by Di Morrissey
‘I tell her, my family, we all sing,’ he said. ‘So she got me singing to the guests. Sometimes my sisters sing, too. Mrs L, she even get me on a record. I made three now. We have a Palm Grove choir. Do shows and make big concert at Christmas for guests. It good fun.’
The horses broke out of the heavy foliage and picked their way along a lava rock path where Catherine stopped to admire the breathtaking views from the peaks across to the ocean.
‘This island is so beautiful, so tropical and unspoiled,’ said Catherine. ‘No wonder it’s called the Garden Isle.’
‘We get plenty rain, so there are many rainbows, mists and flowers. Some of the places around here are sacred places. There’s a special heiau, a temple, I could show you. Abel John knows much stories ’bout this place. He tell Mrs Lang all the old stories and she use them in the shows. She’s always putting on some Hawaiian story for the guests.’
‘The local people, do they know the stories, the history?’ asked Catherine. This outer island, where the landscape was so untouched, made her realise there was a society with a mixed cultural heritage linked to old Hawaii that appeared to be very vibrant.
‘We Hawaiian people are all mix up, but the pure Hawaiians, like Abel John, they are very proud of their people, their royalty. Mrs L, she knew the last princess of the Kauai royal family, she let the old lady live in one of the cottages till she die, ’bout ten years ago. Mrs L has been given plenty knowledge, more than many local people.’ He paused, then picked up the reins of his horse. ‘People here now more interested in making money from tourists.’
‘It’s good then that the Palm Grove gives visitors a taste of the old traditions,’ said Catherine. She wished she and Bradley would be there for some of the other ceremonies she’d heard happened at the Palm Grove – the honouring of the last princess, a special tree planting and the great king’s birthday.
‘Yep. It’s good that people know Hawaii isn’t just like the rest of America. We have a special history. But that Mrs L, maybe she dress them legends and ceremonies up some. They go way back, so who’s to say, eh?’ He grinned and clicked his tongue and their horses moved on.
Bradley was in the swimming pool doing as many lengths as he could to work off what he considered to be his overindulgence in the copious food on offer when Catherine got back. ‘Buffets are my downfall,’ he confessed. ‘We’ll diet when we get home. Just a couple more laps and I’ll be with you.’
Catherine wandered off through the coconut palms, a peaceful place she found fascinating. Bradley’s comment about going ‘home’ had made her realise that home was now their little Honolulu apartment.
While they’d lived together before the wedding, it had seemed a temporary arrangement and it had all been fun and exciting. Now, with Bradley returning to work, she wondered what her life would be like. Cleaning, shopping, planning meals, making friends, fitting into navy life. They’d have to sort out their lifestyles, tastes, social roles and finances. It worried her that she would have no income and Bradley seemed disinclined to let her look for work. Nor was a family on their immediate agenda. Bradley had made sure she was on the pill so that they wouldn’t start a family until the time was right.
It was still and steamy. No midday breeze stirred the drooping palm fronds. The soil beneath her feet smelt dank, the grass a crumpled carpet. No birds swooped or rustled the dry leaves, though behind the grove she could hear the grunt of Eleanor’s pet water buffalo near the hotel zoo, a fenced section you could walk through that housed some exotic birds.
Catherine stepped onto the paved path that wound through the main part of the grove and stopped in surprise, wondering for a moment if what she saw was a hallucination. A couple were standing together, he staring into the distance as she gazed up at him.
The huge bronzed man was wearing the royal regalia of an Hawaiian king. His cloak was of feathers, as was his helmet, a great collar of shells and feathers lay against his bare skin, a skein of maile leaves was draped around his neck and he held a large carved wooden staff. His lava lava wrapped around his hips was painted like tapa cloth. His feet were bare.
His queen was dressed in a shimmering fabric, her dress long with a train, a tight bodice, high neck, the sleeves flounced over her shoulders covering her arms to the wrists edged in lace. She wore a crown of fern leaves and flowers, a thick lei of blossoms and the long royal maile leaves draped around her neck fell to her knees. It was the painting that hung in the Palm Palace dining room come to life.
