David walked over to his desk, shuffled some papers around, and handed her the letter. She ran up to her room with it.
Mina’s room was the one place in the house she felt truly comfortable. It was the only room in which she didn’t feel like if she lingered too long she might break something, or worse, get it dirty—like the sofa in the sitting room. The countless times she had been reminded how expensive it was or how hard it would be to clean had just served to alienate Mina from her own sitting room. Probably exactly what the adults had wanted in the first place, she thought.
But her room was different—and the excitement a couple years ago when she was told she would be allowed to pick the colors and the décor! The pale lilac color on the walls screamed 6th grader, but it still made Mina smile when she walked in. A large blow-up palm tree left over from a tropical-themed party from 7th grade stood in a corner, and her heroes, Olympic swimmers Missy Franklin, Michael Phelps, and Ryan Lochte smiled down at her from the walls.
The Summer Olympics last year had had a huge impact on her. She had almost convinced her dad to buy tickets and take her and Andrew to watch them live, but they had waited too long and everything was sold out. She also would have missed club swimming practices, and two swim meets. She was disappointed, as a girl used to getting everything is bound to be, but in the end she was glad she didn’t go: seeing the world stars on TV only motivated her to train harder at the pool, and in the month after the Olympics, she shaved 3 seconds off of her 100m. After watching the women’s races, Mina realized that her times weren’t that far off and that she might actually be able to make it in swimming. Plus, her doctor said she still might grow a few inches.
All that was over now. Her dad had seen to that. Or rather, her dad had forced her to quit with his unreasonableness. A small part of Mina wanted to whisper that she was only hurting herself by quitting swimming, not her dad, but whenever a hint of that thought threatened to bubble to the surface of her consciousness, she slammed it back down with her anger at all the things her father had kept from her: details about her mother and her grandmother, and visits to her grandmother.
Mina threw her stuff on the small cream loveseat just inside her bedroom door, ran to her queen-size bed, and unfolded the pages. She kicked off her shoes to achieve maximum comfort for this big moment. The letters were written on the same lined paper her grandmother always used. Barely 6 inches by 8 inches and yellowing from age, Mina liked to imagine they were torn from a notebook that her mom had used in school.
There were actually two letters written in her grandmother’s almost indecipherable cursive.
Dear David,
I hope you are well.
I am writing to remind you of your promise to send Mina to Okawii when she is old enough. I believe that time has come. I know she still has another year of school left, but I would like to introduce her to the island before she completely grows up and before the needs of college and her choosing a career suck her up into her own world. Therefore, I propose that you send her for the summer, and, hopefully, with your support, she will choose to come back to visit in the future.
Know that you, too, are welcome on Okawii for the summer, if you so choose.
-N
Mina jumped up. Are you kidding!!?? Of course I want to go back and visit! Her grandmother had no idea how badly she had waited for this moment: the chance to see where she really came from.
Mina was ecstatic that she might be allowed to go to Okawii whenever she pleases. Of course she would go—she’d be 18 in 2 years and then she could do whatever she wanted. Her trembling fingers opened the second letter.
My dearest Mina,
By now you have found out that a long time ago your father agreed to send you to me on Okawii when you are old enough. We are a very small community and do not live in the luxury you have come to expect. I am afraid we lack many of the things you have come to see as normal, but we have what we need and we have love enough. There are many people here who are very curious about you. I must admit that I, too, want to know what became of my Eva’s little one. Please come and spend the summer with me. It is time for you to find out who you are.
Love and kisses,
Your Grandmother
Mina read the letter several times, and then smelled it, looking for any other physical sign of her grandmother she could have right now. Nothing.
She had a box where she kept all the letters from Okawii. Her grandmother had sent the box, along with her shell necklace that she wore everywhere for her 8th birthday. “A very special birthday on Okawii,” she had written. Mina still didn’t understand why. Eight years old is far from being an adult, even in a bar-mitzvah-type of way. She figured that it was because she had lost all of her baby teeth.
“It must have cost her a fortune to send that, and it made the journey intact!” exclaimed Mina’s aunt after seeing her open it at the party.
The box was about one foot by one foot square, and five inches tall. Pale pink cowry shells lined the entire top of the box, and the sides were decorated with a thin golden twine wound into different motifs. The tops of the shells were tiny, and a layer of dust was visible in the crevices between them.
This box, along with the necklace and an old picture of her mother and grandmother, were her only connection to Okawii. These were her greatest treasures.
After alternately staring out the window and pacing up and down, she walked over to her dresser and placed the letter, already almost fingered into nothingness, into her special box.
Andrew sat down in the sitting room in the same seat that Mr. Young had just vacated. It was still warm. He wanted so badly to be seen as worth something in his father’s eyes, to be treated like a grownup by him. The band was his way of attempting this. Andrew knew that the things his father valued more than anything in life were money and success, and he figured that if his band took off, he could become a rock star and have all the money and success he would need, with enough left over to impress his dad.
He wished he could be more like Mina, who was unafraid of everyone and everything. And so charismatic. When she turned it on, she could charm a room full of parents and teachers alike.
