The ocean needed her help.
With a pleasant smile, she put the marker down and returned to her seat by the window. The diminutive teenager saw the weather changing outside, with a strong wind bending tree branches and whipping the village shops’ signs. Dark clouds approached from the sea.
That would give him something to think about, she thought. Perhaps next time she would give him the ingredients in common seawater, or in the amniotic fluid in the human womb—they were very similar.
***
Chapter 12
From Kimo’s earliest days in the Pohaku family, after he was netted by a fisherman and brought ashore, he had known that his adoptive mother was an unusual person. He’d been two or three years old when he first saw her, with his exact birth date unknown, and only estimated by adults.
He remembered staring wide-eyed at the large Hawaiian woman, and sensing something about her, something that went very, very deep in his consciousness, so deep that he could not retrieve it. Almost three decades later, that was still the case.
Ealani Pohaku was of old Hawaiian blood, with more ties to earlier generations on the islands than anyone Kimo knew—more even than his adoptive father, Tiny, whose ancestors had sailed to the islands in large outrigger canoes from Tahiti. Ealani claimed that she had seven thousand cousins in the Hawaiian islands on her side of the family, and she knew many of them by name. Whenever Kimo went out in public with her, she was always pointing out this or that relative, and reciting the familial connections, along with interesting stories of ancestors who had either done well or had not.
Once when Kimo was small, she took him and Tiny to a cemetery behind the Catholic church. There, at a number of the rock-encircled gravesites she told the stories of the people, how they lived (some disreputably), and how they died. Some of the gravestones had favorite photographs of the deceased, as well as personal objects, and even full bottles of beer on display—reflecting a history of partying with friends.
This morning, Kimo watched her as she sat by the bedside of her grievously ill husband, tending to his every request and demand, patiently ignoring his petulance, which had grown more pronounced as he felt worse and worse. That was to be expected, she’d confided to Kimo, because Tiny Pohaku was a proud and independent man, only happy when he was leading his ordinary life, interacting with fellow fishermen on the boats and at the city dock.
In her kahuna way, she brushed a ki leaf lightly over his chest, so that the gods might aid her in driving away the evil spirits that were making him ill. He was just waking up, and pushed away the leaf in irritation.
Tiny loved the Wanaao area, and he grumbled regularly about tourists who came in on the challenging, bumpy road that ran from the more populated side of the island to this scenic paradise, an area that he and Ealani liked to call “a treasure of old Hawaii”—and which he thought should be reserved for true Hawaiians, and for others who moved here and respected the old ways. Not callous tourists.
There was a higher percentage of pureblooded Hawaiian people on this shore of Loa’kai island than anywhere else, and she understood why. The old ways were still practiced here; they were respected, and so was the land and the sea.
“In the way of our people, the man is the provider in the family,” Ealani said to Kimo not long ago, speaking in the Hawaiian tongue, “while the woman runs the home.” In a sense, it had been a sexist comment, Kimo realized, from his observations of the more modern, evolving world. But he also realized that Tiny and Ealani were at ease with such an arrangement. It had worked for them during the decades of their marriage, so he had never questioned it, nor criticized it. For the younger generation it might not be acceptable, but for this remarkable couple and for other traditional Hawaiians, it was.
Now the old man was struggling to sit up on the bed, and she was using her considerable strength to help him, and arranging pillows to make him more comfortable. His ruddy, fleshy face was contorted in pain, but when he saw Kimo, he smiled.
“Come over here, my son,” he said.
Ealani smoothed the wisps of gray hair on her husband’s head, then caressed the side of his face for a moment. She wore a muumuu with yellow plumeria flowers on it, a favorite of Tiny’s, even though the long dresses were not traditional Hawaiian garb, and had been brought in by missionaries centuries ago, to cover the naked forms of Polynesian women. The colorful garments, also known as “Mother Hubbards”, showed very little skin from the neck to the ankles.