As Catherine gasped, expecting the apparition to disappear in the wavering heat haze, a man’s voice spoke and the royal couple relaxed their rigid pose.
‘Great, move to the right and we try one more.’
Catherine walked closer and saw the Palm Grove photographer, a dark-skinned Japanese man, resetting his shot of the pair. Now, as Catherine approached, she recognised the queen as Talia, one of the housekeepers who cleaned their bungalow and the king was none other than Abel John.
‘Aloha,’ he called. ‘How’re you, Mrs Connor?’
‘Good . . . What’s going on?’
‘Mr Kitamura is taking a picture for Mrs Lang’s Christmas card. She always do something special for her cards.’
‘She send out hundreds,’ added Talia.
Catherine watched the photographer move his tripod and peer through the camera. Around his neck dangled another camera, which he decided to remove. He handed it to Catherine. ‘Would you like to assist, ma’am?’
‘Of course,’ she said. For the next half an hour she stood behind the photographer as he worked, stepping in to adjust the king’s cape or the queen’s train as Mr Kitamura directed. Occasionally Catherine peered through the viewfinder of the solid SLR camera he’d given her to hold, framing her own version of the photograph.
‘You like to take pictures?’ Mr Kitamura asked as he began to pack up.
‘Oh, only happy snaps,’ said Catherine thinking of the photos she had taken of Heatherbrae and Parker. ‘Though since being in Hawaii I’ve been thinking I should buy a good camera. There are so many stunning sights to photograph.’
‘You can buy that one. I grading up to this one,’ said Mr Kitamura quaintly. He held up the expensive Leica large-format camera he’d been using. ‘That one you have, it very good one. Single lens reflex, good brand, strong make. It has big zoom lens too.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, this looks too professional for me,’ said Catherine.
‘The mo better da camera the mo better da pictures,’ said Abel John. ‘Take a few lessons. Mr Kitamura will show you.’
Catherine turned the solid black camera over in her hands. It felt weighty and comfortable. When she looked through it, the world was reduced to a controllable image with limitations, or she could frame what she wanted and exclude what didn’t please her. Or, with a twist of the lens she could make the image blurry and soft, sending it into another dimension, or bring it back into sharp-focus reality; another twist of the zoom lens and she could push the image far away or draw it as close as she chose.
Catherine lowered the camera. ‘Is it expensive, Mr Kitamura?’
‘Yes, when I bought it. But now . . .’ he shrugged. ‘I will give it to you for a fair price.’
Catherine wanted to buy the camera. But immediately she felt guilty and hated her confusion. In her single life she wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but now she was unsure about her financial situation and she wasn’t earning any money. How would Bradley feel about an impulse – and unnecessary – purchase like a big camera? He’d talked in general terms about a budget, housekeeping expenses and investments ‘after they were married’ but the talk hadn’t yet eventuated. She assumed they’d sort it out when they settled into their new life. Nevertheless, she rationalised that she still had some of her own spending money left over from her holiday and so she could still do as she pleased. She nodded to Mr Kitamura. Yes, she would buy the camera. Just the same, she packed it at the bottom of her suitcase and decided
not to tell Bradley but keep it as a surprise.
On their last day Catherine collected two Hawaiian dresses and Bradley’s new shirt from Narita’s mother in her little sewing room at the back of the housekeeper’s quarters. She was pleasantly surprised at the price, which wouldn’t dent her budget. She said goodbye to Mouse, Mr Kitamura, Abel John, the housekeeper Talia, the waiters and Mr Hong, the Chinese chef at the Lagoon Room, where they’d breakfasted most mornings.
Eleanor was there to see them off and she gave Catherine a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ll come back to Kauai again and you are always welcome here,’ she said warmly. ‘Please say hello to Kiann’e and ask when is she coming over.’
‘If you come to Oahu, please give us a call, we’d love to see you,’ said Catherine.
‘Thank you, my dear.’ She shook Bradley’s hand. ‘Good luck to you both.’
‘It’s been a delightful experience,’ he answered.
