Mahu Fire

by Neil S. Plakcy

  We came to Ruth Place, and started to walk uphill, toward the stone wall and the gate. “Then other times I would go with my mother into the stores on Fort Street, and they’d see her come in, this proper haole lady—you probably don’t remember your grandmother very well but she was always beautifully dressed, she wouldn’t go out of the house unless she looked like she was ready to pay a social call on somebody—and the clerks would look up, very nice and polite, and then my brothers or sisters or I would come in behind her, sometimes a couple of us, and their attitudes would change dramatically.”

  “I’m not getting the point.”

  “The point is that Chin accepted me for who I was, just Al. And I accepted him, too. I was closer to him than I ever was to my brothers. So, anything he did, well, it was all right, because he was all right.” We came to a table and bench and he sat down. “I know I avoided your question, but I did for a reason. Do you really want to know the answer?”

  I looked at him. I was twenty-four years old, and I had just given up my hopes of being a champion surfer to go to the Police Academy. I was scared, and angry that I hadn’t been able to succeed, and I was wrestling with the knowledge that I was sexually attracted to men, though I didn’t want to be. I felt like I’d been knocked off my board, swamped by a huge wave that I couldn’t get around, and I still needed some things to hang onto. One of those things, I realized then, was the belief that my father was a good and honorable man who could have passed those traits to me. I said, “You get a nice view from up here, don’t you? You can see the whole city.”

  My dad looked at me and smiled and said, “Yes, you can, can’t you?”

  I pulled into Uncle Chin’s driveway. Aunt Mei-Mei came to the door, crying. It was the kind of thing I’d done hundreds of times before, walked into a house where someone was dead, family members crying around me, and I’d always been able to shut my own feelings off and do my job.

  What if Jimmy Ah Wong had been responsible? I’d delivered him to Uncle Chin and Aunt Mei-Mei, asked them to take him in and look after him. How could I live with myself if I had been the instrument that caused Uncle Chin’s death?

  The only answers I would find were inside.

  PILLS ON THE FLOOR

  Uncle Chin was slumped in his easy chair, out on the lanai where he had spent so many of the last years, surrounded by orchids and African violets with their delicate flowers, bright red anthuriums and the lush succulence of jades and aloes. His head was down, his chin resting against his lavender silk robe. Small yellow birds in cages twittered nervously as I prowled around. Since their cages were uncovered, I knew that Uncle Chin had been sitting out there with them, not ready to go to bed yet.

  The table next to his chair had been knocked over. Without touching anything, I squatted down to look at the items that had fallen: his glasses, and a Charles Dickens book in hardcover he had been reading. In his old age Uncle Chin had taken up nineteenth-century English literature in a big way, working through Jane Austen, George Eliot, Thackeray and Dickens. I also found a small prescription bottle of nitroglycerin tablets on the floor, the cap a foot away, a couple of tablets spilled out of the mouth of the bottle.

  I took a tissue from a box on the other side of the room and used it to pick up the bottle. “Did Uncle Chin take these for his heart?” I asked Aunt Mei-Mei. I could see where the tears had streaked her makeup, and there were uncharacteristic strands of black hair hanging loose from her bun.

  She nodded. “Sometimes he have to put one under tongue, when his heart go fast.”

  I could envision the scene all too well. Uncle Chin feeling his heart race, reaching out for the bottle of pills, and knocking over the table. But where was Jimmy? He was supposed to be with the old man in case of just this sort of trouble. He should have been there to jump down, pick up the spilled bottle, and hand Uncle Chin a tablet. If he had, then Uncle Chin might have still been alive.

  “It looks like he reached for a pill but he didn’t get one,” I said gently to Aunt Mei-Mei. “He probably had a very severe attack, maybe the pills might not even have helped.” I had a thought. “Maybe he even took one, but it just didn’t work.” I pulled a stool up next to Aunt Mei-Mei, who had dried her eyes. “I have to call the medical examiner now. Whenever someone dies without a doctor present, it’s the law.”