When Kimo went to the bedside and bent down, he noticed a small, fish-shaped stone on the blanket by the old man’s hand, a good luck piece that he always carried with him when he went fishing. Usually the stone was wrapped in lipoa seaweed, which enhanced its power, but the wrapping had fallen off. Kimo didn’t see it anywhere, but would replace it for him later today.
Tiny grasped one of Kimo’s hands weakly and said, “I remember my first sight of you in the fishing net. I thought my heart would stop from the shock and surprise of plucking a human child out of the ocean, and I wondered if it was some trick played upon me by the gods of the sea. But it was no trick, my son, it was a blessing, because we were not able to have children after your sister was born.”
“You have both been my blessing,” Kimo said. “Thank you for not throwing me back.”
The old man grinned, and some of the sickness seemed to melt away from his weathered, pockmarked face. “I could tell you were a keeper.”
Now Ealani grasped Kimo’s other hand, and the free hand of her husband. “We shall pray,” she said, “and give thanks for the blessings of our lives.”
And she uttered a blessing that had been passed down in her family for generations, adapting it for this situation:
“O gods of the mountains,
The forests,
The sea,
And the heavens!
Bring life to our loved one,
To all our family!
O winds of Kane!
Bring good fortune
To our fisherman!”
She began another verse, but barely uttered two words when she shuddered and squeezed Kimo’s hand harder. This frightened him, and when he looked at her he saw her eyes rolling and her lips twitching. Her hands began to shake.
“Mother, are you all right?”
“What is it?” Tiny asked, his face filled with alarm.
She did not answer, and Kimo exchanged uneasy glances with his father. Was she having a heart attack? Still holding her hand, Kimo had an image of swimming on the surface of the ocean, and seeing a golden light appear over the sea and over the volcanic island nearby, an ethereal illumination that immersed him in warmth. In an odd juxtaposition, that sacred light seemed to be all around him and his little family now, radiating most strongly from Ealani Pohaku. Her expression was beatific and her eyes trancelike, frightening Kimo.
The old woman’s lips trembled and then began to move slightly, as she said in the strange, haunting voice, “The gods of creation are deeply troubled. As the sea is ill, so too are the land and the sky, for they are linked inextricably.”
With that, Ealani released her grip and went limp, and would have fallen to the floor if Kimo had not supported her, holding her in the chair until she began to return to awareness.
On his bed, Tiny said, “You have overdone it this time, my love. Are you all right?”
She nodded, looked at Kimo and said, “Recently, Moanna told you that she strongly suspects human involvement in whatever is ailing the sea creatures, whether it’s pollution, oil spills, or global warming or some other man-related cause. Even in our paradise, I have seen plastics and other garbage floating in the water and washed up on the beaches. It is outrageous how people treat the seas, and it is sickening the entire planet.”
“It’s disgusting what people do to foul the waters,” Kimo said.
“Yes it is,” Ealani said. “Tonight there is a town meeting about the attack at Olamai Beach. The meeting was arranged by local leaders who are
concerned about the adverse effect on tourism, but there is a much larger issue involved than that. I will go there with you, Kimo. We have something important to say the people.”
***
Chapter 13
Over the decades since they had been Naval Academy classmates, Governor Heinz Churchill and Preston Ellsworth III had remained in touch, and had helped one another on numerous occasions, whenever the need arose. It was part of their youthful bonding, and a debt honor that enriched their friendship as the years passed. On occasion it was for important emotional support, such as the time that Preston flew to Boston for the funeral of Heinz’s parents, who had died in a tragic boating accident off Cape Cod.
Or the time Heinz changed his busy schedule to fly to Wanaao Town and give advice to Preston after the businessman’s son got into serious trouble in California and was arrested. It was also Heinz who suggested that Preston’s grandchildren, Alicia and Jeff, be brought to Hawaii and put to work on the ranch, getting them away from the bad influences of the fast and loose lifestyle they had fallen into on the mainland.
