Thank goodness no guns were mounted on the walls.
“There you are,” he said, looming into view.
We were eye-to-eye. All I could think to say was “I’m sorry.” My brain ordered up the words, but my mouth refused to move. It just hung open.
“Welcome to Hawaii. I’m Sam Reynolds.” Mr. Reynolds held out his hand.
I checked it for weapons, then shook it. “C-C —” I cleared my parched throat. “Claudia Kishi.”
“Grandpa has medals,” Lani reported.
“He was a war hero,” Scott said. “Pow-pow-pow!”
The sound effects were not helping my mood one bit.
“Well, I lived through it.” Mr. Reynolds chuckled. “I guess that’s heroic enough. Have a seat, Claudia. Can I get you a soda? I think I’ll have one.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Reynolds disappeared into the kitchen.
I was numb. He couldn’t have missed who I was. What I represented. Yet he hadn’t flinched a bit. He was just as nice as can be.
Maybe his eyes were bad.
He returned to the living room, gave me a can of soda, and sank into an armchair with a big smile. I could hear Scott and Lani playing in the den.
“Tell me, Claudia, have you seen the sights?” he asked. “Honolulu, Waikiki, Pearl Harbor …”
“Yeah, all of those.”
“Want to move here yet? Everybody does. I sure did, first time I laid eyes on this place.”
“Was that … during the war?” I asked.
Mr. Reynolds took a sip of his soda. “You bet. I was involved in the clean-up at Pearl Harbor.”
“And … well, you don’t … when you see … you don’t mind …”
Mr. Reynolds smiled. “Pardon me?”
I inhaled deeply. “Well, to be honest, I hated visiting Pearl Harbor, Mr. Reynolds.”
He looked puzzled. “Why’s that?”
The words just flew out. “All those bombs. All those wasted lives. On a Sunday morning, when no one expected it. I mean, how can anyone ever forget that, or forgive it? It — it just made me feel so ashamed. You know, to be Japanese.”
There. I’d said it. I’d finally gotten it off my chest. To a survivor of the disaster.
Mr. Reynolds didn’t say anything for a moment. He didn’t look angry, just thoughtful.
“In my family,” he finally said, “legend has it that my Scottish great-great-great-grandfather, Duncan Reynolds, burned another man’s farm. Killed all his animals and injured his son, all in a feud over money. Well, he was run out of town for that. He became penniless and sank into a life of terrible, heartless crime. Black-Hearted Duncan, they called him. The legend still survives.”
“How awful.”
“And you know what? When I go back to that same town, I’m treated like a hero. Sure, they tease me about it, but I’ve stayed friendly with one of the descendants of the man whose farm was burned.”
“He doesn’t mind?”
“They were different people, those ancestors. We can’t be held responsible for them. Even in a case like mine, in which it’s a direct descendant. Do you know where your ancestors stood during the war?”
“No …”
“Well, you can’t take on the burden of an entire country, can you? And frankly, no one has the right to put that burden on you, either.”
You know what popped into my mind? The way the U.S. government had herded away Japanese-Americans to detention camps. A big burden sure was put on them.
“Besides, Claudia,” Mr. Reynolds said, “the atom bombs made Pearl Harbor look small by comparison.”
Mr. Reynolds looked straight ahead for a few moments. He and I were both lost in thought.
Finally he took a swig of his soda. “Anyhow, that’s one reason I like Hawaii. People tolerate and respect each other pretty well here. I guess that’s all we can do, isn’t it?”
“Grandpaaaa!” Lani wailed, running into the living room. “Scott said I had armpit breath!”
Mr. Reynolds raised an eyebrow. “Of course, our tolerance does have limits,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
Boy, did I feel better. It seemed as if a huge sack had been lifted from my shoulders.
Well, sort of. Another sack was underneath.
I began thinking about Stacey again.
When Mr. Reynolds (the Younger) arrived to take me back to the hotel, his face was grim.
“Any news about my friend?” I asked.
“Your teacher was on the phone when I left,” he said. “I didn’t have time to find out what happened.”
I said quick good-byes and ran out to the car.