  She sat in the chair next to her husband, and I went back to the lanai to make the call. Then I walked down the hall to the room where Jimmy had been staying. He had made his bed that morning, not quite as expertly as Aunt Mei-Mei might have. I had brought him there with almost nothing, just the clothes on his back, a Walkman, and the money I’d given him. But he had left nothing behind, either. I stood there in the doorway of the room for a while, thinking about Jimmy and wondering where he was.

  Then I had a bad idea. I walked back to the kitchen and asked Aunt Mei-Mei, “Did you or Uncle Chin have any money lying around?”

  “You think Jimmy stole?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think we should look.”

  She got up and walked over to the counter, where a cookie jar in the shape of a grinning hula girl sat. I remembered that jar from my childhood. Uncle Chin used to empty his pocket change into it, and then when we kids would come over he’d fish around in there for the shiniest quarters to give us.

  With her tiny, delicate hands, Aunt Mei-Mei lifted the hula girl’s torso. “I not sure how much money here,” she said. She tilted the jar enough for me to see there was still a pile of change inside, even a couple of dollar bills wadded up. She put the girl’s torso back on her body. “Come, we look jewelry too.”

  She led me down the hall to their bedroom, and opened the drawers of an elaborate mahogany jewelry chest that sat on the lacquered bureau. Every drawer was filled almost to overflowing with rings, bracelets and chains. “Look like all here.” Aunt Mei-Mei sat on the bed and started to cry.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Mei-Mei,” I said. “I had to ask.”

  “He such nice boy. He so nice Uncle Chin.” I sat next to her and took her hand. “What I do now?” she asked. “This morning, I wife. I have boy take care of, too. Not my son, my Robert, but nice boy, need home, somebody take care of him. Now what I have? What I do?”

  I squeezed her hand, and put my other arm around her. Aunt Mei-Mei leaned against me, crying softly. After a while, when she felt better, we went back to the kitchen to wait. I remembered stories about Uncle Chin and told them, and we both laughed, and eventually one of Doc Takayama’s assistants arrived. He and I did a quick survey of the room and he directed his techs to remove Uncle Chin’s body. Aunt Mei-Mei cried again as they carried the stretcher out, the sheet pulled up over his face, and I held onto her and stood by her side and tried to pretend I was just a cop.

  My mother had been busy on the phone, and soon after the coroner left, Haoa and Tatiana showed up, followed quickly by Lui and Liliha.

  We greeted each other somberly, everyone focusing on Aunt Mei-Mei, and Liliha and I studiously avoided each other.

  After a few minutes, Haoa pulled Lui and me to the kitchen, leaving Liliha, Tatiana and Aunt Mei-Mei in the living room. “So has anybody told Dad about Uncle Chin yet?” he asked.

  “No,” Lui said. “I don’t think we should.”

  “I think we ought to tell him, but we ought to wait a couple of days,” Haoa said. “See if he starts to get his strength back.”

  I said, “I disagree. I think we ought to tell him. I’d certainly want to know.”

  “Not everybody is as strong as you are, Kimo,” Lui said.

  “He’s our father. I think he’s plenty strong.”

  “Lui’s right,” Haoa said. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. “You looked at Dad lately? It’s like he’s fading away. None of us are as strong as you are. Maybe we ought to wait a day or two, see how he feels.”

  I looked at my big brothers. I’d always felt the weakest of the three of us, the youngest, the one they picked on. Even
as adults, sometimes they ganged up against me and I bowed to their will. “You really think I’m stronger than he is, or than either of you?”

  They shared a glance. “Of course,” Lui said. “Look at everything you’ve gone through.”

  I was surprised, but I plowed on. “You guys remember all the stories Dad told? About when he was building his first house, and working nights for other contractors to make money, and then weekends doing jobs he couldn’t afford to hire anybody for? I mean, imagine how scary that must be. You’ve got a wife and three kids, and you’ve staked everything you have to this one project. Think of the pressure.”

  “But he’s old now,” Haoa said. “Weaker. Maybe he can’t take as much.”

  “That’s what he’s got three big sons for,” I said. “I’m going to tell him. You guys want to be there?”

