The Girl at the Center of the World

by Austin Aslan

  Grandpa gives me the stink-eye, then glances down the road at my straggling companions. “You remind me sometime to stop being surprised at anything you do.”

  “You know Morse code?”

  “What? Oh, Lei. I used to. Haven’t thought about it in forty years. Why?”

  I lean in close. “I can make the Orchid blink.”

  I watch as the words—and their full significance—settle in. His eyes deepen. “That was you this morning?”

  I nod.

  “Lei.”

  “I know.” We look up. The Orchid’s faintly visible in broad daylight, in the same spot she’s been all morning. Right above us.

  “Take `Imiloa up to the house. Everyone’s up there. Busy, but around. Get them slippahs in a pot. Go. I’ll handle your friends. Try to remember if I got a Morse code book around, or something. Get some rice going, too. Make some musabi, yeah? Uku grinds tonight.”

  I shout down to Tami, “I’ll be right back with the truck, okay?”

  Tami stops in the road, leans over, and throws up. Marcus jumps to her side and pats her on the back. Tami wipes her mouth with one hand and then wipes away tears with the other. All one hundred pounds of her are at their wit’s end.

  “Ho!” Grandpa says.

  “She’s buss, Grandpa,” I explain.

  “You think?”

  “Anesthesia for the stitches.”

  “No stitches,” Marcus calls. “It’ll need to heal open, to control for infection.”

  I turn to Grandpa. “I’m off. Marcus is good kine. You can trust him.”

  “K’den.”

  We stride over to the horse. I give `Imiloa a rub on the nose before mounting her. Ugh. Riding a horse in a bikini? Grandpa takes the slippahs while I reluctantly settle into the saddle and take the reins.

  “Okay, girl. Quick but easy.” I give her a gentle kick, and we’re off. The dogs canter beside me.

  I trot up the shady driveway of my house. Our stand-alone garage is before me, the door open, tools and building materials spilling out of it. No vehicles in sight. My rowdy entourage barrels toward the porch.

  Kai comes out onto the porch and stares at me. “Wow. Hi.”

  “Hey there. You gonna help me or what?”

  Kai snaps out of his trance. “Mom! Lei’s home!” He looks me over and turns back to the door. “She has seafood.” He darts down and takes the slippahs so I can swing off the horse.

  The dogs retreat to their patrol grounds as I go inside. Kai dashes for the kitchen, but I stop in the living room, take in a deep breath. That familiar smell. Home.

  Mom appears in the living room wearing a sun hat and leather gloves. Her knees are caked with fresh mud. She’s holding pruning shears in one hand and a trowel in the other. She sees me and stops, her confused expression melting into some semblance of understanding.

  I can hear cookware clanging in the kitchen. Kai’s on a mission to liberate the giant boiling pot from the aluminum rubble in the cabinets. Mom looks me over, squeezes my arm to make sure I’m real.

  “Tami’s hurt.”

  “What?”

  “She’s here. At the bottom of the road with Grandpa. We have a doctor with us. I need to go get them with the truck. Where’s Dad?”

  “Doctor?” she begins.

  She’s interrupted by Kai. “Mom, could you turn on the propane?”

  “What’s he doing in there?” she asks me.

  “Trying to boil lobsters.”

  She puts her garden tools down and turns toward the kitchen.

  I follow her and explain about Tami’s cut, hitching a ride in the yacht—leave out being shot at. I tell her my Morse code idea. She takes on the exact same expressions as Grandpa.

  “Dad has the truck over at Hank’s. You better go find him before they have the bed filled with kalo and corn.”

  I dart to my room, put on a tee and shorts, socks and tennies. The clothes feel glorious against my skin. I run downstairs and out the door, mount the horse, and race for the Millers’ house.

  The clouds are gathering. Dark-bellied behemoths that promise rain.

  I come around a bend in the drive and nearly collide with the truck. Paul is standing guard beside the old truck, his shotgun pointed at me. I yank on the reins, skid to a halt, nearly fall off.

  Paul lowers the shotgun. “Last person I was expecting.”

  “Hi, Paul. Where’s my dad? I need the truck for a bit.”

