by Birgit Lennertz Sarrimanolis
In January the mercury plummeted well below zero. The frozen world remained in a still, crackling, almost surreal state for some time. Hoarfrost hung thickly on the stark branches of trees, fuzzy and soft-looking in the crisp, clear air. In the living room, beside the crackling fireplace, Faye smiled as she watched her children, apparently oblivious to the frigid conditions outside, spread out the paraphernalia they intended to bring on their holiday to Hawaii. Swimsuits, mesh water shoes, snorkels, flip-flops. Squirming, they were unable to stay still.
Peter blew air through a snorkeling mouthpiece. “Dad says we’ll have an underwater adventure. I can’t wait to see the dolphins.”
“Will Santa bring us presents in Hawaii?” Molly asked.
Faye had a difficult time settling them down for bed that evening. In the morning, amid the general chaos of stuffing luggage into the car trunk and giving the house-sitter instructions, Molly looked longingly at their golden retriever, Max. They had grown up together. When Molly was born Max took gentle ownership of her. As a toddler she steadied her wobbling gait by holding onto his fur. When she started school Max accompanied her down the driveway to the school bus stop. With an uncanny sense of timing, he was there again in the afternoons when she returned. At night the dog settled himself at the foot of her bed, always vigilant, only settling his nose onto his paws once her breathing had segued into sleep.
The dog nestled himself among the bags, sensing the commotion implied a departure.
“I wish we could take Max,” Molly said, fondling the dog’s silky ears.
Faye recognized Molly’s disappointment. “Max will be fine with the house-sitter,” she comforted her daughter. “Besides, think of how hot he would be on the beach with his winter coat on.”
Molly looked wistfully at the dog, flung her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear. The dog licked her chin in return. Faye smiled at their exchange.
* * *
The hotel on the island was on a sandy cove named Shipwreck Beach. Eyes shining, Peter speculated that the craggy cliffs on the far end of the beach contributed to the ill-fated vessels being run up on the threatening rocks. Molly bit her lip as she listened. Faye cast her gaze over the crashing waves, harboring her doubts. She had heard of powerful tides and sudden swells in the waters off Kauai.
She led the children along the sandy stretch to a sheltered saltwater lagoon in front of the hotel bungalows. Tom, the children’s father, sat under a shady umbrella with his medical journal. Even the lure of a tropical island could not completely deter from the demands of his career. But when he saw his family approach, he grinned and put aside his journal. Peter and Molly, anticipating his antics in the lagoon with them, squealed in delight. Faye settled herself on a beach chair. A breeze stirred the palm tree above her. Faye imagined it was probably a hundred years old, resisting the salinity of seawater as it bent effortlessly in the wind.
* * *
“We’ve got a surprise for you,” Tom told the children while they stood, bathing suits still damp and feet encrusted with sand, to order huli huli chicken from a food truck. “On Christmas Day we are going on a boat, far out in the open sea, where there is a spectacular coral reef. We’ll be able to swim out to it from the boat with snorkels.”
“What’s a coral reef?” Molly inquired hesitantly.
“It’s an underwater garden,” Peter replied exuberantly. “Dad, do you think we’ll see dolphins?”
“It’s possible.” His father smiled.
“How do flowers grow under the water?” Molly asked her mother.
“The reef is made up of coral of many different colors,” Faye told her. “It looks like a beautiful garden, and fish make it their home.”
Her daughter was content with the explanation and sat down at a picnic table to eat her lunch. Despite the balmy tropical climate, a sudden chill ran through the length of Faye’s body. She wrapped her beach sarong more closely around her and slid onto the bench close to Molly.
That afternoon they followed a coastal trail from Keoneloa Bay to Maha’ulepu Beach. Their progress was slow through lush vegetation that grew down to the edge of the beach. They clambered across rugged rocks before they came to a wide expanse of sand. In the distance Haupu Mountain stood formidably overlooking the bay, its peak sheathed in gray, misty rain clouds. On the sunny beach Faye and Tom lounged on the sand and watched the children splash and jump through the breakers. Late in the afternoon, sitting against rocks still warm from the sun, they watched a fisherman cast his net across the rocks into the water.
By the time they finally walked back on the trail to Keoneloa Bay, dusk had settled among the twisted branches of the Ohia trees. Tom had read a tale about the tree. The volcano goddess Pele fell in love with the warrior Ohia, he explained as they walked on. When Ohia told Pele that he was in love with another woman named Lehua, Pele grew jealous and turned him into a gnarled tree. Lehua, heartbroken and desolate, caught the attention of the other gods, who took pity on her. They turned her into a flower that grows only on the Ohia tree.
“To this day it is believed that if you pick the flower, it will rain soon after, almost as though tears are shed at Ohia’s and Lehua’s separation,” Tom relayed.
Captivated by the story, Faye gazed at an Ohia tree and at the pink flowers that clung steadfastly to its contorted branches. One small floret had fallen onto the rooted path. She wanted to pick it up to show Molly, but her daughter, who had begged to be carried, had fallen fast asleep on her father’s back.