  I think it was the first time I’d defied them on something to do with the family. They looked at each other, and then at me. “All right,” Lui said. “You tell him. We’ll be your backup.”

  I remembered how they had stood behind me when I came out, when I had to put myself in danger in order to solve the crime that had dragged me out of the closet, and in order to regain some self-respect. I couldn’t ask for more from them.

  We were just considering how to get over to our parents’ house when Tatiana called, “Howie, your folks are here.”

  When we got to the front door, we saw my mother helping my father walk up the front walk. He’d refused to use the walker, and was moving slowly, my diminutive mother buoying him up. For a minute I doubted my resolve. This wasn’t the big, strong father I’d always known and loved. This old man looked weak and tired.

  Haoa and I got on each side of him and guided him up into the house, and into a big easy chair in the living room. I looked in his eyes then, and somewhere in there was the old Dad I’d known. I knew then we had to carry through with our plan. “We have some bad news for you, Dad,” I said, kneeling down next to him. “Uncle Chin died this afternoon.”

  “I know.” We all looked at our mother, but she shook her head. “Nobody told me. Somehow I just knew.” He smiled. “You know Chin and I always had a kind of connection to each other. This afternoon, I felt like the connection was gone. I made your mother bring me over here to see for myself.” He reached out and took my hand. “I’m glad you boys told me. I appreciate it.”

  Uncle Chin’s widow sat across from us on the sofa, and though she was still crying a little, my mother sat next to her holding her hand. She didn’t have a family of her own any more, but she had us.

  “We have a lot to do,” my father said. “Mei-Mei will need our help.”

  I looked at my father and my brothers. If they thought I was strong, maybe I was. I knew where it came from.

  A SHOT IN THE PARK

  I looked at my watch, and realized that I’d promised to go to the Marriage Project rally at Waikiki Gateway Park that evening. I huddled with my brothers, and they agreed that I should go, that they’d keep things together between our parents and Aunt Mei-Mei.

  By the time I arrived, there were already a hundred or more people milling around, most of them wearing pink triangles or rainbow patches or some other outward sign of gay solidarity. I felt uncomfortable moving through them, knowing that many of them knew exactly who I was. People kept slapping me on the back, and I tried not to wince at the aggravation to my healing burns.

  Guys even came up and kissed me. It was very strange, like I was wearing some big sign that said, “Hi, I’m The Gay Cop.”

  It was hot but not humid, and that deep in the heart of Waikiki there was no ocean breeze to relieve us. I was surrounded by guys in muscle tops and tight shorts, women in bikini bras and compression shorts. A few flat-bottomed cumulous clouds drifted above us, and the sun was beginning to set over the ocean.

  As I made my way up toward a makeshift stage that had been set up at one end of the park, I saw Kitty, who waved at me and came over. I wondered if she’d gotten her taste for polo shirts from her stepfather. This one was white, and she was wearing green UH sweat pants and her collection of bangle bracelets.

  “I’m glad I ran into you, Kimo. That woman we met at church, Fran Harding? She called me this afternoon. They’re going on a picnic Thursday afternoon, out in the mountains. Eli’s family has a cabin out on Wa’ahila Ridge.”

  “I grew up near there. It’s nice country. What did you tell her?”

  “I said you were working, but I didn’t have class, so I’d go with them. Is that okay?”

  I frowned. “I’d feel a lot better if you told your dad. You haven’t told him yet that we went to the church, have you?”

  She shook her head. “You know how he is. Too protective.”

  “Yeah, but he’s my boss, Kitty. If he finds out I’ve been sneaking you out to play detective he’s going to kill me.”

  She smiled. “I have him wrapped around my little finger. After all, I’m his little kitten.”

  “Is that his nickname for you?”

  She shook her head. “When I was born, and the midwife showed me to my mom, I was all curled up like a kitten. That’s actually the name on my birth certificate, Kitten. I mean, like, is my mom a hippie or what? My dad’s last name is Cardozo, and he’s supposedly descended from the Supreme Court justice. But he and my mom didn’t stay together for long, so I don’t know for sure.”