  “They’re harvesting our first corn, getting ready to burn on G.” Paul leans through the window of the truck and honks the horn in a practiced pattern. “We’re almost set for the market tomorrow. Check it out.”

  I walk to the bed of the truck with Paul. “Wow.” The bed is half-full of ears of corn and apple bananas—tiny, extra sweet bananas. “That’s really exciting. And all that concern over the seed stock.”

  “Yeah, they’re working out great.”

  “How’s Chloe doing? And Sara?”

  “We’re hanging in there. It’s easy to get discouraged. I lay awake most nights. Chloe will never understand the way things were, you know? Anyway, I’m rambling. You should come by for a visit.”

  “No, yeah, totally,” I say, trailing off. I wonder: does my dad stay up at night thinking about these things?

  “Come see. I’m making her a high chair out of koa wood now.”

  “That sounds beautiful. She’ll love it.”

  “Lei!”

  I whip around. Dad. He’s petting `Imiloa. “What’s go-ing on?”

  I wave good-bye to Paul and trot over to Dad. “We need to take the truck down to Grandpa. We’ll leave the horse with Paul. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “Is this really that urgent, Lei? We’re in the middle of—”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Ah. Okay. Well, key’s in the ignition.”

  I fire our old beast up, wrangle it into first. Dad jumps into the passenger seat.

  “Punch it, Chewy,” he says.

  I give him my best Chewbacca growl, and we’re off.

  * * *

  The rain is coming down in sheets, but the clouds have already broken. Tami’s passed out on the couch. I think she’s exhausted more than anything else; we were up all night, after all.

  Dad’s marveling over the quarter-full bottle of Grey Goose. “That bottle would fetch us a gallon of gas,” he grumbles. “I could have just knocked Tami out with a two-by-four.”

  “Dad!”

  “Finish the bottle, Mike,” Mom says, “so no one has to bother hitting you with a plank of wood.”

  Kai leans over the back of the sofa, nibbling on a warm strip of lobster tail, watching Marcus tend to the gash. Marcus’s expression darkens. “I’m worried about infection. She needs a new Betadine gauze daily. You guys need to get ahold of some good IV antibiotics.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Dad says.

  Marcus winces. “No doubt, but you need to do it.”

  Marcus retires to Kai’s room for a nap. I move to the dining room with Mom and Dad, gulp down a glass of water and a slipper lobster. After transporting Tami to the house, Dad returned the truck to Paul in the fields and rode `Imiloa home in the rain. Grandpa remained at his post down by the first gate.

  While we pick through the shells of several slipper tails, I battle the noise of the rain on our aluminum roof and explain to Mom and Dad all that happened during the night. When they hear about the bullets, they share a few choice expressions, but let me finish the whole account without interruption.

  “Keali`i’s on that boat right now, out at sea?” Dad asks.

  I nod shyly. The way he says it makes me feel guilty, like I’ve sacrificed him.

  “That’s really scary.” He pushes his plate of empty shells to the side. “I don’t like it. That lawyer sounds a bit edgy.”

  I glower at him. “This story is full of gunfire and sharks, and the lawyer is what scares you?”

  “What’s done is done,” Mom says. “She can’t affo
rd to second-guess this decision. We all know Keali`i can take care of himself.” She leans in close. “This Morse code idea sounds promising.”

  “I’ll make it work.” The rain shuts off, like someone flipped a lever.

  We’re silent. Mom and Dad study each other, deep in thought. Dad raps his fingers on the table. “This could be the beginning of our endgame. We should draft some messages. Maybe in a few languages. Find someone who knows Morse code backward and forward. Not Grandpa. He’s too rusty. Hell, we could even check the library.”

  “Hey, nuclear powers of the globe,” I say. “Hurry up and let your unstable materials go critical. Bury all the rest so a teenager in Hawai`i can finally let the Star Flowers migrate home to another galaxy.”

  Dad scratches his stubbly cheek. “I’m not worried about the message. The hardest part will be pulling off the delivery. You’ll have to practice. Privately. Over the South Pole, maybe? And you’ll have to repeat the messages. A lot. And no location info.”

  “Where’s Buzz?” I ask.

  “You mean Gandalf? He’ll arrive exactly when he means to. Don’t worry about him. We don’t need him for this.”

