I nodded. “Quite a few surprises.”
“You get anything out of Russ about why my father made that bequest?”
“No.” I didn’t want to discuss anything remotely related to Tanner.
Glenna sat down on one of the stools. “Where’s Hy?”
Another subject I’d just as soon avoid. “He had to go to Honolulu on business.”
My reply sounded short; Glenna raised her eyebrows.
I ignored the implied question. “Glenna, I need to talk with you in the morning, and I also need copies of Elson’s journal and the manuscript you based the film on.”
“There’re a couple of copies in the editing room.”
“Thanks.”
“About where you found the camera—”
“You know, it’s late, I’m tired, and I’m sure you are too.”
“God, yes,” Peter said. “That family of mine… I spent most of the last hour trying to get them off financial affairs and onto planning Mother’s service.”
“At least your family buries its dead.” I was thinking again of Grandpa’s ashes in the coat closet.
They both looked at me as if I’d said something extremely bizarre, and I supposed I had. I didn’t explain, however.
It struck me now that one of the reasons the Wellbrights made me so edgy was that they were as fully dysfunctional as my own people—sort of the way the McCones would have been if we’d had money. I’d always assumed we liked each other pretty well, but as I thought back to the last time we were together as a family, I began to doubt even that most basic of my premises.
It had been Ma and Pa’s last wedding anniversary—before she divorced him and took up with a man who owned the chain of coin-operated laundries she frequented, and Pa said he would never set foot in the same room with the Bastard Who Stole My Wife. Even then they didn’t act like the poster couple for marital bliss. He didn’t want to come out of his garage workshop for the party we threw them, and she didn’t like being banished from her kitchen.
On the other hand, my sister Patsy and her husband, who had volunteered to prepare the food, didn’t enjoy being confined to the kitchen. They owned a restaurant and belatedly realized they’d signed up for a busman’s holiday. Patsy’s three kids flat-out hated the Little Savages, Charlene and Ricky’s brood. The Little Savages ganged up on John’s boys, who in turn ganged up on Patsy’s brood, taking them into the canyon behind the house and tying them to a tree. Charlene and Ricky, as usual, weren’t getting along. John had just broken up with his girlfriend, and wasn’t getting along with anybody. We were all pissed off at Joey, who failed to show up or send a card. And I, who had been known to defensively tipple at family gatherings, got rip-roaring drunk and ended up in our tree house singing dirty songs with Pa at three in the morning.
Families!
The memory of the monumental hangover I’d suffered quelled my desire for more gin, however. I set my glass on the counter, excused myself, and went outside and across the prickly grass on bare feet to the bench where Hy and I had sat with Glenna on our first night here. Perched there, my legs folded under my long dress, and watched the moon path on the shifting water. A helicopter on night flight passed; I stared at its red, green, and white winking lights and thought of Tanner and Hy. What had the two of them talked about on the way to Lihue? Had Tanner been defensive? Apologetic? Had Hy spoken angrily? Repeated his giving-you-space line? Had they come to some man-to-man understanding that excluded me? Turned me into little more than a piece of property to be assigned or discarded as they saw fit?
Unfair, McCone. Neither of them is that kind of man.
More likely Hy hadn’t bothered with a headset, had sat silent the whole way.
And now what? Tanner had said he’d return for me in the morning so I could fetch the Datsun. But what if he took it into his head to return tonight? How would I handle that?
More to the point, do you want that?
Yes and no.
And tomorrow when he comes—what do you want then?
I’m not sure.
I continued to listen to the sea and watch the moonlight. Quite a few choppers were out tonight, and each time I saw one’s lights I felt a mixture of hope and dread. The gin haze had cleared, and I became wakeful, as I usually did after I drank the hard stuff. I wanted to sleep, but it wasn’t possible.
At a little before midnight I went to the house to locate the background checks on the Wellbrights Mick had sent over, as well as Elson’s manuscript and journal.
