“Who’s going to protect us now?” Ella wanted to know.
She had also obsessed about having Roscoe come visit, to the point that Violet decided they would fetch him the next day, regardless of what Mr. Nakata might say. Chickens would be locked in the coop and they could keep him chained to the post on his long lead.
In the morning, Violet, Jean and Ella piled into the old Ford under a cloudless sky and set out toward Waimea. Their first visit since deployment. The main road looked about as lonely as they all felt. A few people rode along on horses, and a young boy pulled a red wagon full of helmets and dump treasures. Missing the soldiers intensified into a crushing pain between her shoulder blades.
When they arrived at the veterinarian’s house, she saw Roscoe right away. He was lounging in a sunny spot on the porch, attached to a post with a long rope. At the sound of their car, he sat upright. Parker had reminded her that lions weren’t like cattle or dogs. They climbed. So fencing didn’t work.
Ella didn’t even wait until Violet put on the brakes before flying out. “Roscoe!”
Roscoe bounded toward her as far as his rope would allow. Ella bent down and wrapped her arms around his neck. Violet watched the tenderness between them as he bumped his head into Ella’s shoulder. Laughing, Ella fell back in the grass.
“Now, there’s a good example of pure love. A kid and an animal,” Jean said.
Violet thought then about her first reaction to Roscoe, and how silly she’d been. “Love is love, no matter the form.”
Roscoe sat down next to Ella, yawning and exposing his ever-growing teeth. She beamed.
“You really love him, don’t you?” Jean asked.
“Have you seen anything sweeter?”
“I’m not talking about Roscoe.”
Love. An important word if there ever was one. “All I know is I want him to come home. Yesterday. It feels wrong, but most of the time I forget what I’m doing because my mind is on Parker. He’s turned me half-crazy.” Violet pressed her hand over her chest without realizing it. “If you call that love, I suppose I do love him.”
Jean laughed. “Here you are, weepy-eyed and checking for letters like a schoolgirl, and you suppose. I knew it from the moment he set foot in our house, my dear.”
Sometimes things were obvious to everyone but yourself. Violet had seen it in Jean. And now the favor was being returned.
Jean continued, “For heaven’s sake, don’t hold it in. That’ll kill you. Say the words and say ’em often.”
At that moment, she contemplated how much Jean had come to mean to her. “How about this. I love you.”
“Please. That’s not what I meant.” Jean turned and flapped her lashes at Violet. “I love you, too, even if you are a bit khaki wacky.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Funny how love came in so many forms. Motherly love was steadfast and larger than life. Not up for debate. Friend love made you feel like you were never alone in the world. Love with men was different. With Herman it had been simmering coals and security. Parker a raging forest fire that would never go out. She was coming to realize that that was okay. Love was love, no matter its slant.
On the ride home, Ella chattered away in the back seat to Roscoe—now the size of a large German shepherd dog—who sat directly behind Violet. The best part of the ride was the lion breath heating up the back of her neck.
* * *
New Year approached, and each night, Violet watched the moon swell. Whether or not she would go into the cave with Bernard remained to be seen. The thought of swimming through a long, dark hole under the cliff caused a weakening of limbs. The water on this side of the island was not forgiving.
Ella begged to come. Violet said no, but the desperation in Ella’s eyes cut through all resistance. There were no instructions on what to do in a case like this, and she went with her gut. “You can come. But not into the cave.”
Throughout the days, Violet practiced holding her breath. Inhaling all the air she could muster and counting. The first time, she made it to thirty-four. The next, thirty.
“Let the men go in, for heaven’s sake,” Jean said, when she found Violet in the kitchen with her face turning blue.
“I have to do this.”
“Not if you end up drowning in the process. Think about Ella.”
“Why do you think I’m doing this?”
Jean squared off with her. “I know why, honey. And I’m praying for answers.”
On the last night in December 1944, no one in the household felt like celebrating. Another year of war with no end in sight. But you couldn’t tell that to the kids, so they invited over the Hamasus and Irene Ferreira, and got under way mixing hamburgers with bread crumbs and mayonnaise, slicing vine-ripened tomatoes and roasting marshmallows. They had enough food to feed a squadron, which turned out to be in Roscoe’s favor. He was still with them, and aside from his love of lizards, he made a fine houseguest. Despite Ella’s protests, he slept chained on the porch.
The kids all drifted off to sleep in front of the Christmas tree. Ella always grew attached to the trees. In fact, last year they’d kept it up until March. Now, there was a fire hazard.
“Outside we go,” Jean said just before the clock struck midnight.
Without argument, the four of them filed onto the porch. Jean toted a bottle in her left hand. Roscoe followed. When they had arranged themselves on the pune’e, Violet marveled at how they could be outside at midnight in January with nothing more than a thin blanket and body warmth keeping them alive. Still, there were no fireworks, no dancing, no men to kiss. The mistletoe still hung in the door frame, and every time Violet walked beneath it, she tasted Parker on her tongue.
The bottle of okolehao that Bernard sent her home with now made its way around. This time, she took more than a few sips.
“This stuff smells like the back end of a goat,” she said.
