My Kind of Town
>> North shore of Molokai Molokai woman
Seeking a quiet cove far from civilization on that June day in 1944, Shinjo Eiki instinctively turned his one-man submarine away from Oahu. He would return the moment he had fixed whatever was blocking both torpedo tubes. His goal was still to surprise American ships and hopefully sink one at the entrance to Pearl Harbor, blocking it. He could still save Japan and turn the war. And he could still bring honor to himself, the out-of-wedlock half-brother of Tojo Hideki, Japan's military dictator who had approved this secret suicide mission.
As he neared the southeast corner of Oahu, Shinjo cursed his luck again because he had a clear shot -- this one a cargo vessel. Unable to attack, he lay in angry, frustrated silence until it passed, then continued across the Kaiwi Channel. Running at periscope depth, Shinjo followed the contour of Molokai's west shore, and then into the deep water along the north shore, skirting the rocky outcropping at Kalaupapa, and continuing to the eastern end of the island.
And then he backtracked, feeling the pull of one particular cove. The mountain cliffs came down to the sea, with a small beach at the edge of a narrow valley. Shinjo lingered off the valley for half a day, looking for a sign of human activity, and found none. And when afternoon shadows fell across the little valley and the tide was high, he pointed the sub between two arms of lava that reached into the sea to create the little cove, and ran it up onto the beach.
Shinjo emerged with his pistol drawn and was pulling a brown tarp over the submarine when he heard something in the water behind him. Whirling, he saw a tall, brown woman emerging from the water. A tall, brown woman who was twice as big as he. A tall, brown woman who was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. A tall, brown woman whose naked body and long black hair glistened with sea water. A tall, brown woman who seemed to glow. Shinjo jumped down to the beach, still holding the pistol.
"You don't need that," she said, her voice ringing like sacred music. "This is my valley."
Shinjo didn't understand a word she said, but somehow he knew what she meant. In her presence the pistol seemed superfluous, a foreign object. He threw it far out into the sea.
"I am Ho'ola," she said, holding out her right hand.
Shinjo said "Ho'ola," and bowed from the waist. "Shinjo." Unbowing, he reached out, took her hand.
How could this be? Ho'ola had just stepped from the sea, yet her hand was warm as sunshine!
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com