“And you should have heard me scream!” Mavis said. “The brake is all right now. I had it fixed.” She added fondly, “Troy is utterly hopeless about remembering things.”
The drive to Waimanalo took over an hour. During that time neither of the Purcells mentioned Lala and Keoni, or the second reason why the Kealohas were celebrating with a luau.
There was a crowd by the time we arrived. At the side of the house a long table had been contrived by laying planks across wooden trestles. Hawaiian women moved leisurely about in cotton holokus, arranging fern fronds and hibiscus blossoms on the bare wood, laying fresh ti leaves in the center which they filled with speckled mangoes, bananas, and pineapples. They gossiped and joked, exchanging remarks in a mixture of pidgin, Hawaiian, and phrases of English.
“Isn’t the table pretty!” Mavis exclaimed, and turned to one of the women. “Do you think I could help?”
“Sure. Ask in the kitchen. There’s plenty to do.”
Mavis went toward the rear of the house and I stared after her. Troy’s wife had certainly suffered a sea-change. Anne was looking at her too, and Anne’s face was sober. She met my glance and shrugged, then caught my hand.
“Let’s change, shall we?”
We got into bathing suits and went down to the beach where Archie Kamaka had already prepared the pit. People were rushing back and forth, heaping fuel on the nearby fire which heated the stones. Archie raked coals aside and nodded; the rocks were red. Next came the ritual of putting the pigs into the imu.
Reverent assistants scraped fire from the rocks. Archie, scowling in concentration, dipped into a calabash of cold water and snatched a stone which he flung into the pit. More followed until the imu was fined with hot stones; then fresh banana leaves were laid over them and the pigs carefully placed in the center. Their sides were braced with red yams, packages of laulau were added, and breadfruit and bananas and crayfish and small mysterious bundles wrapped in leaves, until at last hot rocks were stuffed into the middles of the pigs and the whole was covered with leaves, more rocks, a layer of wet burlap, and shovelfuls of sand.
“Hey! Isn’t this something?” The Garrisons had joined us. “My mouth is watering already,” Bill said. “How long will it take to cook?”
“Three or four hours.” That was David Kimu, coming to greet us.
I heard Peggy’s indrawn breath as she saw David, who had just come out of the water. Wet black hair curled on his head, muscles rippled in his thighs as he moved toward us, wearing a red malo. He winked at Anne and me, fully aware of the sensation he was causing. Peggy stammered that it was delightful to see him again and avoided looking at her husband, whose opu bulged over Polynesian print shorts.
“The idea,” David told them, “is to keep busy. We’re about ready for the hukilau. Come along to the water.” He led us seaward, explaining to Bill that huki means pull and lau means leaf, from the ti leaves which are used to frighten fish into the net.
At the shore a crowd had gathered, and we saw Troy there, with Lala. They were watching Keoni and two other men launch a boat loaded with the long net which would be dropped in a horseshoe pattern into the sea. Anne and I walked behind the Garrisons and we heard Peggy say, “Is that his famous model? What’s so terrific about her?”
Her husband chuckled. “Take another look, Peg.”
Lala was wearing an old woolen bathing suit which was mended in moth-eaten spots. It was tight on her, but Lala was indifferent to that. Her long hair blew into her face and she brushed it back and laughed and said something to Troy. The net was being dropped and he picked it up and they took hold, Troy’s hands grasping the rope behind hers.
Bill muttered, “Now I understand why Troy forgets everything but his art.”
Peggy’s voice was sharp with spite. “It’s a good thing he has Mavis to handle his affairs for him. Otherwise he might find himself in a mess.”
We caught up the net and waited for the boat to return.
“Troy insisted the other day he doesn’t want to keep up his policy.” Bill seemed to feel a need to explain his wife’s remark. “He’s carrying thirty thousand life, and claims he won’t be making enough in the future to meet payments. I tried to convince him he was crazy, but evidently it took Mavis to bring him to his senses. When I reported to the home office, they wrote back that they had just received his check for the premium.”
We had taken our places behind the Garrisons; now we moved forward as the boat finished its slow circle and dropped the last of the net. Peggy began to squeal with excitement. Under cover of her noise, Anne said to me, “I want to talk to you.” I left the group and followed Anne to the house. We sat in the shade and lit cigarettes. Anne’s face was serious as she watched the group on the sand. Keoni squatted with shoulders bent over the mullet he held; bright scales flew from his knife. Lala was beside him and Troy knelt opposite. They laughed, then their faces sobered at something Troy said and Lala put her hand on Troy’s arm and spoke very solemnly. Keoni looked at Troy and nodded. The young couple seemed to be making some kind of promise.
Anne said, “I don’t like this.”
“What don’t you like?”
“This situation between them.”
“Between whom? Troy and Lala?”
“Between Troy and his wife. They are trying — at least, she is trying — to make us believe something which is phony.”
My wife was not a worrier by nature. I asked, “What do you mean, ‘phony’?”
“I don’t believe they really agree about staying in the Islands.”
“Do you think he’ll change his mind?”
“I think Mavis will try to change it for him. If she isn’t able to do that... I wish I knew how he really feels about Lala.”
“Well.” I said, rising, “there’s one way to find out. Let’s ask David.”
Before we could talk to David we were interrupted by the arrival of one of the most honored guests. A very old Hawaiian lady appeared and was greeted by shouts of welcome. She was Lala’s grandmother, come from Kauai that day to give her blessing to the young couple. Kaahumanu Kaiulani Kealoha was snowy-haired and dignified, the purple holoku she wore hung loose on her tall, thin body. She embraced Lala and hung around her neck a lei of mokihana and maile from their valley home; she went through the same ceremony with Keoni.
Then she was seated in a canvas chair while David announced, “It is time to drink a toast, to drink many toasts!” There was a buzz of agreement and paper cups were handed around. The first toast was to Lala’s grandmother, with congratulations for her bravery in making the trip to our island by plane; her first and probably her last flight.
Then we drank to Lala and Keoni and wished them happiness and success with the fishing hui and many children.
And last, to Troy, who laughed with delight and when he finished his drink said, “Now I have a small gift for my two friends. To remember this time, and because—” he put an arm around each of them and finished:
“Me ke aloha pau ole.”
My love for you will never die.
David handed him the package we had brought in the car, and when Troy unwrapped it everyone moved forward to admire his gift.