Now, it seemed to Heinz, the situation was potentially bigger than their friendship; it had to do with a troubling, potentially deadly jellyfish and stonefish attack that occurred at a Wanaao area beach, an event that might be part of something larger—and not just because of the additional reports of sea life problems coming out of the Wanaao region. He knew as a retired Admiral that the Navy had been experiencing trouble with the behavior of dolphins and porpoises recently, animals that were used for military purposes around the Hawaiian Islands, to protect harbors and sensitive naval facilities from submarine attack. The animals seemed to be forgetting their training and refusing to learn more, which was not only an expense and an irritation, but of deeper concern, because replacement animals were unable to learn as well—or not cooperating. This was all being kept secret by the military, and was the subject of a confidential investigation.
The U.S. Navy had brought in very few outsiders for consultation, only those who had high security clearances. His oceanographer wife, Dr. Fuji Namoto, was one of those experts, so when the Navy heard about Preston Ellsworth’s request for her, they agreed to send her to Loa’kai island on an official assignment.
So it was with this veil of secrecy around their activities that Dr. Namoto and the Governor flew a small commercial plane to Wanaao Town. It was Monday afternoon when they landed at the little airfield, a narrow jungle clearing on the outskirts of town. The plane taxied over to the open-air terminal, where a handful of people waited at the gate of a low metal fence that divided the building from the field. Heinz recognized his tall, gray-haired friend immediately, towering over the people around them.
Pulling small suitcases, Heinz and Fuji disembarked with a dozen other passengers, and headed for the gate. A slim Asian woman, Fuji wore a lightweight civilian dress, and the Governor, to diminish his own governmental position, wore a big wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, khaki cargo pants, and a blue Hawaiian shirt with the tails out. Since retiring from the military, he had let his gray hair grow so long that he secured it in a ponytail—which gave him even more of a casual, relaxed air, to further divert attention from him.
“Can I carry anything?” Preston asked. Without waiting for an answer, he took Fuji’s suitcase from her and carried it by the handle, leading them to an old Jeep wagon he had driven there himself. The vehicle had streaks of rust on the lower portions of the body—virtually impossible to avoid in this salt-air climate.
As they drove to the Ellsworth Ranch, Heinz didn’t say much, and listened while Fuji chatted about how much she loved the brilliantly colored flowers in the Wanaao area, which she said were larger than on other islands in the archipelago.
At an early dinner for the three of them on a private outdoor patio, Preston turned to the subject of a town hall meeting that would take place that evening, and he provided his guests with a more complete report on the jellyfish and stonefish attacks than he’d earlier provided by e-mail and telephone. There would be additional details that evening at the meeting….
Wanaao was too small to have an official town hall, so the meeting was held in the largest building, the Congregational church, which sat on a hill overlooking the scattered settlement. Constructed of lava cinder blocks more than two hundred years ago, the weathered structure had a black metal roof and colorful flower gardens around it, lovingly tended by the membership. At the rear, on a slightly higher point of land, stood a large graveyard.
Heinz and his companions were a few minutes early, but already the church was overflowing, with people standing in the aisles and at the back. In the midst of a buzz of activity, Preston escorted Heinz to seats that had been reserved for them in the front pew, alongside Alicia and Jeff Ellsworth—while Fuji (as the invited ocean expert) strode up to the dais and sat beside Mayor Puiki, a big Polynesian man whose shirt did not quite cover the skin of his protuberant belly. Nonetheless, Heinz thought he was rather distinguished in appearance, with a deeply creased, intelligent face, and long hair secured neatly at the rear in a silver ring. It was quite warm in the church, and some people were fanning themselves, but he looked comfortable.
Presently the Mayor went to the podium, and waited for the audience to fall silent. “Before turning to the subject of our town hall meeting,” he said, “I would like a moment of prayer for our brother Tiny Pohaku, who has been suffering with a long illness.” He raised his thick arms in the air. “Everyone, please stand and pray for Tiny in silence.”
The entire audience rose to their feet, except that Preston Ellsworth and his grandson Jeff only did so reluctantly, when it became obvious that they would be the only ones sitting if they didn’t. They stood rigidly, in obvious discomfort. Heinz noted this, and the opposite attitude of Alicia, whose face was filled with emotion and concern as she stood silently and mouthed a sincere prayer.