“Or a soldier’s rancid shoe,” Jean said, burping.
“Excuse you.”
Even Setsuko took a swig.
Irene must have been immune, the way she swigged from the bottle. “Nasty, but it does the job.”
In the full moonlight, every tree in the yard cast its own shadow. Even the slits of the coconut leaves could be seen. The night softened. Violet felt giddy from alcohol and the closeness of her friends. She thought about how each was fashioned from her own unique pattern. All in this beautiful mess as one, lives sewn together with threads of love and loneliness.
“Anyone have a New Year’s resolution?” Irene asked.
“Resolution, my okole,” Jean said, taking another gulp.
“Nothing different than every day,” Setsuko added.
Their faces were clear as day.
“Wait—you know what? I do have one,” Jean said, sitting up. “I’m going to tear up that letter that’s been sitting on the icebox for the past two months, staring me in the face. In 1945, I vow to never think of Bud Walker again and to focus all my energy on Jean Quinlan, not some dumb liar.”
Violet grabbed the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.” When she leaned forward to set it on the floor, she saw a flicker of movement beyond the chicken coop. She blinked, not sure if her vision could be trusted. A human-shaped blotch froze for a moment, as though aware of being spotted.
“Who goes there?” she called.
Roscoe immediately sat up, the fur along his spine raised.
The shadow bolted across the yard and merged with a grove of trees. Human for sure. All of the women were sitting up by now.
“Mr. Cody?” Setsuko whispered.
“He wouldn’t even need to leave his house if he wanted to spy,” Violet pointed out.
Jean stood and hollered into the yard, loud enough for the whole town to hear. “We have a lion here, so don’t mess with us!”
A knot formed in
Violet’s gut. Luther?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Violet
Cracker after cracker was the only way Violet could keep from throwing up her breakfast. Her eyes watered and her tongue felt like a thick slab of meat. Why had she gone and done this to herself? As they passed through the cane fields, she thought about Herman and how he used to bring home stalks of sugarcane to chew on. He and Ella loved the stuff. It seemed like anything Herman loved, Ella loved. A consummate daddy’s girl.
Sheriff Souza drove a borrowed jeep that sounded like it might come apart at any moment. But there was no turning back now. Herman deserved this. Each bump on the steep road into the valley caused a churning in her stomach. Some start of the new year. Violet turned to check on Ella, whose head hung out the window like a dog. She seemed completely unaffected by the vertical drop a few feet from the wheels.
Souza wore a strained look. “You know, there’s no need for you to go in there. I can handle this.”
“I’m going.”
Whatever the case.
Still, her heart rate had sped up to the point it was louder than the rattling jeep. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. To make matters worse, driving into Waipio brought up images of Parker and the kiss at the waterfall. She blotted out those thoughts. Today was for Herman. Her hands trembled like an old man’s.
The dirt road out toward the beach turned out to be far worse than the road to the back of the valley. Every ten yards or so, they had to slow for a mudhole the size of the jeep.
“Hang on,” Souza said as he gunned it through the chalky brown water.
By the time they reached the beach they each looked like they’d taken a mud bath. Violet hardly cared.
On the near side of the river mouth, Bernard and his nephew waited with their four-man canoe pulled onto the black sand. There was a gray heaviness to the clouds, which stacked up on each other, but the ocean spread to the horizon, slick as oil. A lone fisherman with throw nets stood on the beach across the river. Other than that, two bony horses munching grass were the only signs of life.
Violet dragged herself out of the car, head throbbing.
“Hurry up! Low tide in an hour,” Bernard said first thing, before adding, “My nephew, Kawika.”
Kawika hardly nodded and Violet got the sense that he wanted them here even less than Bernard did. Ella, it seemed, had forgotten the purpose of their outing, because she ran down to the river and waded in, grinning like a wildcat. Violet let her go and turned her attention to the canoe, which was lashed together with frayed twine.
“This is going to hold all of us?” she asked.
Bernard scratched his chin. “We’ll find out.”
A terrible feeling washed over her.
They packed their gear under the seats, and Kawika handed Violet and Souza splintered paddles. “You ever paddle?”
Souza and Violet answered at the same time. “Yes.” “No.”
“Just follow uncle.”
“Ella, come on!”
They slid the canoe into the water, and Bernard climbed in front and Kawika in back with a paddle blade the size of a car tire. Ella sat on the wooden outrigger facing Violet, and Souza sat in the seat behind them. As soon as they shoved off from shore, Violet knew she was in trouble. Sweat beads lined her forehead and the paddle felt like an anchor in her hands. She fought hard not to spit up, but within minutes, she found herself chest to the gunnel, releasing her stomach contents into the ocean.
The others stopped paddling. “Seasick?” Bernard asked.
“Okolehao,” she said, splashing salt water over her face.
She wished they could turn around. Wished she could turn back the clock. By a matter of years.
The old man clucked. “Serves you right, then.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Not to drink in one night.”
She waved them on, feeling slightly better.
“I’ll paddle,” Ella said.
“It’s fine, sweetie.”
“Girl wants to paddle, let her paddle,” Bernard said.
