Sand Dollars (29 page)

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Authors: Charles Knief

BOOK: Sand Dollars
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“Then that's what happened. Is Peters dead?”
“Officially.”
“Then that's it.”
Esparza nodded. “So that's the way it is.”
“Yep.”
“And you're leaving town.”
I looked around at my surroundings. San Diego's skies were blue, as blue as they had been since my arrival. But the weather was still cold, and the air seemed thin.
“It's time,” I said. “I'm going home.”
“I'll call your friend, Lieutenant Kahana, Kaha …”
“Kimo?”
“Yeah. I'll warn him you're coming.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what he said about you the first time I called him? He asked me if I knew why California has fires, floods, earthquakes, and riots and Hawaii has John Caine. He said California had first choice.”
Esparza stood and shook my hand. “I wish I could say it's been a pleasure. Knew you were trouble the first time I met you. Glad to see I'm still a good judge of character.” He looked around
Olympia,
taking in the extra stores and supplies. “You heading south? Through Mexico?”
“Sure. That okay?”
He nodded. “I talked to a few friends down there. Like I said, they have some good ones, too. They're not all like de la Peña. Nobody's looking for you. You should be all right.”
“Say good-bye to Ambrosio and Manny for me.”
“I will. Good sailing.”
He hopped over the railing and bounded up the dock, looking once again like a college student.
I started
Olympia'
s engine, jumped down onto the dock, and cast off my lines. I motored out into the channel, past the submarine base, past North Island, past the tall, tan cliffs of Point Loma.
When I cleared the harbor I raised the sails and turned south, toward Mexico, toward Hawaii.
Toward home.
Diamond Head looked exactly the same since I'd last seen the craggy lava landmark, the gray-blue Ko'olau Mountains ranging beyond. Maybe the old volcano had got a little greener along its slopes. Waikiki still sheltered below its western flank, the high-rise hotels and the white sandy beaches as much a part of me as my own skin. It hadn't been all that long, but it felt like years since I'd been back. Honolulu looked serene and quiet from five miles offshore, a welcome sight.
A pod of dolphin swam escort duty, playing tag with
Olympia'
s shadow.
I'd had what the Chinese call an interesting month getting across the Pacific. I'd followed the Mexican coast down to the tip of Baja, skipping from one port to another, stopping for three glorious, wondrous days at Bahía de Los Angeles to watch the gray whales, and then paid for it by taking a nasty drubbing from a head wind all the way to Cabo, around the point and into the sheltered harbor known as La Paz, “The Peace.” I spent a few nights in port replenishing supplies before setting course for Hawaii. It's almost due west from La Paz, and should have been an easy trip, but the currents and the winter storms conspired to frustrate my goal.
Olympia
and I were both a little bruised and battered from our voyage, both of us a little older and a little used up.
My blond hair and beard were nearly white from the sun and I'd made up for the tan I'd lost under San Diego's winter cloud cover.
I'd lost weight, and every part of my body hurt from the month of constant physical abuse. A boat this size is not
meant to be sailed alone, even with special rigging. I'd done it because I didn't want anyone else aboard; I had thought about signing on a couple of ex-navy types I met in La Paz, then reconsidered it and made the rigging adjustments in port before setting out. The two looked like they could be trouble, and I'd had all the trouble I wanted.
Solitude was my reward.
Olympia
had GPS, but Ed Alapai had taught me something about being a
ho'okele,
a Hawaiian wayfinder, the art of using the stars, the wind, and the currents to find your way across the Pacific. To an accomplished
ho'okele,
the surface of the ocean is a landscape to be read and understood. There's even a story about a blind navigator who could tell where he was by the taste of the water.
A haole, I didn't taste, but found navigating with the night sky almost as easy as using electronics. With A'a, the star I knew as Sirius, the brightest in the sky, on my starboard and Acrux of the Southern Cross, known to the Hawaiians as Mole Honua, on my port side, Hawaii lay dead ahead. Stars filled the heavens, horizon to horizon, old friends, the reliable panorama the ancients witnessed and recorded. Most days were sun-blasted bright and I enjoyed my solitary sail. But I loved the nights.
On the radio, Pearl Harbor gave me permission to enter after a short discussion about the name of my boat. For years,
Duchess
had gone in and out of the narrow entrance to the naval base and my name. was on the list, but
Olympia
was not. I had to explain to the harbormaster that
Duchess
wasn't coming back. Ever. He finally got it, and I called the Rainbow Marina on the cellular to let them know my slip would be used again, to give them fair warning to get anyone out of there who might have pirated the vacancy during my absence.
In an hour I bid farewell to my dolphin escorts, dropped my sails, and entered Pearl Harbor under power. I could see the white USS
Arizona
