Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (5 page)

The lush green Hawaiian landscape carpeted the hills
receding into the distance, the view overlaid with the reflection
of multi-hued tourists in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the
tropical airport, a colorful mélange of shapes in motion. A trio of
lovely Hawaiian wahine greeted the Matthews clan as they emerged
from the gate, smiling serenely and delicately placing colorful
leis on their shoulders in the ancient tradition.

Abigail sniffed hers with rapturous delight, Chris’
adorned him perfectly, and Walter- well, Walter just looked grumpy.
And curiously, as if it had never left off, the lilting strains of
‘Over the Rainbow’ now danced through the air in the terminal,
picking up on almost the exact same note they had left from
Abigail’s headphones on the plane.

The burly native limo driver, his brightly colored
Aloha shirt a vibrant accent to his all-black suit, silently loaded
the baggage cart, his powerful arms straining with unexpected
effort as he hoisted Abigail’s voluminous wardrobe, filling the
tiny cart nearly to overflowing. After hoisting the final
ridiculously heavy bag, his exertions complete, he then led the
Matthews leisurely down an open-air ramp, the ever-present island
breeze warm and fragrant in the late Hawaiian afternoon, carrying
with it the soft sounds of nature juxtaposed with the riotous
sounds of excited children and overlaid with the distant crackle of
the Public Address.

As they meandered down the ramp, a single
incongruous note marred this idyllic vision of heaven. It was a
construction zone, cordoned off by a limp and sagging orange safety
fence. The sole ornament to the fence was a dirty, tilted sign- the
only fly in the ointment of what otherwise was a typical day in
Paradise. The sign was simple- it contained the images of two
short, large-eared construction workers, white hard-hats on their
over-sized heads, who smiled and waved at the oblivious passers-by.
Just below them was a single line of cracked and faded text, a
peculiarly local touch to an otherwise mundane placard.

It read, quite simply- ‘Menehune at Work’.

As the Matthews family reached the absurdly long
vehicle waiting for them at the curb, the limo driver gallantly
opened the paired doors of the luxurious conveyance. Walter
immediately dove onto the wide seat and huddled in the corner,
completely ignoring Abigail and Chris, fumbling to turn on his
computer while simultaneously trying to hold his phone tucked
beneath one ear, obviously anxious to resume his previous
conversation. Frowning slightly and shaking his head at his
father’s callous behavior, Chris gently ushered Abigail in next,
and then entered himself after taking a final satisfied glance at
this new and exotic world.

The driver softly closed the doors, his charges
secure, and shook his head with a slight roll of the eyes to the
heavens as he finished loading the cavernous trunk with the piles
of luggage, and then finally boarded the car himself. As the
charcoal-gray limousine glided silently away from the curb, the
Matthews logo, a three-masted ship riding the wave of an ‘M’,
sailed off into the afternoon sun.

As the long, dark car wove its way about the hustle
and bustle of downtown Honolulu, Abigail took in the sights with a
child-like wonder, her face leaning out of the side window like a
dog sampling the breeze as the driver pointed out various points of
interest. The iconic statue of King Kamehameha; the famous slip
where the ‘Minnow’ embarked on its fateful voyage; and the bronze
guardian of Waikiki, Duke Kahanamoku, his well-muscled arms
extended in welcome and tirelessly holding a horde of multi-colored
leis as he posed before a vintage surfboard.

The bustling seaport gradually
gave way to lush and crowding vegetation of the surrounding hills
as they wound their way steadily up the Pali highway. Abigail
looked around in puzzled curiosity as she inquired of the driver
through the open privacy window, “So exactly how long
does
it take to drive
around to the other side of the island?”

The man replied with a wry chuckle and a soft shake
of the head, “Oh, we not going around- That'd take forevah... we
goin' through,” he said, nodding his head toward the front window,
where the grim gray façade of a tunnel was now towering in front of
them- the dark, gaping hole in the lush green hillside emitting a
wan, sodium-yellow glow.

Walter, his consternation with the
drawn-out journey finally boiling over, addressed the incessant
chattering’s of his wife with irritation, “Honey, please- can you
hold it down? I'm right in the middle of- Yes, Carl, put him on...
Alfred! How's Barbara? Good, good! I'm glad to hear it- Anyway, the
reason I wanted to talk to you…” Walter paused, looking up abruptly
as they approached the tunnel, placing a hand over his phone as he
grumbled in consternation, “Good God! Aren't we
there
yet?” He looked to his wife
and inquired accusingly, “Abigail?”

Abigail retorted sharply, “You
told me to make arrangements- I
made
arrangements...”

“
Then where in the hell are we
going?”

Abigail replied almost-
mystically,
a
mischievous grin spreading slowly across her
face
, “To the '
other
' side of the
island...”

As they entered the tunnel the world abruptly went
dark, the late afternoon sunshine being replaced with the odd glow
of the tunnel, the only sound a buzzing hum of the tires echoing in
the hollow cylinder. Walter's phone abruptly cut out, immediately
bringing forth a new rant, “Alfred? Hello? Dammit! You can't even
make a simple fucking phone call on this God-forsaken island!”
Walter angrily flung his phone into his briefcase, where it
clattered among the debris of his daily battle and fell silent.

