The
Island
by
Matthew
Griffiths
“Aloha, tutu!”
“Aloha granddaughter.” The old man smiled and looked up. What was the
little rascal up to this time? He put down the coconut fibre yarn he was
braiding into rope and eyed her closely. She was naked apart from a small grass
skirt, her wild hair loose around her head. She clutched an object in each
hand.
“What have got there?”
“Sugar cane!” she brandished the short length of cane triumphantly to show
him, then put it in her mouth and sucked.
“I see that.” He pursed his lips. “Your grandmother should think more about
your teeth. What’s that in your other hand?”
“I don’t know. I found it in the dirt behind the house when I was digging.”
The object looked familiar, yet he couldn’t place it. He raised an eyebrow.
“Show me.” She held it out for him. He turned it over in his hands, remembering
the feel of it, the lightness and flexibility of the material. He sighed. It
was all so long ago.
“What is it tutu?”
“It’s a toy car, mo’opuna. From when I was a little boy.”
“What is a car, tutu?” she wrinkled up her nose at the strange word.
“It’s like cart with a horse, but it didn’t need the horse. It had a
machine inside which made power. Like your mother’s spinning wheel or the pedal
power machines in the workshop, except that they didn’t need people for energy
either.”
“What did they use then?” She took another suck on the sugar cane but her
eyes were riveted on the car.
“They burned the blood of the earth, child, the blood of the earth.” He
looked off into the distance at the waves breaking on the beach. It was another
world, one he barely knew, and then only from his grandfather’s stories. “Did
you feel the material. It’s plastic. Made from the earth’s blood too, and
fire.”
The girl’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of wonder. She inserted the cane for a
moment then extracted it. “Is it like stone? It doesn’t rot like wood under the
ground.”
The old man nodded. “You are smart, kolohe. You’re right, it doesn’t rot
like wood or fibre. It lasts a long time, but it’s lighter than stone and in
the old days they made it into all sorts of shapes.”
She pouted. “I’m not a kolohe. You’re the rascal.” He smiled. She reminded
him of her mother, and grandmother for that matter. She snatched the car from
his hand and skipped away grinning. He grabbed after her with one hand but
missed. He settled his weight back on the grass and reached for the yarn to
begin braiding again. He shook his head. The old plastic toy car. That stuff
really did last a long time. The girl circled back warily, still grinning.
“Tell me a story, tutu.”
He shook his head. “I just told you about the toy car. How about you tell
me one?”
She plopped down into his lap and leaned back against his round belly.
“Ok.” She paused to suck on the sugar cane. “Once upon a time. There was a wise
elder …”
The old man nodded, “Yes that’s right, a kupuna.”
“The kupuna went to the sea to think. One day the kupuna looked down the
beach, and saw someone dancing. The kupuna wondered, ‘Who is dancing so
happily?’ When he got closer the kupuna saw that the dancer was a child, who
was not dancing at all. The child was picking up something from the sand and
throwing it into the sea. The kupuna called out to the child, ‘Aloha! What are
you doing?’”
“The child looked up and said, ‘I’m throwing starfish into the sea.’ The
kupuna was surprised. ‘Why are you throwing starfish into the sea?’ The child
smiled, pointed upward and said, ‘The sun is up, the tide is going out, if I
don't throw them in they will die.’ ‘But don't you realize,’ asked the kupuna,
‘that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it? You can't
possibly make a difference!’ The child listened politely…”
“Something for you to remember, kolohe.” said the old man as he wrapped his
arms around her.
She shook her head and squirmed a little, then continued. “Anyway. The
child listened and then bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it
gently into the sea, just beyond the breaking waves, and said, ‘It made a
difference for that one.’”
“Very good mo’opuna. One
day you will tell great stories to your own grandchildren.” She gnawed on her
piece of sugar cane and he gave a small laugh. “We owe our thanks to my great
great grandfather for that sugar cane in our garden. When he was young he
worked on the last plantation on Maui before they closed it down. He dug up
some canes and brought them back to the island to plant in our garden. He
should have brought a boat load of tooth brushes too for you to use.”
