Gift of the Golden Mountain (36 page)

     "You talk like that, girl, and they're going to lock you up. Some scientist. Who believes that Pele stuff?"

     "Sometimes I am very tempted," May told her.

     "Is that what they gave you that Ph.D. for?"

     "Okay," May said, "Tell me now. Mauna Ulu's getting ready . . ."

     "For sure."

     ". . . when do you think it's going to happen?"

     "How would an old lady like me know?" she asked, her face all mock surprise. "I'd sleep near the top of wakeful tonight though."

     They sat on the lanai of Abigail's little cottage until dark, listening. At nine May got up to call Corey and Clarence. "Auntie says to sleep light," she told them.

It was the sound of jet engines revving. May looked at the clock: two in the morning. The sky was bright. She pulled on her jeans and a shirt, made a quick stop at the bathroom, grabbed her boots, and by the time she ran out of the cottage Clarence was waiting in the jeep.

     Corey lifted off, skimming sideways to gain speed. She could see the excitement in their faces in the red glow of the fountain.

     "There she blows!" Corey yipped. "Look at that Mother!"

     "Oh yes," May whispered.

     It was more than she had imagined, this birthing of a mountain. It was, she thought, creation. Blood-red bursting in a great fountain high into the night sky, trailing sparks and roaring bright. Neonatal fireworks; throbbing lava flows burning down the charred side of the mountain, dropping off the pali in licking tongues of fire. The copter lurched as a wave of heat hit it. She glanced at Clarence and looked away, knowing he would not want
her to see the glistening wet on his brown face. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, then Corey did it for her: "Holy Mother of God," he shouted over the roar, "Armageddon!"

     She was up for twenty-four hours, marking and measuring and making the kinds of observations you can make only in the hours during and after a major eruption. She slept for four hours, falling asleep in a cot in the observatory, not bothering to take off her clothes which reeked of the smell of burning wood, then she was up for another twenty. Clarence would not have slept at all, had she not insisted. She could feel the heat through the thick soles of her boots; Clarence wore rubber thongs, and seemed impervious to the heat. When she took off her boots, the bottoms of her feet were blistered. Clarence's were clear. "I'm oven-proof," he explained.

     After thirty-two hours of fireworks, Mauna Ulu settled down to the business of pumping molten lava down to the crater, and the staff of the observatory swung into their posteruptive phase routines. On the Wednesday following, Kimo came looking for May at Kealakomo, an ancient village site which lay directly in the path of the advancing lava flow.

     "You gotta call Peter Rensaeller," he told her. "He's in Honolulu and he says he wants to talk to you pretty fast." May had met Peter Rensaeller twice. Dr. Fuller, the head of her doctoral committee, had introduced them at a Washington symposium. Peter was, Fuller had explained with a wry little laugh, a "political geologist of international renown." His name seemed always to turn up on new commissions.

     "I heard you had moved to Washington," she said. "What brings you to the boonies?"

     He laughed. "Probably the same thing that brought you out: volcanoes."

     "Then why are you sitting on Oahu? The action is over here."

     "Not those volcanoes, May. I've come to talk to the fellows at the University of Hawaii about a major study. That's what this call
is about. It's strange, you know, how things sometimes seem to fall into place through what seems like a series of accidents. I happened to be talking to Fuller a couple of weeks ago, and he mentioned that you hadn't decided on a postdoctoral project. The very next night your name came up again in a different context—my wife was reading
Paris Match
. . ."

     She groaned. "Actually," he said, "the position I'm about to try to talk you into taking is a volcanologist's dream, but like most dreams it has a nightmarish aspect. In this case it is the salary, which is an embarrassment. I won't say it is nonexistent, but almost. However, I thought perhaps you might be willing to consider . . . and if you decided, well, that you could afford to sign on . . . well, it would be an absolutely wonderful solution for us—a first-rate volcanologist to act as a kind of second in command on a U.N.-sponsored study. And I tell you, May—I believe, I expect it to be one of the most exciting scientific explorations to take place in this century . . ."

Her future was settled in just five days. She would be a staff geologist supervising the field work on an international study of the volcanoes that rim the Pacific Ocean—called the Circumpacific Ring of Fire—aimed at accurately predicting eruptions. Heading the study would be Dr. Jorge Obregon-Mendonez of Guatemala, professor emeritus at Harvard, winner of the Penrose Prize for his work on tectonic plate theory, and, so far as May was concerned, the finest possible choice for such a major study.