After everyone resumed their seats, the Mayor introduced their professional guest, Dr. Fuji Namoto. The slender Asian woman stood in front of the podium, preferring not to use it, and said, “First, I would like to hear testimonials from anyone who was at Olamai Beach on the day of the attacks.”
A large Hawaiian woman in the back rose to her feet and shouted in a coarse voice, “Talk about the dead baby porpoises and coral that washed up on Ha’ini Beach, too!”
“I didn’t hear about that,” Fuji said. Heinz’s wife looked around the audience. “Does anyone else know about this?”
A murmur of concurrence arose, and someone mentioned difficulties that the handlers were having with dolphins and porpoises at the Ellsworth Aquatic Park, too.
“Very well, then,” Fuji said. “We may not have time to discuss everything this evening, but let’s give it a try. To begin my investigation, I want to hear brief reports from all of you about these things.”
Then she listened intently (occasionally asking questions) as a ranch hand described what he found at Ha’ini Beach, and numerous other people who had been in the water at Olamai told what happened there, how they had initially experienced stinging sensations from the jellyfish and stonefish, and how some had suffered minor injuries in the panicked flight. One woman even brought a dead jellyfish to the church in a bucket—a small creature that Fuji identified as a box jellyfish, confirming the earlier reports.
“Shouldn’t our injuries have been more severe?” the woman asked.
Fuji seemed to be thinking as she stood there, with her arms folded across her chest. “With wild creatures, one never knows. Just because animals are capable of rendering serious injury, or even death, does not mean they always do. Perhaps they were lost, and only trying to escape the area themselves, not feeling threatened by the humans in the water, but only trying to turn around and go back out to sea.”
“Have there ever been attacks like this before?” a man asked.
“Not in Hawaii, not on this scale.”
“And we don’t expect it to happen again,” the Mayor said. Hearing thi
s, Heinz nodded to himself. Like Preston Ellsworth and other local leaders who were in attendance, the Mayor did not want bad publicity to harm tourism.
“It might be an anomaly,” Fuji said, not committing herself one way or the other. Heinz knew she had her own military-security reasons for wanting to play down the matter. Initially, she and Heinz had thought it might be better for her not to come to this meeting at all, but they reconsidered upon hearing there was mounting public hysteria in the area. And—following the wishes of Preston and other local leaders—she’d agreed to make an appearance to show the public that the matter was being investigated.
“So it won’t happen again?” another man asked, from the back.
“It probably will not happen again,” Fuji said, “but I have come here to look into the matter more thoroughly. Your testimony this evening is very helpful, and I intend to go out in the water tomorrow and perform my own first-hand inspections. I will also visit both beaches and the aquatic park on the Ellsworth Ranch.”
In the back of the church, the large Hawaiian woman rose to her feet again, along with a young, dark-skinned man. She seemed to be a respected person, because the audience grew quiet when she began to speak.
“My son Kimo has been swimming with the creatures of the sea,” the woman said, nodding toward her companion. “Many of you know he has special ways with the fishes, and they follow him in the water. He tells me many of them are agitated, beyond anything you have heard about, extending to other living things in the sea as well. And why is that?”
She paused. The entire hall was silent.
“I have been speaking with my husband about this,” the woman continued, her voice resonating across the chamber. “He is a fisherman, and says for centuries humans have been damaging the seas, dumping oil, sewage, and other garbage in the water, overfishing and otherwise plundering marine resources, and killing coral reefs with no thought of the welfare of the ocean, no consideration for the needs of the Earth as a living organism. He has seen dead sharks and other large animals that are cut open, showing that their stomachs contain glass bottles, plastics, metal cans, and an assortment of other garbage that they cannot digest. Maybe that is why the jellyfish and stonefish attacked, as a protest demonstration against careless, self-centered human behavior. Maybe they didn’t kill anyone or render any serious injuries, because they were only making a point, trying to get our attention.”
Ocean: The Awakening Page 7
