The Color of Air

by Gail Tsukiyama

  * * *

  After they emerged from the darkness of the first tunnel, Maile relaxed and seemed her old self again. Not long after, a waiter came with the first course of their lunch, beef consommé.

  “What did I do to deserve this?” Maile asked, looking down at her soup in wonder.

  Daniel smiled. “It’s just a train ride.”

  Maile shook her head. “The local train is a train ride. This is something else,” she said, a smile in her voice. “I can’t imagine what Uncle Koji would think.”

  Daniel laughed, having thought the exact same thing. “He’d hate it. He wouldn’t think this was a train at all, more like someone’s fancy dining room. He’d also think I was trying to impress you.”

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe a little,” he confessed, and smiled. “Let’s eat the soup before it gets cold.”

  Daniel watched Maile sip the broth, then look up at him and nod. He tasted it next, warm and salty on his tongue. The consommé was followed by roast beef with potatoes and carrots, fresh fruit, and a piece of pineapple cake. The train rocked them gently from side to side as the lush green mountainsides slid past the window like a moving picture show.

  Not long after, the train slowed, the wheels grinding against the tracks as the car lurched, glasses clinking against one another. When they rolled to a complete stop, Daniel saw the confusion on Maile’s face as the other passengers began to stand, mumbling excitedly as they looked out the window to see that the car was perched atop one of the steel trestles built over a canyon below.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” he reassured her. Daniel stood and reached for Maile’s hand. “Come with me,” he said. “It’s part of the surprise.”

  Maile hesitated and then reached out.

  They followed the other passengers to the front of the car, where Daniel helped her to step down onto a walkway built to the side of the trestle, bordered by an iron railing. They stood more than 150 feet above the valley below, surrounded by the massive cliffs, lush green trees, and tangles of overgrown tropical vegetation untouched by civilization. A waterfall cascaded down the mountainside in the distance. The air felt cooler, lighter, as if they were standing in the midst of another world, suspended in midair, trusting the steel trestle that ran across the enormous gulch below. The passengers stood clutching the railing, marveling excitedly at the sight from so high up. Daniel stepped back as eager voices filled the air around them. The wind suddenly picked up, quickly followed by the surprised squeal of a passenger as her straw hat blew away and glided down toward the valley floor like a pale bird.

  He was with Maile. It was a small break from the real world and Pele’s wrath. The beauty and brilliance of the lush valley below were heart-stopping. In that moment, Daniel realized why so many of the locals had never left the island; it was part of their lifeblood, a rare gift, even if nature’s hand could be punishing. He and Maile remained side by side, pressed closely together in silence, the warm wind whistling through the valley below, wrapping itself around them until it was time to board the train again.

  Daniel dipped yet closer to Maile and said, “I’ve missed this.”

  “I have too,” she said.

  “Look!” someone yelled.

  Daniel turned toward the direction of Hilo and the mountains above to see a column of black smoke rising toward the sky.

  Something else was burning, and he had no doubt Pele was behind it.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until they returned to Hilo station and he walked her back to her cousin’s house in silence that she seemed anxious again, the dreamlike world of the train ride left behind. To his surprise, Maile spoke first, her voice low and tentative as she began to tell him the story of her years in Honolulu. “I was so naive,” she began, and he saw the young, shy, fiercely intelligent girl he’d first seen in his freshman class who always kept to herself. As he listened, Daniel felt a host of emotions. It upset him to hear about her other life with another man until he looked into her eyes and saw her fear. When Maile finished talking, Daniel knew he would do whatever it took to keep that monster away from her.

  “I won’t ever let him come near you again.”

  “I should have been smarter,” she began.

  Daniel shook his head. “Don’t say that,” his voice louder than he intended. He saw Mariko flinch and added softly, “It wasn’t your fault. He knew what he was doing. He used your love and trust to frighten and take advantage of you.”

  Daniel had learned firsthand when a young woman was rushed to the emergency room beaten beyond recognition. She had blamed herself, said it wasn’t her husband’s fault, that she shouldn’t have made him angry. She’d been beaten so badly she died later that night from a brain hemorrhage.

