We entered through the kitchen, which contained a stove, refrigerator, and chipped porcelain sink under the window overlooking the driveway. The rest of the house was equally simple, furnished with creaking wicker and dime-store curtains. Umi showed us the four rooms with a pride which I understood after learning that he had built both houses himself. He had a small orchestra which played for local parties and occasional night-club engagements. The identical house next door, he told us, had been occupied by his parents.
“They’ve gone back to Kauai,” he said. “My father’s a good mechanic but he doesn’t like living in the city. And now our fishing hui’s beginning to pay, so he can go home.”
He explained that the Piper Cub which flew us to the village was part of a cooperative which the people had recently formed. They owned a sampan and the plane was used to spot schools of tuna, mullet, and red snapper which ran off the northern coast of the island. Keoni, who had learned to fly in the army, scouted at an altitude of about a thousand feet, and when he located a school of fish he dropped signals to the waiting sampan.
“Used to bring in five, sometimes six tons on a good day,” Umi said. “Now they get eight and ten from a single school. Want to come out front? We’re rehearsing.”
We followed him to the lanai where in the sun three men sat with instruments. We listened while they played Ke Kali Nei Au, the Hawaiian Wedding Song.
Troy was restless. He finally asked, “Where’s Lala?”
“She went swimming.”
Troy’s face showed disappointment. Umi said, “Not at the beach. Very near here. Want to go find her?”
He looked at our feet doubtfully. I began to unlace my sneakers, explaining to Troy, “The trail will be slippery. It rains almost every day here. Remember that rainbow we saw the morning you arrived?” Troy’s delight was out of proportion to the value of the information I gave him. “So it came from here?” He sat down immediately and removed his shoes. We rolled up trouser legs and started out.
Skidding and slipping, clutching branches of mountain apple and guava trees, we climbed the banks of the stream. As we pushed through thick growth of ti and ginger we heard the waterfall, and we heard voices, too. But when we reached the pool no one seemed to be there.
Troy cupped his hands and yelled, “Lala!”
She appeared from behind the falls, hastily tying a lavalava around her waist. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. She called over her shoulder, “Keoni. Come on out.”
Keoni started toward us, laughing. “We thought it was strangers,” he said. “No clothes!”
“Here!” She tossed shorts into the pool. He waded to shallow water and put them on.
“We’re ready to start to work, Troy,” Lala said. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Troy answered.
And that was all. We never once discussed ideas for illustrating the first installment. I knew that what he painted would be right. And it was. It took him ten days to finish the two pictures which would be sent to the mainland immediately. When, after we congratulated him, Mavis commented that he generally worked much faster, he explained that light was sometimes poor at the pool and that the sittings had been interrupted by showers.
“Why don’t you work here, then, instead of in that funny little shack?”
“I can’t,” he said. “It’s got to be done there.”
He did a lot of work in the cottage — background layouts, preliminary sketches, and so forth. Umi had offered him the house next door and Troy went there every day. He had the telephone connected so Mavis could reach him, and she brought a lunch once in a while and read novels while Troy worked.
At this point my new book came back from the publisher with suggestions for revisions and these necessitated a trip to Kona to check on background detail. I did a lot of running around there and then settled at the Volcano House to finish the rewrite, which took two long weeks. When I came home I asked Anne about the Purcells, and she brought me up to date while we had dinner.
“How’s Troy?” I asked. “Did he have his binge?”
“Apparently,” she said, “he has been too busy. Troy just sent the third group of illustrations off by air freight.”
“That was the beach scene. Where did he paint it? At Hanauma?”
“No. He decided on Waimea, where there are fewer people. The pictures were wonderful. But there was almost a tragedy that day.”
“What happened?”
Anne told me briefly. The Garrisons had gone to Maui, where Bill was visiting one of his company’s branch offices, and without their companionship Mavis was lonely. Troy suggested that since Waimea was on a side of the island which she had not seen, she should come along and they would have a picnic. While everybody was occupied, Troy at his easel and the Hawaiian group in poses he had given them, Mavis decided to go wading. She was knee-deep when a sudden gigantic wave knocked her down and the undertow caught her. Mavis’s scream brought Troy running; he plunged in after her, only to be caught as she was. The Hawaiians made a chain of hands and rescued them, and when they were safe ashore Umi told Mavis that there was no reef at Waimea, the beach was posted Unsafe for Swimming. Hadn’t she seen the warning sign? No, she hadn’t, and it was not until they packed for the trip home that Troy discovered he had tossed his shirt over the warning sign when he set up his easel nearby.
“Is Mavis all right now?” I asked.
“She’s had a shock. She doesn’t say so but I think she wants to go home. She says the climate is affecting Troy, too; he has never taken so long over a job. And the month at Royal is up.”
“What does Troy say?”
“He says they can move into the empty cottage next to Umi. It won’t cost them anything. Mavis would be really isolated there—” Anne pushed her coffee cup aside. “I have an idea, Johnny. Troy insisted on no publicity, but — considering what is involved — suppose we call a few people and mention that the Purcells are in Honolulu?”
I was at the telephone before she finished speaking.
The following week there was a reception at the Honolulu Academy of Arts, to meet Troy Purcell. Then the Davis Galleries at Waikiki had a showing of local sketches Troy had made, plus layouts for the illustrations already finished. Troy was working that day, but Mavis presided prettily, wearing blue organza and an expression of wifely pride. Then we read about luncheons, bridge parties, and a tea in her honor. Finally we heard that the Purcells had moved to Manoa; the Sunday Advertiser devoted a page to photographs: Troy at his easel and Mavis in a silk kimono arranging anthuriums and hanging fishnet draperies around the windows of the cottage.
I went to see them that afternoon. Troy was working in the dining room, which had become his studio. Mavis was in the front room reading a book by William Roughead. Crossing their lanai I had heard music from the house next door; it was less audible in their living room, because windows on that side were closed.
Mavis seemed delighted to have a visitor- She called to Troy to mix some drinks, and he came out with a blank look. But he smiled when he saw me, and said, “You haven’t been around for a long time. Aloha, John. Pehea oe?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “How’s the work going?”
“I’m almost finished.” He turned to his wife with a puzzled expression. “What was it you told me to do?”
“Drinks, dear,” she said, and he nodded and started to the kitchen.
“How do you like housekeeping in Hawaii?” I asked. Mavis said she liked it very much. The domestic problem was certainly simpler, wasn’t it?