APRIL 6
Kauai
12:18 A.M.
June 19, 1955
Kauai
These storytellers I have found are amazing! They make the legends come alive in a way that the turgid written sources can’t. Today when they talked of Pele, the fire goddess whose rage turned rivals to stone, I closed my eyes and pictured Celia. Beautiful, fierce Celia, her love for me as strong as Pele’s for Chief Lohiau. Lohiau died of despair after Pele left him for her home in the crater of Kilauea, and she moved heaven and earth to bring him back to her. Would Celia do the same for me?
The journal and manuscript were photocopies, well thumbed, with notes in the margins in Glenna’s hand. Some were detailed ideas on how to shoot a particular scene, others were points she needed to clarify. This passage was marked, “Parallels?”
July 26, 1962
Kauai
Spent a few hours with my storytellers today, exploring the migration version of the Pele legend: a tale of disjointed wandering in search of a home. Home, something that Celia holds dear above all else. This afternoon when I told her about the National Geographic assignment in Bali, she cried as if I were leaving forever. It’s only for two weeks, and not even until next spring, for God’s sake! But she says the children are so difficult, her responsibilities so great. I told her she has the housekeeper, the maids, the nanny, and if she wants companionship she can pack everyone up and take them to her parents’ place on the Big Island. She brightened at the suggestion. My Pele, returning to the land of the fires that nourish her.
Glenna’s marginal note said, “Bali, 1962 and 88.” I thumbed forward, saw several entries written on Bali in 1988.
October 17, 1969
Djakarta
Quite unthinkable that Celia would do this to me! She sent Mona Davenport, who is vacationing here with Harold, to my hotel today, to persuade me to abandon this assignment and return home. Of course Mona had no real expectation or desire to accomplish that and said she sympathizes with my annoyance at Celia’s dependence.
But equally unthinkable is what happened between Mona and me, a consequence, I think, of several factors. She is a very lovely woman whose husband leaves her alone even more than I leave Celia. She bears up very well, but her loneliness and my feeling of having been betrayed by my wife brought us together. We both agreed that it can never happen again, and I believe we’ll keep that promise and each become the kind of friend the other can rely on.
In the Hi’iaka myth, Pele sent her sister to fetch Lohiau and bring him to their home on the Big Island. In many ways, Celia and Mona are as close as sisters. Hi’iaka seduced Lohiau after finding that Pele had broken their compact and burned her beloved lehua groves in her absence. When I pointed out the obvious parallel to Mona, she asked that I plant lehua in my forest on Kauai in her honor. I shall try to oblige.
Glenna had written, “Consequences consistent with myth?”
January 28, 1972
Kauai
Russell Tanner stopped by this evening to borrow yet another book and bring me a gift—a kukui wood good-luck charm that he had carved himself—to take on assignment in Samoa. He’s an intelligent boy, struggling to make connection with his culture and to make sense of the position of the Hawaiians in our society. There’s a great deal I can teach him.
Celia doesn’t approve of my fondness for Russell, and I suppose it hurts her to see me spend so much time with him rather than with my own children. But I have little
to offer a son as determinedly serious as Matthew or of such a scientific bent as Peter. Stephanie is a darling, but she’s her mother’s child, too wild and contrary. At ten months, it’s difficult to imagine what Drew will be like.
I’m looking forward to this trip to Samoa. Sometimes it’s best to back off and gain some perspective on one’s life.
I found myself reading every reference to Tanner with more than casual interest.
April 4, 1978
Zamboanga, Philippines
Mona flew here from Manila this morning, and we spent the day together, mainly drinking at the seaside bar of this quaint old hotel. Bought her a turtle shell from one of the boat vendors who paddle around. She tells me Celia’s at it again—juggling two men and making no secret of it, hoping someone will tell me and I’ll come home and take charge of the marriage. How little she knows of me. I can barely take charge of myself.