  Daniel shook the memory away and reached for Mariko’s hand, only to have her jerk quickly away, as if his touch burned.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes tearing.

  He shook his head and tried to smile, though her rejection did sting after their pleasant day on the train. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

  “I can’t—”

  “There’s no hurry,” he said.

  They walked the rest of the way, with Daniel making small talk about the work he needed to do on the green bungalow, hoping to put her at ease again, hoping to drown out the woman’s anguished voice pleading with him not to blame her husband.

  Ghost Voices

  MARIKO, 1915

  Koji and I are riding a passenger train toward the village of Mountain View when the noisy, rumbling railcar scrapes along the tracks with a sudden shriek, jarring my attention away from the window. I’m embarrassed to think that it’s the first time I’ve been this far away from Hilo town. The fifteen miles seem a world away, yeah. Even my honeymoon was spent at the green bungalow because Franklin didn’t have money to take us farther. Every year he promised we’d go away the following year. In the end, he was the only one who went away.

  The train car is spare and practical, wooden benches and dirt-covered gray floors. It begins to rain, drops whipping against the window, leaving thin lines of snail trails. Still, I’m awestruck by it all. I can’t take my eyes away from the fleeting coastline as the train carries us toward the mountains in the direction of the Kilauea volcano. And just as quickly the view shifts and we’re suddenly bordered on both sides by a wall of tall eucalyptus and ohi’a trees. I can’t help but think of how thrilled Daniel would be on this train with us. The trip was completely unexpected, something Koji had offered when he was at the house this past Sunday.

  “There’s a place I’d like to show you,” he’d said as he stood to leave.

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Not so far. Near Mountain View.”

  “What about Daniel?”

  We’ve done everything with Daniel since Franklin disappeared almost two years ago. At eight years old, he’s beginning to look so much like Franklin it sometimes hurts to see him, a sharp, prickling stab in the middle of my chest.

  “He’ll be in school,” Koji says. He gave no other explanation.

  “Okay,” I say, agreeing, and a warm flush rises to my cheeks.

  “Good then,” Koji says. “We’ll take the train over on Tuesday, yeah.” He wouldn’t tell me where we’re going, only to bring a sweater and wear some sturdy shoes.

  * * *

  I turn away from the window and settle back on the bench seat, suddenly aware of how close I’m sitting to Koji and how little we’ve spoken. I wonder how he feels riding the train as a passenger, but nothing in his face gives him away. When we first boarded, Koji told me we would be getting off near the small town of Mountain View, before the train continues on to Glenwood, where the rail line ends. The passengers who want to see Kilauea volcano will have to go the last eight miles by horse and wagon. I look around the railcar, guessing that most of the warmly dressed passengers are going up to see the volcano, and par
t of me wishes we were going up to Kilauea too, which would be a real adventure. I wonder if we can do it another time with Daniel. I’m brought out of my thoughts when the train slows and stops in Mountain View to let us off. Koji waves to the engineer, who makes the unexpected stop for us. We’re to be waiting at the same spot when the train returns in the afternoon. We stand at the side of the tracks like two orphans, yeah, and I still have no idea where Koji is taking me.

  “You won’t tell me where we’re going?” I ask.

  Koji grins and his face remains unreadable while he plays with the hat in his hands. He’s dressed in jeans and his work boots, a rucksack slung across his shoulder. “You’ll see soon enough,” he says. “We have to walk the rest of the way from here, yeah.” He points toward a path through the trees. “It’s along that trail for about a mile.”

  I don’t know what to think, but I do know that Koji is familiar with all the old roads in and around Hilo town. I’m thankful it has stopped raining. In no time, the hazy, warm sun is blocked out and we’re surrounded by tall trees and the dripping green foliage of the rain forest. The path through the forest becomes steep and slick with moss-covered rocks and I’m mindful to watch my steps. The air smells of wet, dank earth. I slip more than once, but catch myself. When Koji takes hold of my hand and guides me down a steep, narrow path slowly, I’m only too happy. My thumb absently sweeps over the hard calluses on his thumb. Half an hour later, I’m hot and sweaty and have no idea why he has taken me out into the rain forest. I’m just about to ask again when he slows and then stops.

