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On the Makaloa Mat and Island Tales

Page 17

by On The Makaloa Mat


  NO WOMAN, SO BEAUTIFUL AS THIS ONE, SHOULD BE PERMITTED TO SHOW HER

  BEAUTY. It was not fair to them. What chance had they in the

  conquering of males with so dangerous a rival in the foreground?

  They were justified. As Stanley Patterson said to his wife, where

  the two of them lolled wet in the sand by the tiny fresh-water

  stream that the Bartons waded in order to gain the Outrigger Club

  beach:

  "Lord god of models and marvels, behold them! My dear, did you

  ever see two such legs on one small woman! Look at the roundness

  and taperingness. They're boy's legs. I've seen featherweights go

  into the ring with legs like those. And they're all-woman's legs,

  too. Never mistake them in the world. The arc of the front line

  of that upper leg! And the balanced adequate fullness at the back!

  And the way the opposing curves slender in to the knee that IS a

  knee! Makes my fingers itch. Wish I had some clay right now."

  "It's a true human knee," his wife concurred, no less breathlessly;

  for, like her husband, she was a sculptor. "Look at the joint of

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  it working under the skin. It's got form, and blessedly is not

  covered by a bag of fat." She paused to sigh, thinking of her own

  knees. "It's correct, and beautiful, and dainty. Charm! If ever

  I beheld the charm of flesh, it is now. I wonder who she is."

  Stanley Patterson, gazing ardently, took up his half of the chorus.

  "Notice that the round muscle-pads on the inner sides that make

  most women appear knock-kneed are missing. They're boy's legs,

  firm and sure--"

  "And sweet woman's legs, soft and round," his wife hastened to

  balance. "And look, Stanley! See how she walks on the balls of

  her feet. It makes her seem light as swan's down. Each step seems

  just a little above the earth, and each other step seems just a

  little higher above until you get the impression she is flying, or

  just about to rise and begin flying . . . "

  So Stanley and Mrs. Patterson. But they were artists, with eyes

  therefore unlike the next batteries of human eyes Ida Barton was

  compelled to run, and that laired on the Outrigger lanais

  (verandas) and in the hau-tree shade of the closely adjoining

  seaside. The majority of the Outrigger audience was composed, not

  of tourist guests, but of club members and old-timers in Hawaii.

  And even the old-times women gasped.

  "It's positively indecent," said Mrs. Hanley Black to her husband,

  herself a too-stout-in-the-middle matron of forty-five, who had

  been born in the Hawaiian islands, and who had never heard of

  Ostend.

  Hanley Black surveyed his wife's criminal shapelessness and

  voluminousness of antediluvian, New-England swimming dress with a

  withering, contemplative eye. They had been married a sufficient

  number of years for him frankly to utter his judgment.

  "That strange woman's suit makes your own look indecent. You

  appear as a creature shameful, under a grotesqueness of apparel

  striving to hide some secret awfulness."

  "She carries her body like a Spanish dancer," Mrs. Patterson said

  to her husband, for the pair of them had waded the little stream in

  pursuit of the vision.

  "By George, she does," Stanley Patterson concurred. "Reminds me of

  Estrellita. Torso just well enough forward, slender waist, not too

  lean in the stomach, and with muscles like some lad boxer's

  armouring that stomach to fearlessness. She has to have them to

  carry herself that way and to balance the back muscles. See that

  muscled curve of the back! It's Estrellita's."

  "How tall would you say?" his wife queried.

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  "There she deceives," was the appraised answer. "She might be

  five-feet-one, or five-feet-three or four. It's that way she has

  of walking that you described as almost about to fly."

  "Yes, that's it," Mrs. Patterson concurred. "It's her energy, her

  seemingness of being on tip toe with rising vitality."

  Stanley Patterson considered for a space.

  "That's it," he enounced. "She IS a little thing. I'll give her

  five-two in her stockings. And I'll weigh her a mere one hundred

  and ten, or eight, or fifteen at the outside."

  "She won't weigh a hundred and ten," his wife declared with

  conviction.

  "And with her clothes on, plus her carriage (which is builded of

  her vitality and will), I'll wager she'd never impress any one with

  her smallness."

  "I know her type," his wife nodded. "You meet her out, and you

  have the sense that, while not exactly a fine large woman, she's a

  whole lot larger than the average. And now, age?"

  "I'll give you best there," he parried.

  "She might be twenty-five, she might be twenty-eight . . . "

  But Stanley Patterson had impolitely forgotten to listen.

  "It's not her legs alone," he cried on enthusiastically. "It's the

  all of her. Look at the delicacy of that forearm. And the swell

  of line to the shoulder. And that biceps! It's alive. Dollars to

  drowned kittens she can flex a respectable knot of it . . . "

  No woman, much less an Ida Barton, could have been unconscious of

  the effect she was producing along Waikiki Beach. Instead of

  making her happy in the small vanity way, it irritated her.