A moment later the limo burst from the other side of
the tunnel, the blue sky and bright sunshine now replaced with dark
clouds and a crashing splatter of rain. In the distance, the
low-slanting rays of afternoon sunlight sliced the distant
landscape into bright patches of green and gold, painting the
verdant hills with a variegated, translucent glow.

As the car clung to the cliff-side, Chris leaned
past Abigail to see the sloping terrain spreading out far below,
the sides of the mountain steep and invisible from his vantage,
almost as if the car were flying, silently gliding above the
pastoral landscape, and he exclaimed with amazement, “Whoa!
Cooool!”

Abigail looked with puzzlement at the unexpected
change of scene and replied with a note of curiosity in her voice,
“What on earth happened? Are we still on the same island?”

As they both stared at this new
spectacle in silence, both she and Chris simultaneously paused,
slowly turning and looking at each other with a dawning realization
that something was not quite-
right
. Abigail looked over to Walter
and gasped in surprise as she immediately grasped what was
different.

His phone perched precariously on his shoulder, his
laptop dark and silent, Walter was inexplicably sound asleep, a
gentle snoring rasp emanating from his mouth as his head tilted
awkwardly back onto the headrest.

“
Oh my goodness!” Abigail
whispered, whirling and nudging her son. “Chris! Honey-
look.”

Chris silently took in the
unexpected vision of his father and then exclaimed softly, his
words now muted in a whisper so as not to break the spell,
“Oh-My-God! No
way
!” His hands frantically dug around in his jacket, finally
producing his phone and quickly enabling his camera. He placed a
finger across his lips and admonished a smirking and bemused
Abigail, “Shhhhh- don’t-
breathe…
” Quickly snapping off
several silent images, he smiled with contentment and continued,
conspiratorially, “We really ought to take advantage of this you
know. How about-? How about if he woke up in a grass skirt? With
maybe a coconut bra thrown in for good measure? It would make a
great slide show at the next board meeting…”

Abigail replied, mock-scandalized, “Christopher-!”
But the thought nevertheless made her eyes twinkle with mirth, her
hand masking a bemused smile as she envisioned her husband as Chris
described.

A coconut bra about his stout chest, a grass skirt
around his waist, a bright yellow Hibiscus flower tucked delicately
behind one ear, open-mouthed and snoring, Walter’s fantasy
transformation was both horribly ironic and wildly funny. Abigail
tried not to laugh at the imagery but failed- and a strangled
chortle, barely stifled, snorted out.

As both she and Chris tried in
vain to choke back guffaws, tears of mirth now streaming down their
faces, both desperately trying to
not
to wake the still snoring
Walter, their laughter suddenly
changed
, becoming more-
raucous
, with
shouts
and
muffled
curses
interjecting…

…
A colorful crowd of boisterous
and rowdy sailors of every size and ethnicity filled the smoky Grog
house nearly to overflowing, and several topless native girls
danced on the raised platform at its rear to a ragged chorus of
cheers and jeers. Through the dirty windows of the tavern, several
battered Whalers of every shape and size could be seen unloading
their cargo of men and material among the flotsam and jetsam of
Lahaina, the guts and gore of that days’ catch painted red in the
early evening light.

Captain Walter Mayhew, lushly bearded and
barrel-chested, lolled drunkenly at a table in the midst of the
crowd, wearing only his tight sailor’s pants and his Captain’s hat
in the sweltering heat, his only other adornments being several
colorful leis of various flowers, and a sole, laughingly
incongruous touch- a bright yellow Hibiscus flower tucked
haphazardly behind his left ear. He peered myopically into the
battered tanker in his hand, tipping it skyward to drain the last
remaining drops from it, and then banged it loudly on the table as
he bellowed, “CARGILL! Mis-TER Cargill! RUM!!! Another round for
the lads- and TWO for me!” And then he slumped back into his chair
and relaxed as several giggling native girls snuggled up to him- a
warm, fragrant brown huddle of flesh sliding over his pale, sweaty
skin. Slapping one plump girl smartly on the rump, he addressed
them as a group, “Now then- which one of you fine lassies is coming
back to the ship with me for a drink tonight?”

All of the girls raised their hands
enthusiastically.

“
All of ye, then-?” Captain Walter
stood ponderously and belched noisily, his eyes unfocused and
casting about in different directions, and then he wobbled
unsteadily as he began to slowly make off, his charges propping up
his massive form with difficulty as he shouted over the din,
“CARGILL-! A cask to go!!!”

The parallel rows of palm trees passed overhead,
their delicately waving fronds tinged with salmon pink and
burnished gold, framed in the open sunroof of the limousine. Chris
stood up through the opening and raised his arms, bathing his face
in the fading light, his eyes closed and a gentle breeze ruffling
his golden locks around him. A broad smile spread across his face,
his dimples deepening, and he waved slowly back and forth like a
sailplane in flight, floating and spinning on imagined currents of
air as the limo slowed and stopped at the entrance of the luxurious
hotel, the soft strains of a Hawaiian melody drifting from unseen
speakers.