“No!” She wriggled out of
his grip and stood up. “I’m going to look for starfish.”
He watched her go down
the beach then looked back toward the house. His wife and their daughter-in-law
Kalea were hard at work gathering food for the trade voyage’s farewell feast
that evening. Both were bent over, the sunbrowned skin on their bare backs
glowing in the afternoon light. One back was dark, the skin loose and wrinkled,
like his own, the other firm and smooth. Holokai had said she was the most
beautiful wahine on the island when he asked her to be his bride. Few would
argue. The old man smiled to himself. He had said the same about his wife when
they met. Her face and body had changed but she still had the look in her eye
that had captured him then.
Then he frowned. Holokai
was late. The fishing expedition should have been back two days ago. Suddenly
the girl jumped up and down on the sand and shouted. “Tutu! Uncle is back!
Uncle is back!” Several sails loomed above the waves, then the boats appeared,
racing through the surf in the distance, behind the rocky outcrop at the end of
the beach to the wooden jetty. The old man smiled and waved at her. Holokai was
back just in time for the feast. It remained to be seen whether there would be
anything to celebrate.
Kalea raced down the
beach and up the path over the rocks, long hair flying, kicking up sand in her
hurry to meet the boats. Singing and dancing broke out to celebrate the fishing
boats’ return. The crews were tying up as she stepped onto the rough weathered
boards of the jetty and already hands were passing up the cargo of salted and
dried fish from the boats to load on the waiting trolleys.
Kalea’s dark eyes
searched urgently for Holokai. Her breath caught in her throat as she
recognised his muscled back on the lead boat giving orders to the crew. His
strong legs were spread wide on the deck as he was still bracing against the
rolling waves of the ocean. She smiled with relief and happiness, dabbed a tear
from her eye and tidied her hair as she waited by the makeshift ramp up onto
the jetty. One hand grasped the turtle pendant around her neck. The other
gripped her elbow tightly to stop herself shaking.
Finally he turned and saw
her. He walked up the ramp. She stepped forward as he reached her and hugged
him close. He let her hold him for a few moments then grasped her shoulders and
grinned at her. She held his gaze, bit her lip and whispered, “I’m glad you’re
home safe. We need to talk.”
He shook his head.
“Later, at the feast. I have to make sure everything is ready for the voyage.”
He turned away and greeted two young men. “Is the ship ready?” They nodded.
“Let me see.”
Kalea watched him walk to
the far end the jetty where the larger voyaging ship was tied up, ready to join
the ships from the other islands on the trade expedition to Sudamerica. Her
face crumpled and tears welled in her eyes as she walked quickly away back down
the beach.
The sun had swooped
closer to the horizon when Holokai appeared carrying two sacks. “Aloha, father.
I have brought fish for you all for while I am away. “
“Mahalo, son, this will
feed us for many weeks.”
“Mother.” Holokai hugged
her and his brow furrowed briefly as he returned her inquiring gaze. He turned away
and reached for the other sack on the ground beside him. “Father. I brought
this too.” He upended the sack. “Dead birds, their stomachs filled with
plastic. Still the opala of the haole kills the earth’s children.”
The old man looked at the
birds that tumbled out. He nodded. “Yes, son. But it was not trash when it was
made. The haole just did not understand how to make things that would return to
nature and not interfere with her cycles.”
“We ventured farther to
the north west this time. It floats everywhere.” Holokai threw the empty sack
on the ground. “The haole poisoned the sea and the earth.” He spied his niece
clutching the toy car. “Aloha kolohe. What’s that in your hand?”
The edge in his voice
made the girl shrink back behind her grandmother. “Tutu says it’s a car made by
fire.”
Holokai glanced up at his
father. “More haole rubbish? In our own family?”
The old man shook his head. “You forget, we all have
blood from the people of the east and west in our veins.”
Holokai scowled and
dropped his eyes.
“And not all haole things
were rubbish. What about the steel saws for cutting planks for sailing boats?