  "The cats," she laughed to her husband. "And to think I was born

  here an almost even third of a century ago! But they weren't nasty

  then. Maybe because there weren't any tourists. Why, Lee, I

  learned to swim right here on this beach in front of the Outrigger.

  We used to come out with daddy for vacations and for week-ends and

  sort of camp out in a grass house that stood right where the

  Outrigger ladies serve tea now. And centipedes fell out of the

  thatch on us, while we slept, and we all ate poi and opihis and raw

  aku, and nobody wore much of anything for the swimming and

  squidding, and there was no real road to town. I remember times of

  big rain when it was so flooded we had to go in by canoe, out

  through the reef and in by Honolulu Harbour."

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  "Remember," Lee Barton added, "it was just about that time that the

  youngster that became me arrived here for a few weeks' stay on our

  way around. I must have seen you on the beach at that very time--

  one of the kiddies that swam like fishes. Why, merciful me, the

  women here were all riding cross-saddle, and that was long before

  the rest of the social female world outgrew its immodesty and came

  around to sitting simultaneously on both sides of a horse. I

  learned to swim on the beach here at that time myself. You and I

  may even have tried body-surfing on the same waves, or I may have

  splashed a handful of water into your mouth and been rewarded by

  your sticking out your tongue at me--"

  Interrupted by an audible gasp of shock from a spinster-ap
pearing

  female sunning herself hard by and angularly in the sand in a

  swimming suit monstrously unbeautiful, Lee Barton was aware of an

  involuntary and almost perceptible stiffening on the part of his

  wife.

  "I smile with pleasure," he told her. "It serves only to make your

  valiant little shoulders the more valiant. It may make you self-

  conscious, but it likewise makes you absurdly self-confident."

  For, be it known in advance, Lee Barton was a super-man and Ida

  Barton a super-woman--or at least they were personalities so

  designated by the cub book-reviewers, flat-floor men and women, and

  scholastically emasculated critics, who from across the dreary

  levels of their living can descry no glorious humans over-topping

  their horizons. These dreary folk, echoes of the dead past and

  importunate and self-elected pall-bearers for the present and

  future, proxy-livers of life and vicarious sensualists that they

  are in a eunuch sort of way, insist, since their own selves,

  environments, and narrow agitations of the quick are mediocre and

  commonplace, that no man or woman can rise above the mediocre and

  commonplace.

  Lacking gloriousness in themselves, they deny gloriousness to all

  mankind; too cowardly for whimsy and derring-do, they assert whimsy

  and derring-do ceased at the very latest no later than the middle

  ages; flickering little tapers themselves, their feeble eyes are

  dazzled to unseeingness of the flaming conflagrations of other

  souls that illumine their skies. Possessing power in no greater

  quantity than is the just due of pygmies, they cannot conceive of

  power greater in others than in themselves. In those days there

  were giants; but, as their mouldy books tell them, the giants are

  long since passed, and only the bones of them remain. Never having

  seen the mountains, there are no mountains.

  In the mud of their complacently perpetuated barnyard pond, they

  assert that no bright-browed, bright-apparelled shining figures can

  be outside of fairy books, old histories, and ancient

  superstitions. Never having seen the stars, they deny the stars.

  Never having glimpsed the shining ways nor the mortals that tread

  them, they deny the existence of the shinning ways as well as the

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  existence of the high-bright mortals who adventure along the

  shining ways. The narrow pupils of their eyes the centre of the

  universe, they image the universe in terms of themselves, of their

  meagre personalities make pitiful yardsticks with which to measure

  the high-bright souls, saying: "Thus long are all souls, and no

  longer; it is impossible that there should exist greater-statured

  souls than we are, and our gods know that we are great of stature."

  But all, or nearly all on the beach, forgave Ida Barton her suit

  and form when she took the water. A touch of her hand on her

  husband's arm, indication and challenge in her laughing face, and

  the two ran as one for half a dozen paces and leapt as one from the

  hard-wet sand of the beach, their bodies describing flat arches of

  flight ere the water was entered.

  There are two surfs at Waikiki: the big, bearded man surf that

  roars far out beyond the diving-stage; the smaller, gentler,

  wahine, or woman, surf that breaks upon the shore itself. Here is

  a great shallowness, where one may wade a hundred or several

  hundred feet to get beyond depth. Yet, with a good surf on

  outside, the wahine surf can break three or four feet, so that,

  close in against the shore, the hard-sand bottom may be three feet

  or three inches under the welter of surface foam. To dive from the

  beach into this, to fly into the air off racing feet, turn in mid-

  flight so that heels are up and head is down, and, so to enter the

  water head-first, requires wisdom of waves, timing of waves, and a

  trained deftness in entering such unstable depths of water with

  pretty, unapprehensive, head-first cleavage, while at the same time

  making the shallowest possible of dives.