  “How many times has your mom been married?”

  She started counting, then jumped from one hand to the next. “Six times, I think. There was a guy she met in Vegas and married, but they got divorced when their hangovers wore off, so I don’t count him. She says she likes getting married, she just doesn’t like having a husband.”

  “Going back to the picnic,” I said. “Maybe you ought to cancel. We don’t know anything about these people, and I don’t like the idea of them dragging you out into the countryside.”

  “I have a brown belt in karate and a cell phone,” Kitty said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I still don’t like it.” I thought for a minute. I hated to do it, but I felt responsible for Kitty. “If you don’t tell your dad, then I will. If he says it’s okay, then it’s fine by me. But you know what he’s going to say.”

  She shook her fist at me, and the bracelets rattled. “Those are beautiful bracelets,” I said, trying to shift the conversation.

  “My mom makes them,” she said, sliding them along her arm. “That’s what she does, she makes jewelry. She has a talent for it.”

  “Birthday and Christmas gifts?” I said, pointing at her wrist.

  She shook her head. “My mom doesn’t believe in celebrating bourgeois events like Christmas or, as she puts it, ‘the day you came out of my womb.’ She sends these to me whenever the spirit moves her. They come out of the blue, usually when I’m feeling down, like I didn’t do well on a test or something. It’s funny, but even though I hardly see her, and sometimes I don’t even know where she is, we have this psychic connection, and whenever I need a boost this little package comes from her.”

  Kitty saw some friends from UH and waved to them. Then she said, “I’ll talk to Jim, okay? Don’t say anything yet.”

  “You have until Thursday morning,” I said.

  She left me, with a wave of a bangled arm. I looked around. The park was an expanse of fading green grass with some short, twisted wiliwili trees in one corner. You could tell the impact El Niño was having here, the lack of rain drying everything up. The air smelled of sweat and motor oil, with that slight underlayer of coconut tanning oil that you find anywhere people lay out in the sun.

  The crowd was growing. I knew that Sandra and Cathy had chosen a small space to ensure that the turnout would look decent, but it was clear they had underestimated, so I went over to congratulate them, and met Charlie Stahl again. “We’re almost ready to start,” Sandra said. For a change, she wasn’t wearing a business suit—but a pair of UH sweat pants and a cowl-necked T-shirt. “You’ll come u
p on the stage with us, won’t you, Kimo?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t like doing that kind of thing.”

  “You’ve got to,” Cathy said. She looked so tiny, the same size as Aunt Mei-Mei, but I knew she had my godmother’s strength of personality. “You want to show the community that the police are investigating the bombing, don’t you? And you can say that anybody who has information should contact you. You know how most gay people feel about the police, Kimo. It’s important they see they have a friend in the department.”

  Here it was again, the debate I’d been having with myself off and on since coming out. I knew I needed to be a role model, that part of my job in life was to show gay and lesbian people that the police were there to protect them, too. And part of me did like the spotlight.

  But at the same time, I felt like I had a right to a personal life. I wanted to be able to go on a date with Mike and not hear whispers and see fingers pointed. I wanted to be able to interview witnesses and suspects without having someone say, “Hey, you’re the gay cop.”

  It was a balancing act, but in this case the seesaw tipped down the way Cathy and Sandra wanted it. “You sound like my boss,” I said. I knew it was what Lieutenant Sampson would want, for me to stand up there and represent the department. “All right. But I want to go on record as saying I hate it.”

  “Your objection is duly noted,” Sandra said in her lawyer voice. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

  From the slight elevation of the stage, I got a great view of the crowd. They were very diverse, from older men in expensive leather jeans to twenty-something party boys in tight tank tops and even tighter shorts. There was a fair sprinkling of women, too, and even a bunch of little kids playing off in one corner.

  I saw a few familiar faces. In her pressed uniform, Lidia Portuondo patrolled the area, drawing more than a few admiring glances from the women she passed. Though she normally patrolled downtown, I figured she’d picked up the extra duty for the overtime. Pua, Frankie and Lolo from the Teen Center were there, standing together in a little group, trying to look older.