For an old man, he sure could pull the canoe along. They switched places and Ella moved the blade through the water with far more finesse than Violet ever would. She’d learned how at Puako from the spear fishermen. Violet was now free to watch a gray wall of rain move in as they skirted the base of the towering cliff. With such a low tide, the exposed rocks displayed their abundance of opihi and scaly purple urchins. Being so close in the normally rough seas would have been impossible.
One fat drop landed on her shoulder. Then another. The rain smelled pungent and sweet and stuck to her skin. No one made mention of the downpour as they paddled on down the coastline. Where the rain met the ocean, a thin fog of spray bounced up. With each stroke they took, her sense of unease rose. Ten minutes later, Bernard mumbled something to his nephew and pointed to an outcropping in the rock face. Twenty feet away, they dropped a rope with a rusty anchor.
“Current runs this way,” Bernard said, pointing toward Hilo.
No wonder the boat seemed to be moving backward and tugging at the rope.
“Tide is good, uncle. Last time I saw the cave top was plenty years back,” Kawika said in a lilted pidgin.
At the base of the cliff, a six-foot-wide hollow disappeared into the rock. Why anyone would want to swim in there, Violet would never know. But men could be counted on to do strange things.
Bernard pulled out two pairs of wooden swimming goggles and handed them to her and Souza. “Use these. Kawika no need.”
Souza wiped his down with his wet shirt.
“What about you?” Violet asked.
“I stay with the girl.”
“How will we see anything in there?” she asked, feeling the mountain of rock pressing down.
“Never mind,” Bernard said, waving. “Go.”
Already drenched from the rain, Violet pulled off her dress and handed it to Ella. “Use this for warmth if you need it.”
Without warning, Ella burst into sobs. “Papa’s in there. I know he is!” She flung herself into Violet’s arms. “I wanna come.”
She held Ella, rubbing her back and rocking. “One way or the other, we’ll know soon. You stay with Bernard. This is too dangerous for you.”
“Wondering can be a curse,” her mother once said. How many years had she spent wondering when her father would return? And then Herman. Every time a car pulled up, a phone rang, the dull hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be him.
A slice of sun pierced through the water all the way to the black rocks below. Kawika jumped in with a mesh bag slung over his shoulder. Souza hurled himself after him. Violet looked down, unable to move. Her body felt like it weighed three hundred pounds.
“You staying?” Bernard asked.
“No.”
She forced herself in, surprised at the water’s icy burn. Kawika led them to the opening, which allowed only a few inches of breathing space. She was taller than that. She glanced back at Ella, who clutched at the gunnels, her little wet body shivering. The look on her face was pure terror. Violet turned away. You have to do this.
Kawika let out a knotted rope. “Ten feet in, we go under. Hang on to this and don’t let go.”
She and Souza both grabbed on.
With heads tilted back, they proceeded. God only knew what kind of toothy creatures awaited, but not much she could do about it now. When the crack of air ended, Kawika took a deep breath and led them under. Gripping the rope with one hand, she kicked. Relax, she instructed herself. Through the goggles, she saw seaweed-lined boulders and a handful of fish. An eerie blue light came not only from behind, but someplace up ahead. Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two. Just when her lungs pleaded for an inhalation, she burst through the surface.
Above, the cavern dripped water, but also muted light. Crac
ks in the ceiling.
From behind, Souza wheezed, unable to catch his breath. “Damn cigarettes,” he said.
When Violet turned to check on him, she saw a dark shape moving toward him underwater. She braced for impact, unsure of whether to watch or turn away. But before she could warn him, another head popped up. Souza lurched away and yelled in surprise.
“Ella?” she cried.
“Don’t be mad, Mama.”
She should have known better than to leave Ella in the boat, but there was no time to argue. “Stay close,” she told her.
Ella’s fingers raked into Violet’s arm. They swam to the rocks and clambered up. Her knee slammed into a rock but she ignored the pain. Once on dry land, they surveyed their surroundings. Driftwood and scattered bones lay piled high beyond the waterline on one side. Kawika pulled a flashlight from a jar and illuminated a cow skull and a tangled mass of shipping rope. “Graveyard,” he said.
Enough light filtered through the rocks to make out shapes. A monk seal’s flipper bone was easily distinguishable, as were fishing floats of varying sizes. Violet’s eyes picked up another round object at the top of a pile.
“Over there. What’s that?” She pointed.
Kawika swung the flashlight around. The beam stopped. Dear God. A skull. Violet’s teeth chattered and the world around her spun. Dear God.
“Whoa, this is new,” Kawika said.
“Looks human. When were you last in here?” Souza asked Kawika.
“Just over a year,” Kawika said.
Their voices streamed past her. She stared up at the smooth white skeleton splayed over the mound of rocks. Remnants of tattered cloth lay in piles around it.
Souza moved first. “Bring that light up here,” he said, climbing the little hill on all fours. He crouched down to inspect the scene and Violet gulped for air. A small crab scurried away.
“Looks intact,” he said.
Violet forced her mind to remain on the simple task at hand, forming words. “Can you tell anything about it?” she asked.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 26