And the metal tops on the solar stills we take with us when we go fishing far
offshore. Without one of those your grandfather and I wouldn’t have survived
being lost at sea all those years ago and you would not be here…”
“You were lost at sea,
tutu?” the young girl asked. “When?”
The old man shook his
head. Getting home alive was only one part of the story. As in most good
fortune, there was price to pay. “The sun has set on that tale, mo’opuna.”
“Please, tutu. Please
tell me.”
He did not answer the
question. He glanced at his wife and then scanned the waves. “Not all stories
need to be retold.”
“Please tutu. It’s your
turn to tell me a story.”
He eyed his wife and son
as they sat down. The old woman reached for the girl and cradled her on her
lap.
The old man grimaced,
closed his eyes for a moment and began. “One day I went on a fishing trip with
your great grandfather, far to the north to find big fish to bring back for the
village.”
He eyed the girl. She
stared at him expectantly.
“We sailed a long way
from land. We found many plastic things floating in the water. Just like your
uncle did this time. We also caught lots of fish. It was successful trip. We
were nearing the time when we should turn around and come home when, out of a
blue clear sky, a storm blew up from the south.”
Kalea appeared from the
house and sat down beside Holokai. Her eyes were red and her mouth set in a
tight line.
The old man frowned and
glanced from his son to his daughter-in-law and back. “Son.” He paused and
glanced at his wife as she stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “Son, I ask you to
reconsider this voyage. You have spent too long away on fishing trips this past
year. You have a wife who misses you. As do your mother and I.”
Holokai’s face flushed
and his shoulders tightened. He worked his jaw until the words came. “I will
bring this family great honour and reward if the voyage is successful.”
The old woman tapped her
foot against her husband’s. “You went on many trips too when you were young.”
“That was different. We
were younger and you still wore the hibiscus flower behind your right ear
then.”
“But not in my heart, and
you knew it.” He avoided her gaze. He knew that it wasn’t just the trip itself
that she was talking about. She turned to Holokai and patted his knee. “It is
up to you and Kalea to talk and decide between yourselves.”
Holokai looked at his
father. “You have not said anything about the selection for the expedition.
What my role is to be. You must know.”
The old man shook his
head. With his son involved he could not influence the decision anyway. But
also he had been torn between wanting his son to stay on the island and be a
better husband to his wife, and hankering after the broad ocean and distant
lands himself. In the end it was easier to stay right away from it. “I did not
take part in those discussions.”
Holokai sprang up. “Then
I will go and ask the kupuna now. I cannot wait until the feast tonight.”
Kalea rose beside him and
clasped his arm. “Holokai, please. Let us talk first.”
He removed her hand and
squeezed it gently. “I will be back soon. I have to know what the kupuna have
decided.” He strode away toward the meeting house.
Grandfather’s face
clouded. He followed Holokai with his eyes, then glanced at Kalea. Either way
the answer would disappoint someone.
The young girl watched Holokai
walk away then wriggled on her grandmothers lap. “Tutu, please tell me the rest
of the story. What happened in the storm?”
He looked at his
granddaughter and sighed. “Well kolohe. The storm was a bad one. It broke the
mast and shredded the sail. We lost most of our food and equipment. Only the
solar still and a few other things lashed down on the deck remained. Finally
the storm abated and we were left floating on the current.”
He adjusted his positon
and glanced out at the foam capped waves running up the sand, then silently
drawing back as the tide retreated. “The storm blew us off course. My father
calculated we were a long way north of where we should be and drifting east on
the ocean currents away from home.”
“What did you do?”
He shrugged. “Nothing,
except make fresh water in the still and fish for food. Finally after several
days my father spotted something on the horizon. We grabbed whatever we had and
tried to paddle toward it. It took hours until we could see it was small
island. We paddled harder and finally reached it. We were exhausted and after
we pulled the boat up we just lay down and slept.”
He paused as Kalea got up
and walked over to a pile of coconuts and bread fruit under a nearby tree. She
squatted down and began cutting off the coconut husks with a machete.