My only concern is what effect her behavior will have on the children. Matthew’s his mother’s boy; he approves of her every action and would do anything for her. But Peter, Mona tells me, has turned very cold to her, and Stephanie’s running wild. Drew acts out in tantrums, and Celia’s harsh on him.
More and more Celia resembles the hag from the fire pit, spreading blackness and ruin all about her.
Glenna had circled “hag from the fire pit,” and put a question mark next to it.
August 18, 1981
Kauai
Up too late last night, too much drinking, plus a dreadful argument with C. And now this piece for the in-flight magazine is due, and I’ve lost my focus. How did life get so out of hand?
November 8, 1983
San Francisco
Here for a meeting with the West Coast editor of that new travel magazine, and to escape the turmoil at home. C. depressed and drinking heavily over the breakup of yet another affair. She found out where I’m staying and constantly calls, trying to bait me, claiming Drew isn’t my son. Good try, Celia, but it won’t work. The poor devil looks exactly like me.
May 27, 1985
Tokyo
This JAL in-flight pub could turn into a regular assignment. And a good thing, as it takes me away from the fire pit. Sent the first half of the legends book to that agent my editor at the Geographic recommended, and she’s agreed to represent me. Still, the major work on it is yet to come, and how can I accomplish anything, given the situation at home? I wish Celia would stop drinking, but how can I expect her to when I can’t stop myself? At least Mona and Harold are now living on the island and can be there for both of us.
In my last conversation with her Mona told me that Celia is extremely upset over Stephanie dating Russ Tanner. We can’t have tainted blood mixing with our pure missionary strain! (C. has conveniently forgotten that her own mother was Balinese.) I’ll have to warn Russ to be discreet, but I refuse to ask him to stop seeing my wild daughter. A fine young man like him is bound to have a settling influence on her.
October 29, 1985
Kauai
Russ Tanner came by to see Stephanie this evening and brought along a friend who wanted to meet me—Liza Santos. She’s a lovely girl who’s studying cultural anthropology at the University of Hawaii. Russ is enjoying his work flying helicopter tours, but he’s lost none of his enthusiasm for reading about the ways of his people. They were both very excited about the prospect of my work with the storytellers becoming a book.
I wonder about that, though. Do I have the stamina to go on with it? Perhaps I’ve lived too much in the past, or at a distance. Perhaps if I’d paid attention to the present, stayed here at home, none of this ugliness would have happened. I badly crave warmth and brightness in my life, but I fear it’s too late for that. Too late for C., certainly. She’s drinking even more these days, and Mona says something must be done for her.
April 11, 1986
Kauai
Mona warns me that something must be done to protect them, and I know she’s right. But the only alternative that’s been suggested is so extreme, and bound to hurt her. The future must be secured, however. At least I have true friends to turn to.
December 12, 1986
Kauai
This is the saddest day of my life. I’ve gained, but lost. Irrevocably.
February 20, 1988
Bali
I have not visited here since my first Geographic assignment, thirty-two years ago. Cannot help comparing the young, ambitious, and very, very hopeful man I was then to this burned-out, used-up shell. Yet there’s a specialness here, and I feel myself coming alive in subtle ways. We’ll see.
February 26, 1988
Bali
Yes, alive again! The passions of the Polynesian people live on in this beautiful land.
At this point the journal entries became sporadic, as if Elson Wellbright’s emotional rebirth had freed him from chronicling the details of his largely unhappy life. What few passages he did commit to paper had a cryptic, guarded quality. Glenna had stopped making comments many pages before; I sensed she’d become as immersed in the man’s personal story as I had.
January 5, 1990
Kauai
The draft of the book is finished, but there’s much rewriting to be done. I’ve no fear I can manage it, however. This fireproof sanctuary (in reality, my den) that I’ve established in the pit (a.k.a. Pali House) has proven invaluable. And then there are my eagerly awaited excursions into the real world with my Special One.