  We haven’t heard from Buzz since the morning after my birthday. When my parents dropped me off with Tami at the market yesterday, we ran into Richard, Buzz’s astronomer friend up on Mauna Kea. He explained that Buzz had traveled to Kona after visiting the site of the pearl impact, that he’s planning to come down to see us as soon as he can.

  I close my eyes, slowly lean forward, startle awake as I lose my balance.

  Mom rubs my back. “Go to bed, Lei. We’ll wake you before Marcus tells us his tale. You still have a long night ahead of you.”

  I fast-forward several hours through our plan and groan. I’m going back to Onomea Bay with Marcus later. Keali`i and I will hitch a ride with them on the sailboat back over to Hilo. We plan to catch some z’s at Keali`i’s empty place, and then we’ll spend tomorrow hunting down antibiotics for Tami.

  I pull away from my chair and hug each of them. Tears are suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I can hear bullets entering the water. Whoov. I can feel that desperate need for breath in my lungs. I’m seconds from inhaling dark water again. I see the plume of Tami’s blood gushing into the bay, and I hear Keali`i’s bone-chilling cry: “Shark!”

  Tami’s safe for now, but I have no idea how badly she’s hurt. Marcus says it all depends on the meds we can find. I bury my face in Mom’s shoulder and Dad’s chest. I haven’t felt this exhausted—this scared and uncertain—since…

  Well, it hasn’t been that long, actually.

  CHAPTER 7

  It’s evening. I’m somewhat rested. The coquis are pleased with the afternoon rains, but they still have questions. We’re downstairs on the couches, and Kai’s nestled on my lap. Next to me Tami pops a piece of lobster in her mouth. She’s wearing a fresh set of my clothes, jean shorts cut well above her injury, and a green cami. I examine her bandage on the outside of her lower thigh.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Shh,” she says. “Don’t remind me.”

  “So, how long are you going to be on my couch?”

  Marcus approaches. He kneels and inspects his handiwork. “She’s promised me not to move that leg for several weeks. You’ll need to splint it if she’s not being good.”

  “Hanamen. Sharks. Lawyers,” Dad says. “Could have been a lot worse.”

  Tami nods. “This sucks, but I’m convinced we would have been shot if we’d listened to Keali`i. Lei saved our lives this morning.”

  “She has a habit of doing that,” Dad says, and winks.

  I hold up my palm. He gives me a high five.

  “And you brought da grinds, yeah? Here’s your prize catch, Lei.” Grandpa presents me with my giant slippah on our big serving platter.

  “We’re dying to hear your story, Marcus,” Dad says. “Firsthand information about the mainland. Almost as valuable as a roll of toilet paper.”

  I wish he were joking. Real TP is worth more than gold.

  “Before you start…” Grandpa shuffles to the front door, retrieves a lei of fresh plumeria flowers from a coat hook, and puts the lei around Marcus’s shoulders, reciting a mele ho`okipa welcome chant:

  He lei lani nā hōkū `imo`imo ē

  Nāna `oe `olua `oukou i alaka`i

  Heahea nā leo o nā kūpuna ē

  Me nā kumu me nā haumāna

  `Ike i nā lei pua o Kapālama ē

  E hula nei me ka `Ōlauniu

  Ua hiki maila, he ho`okipa mai

  Na nā pua lei a Pauahi

  E lei ē, he wehi lei

  The twinkling stars form a heavenly lei

  Which has led you here

  Be welcomed by the voices of our ancestors

  The teachers and the students

  See the flower lei of Kapālama

  Dancing in the `Ōlauniu breeze

  You have arrived and are welcomed

  By the descendants of Pauahi

  Wear this flower adornment

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawika. Mahalo.”

  “De nada,” Grandpa says, and we all laugh.

  The room grows still. “Your turn to share. You ready?” I ask Marcus.

  “Well”—Marcus sighs—“I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s horrible out there. And it started out horrible. The day the Rorschach came and shut down all the power, the Valley of the Sun was fighting a nasty heat wave. It was reaching a hundred and fifteen degrees all week.”

  “No way!” says Kai. “You cook eggs on the sidewalk?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Kai, quiet,” Mom hushes him.