The young girl extracted
the sugar cane from her mouth again. “What was on the island? Did it have
coconut trees and flowers and birds?”
He rubbed his chin. “It
was a very strange island. It was small, only ten canoes long and six canoes
wide. There were small trees and flowers. But there was no beach, no rocks,
only some birds and lots of fish. We thought perhaps it was the top of a
volcano.” He shook his head. “When we woke up we hauled the solar still off the
boat and began making fresh water for there were no springs or pools on the
island. After several days may father took out his navigation instruments and
calculated our position again. He was shocked. We had moved from when we first
found the island. That’s when we realised the island was floating and we were
heading further east on the current.”
He looked up as Holokai
stomped back to them angrily, each heavy step thumping the ground as he walked.
“They have refused me.” His face twisted and eyes narrowed. “I am a fine
navigator, a skilled sailor, my fishing expeditions sail farther and bring back
more fish. I was first of all the men on this side of the island in the race up
the mountain…” He spat on the ground. “But they want diplomats, negotiators,
and traders. And they say they are taking older men, or those who have not yet
married or had children.”
He turned away, “I have
no children to leave behind.” His jaw clenched at the memory of the small red
corpse in the healer’s hands. It was an image he wished he could scrub from his
mind. His eyes drifted among the trees and found Kalea still husking coconuts
and his shoulders slumped slightly.
Grandmother looked up at
him. “You and Kalea are both still young.” she said. “Your place is with her
now, with your family. There will be other voyages.”
He continued as if he had
not heard a word, raising his arms. “They are as ignorant as the haoles from
long ago. Short sighted and blind to the obvious.” He took a step and kicked
the little pile of plastic. “They do nothing about this. The people over the
seas may have a cure for the sickness that kills babies before they are half
born. But no one among them but me will think to ask.” He fell silent and
finally slumped to the ground beside his mother and toyed with the shark
pendant around his neck.
The young girl looked at
her grandfather and screwed up her face, puzzled. “Tutu. How can an island
float?”
He nodded. “I asked my
father exactly the same question.”
“We tried to dig in the
soil but we had no spade. Then we decided to dive underneath and see what was
holding it up.”
“What did you find?”
He held up his arms with
hands open wide. “Nothing. No rocks, no coral, nothing to hold it up. Except
when we touched the bottom of the island some of it was soft. My father grabbed
a piece and swam back up.”
“What was it?”
“It was plastic. The
floating island was made of plastic just like your little car.”
The girl stared at the
car in her hand. “There must have been lots of cars.”
He laughed. “I don’t know
if there were any cars but there was lots of plastic. Boatloads of it. Bottles,
bags, little pellets from I don’t know what. It all collected together in the
currents and then some wood got caught up and then some birds came to rest and
eventually a little island developed.”
The girl nodded. “How did
you get home?”
“Well, we couldn’t go far
without a sail and proper paddles so we floated on the island, east at first,
then south and then after many months west back toward home. All the while we
plaited ropes, wove a small sail from pandanus leaves and chose a small tree to
fell to make paddles. Eventually when father decided we were close enough we
loaded up our boat with dried fish and the water still, then pushed it off the
island and paddled north for two weeks until we caught sight of the smoke from
Kilauea.”
The girl looked up at him
wide eyed. “And you got home safe and sound.”
“Yes, we got home.” He
shrugged. “Safe but maybe not so sound. We ate so many shellfish and fish from
under the island I think we may have eaten some of the plastic too. I read in a
book from up in the dry house that lots of the plastic turns into tiny pieces too
small to see that can release poisons into your body.”
He turned to his son. “I
often wonder if that’s why you had an older brother and another sister that you
never met.” Grandmother sighed and concentrated on the combing the young girl’s
hair with her fingers.