Mr. Reynolds sped back to the hotel. As we pulled into the hotel driveway, my heart was fluttering.
I could see a throng of kids in the lobby. Everyone was talking. They must have heard something.
“What do you mean, go to a beach?” Abby asked. “How can you think of a beach at a time like this?”
“I mean, the beach,” I replied. “The one Jessi and I went to yesterday.”
“The garbage dump?” Jessi said. “Dawn, you’re weird.”
“Look,” I pressed on, “I talked to Mrs. Reynolds about this. She thinks it’s a great idea. She agreed to give me these huge biodegradable garbage bags. It won’t take long, and Ms. Bernhardt says she’ll go with us. We can’t do much good moping around here.”
Mary Anne had already refused to go. She was sobbing softly on a sofa nearby, and Logan was trying to cheer her up. It was the closest I’d seen them on the whole trip.
“So we’re going to clean up a beach?” Abby asked. “How … ecologically correct.”
“I hate that phrase,” I said.
“All right, all right, I’ll go,” Abby said.
“Mrs. Reynolds is going to meet us at the side entrance with the bags,” I said. “You coming, Jessi?”
She sighed. “I guess.”
We went upstairs to get Ms. Bernhardt from her room. On the way down we checked at the front desk for news of Stacey (nothing yet). Then we went outside and picked up the bags.
Ms. Bernhardt carried them as we walked toward the water. Once again, as we approached the ridge, kids’ voices rang out. We climbed to the top and gazed over.
Abby made a face. “Ew. We’re supposed to clean this?”
“Honey, we’re going to need a bulldozer,” Ms. Bernhardt remarked.
“No, we’re not.” I took one of the bags from her and walked down to the beach. I picked up the first piece of litter I saw, an old bike tire, and threw it in.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to see a boy and a girl, about ten years old, running toward me.
“Picking up trash,” I said.
“Are you the janitor?” asked the girl.
“Nope, just a visitor,” I replied. “But I think this beach looks kind of gross, don’t you?”
“Yukio! Jeanette! Come here!” the boy called.
A younger boy and girl rushed over.
I continued stuffing garbage into my bag. Jessi called out, “I’ll start at the other end.”
“I’ve got the mauka side!” Abby exclaimed, running to the back of the beach.
“Trash detail in Hawaii,” Ms. Bernhardt mumbled. “Who’d have ever thought?”
Before long, the kids were grabbing bags and helping out. The older boy and girl were named Danny and Pohaikealoha (Pohai, for short). Yukio and Jeanette were their friends.
Abby held up a ripped, seaweed-encrusted running shoe. “Hmmm, what shoe size are you, Dawn?”
“Very funny,” I said.
“My goodness!” Ms. Bernhardt exclaimed, picking up a discarded bathing suit. “This person must have had a chilly trip home.”
The kids cracked up at that.
We found all kinds of interesting things on the sand and in the water — a chicken skeleton, a few clumps of dog hair, a Grateful Dead cassette, a steering wheel, a California Angels baseball cap, and a stethoscope (don
’t ask me).
Jessi was like a trash magnet. She filled three bags right away.
The kids? Well, let’s just say they weren’t as efficient, but they had the most energy.
“I have nine things in my bag!” Yukio announced.
“I have thirteen!” Jeanette said.
“That’s because yours are smaller.”
“So?”
Pohai stepped between them. “Hey, we’re a team,” she said. “It’s us against the trash.”
“Yeah, what’s our name?” Yukio asked.
“Um … the Anti-Litter Bugs,” Pohai replied.
“Yyyyes!” Yukio pumped his fist into the air.
Pohai was definitely the Kristy Thomas of the group. I smiled at her and said, “I guess you’re the Head Bug.”
Pohai smiled back. “I’m the oldest.”
You know that expression, “Many hands make light work”? Well, it sure was true that day. In about an hour we’d hauled all the garbage to the Dumpster.
Afterward we stood on the ridge, tired but thrilled.
“Wow, it’s actually pretty,” Abby said.
It was, too. A perfect little crescent of sand with a gentle surf.
