There ya go, bro! Take your pick.” Chris suddenly
about-faced and walked back to the front of the store, and Sonny
yelled in confusion, “Hey! Where ya goin?”

Chris turned slowly to confront
Sonny. “For fifty bucks, I'm not using some ratty-assed
Tourist-issue board…” He pulled out a beautifully airbrushed
shortie from the rack and declared, “I want this one. In fact, I'll
tell you what- same bet, but I get to use this board. Call it a
demo. And if you
still
win, I'll pay you double what this board is worth. But
if
I
win, its
mine- same deal, two out of three.”

Sonny sputtered, “Dude, that's a six-hundred dollar
Riptide A-6!”

Chris shrugged and replied with an air of
indifference, “Fine. You in?”

“
Double or nothin’?” Sonny looked
at the board and then back to Chris with a calculating glance, the
wheels turning in his brain as he gauged his profit. The total rang
in his mind and he smiled, “You're on.”

Walter and Abigail sat side-by-side in the golf
cart, silently watching the group ahead of them on the first tee.
They were dressed, as would be expected, accordingly similar to
their 'station' in life. She was wearing a perfectly-coordinated
ensemble; a bright white shirt and pleated golf skirt with pink and
light gray piping and details, accessorized only by her visor,
which of course was white to match, but which sported a large pink
Hibiscus flower in the center. Her feet were shod in white and grey
saddle shoes, a white kid-leather glove on her hand adorned with a
tiny matching version of the pink Hibiscus. Walter, of course, was
dressed in his typical corporate gray- dark trousers, dark shirt
with the Matthews company logo across the left breast, his own
visor embellished with a similar corporate logo embroidered in
burgundy and metallic gold.

Finally, Walter broke the silence
as he harrumphed, “Maybe we'll get lucky, and he
will
kill himself
surfing. Then my troubles will be over.”

“
Walter! You don't mean
that!”

“
No, I don't,
but dammit, I'm serious, he has got to
grow up,
and
soon.”

As the group ahead disappeared
over a low rise, Walter watched for a moment, determined that the
group was sufficiently distant so as not to clonk them with an
errant shot, and then climbed out of the cart and quickly teed up
his ball. Taking a few casual practice swings, he stepped in,
wagged the head of the club in a habitual manner, and then set up,
slowly taking the club back and pausing on the back swing. The club
‘whooshed’ and struck the ball with a sharp metallic ‘click!’
Twirling his driver with a satisfied air, Walter watched the ball
rocket down the narrow fairway, only to gape in astonishment as it
suddenly veered sharply to the left and bounced off a tall banyan
tree, dropping straight down into the knee-high rough below.
“Dammit!” he muttered, “What the hell was
that
?”

Shaking her head in confusion at the odd event,
Abigail strode to the ladies tee, quickly set up for her shot and
hit; a long, low drive that traveled straight as a string, bounding
gently to a stop over two hundred and fifty yards away, clearly
visible- dead-center in the fairway.

Walter gaped at the unexpected virtuosity of his
wife, still incredulous at the errant flight of his own effort, and
could only voice two terse words, “Nice shot.”

Chris and Sonny dashed into the water and flung
themselves aboard their boards with relish, their powerful arms
churning the surf as they raced through the frothy waves. Back on
the beach, a local surfer dude leaned up on one elbow and nudged
his snoozing buddy as he pointed out to the water.

“
Dude, check it
out. Nakamura's got another sucker on the waves. Schools in
session...” The two surfers rose in unison and walked to the
water’s edge, shielding their eyes against the glare as they stared
into the distance. After a moment, several other by-standers joined
them; one of them carrying a huge boom-box on his shoulder in what
seemed almost to be a common ritual. He punched a button and the
sounds of ‘Time to Start’ from
Blue Man
Group’s
album ‘The Complex’ rang out
across the beach.

Game on.

Chris watched Sonny as they took their place in the
lineup, the other participants showing an odd and inexplicable
deference to the young Hawaiian. They moved off as if they knew by
some unspoken fashion what was going down, giving Chris and Sonny
first take of the huge swells.

Sonny looked behind him and suddenly his arms began
to flash into the water, the powerful rising wave grabbing him and
catapulting him forward. Chris reacted quickly and stroked his
muscular arms into the wave with a frenzied churning of water,
struggling to catch up with Sonny, who was already starting to rise
to his feet as the monster swell took shape. Rising quickly to his
feet as well, Chris tried to stay low and focused as he followed
Sonny down the steep glassy surface of the wave.

He immediately realized that his confidence of the
similarity of surfing to snowboarding was a mistake. The water was
almost slippery, the tail fins of the surfboard forcing the changes
in direction in a distinctly liquid fashion as opposed to the
sharp-edged grab of the snow. He adjusted his balance to
compensate, the watery slope unsteady beneath his feet, and
crouched low with arms outstretched as he slashed down the roaring
face of the wave. As the watery giant swelled and surged the top of
the wave began to break, a feature known to veteran surfers as a
‘chandelier’ raining down in foamy chunks that splashed off the
surface of his board. The crashing curl forced Sonny to suddenly
cut back across the face, and Chris skidded clumsily as he
attempted to follow, the roaring foam of the wave-top now licking
hungrily at him from behind.