They drove down the driveway marked by the spreading fans of old traveller’s palm trees and at the gates, where Palm Grove was spelled out in shells glued to the black lava rock wall, Catherine sighed. ‘You feel like you’ve been visiting a family who are friends – they don’t seem like staff – and you don’t feel like paying guests.’
‘That’s Mrs Lang’s recipe for success, I’d say. She probably makes the staff sit up at night memorising guests’ names. One couple who’d been there before said the staff remembered their names, their children’s details and their favourite cocktail and food. Everything we ate and said has probably been noted in a book for our next visit,’ said Bradley.
‘Oh good, we’re coming back then?’ said Catherine.
‘Do you really want to? It was lovely, very romantic and a beautiful setting, but maybe a bit homespun, too much of the community spirit if you ask me,’ he answered. ‘And you can see it’s getting a bit run down. Some of the furnishings need replacing. I think the place could do with an overhaul.’
‘Mmm. I’d rather be here than at a cold, impersonal, big international hotel,’ said Catherine.
‘I’m glad you liked it.’ He patted her knee. ‘It was a wonderful interlude. But real life beckons, sweetheart. For me anyway.’
‘What about me? What’s my real life going to be, Bradley?’ she asked lightly, but with some concern.
‘Whatever you make of it, Catherine. Of course I’d hoped you would see your role as wife as a new challenge. And you mentioned dressing up our apartment somewhat. Not that we need to totally re-decorate, as I’m sure we’ll get bigger quarters on the base and then we can rent out the TradeWinds apartment.’
‘Then there’s not much point in my making a nest, is there?’ said Catherine. ‘I should look for a job.’
‘That’s not necessary. I have some money put aside in investments, but we should stick to a budget.’
‘And how does that work?’ asked Catherine.
‘I’ll set aside an amount each week for our expenses, food, utilities, travel, a dinner out on Friday nights, entertainment like movies. You can manage that can’t you?’
‘Of course, I just want to contribute,’ answered Catherine.
‘Keeping the house, making meals, dropping and picking me up from work – so you’ll have the car all day – attending the Wives’ Club and social functions . . . sounds like a pretty full life to me.’ When she didn’t answer, he took her hand. ‘I’m sure you’ll miss your parents and this is a new place and a new routine, but I just want you to be happy, Catherine. You will tell me if there’s anything . . . wrong, if you’re not happy?’
‘I couldn’t ask for anyone more thoughtful. You’ve thought of everything,’ said Catherine. ‘I’m just a bit nervous about the Wives’ Club thing . . .’
‘Oh, it’s just a bit of fun. And the other women will sweep you up and you’ll settle in with a bunch of girlfriends and tennis and goodness knows what before you know it.’
‘Great,’ said Catherine. ‘I just hope your navy friends are going to like me.’
Bradley turned his attention to the signs to Lihue Airport and then began talking about their trip to California to his family for Thanksgiving.
Within a few weeks a routine was quickly established. Bradley only had black coffee for breakfast and a cigarette.
On weekends he’d eat the fresh red papaya with lime juice squeezed over it that Catherine prepared. Then he would walk down to the mini mart on the corner for the morning paper and bring back some of Mrs Hing’s freshly made malasadas, fried donuts with cinnamon and powdered sugar on top, to eat with his coffee as he read. Weekday mornings he dressed in his naval whites – crisply ironed pants and short-sleeved white shirt with the naval insignia on it – which Catherine had struggled to iron to perfection. The laundry in the basement of the building required perseverance and after a disaster with his naval dress pants they’d settled on sending those to the cleaners. Catherine also sent off a few of his dress shirts as well then hung them in his closet minus their plastic covering as they had defeated her pressing capabilities.
Meals, too, were a challenge. Catherine thought back on the parties at Heatherbrae where her parents had entertained and fed up to one hundred people at a gathering. Throwing half a cow on the barbecue with the men in charge and enlisting the talents of the women who were good country cooks and always brought along a casserole, salad or cake to share had made feeding everyone seem easy.