“I want it to stay like this forever,” Pohai remarked.
“It can.” I nodded toward the pile of bags that remained. “Those are yours. Hand one out to everyone who comes to the beach from now on.”
“What happens when we run out?” Pohai asked.
“Buy more, silly,” Yukio said.
“We could put out trash cans, too,” Danny suggested.
“And a sign that says ‘Do Not Litter,’” Jeanette added.
“But we’d have to buy them,” Danny explained. “That’s expensive.”
“Well, how could you and your friends raise money?” I asked.
“Oooh! Oooh!” Jeanette raised her hand, as if she were in class. “In school we had a bake sale to raise money.”
“What about a walkathon?” Jessi asked. “Sign up people to pledge an amount for every mile you walk.”
“Or a readathon,” Abby said. “Same idea, but it’s money for every book you read, or every page you read.”
“Five dollars a page,” Danny said excitedly. “And I’ll read Mossflower.”
“Well, something like that,” I said.
“Can we swim now?” Jeanette whined.
“Last one in is a rotten banana!” Pohai shouted.
As they raced to the water, screaming, I shouted a good-bye.
“I’m impressed,” Ms. Bernhardt said. “Do you think you could do something about the faculty lounge when we go home, Dawn? It’s turned into such a pigsty.”
Walking back to the hotel, I felt pretty good. I know it sounds corny, but I really believe that if we each clean up a little corner of this world, it’ll be a better place to live in. I hoped Pohai and her friends would stay committed.
Mary Anne was pacing in front of the Sea View as we approached. When she saw us, she came running.
She was grinning from ear to ear.
“Guess what?” she shouted. “They found Stacey!”
Whucka-whucka-whucka-whucka …
We heard the rotor blades above us, but we couldn’t see a helicopter.
Pete Black was waving frantically at the patch of blank blue sky between the treetops. “Over here! Over here!”
“He can’t hear you!” Mr. Fredericks shouted. “Let’s find a clearing!”
Mr. Fredericks raced away between the trees. Pete, Mari, Renee, and I followed close behind him. The tree cover was pretty thick, and sunlight broke through only in small patches.
By the time we reached a clearing, the chopper was gone.
We all sank to the ground, breathless.
“They’ll come back,” Mr. Fredericks assured us.
“What if they don’t?” Renee asked.
Mr. Fredericks looked straight up. “Okay, the sun is setting to our right. I know we went down in the Kahikinui Forest Reserve. That means if we walk away from the sun, to the east, we should hit the western ridge of the Kaupō Gap. We follow that south, to the right, and we’ll reach the town of Kaupō. Got that?”
“Uh, we’ll just follow you,” Pete said.
“How long is it?” Mari asked.
“As the crow flies, nine or ten miles,” Mr. Fredericks replied.
“How about as the feet walk?” I asked.
“Maybe fifteen.”
Fifteen miles? I looked down at my light-weight aerobics shoes.
I felt very sorry for my feet.
And for me.
As everyone began walking, I glanced at my watch. It was already three o’clock, and I’d missed my lunch. “Mr. Fredericks, I have to eat,” I called out. “I’m a diabetic. I have a supply of emergency food and insulin in my pack, but only enough for a day or so.”
“Hold up!” Mr. Fredericks yelled ahead. “Take your time, Stacey. And don’t worry, you’ll be sitting in a hotel twenty-four hours from now. Trust me.”
I quickly took off my pack and tried as hard as I could to believe him.
Now, I was born and raised in New York City. For me, a nature walk meant a stroll around the Central Park reservoir.
That was not terrific preparation for a fifteen-mile hike through volcanic forest. I kept stepping on rocks and roots. If I wasn’t twisting my ankle, I was bruising my instep.
Pete, Mari, and Renee, however, were not from NYC. I was discovering that they were not fully human at all. They were, in fact, part mountain goat. They were scampering ahead, yakking away, having a delightful time.
Me? I groped along, clutching onto vines for support, moaning, feeling my blisters grow like the Bubble Cave of Haleakalā.
