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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Voyage into mystery
>> Kona
As promised, Mano Kekai was waiting on his boat when Cruz MacKenzie arrived at the harbor that afternoon. "Good," Mano said.
Which was the opposite of what Gary the city editor had said when Cruz said he needed another day on the Big Island.
Cruz wanted to leave a note for Sonya Chan on the boat she'd shared with the late Daren Guy, but Mano was anxious to get moving. "I nevah seen her in coupla days," he said as the motor warmed up. "Besides, you got to geev her time. OK, geev us a push." He nodded toward the open sea.
From the bow, Cruz pushed the Hale Kai away from the dock with one foot while balancing the other on the rail. Mano fingered the throttle and eased away from the dock. The boat did not have a brand name. Mano had built the 35-footer himself, a little at a time. Two large fishing poles and reels were rigged up in brackets at the rear corners of the boat. Once they were outside the harbor and beyond the last buoy, he put the boat on auto-pilot -- a section of 2-by-4 wedged between the wheel and his chair -- and dropped 4-inch squid lures -- one purple, gold and green, the other red, blue and pink -- from the two big poles.
"So where are you taking me?" Cruz said.
"Special place," he said, looking him in the eye. "Family place."
He pointed the boat southeast, away from the setting sun, following the steep lava cliffs of the Kealakekua coast that in the fading light turned purple and golden. A school of flying fish flitted past. Mano pulled two cans of Bud from a big cooler, handed one to Cruz.
"Relax, bruddah, we have a way to go."
Cruz stood at the bow, nursing the beer and riding the waves with fresh sea air in his nose and hair. Fifty yards off the right side, a pair of spinner dolphins leaped free of the water. Technically, he was working. No wonder Garry was PO'd.
"God, I love the ocean, Mano. It's been too long. It's almost like coming home."
Mano chuckled. "Almost, eh." He sucked on his beer, checked the compass.
"But whose home is it?"
"Well ..."
"We're the visitors. Always remember that. This boat, it's almost like a home, a little floating house. That's what Hale Kai means, house of the sea." All of a sudden, he was speaking perfect English, not a hint of the usual pidgin. He caught himself. "But wit'out it, out heah, bruddah, you and me are jus' malihini. Ovah theah, 'at's our home. The 'aina."
Cruz guessed, correctly, that his voyage into mystery was just beginning.
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com