After admiring David’s new Bentley, Simon came back in for his drink.
He looked at his son, sitting there with his big hair and ripped rock-band t-shirt, and turned to walk out of the room. This blatant lack of acknowledgement should have hurt Andrew, but he was used to it. Anyways, he had good news for his father.
Andrew ran his hand through his large curly hair, trying to channel Mina. “Uh, sir?”
“Yes?” Simon turned.
“Uh, sir, I, uh, wanted to tell you that I saw the guidance counselor today. He thinks I might have a chance at Dartmouth—if I retake the SATs.”
“Good.” Simon’s eyes brightened and he smirked as he sat down, trying to concern himself with his son. If his son did manage to get into Dartmouth, then he’d finally have something to talk about with him.
Andrew saw that he had pleased his father and was delighted.
“But you’ll have to join some more respectable clubs—that multicultural club isn’t going to cut it. You should do debate club. Or student council.” Simon sipped his drink. It had been his wife who had wanted kids, really. Only after David, Sr. informed him that the majority of millionaires were family men did he finally agree to have one. Their agreement was that she would raise the child, and, by all other accounts, she was doing a good job at it. But to Simon, his son just seemed so. . . average.
Andrew’s shoulders sagged at the advice. He and Mina had been founding members of the multicultural club and he was proud of the work they had done raising money for the Somalian refugees in their town.
“Yes, sir.” But Andrew had expected this, and was prepared. “I plan on joining as soon as school starts—I was thinking maybe Lincoln-Douglas debate.”
“L-D, huh? That was my event. One of the hardest events in debate club.” Simon never did realize
how many times he had told his son this.
Andrew knew he had pleased him, and hurried on to his next piece of good news.
“Sir, I also wanted to tell you that my band got a gig at the Curly Cue. It’s next Thursday.” The Curly Cue was a local bar, popular with the college kids. Andrew’s strategy was to develop a following among that demographic, who were always trying to impress their peers with knowledge of ever more obscure groups.
“Good, that will look excellent on your application.” Simon smiled. He didn’t know the kid’s band was anything more than just noise to bother him. Kudos to him for trying to take it somewhere. Maybe he had misjudged his son. Maybe the boy had some get-up-and-go in him in the end. He finished his drink, stood up, and patted his son on the back.
Andrew was feeling on top of the world. He was able to present his father with 2 pieces of news that Simon appreciated and even won a smile from him.
Chapter 2
Hector Orr gripped the podium confidently with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, his missing three fingers a testament to his bravery in the wild. Of all the places in the world, this is where he felt most at home, among his fellow hunters who understood his attitude. At 42, Hector was the youngest president of the exclusive, secret club Venatus. They met formally every year at a ritzy resort in Switzerland; informally the members hunted and fished together throughout the year.
“Remember, my fellow hunters,” he finished his speech in his Texas drawl, “An animal is an animal.” The crowd cheered. “As they told me in Kenya last month when I took down my baby lion,” he was interrupted with a whistle from the crowed, “Furaha uwindaji, happy hunting for the next year, until we meet again.”
The polite applause lasted only a minute; everyone was ready to hit the bar where the real stories were swapped. They would never admit this aloud, but most of these hunters would technically be considered poachers. They thought of themselves as keepers of the ancient tradition of hunting that was not slave to seasons and permits. These men, and they were all men, hunted the most exotic creatures on the planet, most of which were on the endangered species list. Just to get into Venatus one had to have bagged an elephant, as well as have the recommendation of three other members. Needless to say, the members were fabulously wealthy. In exchange for their $25,000 yearly membership fee, the hunters were able to hunt on each other’s properties located throughout the world, learn how to avoid local authorities, and, most importantly, exchange tips on the locations of the most fabulous prizes.
“What a great speech,” Simon Lanza turned to the man next to him.
The man nodded. “I’m inspired.” They rose together to head to the cocktail party.
This was Simon’s first time at the Venatus meeting, having only gotten his elephant a few months ago, and he was thrilled to be rubbing elbows with these sorts of people. Status and money had hypnotized him since a rich uncle took him to New York City as a child. He stayed at the Waldorf Astoria and ate lobster and steak, while tagging along with his uncle to various business meetings and trying to understand the language of businessmen.
This secret society was everything Simon had ever dreamed of: money, power, and hunting. He fit right in with his well-tailored suit and gold watch, and looked for an opportunity to introduce himself to Hector.
Simon joined the group of people around Hector at the bar, who were listening to him tell the story of how he lost his three fingers.
“…and they had just left me, all alone out in the bush, me, an 11-year-old. As I was sitting there waiting for them to come back for me, I heard a rustle in the bushes. When I turned, I found myself face to face with a croc, about 2 yards long, and she looked mad. A few paces back I noticed her nest and before I knew it, she grabbed my shoe.”
Some of the guys standing around Hector smiled, having heard the story before.