Catherine hadn’t had much practice in making a candlelit dinner for two. American recipes cut from the Honolulu Advertiser confused her when they talked about broiling and using Crisco as a softener – was that butter, margarine or lard? she wondered. The name of the white shortening rang a bell. She’d commented to Narita at the Palm Grove about her beautiful skin and she told Catherine she used Crisco as a night cream. Catherine couldn’t bring herself to cook with it after that.
Bradley sometimes liked pancakes with eggs, bacon and maple syrup – a crazy combination as far as Catherine was concerned. She was unfamiliar with the local seafood and the names of fruit and vegetables – aubergine for eggplant, bell pepper for capsicum – took getting used to. The idea that the salad was served before the meal rather than as an accompaniment threw her entirely. She could hear her dad saying ‘So what’s it matter?’ but Bradley hinted, with a small frown, that she’d better get one meal down pat so that they could entertain guests at their first dinner party.
‘Well, who are we going to invite?’ she asked. ‘Kiann’e and her husband? Someone from your work? None of them is going to be fussed about what we eat. In fact, why don’t we get one of those hibachi things I’ve seen everywhere. You know, it’s like a little barbecue with coals and a hot plate and we could set it up on our lanai and grill satay sticks or prawns or something.’
Bradley gave her a look. ‘Our lanai can seat two people. One small table and a pot plant and it’s full. It’s not an entertaining area. We have enough room inside to have a dinner for six people, maximum, with drinks and hors d’oeuvres in the living area. It’s tight but it can work. It’s expected of us, Catherine. We owe Jim and Julia, Lance and Melanie an invitation. They’ve had us over twice, at least.’
‘Oh. I didn’t realise it was kind of tit for tat. I thought they were just being friendly, showing me the ropes, doing the right thing,’ said Catherine, who’d found Bradley’s colleagues and their wives saccharine and superficial. Entertaining them would be a duty rather than a pleasure. The men always talked baseball and football, the wives, well, she couldn’t recall what they’d talked about really . . . the Liberty House sale, the Christmas fundraiser, one poor family’s problem with a miscreant teenager. She’d tuned out. It wasn’t conversation but chit chat. Someone had asked about their honeymoon on Kauai and when Catherine had launched into the characters, especially Eleanor, the ethos at the hotel, the emphasis on Hawaiian traditions, the women had lost interest, asking, yes, but what about the food? And what was there to do? To buy?
Bradley broke into her though
ts. ‘That’s it – doing the right thing. What my mom calls a nice gesture. We have to reciprocate, Catherine. They are trying to make you feel welcome, included. Included in my world. It’s all very well feeling comfortable and relaxed here in Hawaii, which is peaceful, beautiful and has nice people who speak the same language and is part of the USA. In other posts, other situations, it can be a lot more difficult. So whom do we turn to for support, for help, for information, for fun? Our navy family.’
Catherine couldn’t argue with him. Just the same, even though American culture wasn’t entirely alien, the small differences between it and her own became picky and petty issues. It was similar and familiar enough not to present huge adjustments so she found she was whingeing about the way a formal table was set, how food was served. The tiny social observances that, in her normal life, were of no consequence, now became frustrating, numbing problems. At Heatherbrae they wouldn’t have mattered to anyone. But here, in Bradley’s world, the navy world, and among his friends, these little things really mattered. Table settings, flower arrangements, the latest trendy food fad – fondue and parfaits – were somehow important. Catherine wilted under the inaneness of it and the fact these things were of consequence to her husband.
She rang her mother and unburdened herself.
‘Oh, sweetie, that’s all quite normal. You know what a wonderful cook Granny Moreland was, and Dad had all his favourite dishes and of course I never made them as well as his mother.’
‘But, Mum, this food is so foreign . . . I would expect it if I was living in Hungary or Greece, but I didn’t think American food was so different to ours!’
‘In what way, sweetie?’
‘Bradley complains about his weight, but can’t see that toasty tarts with jam – excuse me, jelly – are bad for you, and everything here has so much fat, artificial cream, and they serve just so much food on a dish, no-one can eat it all . . . the waste is shocking.’