* * *
Later that evening small votive candles floated in the rock pools outside the thatched hotel restaurant. Glowing lanterns were strung between the guava trees and looked like dimly lit moons stirring faintly in the tropical breeze. The restaurant guests were given a garland lei made of tiny, white kukui blossoms. In a corner a couple of musicians strummed ukuleles to the melodic rise and fall of a tune. Just before sunset a young Hawaiian, wearing a colorful malo skirt, climbed up to Makawehi Point with a large conch shell in his hand. He blew dramatically into the shell, sending its echo across the waves.
“Why did he blow into the shell?” Molly asked.
“To say goodbye to the day,” her father replied quietly. “And to say mahalo, thank you.”
Faye met his eyes across the table. It had been an enchanting evening.
* * *
Morning dawned along the endless horizon. The children stumbled out onto the lanai, where wrapped presents were piled on the bamboo table next to a yellow hibiscus bush. All morning they were occupied with their treasures and did not notice the time slip by. Faye, returning from a walk, finally pried them away by telling them about a monk seal on the beach. The glistening silver-gray seal had found a resting spot in the wet sand close to the breaking waves. From a distance a few hotel guests had gathered to take a closer look, careful not to disturb its solitude.
When it came time to embark on their boating adventure, shallow cumulus clouds had gathered. Nukumoi Point, their destination, was a reef well populated with striped damsel, angel fish, black tangs, and butterfly fish. The children leaned overboard, excited to spot the brightly colored fish. They listened to the instructions of the guide, who fitted them with snorkels, masks, and flippers before letting them climb down the boat’s ladder into the water. Faye and Tom followed them closely, swimming at an arm’s reach of each other.
The underwater world was vibrant with color and movement. Every crevasse and break in the corals revealed fish. Faye had heard that ancient Hawaiians lived in a world where all of nature was alive with the spirits of their ancestors, aumakua, who lived on through the ages as family guardians and took on the form of plants and animals and the sea. Perhaps the coral reef was one of their manifestations. The guide dove down below them and released fish food from a pouch strung to his swim trunks. Instantly even more fish appeared from the corals in search of the flakes glistening in the water. Faye had never seen a spectacle of such exquisiteness before.
Faye lifted her head above the surface of the water when she sensed a change in the water. The wind picked up suddenly, blowing in from one side, causing her to be carried out on swelling waves. The sky had darkened with saturated rain clouds. The sea’s anger was building into unyielding walls of water and deep troughs. Sputtering, Faye flailed at the waves and tried to swim back toward the violently rocking boat. Overcoming a cresting wave, she caught sight of Tom and Peter, who had managed to get to the boat with the help of the guide and were clinging to its ladder. Faye swam against the whitecaps as spray hit her in the face. With a final herculean effort, she grasped Tom’s outstretched hand.
“Where’s Molly?” Peter cried out above the sound of the wind. “She was just here!”
They all looked wildly about in the towering waves, calling her name frantically. For a few terrible moments, Molly was lost from view. All they could see were angry waves formed by the wind that whipped across the ocean. Then, within moments, the winds that had gathered force so quickly suddenly grew placid again. The waves diminished and Molly’s wet, bobbing head was visible again. The guide quickly swam to her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and towed her back using a sidestroke. The family clambered back up onto the boat. They sat, bewildered, catching their breath while the sun slowly emerged from behind black clouds. Not even a single drop of rain had fallen.
When they returned to their bungalow, Faye found her cell phone vibrating on the nightstand. In her bathing suit, hair plastered to her head by the salty seawater, she answered. The dog-sitter’s shrill, panicked voice reached her over many miles of Pacific Ocean. She had called several times already to no avail, only reaching Faye’s voicemail. Something terrible had happened to Max, the golden retriever. The dog-sitter had returned to the house to find him immobile, lifeless. She didn’t understand what happened. He had been fine when she left the house that morning. Faye put down the phone, stunned.
* * *
The children, inconsolable and drained, finally fell asleep. Questions swirled in Faye’s mind. Max might have ingested something poisonous, though what that substance was remained a mystery. The veterinarian was unable to detect any malignancies in the dog’s body, even when a necropsy was performed. The dog was young and, to all perceptions, healthy.
Faye, desperate to fill her lungs with fresh air, went for a walk along the deserted beach. A full moon exerted its gravitational pull, gently coaxing the waves into a high tide. The ocean lay silver and tranquil. Faye looked out over the sea, so contrary to the gusts that had unleashed themselves earlier that day. She stopped short. Taking her phone from her pocket, she checked the timing of the dog-sitter’s first distressing phone call. It had come precisely at the time when the wind gusts had grown strong, when they had flailed in the waves, sputtering to get to safety. Faye shivered and blinked slowly. Trade winds were known to be consistent, blowing east to west, a reliable navigational path. They had shifted that afternoon, churning up the sea, veering the family off course. Perhaps it was Max, offering himself in Molly’s stead, that had calmed them again.
Faye tried to make sense of it all. Molly and Max and the sea. Although she would probably never learn, completely, what had happened to Max, she had to trust that the trade winds had steered their fate favorably that day.
Category: Featured, Short Story