  Marcus clears his throat, begins in earnest. “The Friday before the blackout I was between patients at my practice, and Rachel called. We’re partners, never married. So—she had been in court in San Diego. She told me they won their case. She wanted to celebrate with a weekend sail. Rachel grew up winning fleet races. Competed in the Olympics twice.

  “ ‘Meet me in San Carlos in one week. I’m flying down tomorrow,’ she told me. ‘I’ll have us all ready to sail by the time you arrive.’

  “That was the Friday before the end. It was the last time we spoke before communications cut out.

  “Monday I was pretty shaken by the news that the president had gone missing. I called my financial advisor, but he convinced me to hold tight. Later, rumors started surfacing about the president of France. The Japanese prime minister. All missing. The markets plunged. I called my guy back; the line was busy. I logged on to my account, intending to sell everything just as the bottom fell out of the market. I watched the Fed step in and shut down the Exchange. I couldn’t think straight. I made it through one more patient, tried to see the following one, but I was too much of a mess.

  “I knew I had lost somewhere around two million.”

  “Whoa!” Kai says. “Two million dollars?”

  Marcus nods. “ ‘It’ll all come back tomorrow,’ I kept telling myself. But I knew it didn’t work like that. I went straight to a bar. My life savings were gone. I hardly remember crawling into bed that night. When the blackout happened, I was sound asleep along with most of the nation. I missed the president’s middle-of-the-night speech that was cut off, the initial power outage, everything.

  “The heat woke me on Tuesday. It was about six a.m. I sat up in bed, dripping with sweat, a hangover pounding. Ninety-nine degrees inside the house. The power was out. No TV. No computer. No phone. I turned to the fridge for water. When I opened the door, a blast of cold air hit me. I stuck my head in there. After two big glasses of water, I headed for the clinic. My car wouldn’t start. Very fancy fuel-injection system and too much fried circuitry, I guess. But I owned two classics: a 1961 Jaguar E-Type and a ’77 Harley. The Jag started, and I headed for the freeway.

  “Mostly older cars out there. Felt like Phoenix had fishtailed back in time. Power was out at the office. The newspaper was delivered, an image of the president standing in front of bl
ue curtains plastered over page one. I read the paper cover to cover, waited around the clinic until about ten, spoke with staff. No one had seen the president’s speech.

  “We put up CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE signs, and then I went to the newspaper, the Arizona Republic, and camped out in their lobby. Their air was working, thanks to generators, and they had water. I picked up local news from incoming reporters. The canals around town were inundated with swimmers. Three kids had already gone missing, sucked into drains. Old folks were dropping like flies. Inmates were being shuffled from prison to prison. The Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station, fifty miles from Phoenix, was having issues, but it wasn’t clear what was wrong.

  “A few people had noticed a weird knot against the blue haze to the southeast. I went outside to see for myself. Sure enough, there it was, like that first star in the evening, faint but visible if you knew right where to look. I convinced myself it was a comet, that it must be affecting our electronics. But…comets take days—or weeks—to run their course. My God, I thought, what if we’re without power for weeks?

  “I thought of Rachel, out there on her yacht, sipping a margarita, or staying cool in the surf at her beach house. I raced home. Highways were empty. People were hunkered down, glued to their pools. Phoenix metro had a population of 1.5 million people. But I felt like I was driving through a dusty Route 66 way station.

  “I spent five minutes at the house. Got into my safe and pulled out a ton of cash, grabbed my spare gas tanks, my big ice chest, water jugs. Then I headed straight for the nearest grocery store.

  “It was closed. I circled the parking lot for a moment, not sure what to do. I peeled away, mapping out the next several stores in my mind. The next one was closed, too. It suddenly seemed silly to be going through all this trouble, roasting all over Phoenix, when I could be back in my pool. Just as I pulled away, someone on the sidewalk tossed a rock through the store window and disappeared inside. Others followed. I joined them. I raced through the dim, stuffy aisles with a cart. Everyone stuck together. My cart was full, and I was scared to death that a cop would come running down the aisle with handcuffs and a Taser gun, so I fled. I tossed everything into the car and drove away, my heart booming.