Soon the sun was casting long, creepy shadows. We rested near a spot that looked exactly like the one we’d started from.
“Are we any closer?” I asked.
“Can’t you smell the saltwater?” Mr. Fredericks asked.
We all sniffed. We all shook our heads.
I took my shoes off. My ankles rejoiced. My toes were singing hallelujah. “I don’t know if I can make it,” I said.
“It’s too dark to go on, anyway,” Mr. Fredericks said. “We’ll camp here. We can pool whatever food and water we have, get some sleep, then start again in the morning.”
Walk again? I couldn’t imagine it.
Wearily I found a secluded area where I could give myself an insulin injection and not gross out Pukey Pete. Then I went back to the group. Fortunately, Renee and Mari had brought along juice boxes and trail gorp. We ate and drank a somber meal. Then I found a comfortable spot and fell into a deep sleep. As I dozed off, I could hear Pete and Mari talking worriedly while Mr. Fredericks paced back and forth.
The next morning is a haze in my memory. I recall the screaming pain in my feet. I recall not eating enough breakfast, and being on the verge of unconsciousness.
And I remember reaching a dirt road, where a red Land Rover bounced by and stopped to give us a lift.
I must have passed out, because when I awoke, I was in a hospital room, hooked up to an IV tube. It took my eyes awhile to focus on the person standing over my bed.
“Hi, Stacey.”
I blinked a few times. I had to be dreaming. “Robert?”
When he smiled, I realized I was awake. Because dreams never cause real tears to roll down my cheeks.
“The helicopter company flew us here,” he said.
“Where is this place? How did I get here?”
“Hāna. Your whole group was picked up by a local guy. He drove you here. It’s a good thing, too. The doctors said your blood sugar was dangerously low.”
Behind Robert, I could see the others — Pete, Mari, Renee, Mr. Fredericks, Mr. De Young, and the kids from the other helicopter. They were all smiling, except for Pete, who looked totally grossed out by the mushy scene.
Well, I didn’t care. I threw my arms around Robert and hugged him as hard as I could.
* * *
Fortunately, I wasn’t bedridden very long. When my blood sugar stabilized, the doctors let me go.
I held Robert’s hand as we left the hospital. I sat with him on the bus ride back to Kahului (no, I did not want to take the helicopter).
I did have to ride in a plane, though, because Mr. De Young had scheduled a flight back to Honolulu. I sat with Robert on that, too.
He was being so nice to me. Bea Foster, who was in the other helicopter group, said he’d been crying all day. (Robert denied that, of course. But I believe it.)
Snuggling against him in that plane, I felt comfortable and warm. I hadn’t felt that way with him in a long time.
“Robert, I’m really sorry I was such a pill,” I said.
Robert shrugged. “I’m sorry I was ignoring you.”
“And I’m sorry I sat behind you!” Pete Black groaned from the seat in back of us.
We both burst out laughing.
As our plane began to descend toward the airport, Robert whispered in my ear, “I was crying. I thought we’d lost you.”
I smiled and gave him a kiss.
I could hear Pete scrambling for the barf bag.
* * *
Once we landed in Honolulu, Mr. De Young rented yet another minivan, and we drove up the coast to the North Shore of Oahu. We pulled up in front of a group of cottages.
Jessi’s face appeared in a window. I could hear her scream through the glass. Moments later, the entire BSC was racing toward us.
My feet were still killing me. Robert had to prop me up after I climbed out of the minivan.
Did Claudia care about my fragile condition? Did Mary Anne, or Dawn, or Abby, or Jessi? Not at all.
They mobbed me. They screamed in my face. They picked me up. They hugged me. They dripped their tears all over my blouse.
And you know what? I didn’t feel any pain at all.
Not a bit.
“Calm?” I said. “This is calm?”
We were standing on Sunset Beach. The waves were rising up like enormous sea monster jaws, then crashing to the shore. A few surfers and Boogie boarders were out that day, and some people were even body-surfing.
I thought they were crazy.
“These are only ten-footers,” Dawn the Surfer explained. “Summer is the off-season. In winter the waves are huge. That’s when the championships are held.”