Holokai stamped his fist
on the ground and pushed himself up. “If they won’t let me go on the voyage
then I will make my own. If the plastic was made with fire then I will destroy
it with fire. I’m going to take all this plastic to Kilauea to get rid of it
once and for all.” He paused. “I will scour the bays and reefs and remove every
piece that I can find before the poisons can get into the bodies of birds and
fish and …” He fell silent.
He sat down again and poked at the ground with a
stick. “I will ask the kupuna council to make a rule. All fishing boats must
collect the haole plastic they see and bring it back.”
Grandfather nodded. “That’s
a good idea son.”
Grandmother nodded too,
then glanced at Kalea. “For now you can do something even more useful. Help
your wife take the food to the feasting ground.”
Holokai’s face softened
as he looked at Kalea. He stood and strode quickly to her. As he neared he saw
her perspiration glistening on her breasts as she tied a heavy bundle of fruit
into a hand-woven mesh sack.
He stopped beside her. “I
will take this. You bring the banana leaves.” He nodded to the pile next to
her.
She looked up at him with
a fleeting smile. “Mahalo.” He stooped to pick up the bundle while she turned
to scoop up a stack of leaves. “I know you must be very disappointed the
council did not select you,” she said softly.
He grunted as he hefted
the sack of fruit on his shoulder but said nothing.
“I want to talk to you
about something important. Not the voyage.”
He grunted again.
She took a deep breath.
“Holokai, I‘m hapai, carrying.”
He stopped and turned to
her. “I know you have been carrying food all day for the feast. You bring
honour to our family with your contribution.”
“No!” She dropped the
leaves at her feet and turned to him. “I am carrying!” She placed her hand flat
on her stomach.
His eyes widened as he
stared first at her belly then at her face. “Hapai? Really?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He let the bag of fruit
drop to the ground, raised his hand to her face and cupped her cheek. “I…” He
dropped his head, then raised it again, his skin flushed. “I am sorry…” She
nodded and closed her eyes as he stared at her and stroked her cheek. “Are you
well? Have you had any bleeding this time?”
She opened her eyes and
shook her head. “No. Everything is fine.”
He grinned and ran his
hand slowly down her face and neck to her breast. He looked into her eyes. “I
haven’t been…. Let us fall in love again.” He reached up to remove the hibiscus
flower behind her left ear but she raised a hand to stop him.
She placed her hand over
his heart. “You are my skin.”
He placed his hand flat
between her breasts and blinked back the moisture in his eyes. “And you mine.”
He lowered his mouth to
hers and they kissed. His arms pulled her tightly against him. When they
stopped for breath, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the beach. “It’s
time to cool off after all your hard work.”
“But the food?”
“It will wait a little
while,” he laughed, as he ran with her to the water. She let out a shriek as he
dragged her with him into the surf.
Grandmother looked up at
the sound and grinned. Grandfather looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She gave
him a knowing smile. He watched the couple stand waist deep in the water and
kiss again. When they separated Holokai dived into waves and swam several
strokes into deeper water then turned to face her. She shouted to him, turned
and began swimming fast towards the rocky outcrop at the end of the beach.
Holokai shouted and splashed at her, then swam after her.
The young girl wriggled
on her grandmother’s lap “Where are they going?”
“To the rocks at the end
of the beach, mo’opuna.”
“I want to go too. I like
playing in the cave.”
The splashing arms
receded down the beach. “No. Not today.”
“Why not? I want to.” She
tried to wriggle free.
Grandmother laughed and
tickled the girl but did not let her go. “Let them have a quiet rest after
their swim.” Grandfather gave his wife an amused glance. The girl giggled and
dropped the sugar cane on the ground. Her face dropped and she reached out for
it. “Leave it,” said grandmother.
“Can I have some more?”
She nodded. “How about I
give you two fresh pieces and you can take one back home to your brother.”
But I don’t want to go
home.”
“No buts. Your
grandfather and I need to have a rest too before the feast.” She glanced up and
gave him a familiar look.
Grandfather grinned.
“Yes, rascal. Time for you to go home.”
********
Thanks for reading.
See the tabs at the top of the page for lots more stories.
No comments:
Post a Comment