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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Splish-splash
>> Off the Big Island
Cruz MacKenzie stepped very carefully from the fishing boat to the little Zodiac. Mano Kekai handed down blankets and two flashlights. As he stored them, he kept one eye on the sea, looking for signs of the large fin that had just departed, taking with it the head of an 80-pound ulua that Mano had given as an offering. Mano said the shark, which he called Father, was satisfied, for now, and had given his blessing for them to sleep on his beach. Still Cruz's heart pounded out a symphony for percussion.
Mano handed down a big cooler and Cruz stepped back, started to turn and stepped on a flashlight and stumbled and managed to drop the cooler in the Zodiac as he fell into the water. Which is exactly opposite of the way he would have preferred to do it.
He hit the water swimming and frantically tried to climb back aboard the Zodiak, but the side was too high and slippery. Cruz held the side, swam furiously toward the big boat, figuring if he didn't die by shark bite a heart attack would get him.
Mano looked down with curiosity but no emotion.
"Mano, help!" Cruz pointed to a ring on a rope. Mano smiled.
Cruz felt something brushing against his legs, something like sandpaper, and suddenly was thrust up just enough that he could fall into the Zodiac.
"Why didn't you do anything?!" he shouted, pulling his feet up into a semi-fetal tuck. "That thing almost got me."
"Mano heard your call." He nodded toward the water. "Mano helped."
"That Mano?! Mano the shark? Helped me?!"
"Ai, if Mano wanted you, Mano would have you."
Mano the man untied the Zodiac from the big boat and stepped aboard. The little outboard motor sputtered to life.
In the light of a waning three-quarter moon Cruz could see the whites of waves breaking across a shallow reef.
"How're we going to get across the reef?"
Mano didn't answer.
The fin appeared again on their left.
"Thank you, Father." Mano followed the fin as it wound a way through the deepest and calmest water, in some places barely wide enough for the little boat to pass between exposed coral heads, and led them to the beach.
Cruz couldn't get out of the Zodiac and onto the beach fast enough. Safely ashore, he turned back to the sea. "Thank you," he whispered.
The fin appeared again 10 yards from shore, now with at least a dozen more fins delicately rippling the dark water.
"Father has many children. We'll meet some of them in the morning."
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com
