The Islands (29 page)

‘Well, it sounds like you have a life. I couldn't imagine just spending my time surfing. I'd be bored.'

‘Ah, you're wrong there. It never boring. Every day is one challenge. You go visit
Nirvana
. You might find it interesting.'

‘Nirvana?'

‘It one old house that was abandoned years ago. It now home to haole kids from the mainland – dropouts, draft dodgers, hippie flower-power people. And surfers. Serious surfers.'

‘Doesn't sound my sort of scene at all.'

‘Which is what PJ meant.' Abel John glanced at her. ‘There's something about you, Catherine. People like you. You're different. See and experience what you can, while you can.'

Hanging unspoken was the assumption that she would not be in Hawaii forever.

‘Eleanor offered me her car. I might take her up on it.'

Lunch at Abel John's was what Catherine now appreciated as typical Hawaiian hospitality and she immediately fitted in with the family. His young children, initially shy, soon were climbing over her, demanding hugs and stories and laughing at her funny accent. His wife, Helena, was pretty and short, dwarfed by her strongly built husband. After graduating from college she'd worked on the mainland but, feeling homesick, she came back to Kauai and fell in love with Abel John.

There was fish baked in a banana leaf and sprinkled with toasted coconut and fresh poi which Catherine enjoyed for a change finding it sweet, while the steamed and chopped taro leaves tasted like spinach. As lunch was being prepared, Abel John showed Catherine the large pond where they grew their taro, the big heart-shaped leaves standing out of the water with roots growing in the mud ready to be picked for the poi. Papaya and lime trees were laden and chickens pecked around the steps leading into their large wooden house where they ate at a long table on the open verandah.

Catherine couldn't imagine the other navy wives or her in-laws sitting around enjoying this. She wondered whether it was because her upbringing had taught her to accept people for who they were, rather than for what they did, that made her at ease like this. She took lots of photos, especially of the children and Helena preparing the food.

‘We live simple. Used to be all you needed was a taro patch, fish from the sea, maybe a pig and some chickens,' said Abel John. ‘People call Hawaiians lazy. But we know how to enjoy life, know what important. Our ohana, our beautiful island, catching a few good waves, sharing food with friends.' He dropped his baby boy into a hammock strung across the verandah. ‘Things are changing fast in the Islands. Too fast. There'll come a time when it will get to bursting point. The old kahunas are worried. So take photographs, Catherine, before it is all gone.'

Helena smiled at Catherine. ‘Life is always changing. If you hold on and try to keep the present moments frozen, you'll find you're frozen too. I tell Abel John we must accept these changes, hope there'll be a better future for our keiki. Move with the current, not dam its flow.' She spoke quietly, calmly and Catherine sensed the determination and strength in the tiny Hawaiian girl who the strapping Abel John had married. She imagined him out in the surf before working at the Palm Grove while she looked after their children, prepared food and ran their household.

As they returned to the Palm Grove she thanked Abel John for the invitation to join his family. ‘They're beautiful. Helena seems very organised, very calm.'

He nodded and grinned. ‘I be lucky. She lived on the mainland, could be living in a big house with some rich haole boy perhaps. But her heart is here. Once the Islands grab you, you will always return.'

‘I get a sense of that,' agreed Catherine. ‘Maybe it's to do with your roots, your growing up.' She didn't say any more but suddenly she found herself thinking of her family and
Heatherbrae.

9

C
ATHERINE AND
E
LEANOR HAD
a quiet dinner together in Eleanor's small bungalow at the Palm Grove. Eleanor began to reminisce, talking about her parents who fled Europe from Belgium after the chaos of the First World War.

‘My mother was very unhappy at leaving her family for the strange world of America. She never really settled into New York, so we moved to a smaller town upstate which suited her better, though I think my father, who was a businessman, felt he could have been more successful in New York City. I don't remember Europe at all. I grew up as an American.'

‘I suppose that will be the case with any children that Bradley and I have,' said Catherine wistfully. ‘Though I plan to take them home every year if I can.'

‘Sadly I couldn't have children . . .' Eleanor paused then added, ‘I would have liked a large family, but that was not to be.'

‘Oh, that's sad.' Catherine waited a moment, sipping her coffee. ‘Eleanor, do you still feel really American?'

Eleanor laughed. ‘Partly but I'm more Hawaiian now. This is my home. I only go to the mainland on business. But, you know, one day I'd love to go to Australia for a visit.'

‘Then we'll do it! I'd adore you to see
Heatherbrae,
meet Mum and Dad. You'll love it. Different from here, but special, just the same.'

‘Put it on the list of Things to Do One Day,' said Eleanor.

The next morning Catherine drove over to the other side of the island to where Abel John and she had met PJ and Damien. The beach was empty and there weren't any surfboard riders and, while the ocean didn't look as ferocious as it had been when she'd seen the surfers out there, there was no way she'd set foot in it.

One end of the beach finished in a jumble of rocks and a jutting cliff. In the other direction a thin ribbon of gravely sand ran between the coast and the water. She gazed inland, trying to work out where the house PJ had mentioned might be. All she could see was lush growth in the hills that rose steeply behind the coast, but as she studied the vegetation she began to make out banana trees, coconut palms, plumerias and a tree covered with brilliant gold and red flowers.

She slung her camera over her shoulder, locked the car, crossed the dirt road and walked a little distance and was rewarded by finding a narrow dirt track, just a car width wide, leading into the growth. She debated about going back for Eleanor's car but decided first to check where the track went. Within minutes she was out of sight of the coast road and the ocean. She was walking further into a tropical Eden.