     Most of the countries involved would be cooperating. Even the USSR had agreed to allow controlled access to the Kamchatka Peninsula, long off limits because of the number of military installations in that cold place so near the Aleutians. The U.S. and Canada, Mexico and Guatemala, and most of the rest of the South American countries on the Pacific Coast would cooperate, New Zealand and
the Philippines were in, along with Taiwan and Japan, New Guinea and Indonesia. Each country would provide men and equipment, with the U.S. Geological Survey doing the lion's share of the work, especially in some of the underdeveloped countries. Because of its central location in the Pacific, Hawaii would be headquarters for the project and a staff was already being assembled. Officially, May would be a staff geologist, but she would not need to concern herself with administrative procedures, Peter had assured her. She was to work directly with Dr. Obregon-Mendonez, who had accepted the position on the condition that he have an assistant to act as his eyes and ears. "Jorge," Rensaeller explained, "is too old to go into the field himself. Unfortunately, the budget for the project includes no provision for such an assistant—which explains the tight money situation. I can come up with . . ."

     "You are right," she interrupted, "it does sound like a dream. But you said you were offering me the job. Wouldn't Dr. Obregon have to meet me first?"

     "I did get a bit ahead of myself, you're right," he answered. "We had to advertise the position in some of the scientific journals, but no one who is qualified will work for what we could offer. I persuaded Fuller to send me some of your records, and took the liberty of giving Jorge a rundown on your qualifications. I talked to the good doctor today—he says you seem 'impressive' and that he would like to meet you. I have no . . ."

     "Where and when?"

     "Tomorrow at three in Honolulu. At the Ilikai. Can you be here?"

     "If I have to swim."

     She cradled Abigail's old telephone to her chest. It was right, she could feel it. Right time, right place, right work. Obregon-Mendonez. God. Moving on, moving out. She could almost feel the center shifting. She sat down in a rocking chair in the little parlor, lay her head back, and looked up. A small stained glass decoration hanging in the window moved with the breeze and
scattered patterns on the ceiling. She watched the flickering shadows move and bend, shimmering out and coming back again. Suddenly she felt as if she had made a deep dive in one of the lagoons and was rising now to the surface, coming up through the clear water turned aquamarine by shafts of sunlight. She felt the exhilaration she always felt when she was just about to break through to the surface, knowing she would feel the sun on her face again and fill her lungs with sweet air. "Thank God," she gasped, wrapping her arms close around her, "and
Paris Match
." Then she began to laugh.

Five days later, when Clarence took her to the airport for her return flight to California, she told him, "In about six months I'm going to be needing some help in the field. I'm offering you the job right now, but you don't have to give me your decision until I come back—that should be in about a month. You can tell me then. No, wait," she said, seeing that his enthusiasm was about to spill over, "there are some conditions. First, you have to get your high school diploma and then you have to agree to take some special geology courses at the U while you're working with me. Otherwise, no go. Think about it, okay?"

     He stood on the tarmac, his hands on his hips, until she got into the small plane at K'eahole. The pilot banked and turned, and as they came around she saw him standing there still, his face turned to the sky, and she wondered if he felt as if he were swimming upward, toward the light.

KARIN INSISTED ON meeting the plane, even though May had said she shouldn't, especially since it got in at such an ungodly early hour. May scanned the group at the gate and for an instant didn't recognize the blonde in the tailored slacks and matching silk shirt.

     "Karin, my God, look at you," she said as they hugged. "Did Philip have to burn your Levi jacket to get it off you?"

     "I still have it," Karin said, "to remind me who I really am."

     "Actually," May told her, standing back to appraise her, "sleek suits you. Maybe your hippie phase is over, maybe this is the real you."

     "I've so much to tell you I'm about to burst," Karin said as they made their way to the baggage claim, "but first I want to hear all about the new job."

     "Is that why you got up at the crack of dawn to meet me?"

     Karin's face clouded. "No," she admitted, hesitating, "I just didn't want you to go into the house alone. There's a small problem—no," she said, seeing the shadow of concern on May's
face, "nothing life-threatening—Sam asked me to take care of it before you got home but I didn't. You'll see. But first tell me about—" She paused and concentrated to get it right: "—the Circumpacific Ring of Fire. I've never heard you so excited about anything."

     May told her about her meeting with Dr. Obregon-Mendonez, how the little man in the oversized black suit had held on to her hand, looked at her with eyes that sparkled with humor, and asked, "'Do you think you could tolerate a forgetful old man and his neurotic dog?' Turns out he has this old cocker spaniel he calls Esme who can't let him out of her sight. She actually starts to shake when she can't see him, refuses to eat, exhibits all the symptoms of acute paranoia—he convinced me! His daughter gave him the dog to keep him company and, he told me, 'The poor, dumb animal took it literally.' So the two are inseparable."

     "How will it all work out practically—what will you be doing?"

     "Headquarters will be in Hawaii—Obregon . . ."

     "And Esme," Karin interrupted.

     ". . . and Esme," May added, "will be in Honolulu most of the time, but there will be close ties to HVO—the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory on the Big Island. I'll keep a small apartment in Honolulu, but I've already arranged for a house on the Big Island, a place roomy enough for visitors. Right now I'm not sure how much time I'll be able to spend in either place. I said I'd be back in three weeks."