“Now, I was unarmed and had nowhere to run. I shimmied out of my shoe and leapt on top of her shoulders, thinking I would choke her, but she put up a fight. I wasn’t prepared for how powerfully she would swing her body and she threw me off her like a piece of fuzz. The next time I was prepared for her. I jumped on her back again and she’s a-wagging and a-whirling and after she snapped off my digits, I got really mad and just grabbed her neck and held it. When my pa got back after realizing he’d left me, I was sitting on top of her, a changed man.”
“You mean changed like minus three fingers, right?”
“No sir,” Hector shook his head with a hardened look on his face. “I mean changed like I’d never let a beast get the better of me again. An animal is an animal.” Those listening to his story all knew that the seriousness on his face when he said his catchphrase meant trouble for any creature he might come across.
Nukuluve stood on the dock on the island of Okawii, looking out to sea. She squinted with her wrinkled hand held to her wrinkled forehead, the products of 70 years of tropical sun.
Scanning the horizon, she turned to her neighbor. “How is Tommy doing in school?” she asked the woman standing next to her. On Okawii, many high-school age kids went off to St. John’s, an island not too far away that was big enough to support a high school. Nukuluve knew the other parents thought it strange for her to be on the dock waiting for the boat. She had no grandchildren away at St. John’s and one did not usually await the boat in anticipation of a letter. The post could not be counted upon to deliver anything in a timely manner.
“He is well,” Tommy’s mother answered, “he said he might make straight A’s this semester.” The young woman ended her sentence and looked down demurely, out of respect for her elder.
Nukuluve was one of the most esteemed seniors on the island. Her gentle manner encouraged everybody to come to her with their problems, and her wisdom kept them coming back. Also, her soup was legendary. She was weekly sought out by a young woman who wanted her famous turtle-soup recipe. They would spend the afternoon with her, patiently watching every step of her process, only to be slightly saddened that it was the same recipe their own mothers used, no doubt also learned from Nukuluve. Nobody could figure out what made her soup so much better, or maybe nobody thought to count in the love that she put into it.
Nukuluve sat quietly and listened to the other parents talk about their children. Nobody said it out loud, but everybody knew that high school was usually when Okawiians found their husbands or wives, whether they be from the island or not. Most of the parents hoped their children would find Okawiian mates, but nobody could argue against the benefit of new blood for the island.
“My Ana has become quite the student, and she is a good leader as well,” chimed in Josephina.
The others murmured and nodded. Not all of them understood what Nukuluve did: that Josephina was trying to pair Ana up with the most eligible bachelor on the island, the handsome Keoni, who was nephew of the Chief.
Then one gentleman jutted his chin out toward the ocean. The others looked out and saw the large sails of the Aquarius billowing in the wind. It zigged and zagged toward Okawii’s single dock and finally pulled up, the expert crewmen leaping out and tying her down.
The Okawiian teens filed off while the crew unloaded a few crates and a box of sea-worn envelopes. Last off the boat was a light brown-haired girl in a thick ponytail that nobody had seen before.
Nukuluve recognized her son-in-law’s face and her daughter’s eyes immediately. She stepped forward, tears in her eyes, and said, “Mina.”
Mina saw her grandmother’s tears and broke down as well, burying her head into the old woman’s shoulder. Her grandmother’s tropical, coconut-oil scent permeated her. Mina sighed, and, realizing they had an audience, collected herself. Her grandmother looked exactly like she did in her picture at home, only with a few more wrinkles.
During this scene, the other adults made eyes at each other and couldn’t wait to get off the dock and away from Nukuluve so they could discuss it. One of the negatives of being in a small, insular community was the extent of the gossip.
The old woman understood this and took the opportunity to introduce the girl. “This is Mina. She is my granddaughter and will be here to visit for the summer.”
Tommy’s mother turned to Josephina and whispered, “I wonder if hers will be golden like her mother’s.”
“That would certainly shake things up,” Josephina answered, raising her eyebrows.
Mina pretended not to hear them, but wondered what they were talking about. She picked up her bag, and Nukuluve took it from her, presumably to help, and promptly dropped it.
One of the men immediately saw what was happening.
“Filipe! Carry that bag to Nukuluve’s hut,” he ordered a short, skinny boy.
As Filipe bent over to pick up the bag, he glanced at Mina and gave her a toothy smile.
The dock slowly cleared and the two women were left alone.
“This place is so beautiful,” Mina said as they walked down the beach. To her left, palm trees swayed in the late afternoon breeze, and to her right, small waves washed up on the beach in a steady rhythm. “So this is where my mom grew up.”
“Yes, my dear. It is my hope that Okawii will become home to you as well over the course of the summer.”
“Grandmother, how did you know which boat I was on?”
The old woman chuckled. “The Aquarius is the only boat that docks at Okawii, besides our own fishing boats. It comes only every two weeks. If you did not come today, I would have known you were delayed and would have simply come back in two weeks. Do not think I have been on the dock every day waiting.”
Mina’s mind started analyzing quickly. “Only every 2 weeks? How do you get mail? Aren’t there bills to be delivered and paid and…”