  “We’re here,” Koji says.

  “Where are we?” I ask. Buzzing mosquitoes fill the air as I swat them away.

  “It’s a special place, yeah,” he says. “You’ll see.” Koji shifts his rucksack from one shoulder to the other. “It’s just down there.” He points toward a ravine covered in vegetation and vines.

  When we finally climb down, I can see the entrance of what looks like a cave underneath all the overgrown foliage. I look at him and can’t fathom why Koji would take me here.

  “Just wait,” he says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. He takes out two kerosene lamps from his rucksack and lights each one. “It’s dark in there. Be careful where you step, yeah,” he says. “It’s a lava cave made from an old flow. The rocks are uneven and so sharp it can split open your side like a knife, yeah,” he warns. “I used to come here when I was young.”

  I pause and remember Franklin once telling me about the lava cave when I asked him about the scar on his side that traveled to his back. As teenagers, he and Koji and Razor had discovered a cave in the rain forest that no one knew about. They’d spent all the summer weekends exploring it. It was where Franklin had fallen, slicing his side open, leaving the scar my fingers had lovingly traced. Why has Koji taken me here?

  I step cautiously into the mouth of the cave, and a cold breath of stale air sends shivers down my back. It smells musty and damp and moldy. We’re suddenly enveloped by darkness so black and thick our lanterns only provide a foggy light a few feet in front of us. In the distance the sound of dripping water echoes.

  “There’s a maze of tunnels in here,” he says. “If you take the wrong one, you could be lost in here for the rest of your life, yeah,” he teases.

  “You’re not making this any easier,” I respond, my stomach in knots, my patience wearing thin.

  He laughs. “I would never let anything happen to you. Leave your lantern here, yeah,” he says. “We only need one.”

  I hesitate leaving the light behind, but Koji takes my hand again and leads the way through a low and narrow tunnel that we have to bend over to squeeze through. The light is murky and I feel trapped and frightened. “I can’t,” I whisper, and try not to panic as I pull at Koji’s arm, wanting to back out. Stooped over, it’s hard to walk on the jagged rocks, and I can hardly breathe in the humid, closed space. I begin to feel dizzy and nauseous and think I might faint.

  Koji stops and strokes my hand to calm me before saying, “Trust me, yeah, it’s only a little farther.”

  I do. I realize I trust Koji more than I’d ever trusted Franklin. I try to relax then and allow him to pull me forward, small, careful steps until we suddenly emerge into a large, open cavern in which we can stand straight again. It feels like we’ve stepped into the stomach of some beast.

  “We’re here,” Koji says.

  Where is here? I think, though I’m just relieved to be standing again.

  “Now watch, yeah,” he says.

  Koji raises the lantern toward the ceiling, and the cave illuminates with a constellation of silver and gold patterns, setting the rocks overhead ablaze. I inhale at the sight, taking it in and breathing it out slowly. I’ve never seen anything like it, a small universe in the middle of a dark, dank lava cave that sends another shiver through me. I feel Koji move closer and take my hand again, warm and reassuring. And for just a moment, everything else disappears and we’re standing in a world all our own.

  And Then . . .

  December 11–16, 1935

  25

  Restless

  The morning had gotten away from Daniel. He lay in bed and couldn’t stop thinking about Maile. Their day had gone so well on the Scenic Express until they returned to Hilo. It saddened him to hear she’d been so traumatized during her time in Honolulu, and he couldn’t help but feel partly to blame. If they hadn’t broken up, none of this would ever have happened. A moment later he sat up, tamping down his thoughts. You couldn’t change the past. Hadn’t he learned that from his own mistakes? You simply learned to live with them. It would take time for Maile, he knew, but they were seeing Mano and Kailani at the end of the week, and just being home again with people who cared about her would settle some of her fears. All that mattered was Maile had confided in him. It was a good start.