memorial at Ford Island, the new bridge construction, and the lush, green mountains beyond, their peaks shrouded in billowy white clouds. Off to the west, the island gave me a rainbow welcome.
I was home.
I tied up at my slip at the end of the mauka dock. Henry, the Rainbow Marina's Filipino dockmaster, was there to meet me.
“When I hear your voice, I can't believe it! It's good to see you! This your boat?”
I tossed him the bowline. “Secure this, Henry. It's good to see you, too.”
“You been gone a long time, yah?”
“It sure seems like it.” I jumped down and tied off the stern line.
“Olympia.
That's a good name. This bigger than your old boat. Prettier.”
“She'll do.”
“You live here again?”
“Yep. I'm home.”
“I'll tell everybody. We'll have a party, once you get settled good.”
“That'll be fine, Henry. Thank you.”
“Good to have you back, John Caine. Thought you was gone for good, yah?”
“Yeah.”
He laughed and went up the dock. I thought I heard him singing.
I went back aboard my boat. She needed work, some port time, some tender loving care.
So did I.
I had a little laundry, not much, but some, having spent most of the time wearing only a ratty pair of shorts. I had a few electronic parts to replace. I needed batteries, a couple of new sails, some hull work. Two portholes were missing glass due to one particularly dark and stormy night. And I needed a drink. The Marina Restaurant, above the boat docks, beckoned like an old friend. I collected what I needed and went below for my wallet.
“Hello, sailor!”
I heard the voice out on the dock, not certain I was hearing what I was hearing, not trusting my senses.
“John Caine!”
I stuck my head out of the cabin. Barbara Klein stood on the dock, dressed in a tight pink tank top and red short-shorts. She carried a bottle of Dom, and she looked magnificent.
“Aren't you going to invite me aboard?”
“Sure. Just let me put my tongue back in my mouth.”
I reached down and she grabbed my wrist and I swung her aboard, just the way we'd done it before.
“What are you doing here?” It was all I could think to say.
“Well, I heard the fleet was in, so I came down to show my support. Love you navy guys.”
“No, really. It's wonderful to see you, but why are you here?”
“Claire has her business back on track. She no longer needs me on a day-to-day basis. When I went back to San Francisco, I got all mopey and sad. I couldn't concentrate on my work, so my boss ordered me to take a vacation, and I thought, why not Hawaii?”
“And?”
“And so I hadn't been to Hawaii for years. Actually I came here on my honeymoon, but you don't want to hear about that. I wanted to see the place where you saved my son, and I wanted to see you.”
“You wanted to see me?”
She rolled her eyes. “You're pretty thick, aren't you?”
“I have my moments.”
“Which ones? Good or bad? I can't tell.” She reached over and squeezed my hands. “Look, John, I have some time here. A couple of weeks. And I wanted to come see you in your own element. If you want me to go home, just say so.”
“No.”
“Okay. Thank you for asking me. I've been fine.”
“How did you know where I would be?”
“Your friend Max kept track of you. You spoke with him on the ham radio and the satellite phone, he told us where you were, when to expect you in port.”
She was silent, surveying
Olympia'
s battered condition. “You had a rough trip.”
“It had its moments.”
She looked up at me, intelligent brown eyes penetrating my gaze. “I'll bet. So what's it going to be? You up for this?”
“It's nice, seeing you. I thought I wouldn't again, and I missed you.”
“You're going to show me around the island? Maybe see Maui? Kauai? I'd really love to see the volcano. Is it true you can't carry pork across the mountains at night without getting the gods angry? I want to try it. And I want to work on my tan.”
“Sounds fine.”
“You look like you could use some rest, too, sailor boy. What do you think?”
“Where are you staying?”
“We're checked into the Royal Hawaiian.”
“We?”
“Got us a suite. Thought you might want a shower, a drink, or something.”
“A shower was just what I had in mind,” I said. “And the drink.”
“And the something?”
I looked at her. She wasn't kidding. Here was the real prize at the end of the quest. A prize that only a fool would turn away from. “That sounds best.”
She nodded, taking my hand, enfolding it between her two small, soft hands.
“Come on,” she said.
O Ku ke anoanu ia′u Kualono
He ano no ka po hane′e aku
He ano no ka po hane′e mai
 
He weliweli ka nu′u a ho′omoali
He weliweli a ka po hane′e aku
 
He
ili′ilihia na ka po he′e mai
He manu ke ha′i o Pulepule
O mihi i ke anuanu, huluhulu
ole
O mihi i ka welawela i ke′a′ahu′ole
 
O Hula ka makani kona hoa
 
A ka po he′enalu mai i hanau
Po-no
 
 
Fear falls upon me on the mountaintop
Fear of the passing night
Fear of the night approaching
 
Dread of the place of offering and the narrow trail
Dread of the receding night
 
Awe of the night approaching
 
Palatable is the sacrifice for supplication
Pitiful in the cold without covering
Pitiful in the heat without a garment
He goes naked on the way to Malama
The driving Hula wind his companion
 
Born in the time when men came from afar
Still it is night.
Reprinted by permission from
The Kumulipo,
Hawaiian Creation Chant, translated and edited by Martha Warren Beckwith (incomplete text).

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