She heard the house before she saw it, sounds of the melodic Carpenters singing ‘Close to You'. Then she stopped transfixed at the tableaux before her. Two towheaded, tanned little children, a girl in bright pink overalls and a boy wearing only a hot yellow swimsuit, were playing amid a jumbled garden surrounded by fruit trees: mangoes, papayas, limes and avocadoes. The children held a bucket and were tugging at beans on a vine. Around the profuse vegetable patch were bicycles, a wooden wheelbarrow and two old Chevy station wagons.

The house was a beach shack, certainly not modern, open sided, latticed and breezy. There were beds and hammocks on the verandahs and a circle of chairs in the garden. Heavily scented old flowering trees leant against the peeling wooden structure, the drift of fragrance reaching Catherine as she stood there. Surfboards were lined up, towels and clothes scattered on the trees to dry.

The children spotted her and the little girl ran to her.

‘Hi. Who're you? We're having beans for dinner.'

‘Sounds good. I'm Catherine, what's your name?'

‘Pink. That's Ziggy. Where's your bag?'

‘In the car at the beach. I haven't come to stay. Er, is your daddy here?'

‘No. Just Sadie.' The little girl took her hand and pulled her towards the house.

Catherine kept looking around at the flowerpots in hanging macrame baskets, Asian statues, colourful hammocks and lots of fat candles that had dripped wax in thick melted puddles. A handpainted sign dangling crookedly above the front steps read
Nirvana
. As she stepped onto the cluttered verandah a woman not much older than herself appeared.

‘Hi. Where've you walked from?'

‘Oh, not far. I left my car at the beach. I wasn't sure where the house was.'

‘Who're you looking for? Everyone has split.'

‘Everyone? I'm Catherine, PJ suggested I drop by.' She couldn't help wondering if this interesting-looking woman was his girlfriend. Or wife. She realised that she had no knowledge of PJ's personal life at all.

‘He'll be in the water. They all went to the Cannons. Come in, make yourself at home. I'm Sadie, this is Pink and Ziggy.'

Catherine stepped inside, her curiosity piqued. The little girl took her hand.

‘C'mon, see my house.' She led Catherine past bedrooms and through a big family room to a smaller bedroom. It was filled with posters, pictures, ornaments, shells and driftwood. There was a bed on the floor and beside it, a small pink teepee.

Pink crawled inside. ‘See, this is my bed. These are my dolls.'

Catherine peered inside at the bed cluttered with homemade animals and a Barbie doll in a ballet dress. ‘Cute. And is this where Ziggy sleeps?'

‘Yep. But he's not allowed in my teepee. C'mon.'

She dragged Catherine by the hand into the kitchen where Sadie was preparing a meal. A stripped long pine table was covered with earthenware bowls, big glazed jugs and piles of fruit and vegetables. The kitchen was filled with pots and plants, candles and pictures. There were at least a dozen mismatched chairs around the table. It all looked very unusual to Catherine. It was not home decor as she thought of it. This was a makeshift temporary home, but there was a warmth and casualness about it that, while messy, was very appealing.

‘I'm making lunch, some of the others will be back soon. Stay and join us.'

‘Are you sure? I'd like to,' answered Catherine, looking at the squash, pumpkins, papayas, pineapples and lots of food she didn't recognise. ‘You seem to have enough.'

Catherine sat at the table and watched Sadie make a salad. Pink brought her a hand-written, hand-drawn story book done on thick paper. It was about a little boy and a dolphin.

‘This is a lovely story, who did this?' asked Catherine.

‘PJ. He's good at stories,' said Pink.

There was laughter and chatter and two women came into the house, their arms full. One carried a guitar, rolled-up straw mats, a pair of shoes and what looked like a bag of clothes, possibly laundry, thought Catherine. The other carried baskets with food and one basket that served as a cradle. One of the girls was pregnant, her suntanned baby belly protruding above a low-slung sarong and below a short little top. Catherine wasn't exactly shocked but she'd never seen a pregnant woman flaunt her body like this. The only maternity outfits she recalled were checked blouses with peter pan collars and a floppy bow worn over neat stretch slacks. She knew she would have to remember all these details to describe to Mollie – the girls' tangled long hair with flowers behind their ears, their long floating dresses and skirts, the unusual woven sandals on their feet, the bangles and necklaces, a little bolero embroidered with tiny mirrors over a sheer loose top and, while they didn't wear make-up, they looked healthy and exotic.

‘This is Catherine. Friend of PJ's. She's stopping for lunch,' announced Sadie.

‘She's
my
friend,' insisted Pink.

‘Cool. Hi. Do you mind hanging onto Petal while we unload?' The baby in the basket was handed to Catherine, a small sweet bundle who had a spangled beanie on her head, tiny bangles on her chubby arms and a silver chain around one ankle.

‘Is this your little sister?' Catherine asked Pink who was tickling the baby's toes and kissing her cheek.

‘Petal is Summer's baby.'

Confused, Catherine glanced at Sadie.

‘I'm Summer,' said the girl who'd handed the baby to Catherine. ‘I'll put the cold stuff away before it melts.' She took some packages out to the verandah where Catherine had noticed two big refrigerators.

Soon the kitchen was buzzing with activity. Procol Harum was now on the record player as lunch was spread along the table. Salads, chunky loaves of homemade bread, brown rice, pasta, cheese and fruit. It looked delicious but it was not a repast that would be served up in a restaurant or hotel and certainly not by any of the navy wives.

‘Do you mind if I take some photos?' Catherine took her camera off her shoulder. ‘It's all so colourful.' She quickly explained her working holiday.

‘Take my picture,' insisted Pink, striking a pose.

The women were curious about Catherine and as she moved around snapping the shutter they gently pulled her life story from her in a matter of minutes.

‘The navy! Don't mention that around here. Doobie is on the run – you'd better not take his photo!' laughed Summer.

The pregnant girl, Ginger, started cutting the bread into fat slices. ‘So how'd you meet a shadow like PJ?'