  It is a sweet, and pretty, and daring trick, not learned in a day,

  nor learned at all without many a milder bump on the bottom or

  close shave of fractured skull or broken neck. Here, on the spot

  where the Bartons so beautifully dived, two days before a Stanford

  track athlete had broken his neck. His had been an error in timing

  the rise and subsidence of a wahine wave.

  "A professional," Mrs. Hanley Black sneered to her husband at Ida

  Barton's feat.

  "Some vaudeville tank girl," was one of the similar remarks with

  which the women in the shade complacently reassured one another--

  finding, by way of the weird mental processes of self-illusion, a

  great satisfaction in the money caste-distinction between one who

  worked for what she ate and themselves who did not work for what

  they ate.

  It was a day of heavy surf on Waikiki. In the wahine surf it was

  boisterous enough for good swimmers. But out beyond, in the

  kanaka, or man, surf, no one ventured. Not that the score or more

  of young surf-riders loafing on the beach could not venture there,

  or were afraid to venture there; but because their biggest

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  outrigger canoes would have been swamped, and their surf-boards

  would have been overwhelmed in the too-immense over-topple and

  down-fall of the thundering monsters. They themselves, most of

  them, could have swum, for man can swim through breakers which

  canoes and surf-boards cannot surmount; but to ride the backs of

  the waves, rise out of the foam to stand full length in the air

  above, and with heels winged with the swiftness of horses to fly

  shoreward, was what made sport for them and brought them out from

  Honolulu to Waikiki.

  The captain of Number Nine canoe, himself a charter member of the

  Outrigger and a many-times medallist in long-distance swimming, had

  missed seeing the Bartons take the water, and first glimpsed them

  beyond the last festoon of bathers clinging to the life-lines.

  From then on, from his vantage of the upstairs lanai, he kept his

  eyes on them. When they continued out past the steel diving-stage

  where a few of the hardiest divers disported, he muttered vexedly

  under his breath "damned malahinis!"

  Now malahini means new-comer, tender-foot; and, despite the

  prettiness of their stroke, he knew that none except malahinis

  would venture into the racing channel beyond the diving-stage.

  Hence the vexation of the captain of Number Nine. He descended to

  the beach, with a low word here and there picked a crew of the

  strongest surfers, and returned to the lanai with a pair of

  binoculars. Quite casually, the crew, six of them, carried Number

  Nine to the water's edge, saw paddles and everything in order for a

  quick launching, and lolled about carelessly on the sand. They

  were guilty of not advertising that anything untowa
rd was afoot,

  although they did steal glances up to their captain straining

  through the binoculars.

  What made the channel was the fresh-water stream. Coral cannot

  abide fresh water. What made the channel race was the immense

  shoreward surf-fling of the sea. Unable to remain flung up on the

  beach, pounded ever back toward the beach by the perpetual

  shoreward rush of the kanaka surf, the up-piled water escaped to

  the sea by way of the channel and in the form of under-tow along

  the bottom under the breakers. Even in the channel the waves broke

  big, but not with the magnificent bigness of terror as to right and

  left. So it was that a canoe or a comparatively strong swimmer

  could dare the channel. But the swimmer must be a strong swimmer

  indeed, who could successfully buck the current in. Wherefore the

  captain of Number Nine continued his vigil and his muttered

  damnation of malahinis, disgustedly sure that these two malahinis

  would compel him to launch Number Nine and go after them when they

  found the current too strong to swim in against. As for himself,

  caught in their predicament, he would have veered to the left

  toward Diamond Head and come in on the shoreward fling of the

  kanaka surf. But then, he was no one other than himself, a bronze.

  Hercules of twenty-two, the whitest blond man ever burned to

  mahogany brown by a sub-tropic sun, with body and lines and muscles

  very much resembling the wonderful ones of Duke Kahanamoku. In a

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  99

  hundred yards the world champion could invariably beat him a second

  flat; but over a distance of miles he could swim circles around the

  champion.

  No one of the many hundreds on the beach, with the exception of

  till captain and his crew, knew that the Bartons had passed beyond

  the diving-stage. All who had watched them start to swim out had

  taken for granted that they had joined the others on the stage.

  The captain suddenly sprang upon the railing of the lanai, held on

  to a pillar with one hand, and again picked up the two specks of

  heads through the glasses. His surprise was verified. The two

  fools had veered out of the channel toward Diamond Head, and were

  directly seaward of the kanaka surf. Worse, as he looked, they

  were starting to come in through the kanaka surf.

 

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