  * * *

  By the time Daniel walked to the fish market to borrow Uncle Samuel’s truck to run some errands, it was already early afternoon. The sky was thick and gray, the heat held in by the clouds. He expected rain at any time as he drove to the Natua house, first to check on Mama, hoping the wheelchair had been helpful. He didn’t expect great strides in such a short time, but just being mobile would get her out of her room, remind her that there was still an outside world around her. Part of him was also hoping to jog her memory about his father so he could piece together some answers, only to be disappointed when he arrived to find she was napping.

  Auntie Leia ushered him in. “She’ll be up soon, yeah. Stay,” she said. “Just made some papaya juice.”

  “How is Mama? Is the wheelchair helping?”

  “Like a dream, yeah,” Auntie Leia said, and smiled. “She’s much happier to be out of her room, even eating better.”

  He thought that Auntie Leia also looked happier.

  “That’s good to hear,” Daniel said. It was what he hoped for. “I’ll come by again tomorrow.” He was feeling too restless to sit and wait, another reminder of his father and something he hadn’t realized he inherited. “I need to stop by the hospital with some paperwork for Mama’s file.”

  “Shame, yeah, you having to make another trip,” Auntie Leia said.

  “I’ll come by earlier tomorrow,” he said. “There are some exercises I’d like Mama to start doing.”

  Auntie Leia nodded. “We’ll be here,” she said.

  Daniel walked back to the truck, sunlight streaming through the parted clouds.

  * * *

  From the Natuas, Daniel dropped off some paperwork at the hospital before driving back to the market. The day felt unfinished. The crowds thickened the closer he came to the wharf and Hilo Bay. From the way the locals were going about their business as usual, it was hard to believe that Pele was still erupting in the mountains above them. He observed a flock of day workers hovering like birds on the sidewalk and imagined his father among them. He slowed down to study their passing faces, watching for his familiar lean body, the high, straight nose; envisionin
g his time-weathered good looks, the deeper lines and grayer hair. Daniel shook away his foolishness. He knew there was little chance that Franklin Abe could ever have returned to the tightly knit Hilo community for long without someone knowing. They always watched out for and protected their own.

  Daniel wasn’t ready to go home. He glanced at his watch and stepped on the gas, making a quick turn at the next corner, driving away from the wharf. If he drove directly up to Puli Plantation he could talk to Uncle Koji and still return Uncle Samuel’s truck before dark.

  26

  Collecting

  Mama woke with a start. She heard voices outside, followed by a truck rattling down the road. Moments later, Leia peered into her room to see that she was awake. “You’re up, yeah, you just missed Daniel.”

  Who was Daniel? The name settled on her tongue but she didn’t say it aloud. Instead she raised her arms and reached toward her daughter like a child. In one quick swoop she was lifted into Leia’s arms and gently placed into the chair with wheels. It was her favorite time of each day, being pushed out to the porch, or if it wasn’t too hot or too wet or too windy, outside to the front yard.

  “Good of Wilson to build the ramp, yeah,” Leia said as she rolled her slowly down the wooden ramp and onto a shady, bald spot of dirt and grass in the front yard.

  Mama smiled when she looked up at the cloud-spotted sky.

  “Let me get you something to drink,” Leia said. “Be right back, yeah.”

  Mama was joyous. She gazed across the yard at the full canopy of the monkey pod tree and the familiar road beyond, breathing in deeply to find Pele lingering in the air, yet overpowered by the scent of damp earth and seaweed, the smell of the ocean carried to her by the wind. As a child, she always loved the ocean, the roar of the waves, swimming in the push and pull of the salty sea, the sand collected between her toes, something Nestor, born an island boy, never liked. He thought the ocean was dangerous and unreliable. “Like a wild animal, yeah,” he’d always say. “Can’t be trusted. Can’t be tamed.”