February 1, 1990
Kauai
Could I have prevented this tragedy? I doubt it. I only did what I could, given the nature of the situation. But I realize now that I haven’t provided for the future as well as I ought, and again Russ Tanner has come up with the solution. I can depend on him for my peace of mind, just as he can depend on me for what he will need.
July 10, 1990
Kauai
C. found out about the new will. I’m not sure how, although I suspect that Blankenship (with whom she once had an affair, and who is still fascinated by her) violated confidentiality and told her. He’s done me a good turn, though, since C. banished me from Pali House forever. I’m now settled in the caretaker’s cottage with all the things I really care about, poised to push ahead with the manuscript. A lovely sojourn in Taipei in late August (JAL magazine), with plenty of time to make plans.
September 5, 1992
Kauai
The manuscript is finished! My Special One arrives tomorrow. On the twelfth the book will be delivered to my agent, and I will be delivered to freedom in Santa Fe. It will be difficult to leave this island: the palis, the sound of the waves on the reef, my gentle storytellers, who have received the wisdom of their elders, those same elders with whom I began my exploration of the ancient Hawaiians so many years ago. I’ll miss the ironwoods and the lava fall. I’ll miss my forest, where Mona’s lehuas bloom so brilliantly. I’ll miss Mona and Russ. They have been and still are a great source of strength in difficult times.
I’ll miss Matthew, Jillian, Stephanie, and even Ben. I’ve mellowed toward my children, and they’ve forgiven me my failings. I’ll miss seeing my first grandchild. I worry about Peter. He seems determined to keep his distance, and I’m afraid he’ll never experience the joy in these islands’ heritage that I have. I’ve sent him a copy of the manuscript to remind him of his roots here. If I were a praying man, I’d pray for Drew, but I’m afraid he’s as beyond hope as his mother. I’ll always think of the little one and wonder.
I always thought I would live and die on Kauai. Be buried in the graveyard behind the little mission church beside my forebears. That my bones would become a part of this sacred soil. That my spirit would leap free from the cliffs at our cane lands and dive into the otherworld.
Not to be.
That was the last entry in the journal. Glenna’s comment, in large black letters: “Yes!”
Around it she’d drawn a zigzag pattern that reminded me of flames gone out of control.
3:02 A.M.
�
�Shar, do you know what time it is here?” Mick’s voice sounded aggravated in the extreme.
“Three hours later than where I am. Arise and face the new week.”
“Jesus! Most people go to Hawaii to lie on the beach, drink too many mai tais, and fuck. You go there so you can stay up all night and call me at an ungodly hour!”
I didn’t want to think about the reasons people customarily came here. With Hy gone I wouldn’t be doing any of those things. Particularly not the latter, if I had any sense left at all.
“Sorry,” I said, knowing he wasn’t really mad. “How far did you get with the background check on Elson Wellbright?”
Mick yawned loudly. “I could download a ton of articles he wrote for journals and magazines, but I doubt you’ll want to wade through scholarly treatments of the Polynesian myths and chants as they influenced Hawaiian legend. The rest is just pop anthropology and travel features—the kind of stuff you read on a plane if you forget to bring along a paperback.”
“Nothing else?”
“A huge blank. That Social Security number you gave me doesn’t turn up anyplace. None of the other usual checks worked, either.”
“No death certificate, though?”
“Well, I’m not halfway through on that. It takes—”
“Try Santa Fe, New Mexico. He may have gone there.”
“I’ll get on it right away. Anything else?”
I hesitated, thinking of the scraps of paper with the Honolulu address and phone number that I’d found at the sugar mill. I’d planned to ask one of RKI’s specialists to check both out, but now I didn’t want to call there. If Hy heard I had, he might think it a ruse to get him to speak with me. Maybe I was being overly coy but, dammit, he’d hurt me. I didn’t want him flattering himself by picturing me alone and desperate.
A Walk Through the Fire Page 14
