Red Sky Over Hawaii Page 3

  “Have you heard about the new medicine for leprosy? People are saying it’s a miracle, even though it hurts like the dickens,” she said.

  He nodded toward a box. “It’s the main reason I’m going. Last time I was there, I was watching these young kids running around playing soccer looking like regular kids, then you know some of them were probably ripped away from their families. Can you imagine?”

  Lana had never been there, since the whole community on the peninsula was quarantined, but she had heard the unfathomable stories. Scouts sent to look for infected people. Families hiding out in remote valleys—Waipi‘o and Kalalau—so they wouldn’t be separated. The sad thing was she almost could imagine. And if Baron was kindhearted enough to be flying them supplies, the least she could do was trust him.

  Soon after they took off, they banked to the right and headed toward Diamond Head. Typical morning rain clouds blotted out much of the Ko‘olau range, but along the shores of Waikiki, skies were clear and seas turquoise and balmy. Lines of coconut trees snaked just inland from the beach. It was such a pretty sight that for a moment she forgot to be scared, and her worries about her father slipped away.

  Baron held the box of malasadas in his lap. He had polished off two in under a minute. He wiped the sugar from his lips and yelled to be heard above the engines. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

  From above it looked even dreamier. “Like a painting.”

  All these white-sand beaches had taken some time to get used to after coming from Hilo, where the sand was the color of black lava. The water there was different, too. A deeper, more solitary blue. Not that she spent much time in the ocean anymore. Her life had become one big affair of dinner parties and functions, polo matches, lunches and teas and an endless procession of houseguests. All part of the duty of being Mrs. Hitchcock.

  “You see the headlines from the Hilo Tribune-Herald on Sunday?” Baron asked.

  Everyone seemed to want to talk about the Japanese these days. “My husband brought one home. Scary business.”

  Japanese May Strike over the Weekend.

  “Really gets your hair up to hear that, especially being right next to Pearl. I’ve been keeping an eye out lately when I fly for any signs of trouble.”

  “Sounds like they’re more interested in the Philippines or the East Indies, though,” she said, having listened enough to Buck and his army friends talking late into the night about what might happen with Japan and trying to anticipate their next move.

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Common sense, I guess. Look where we are. Smack in the middle of the Pacific, halfway to America from Tokyo. Hawaii would be strategically perfect for them. And since FDR moved the whole Pacific Fleet out here last year, I’d say we’re a pretty nice target.”

  “They’d have to be pretty stupid,” she said, picturing the formidable row of battleships lined up in the harbor.

  “Or bold.”

  As if she didn’t have enough on her mind already. A Japanese invasion was more than she could bear to think about at present, so she turned her attention at the scenery below. Once they flew past Koko Head crater and into the Kaiwi Channel, small whitecaps swirled in the sea below and the ride grew choppier. She tightened her seat belt against her hip bones. Forget about her white dress.

  “Say, how long have you been flying?” she asked, afraid to hear his answer and yet needing to know.

  “Nine years.”

  She pulled back to get a better look at him. “Wait a minute—how old are you?”

  “Twenty-four. I know I look young, but I’d rather look young than old, wouldn’t you?” he said with a lazy smile.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Baron offered the box of malasadas and she took one. With her stomach in a knot this morning, she had skipped breakfast and now realized she was famished.

  The skies were clear, and they flew directly into the morning sun, which scattered a web of gold on the tips of the waves. She could almost see how one could get used to this. All was smooth until the approach into Kalaupapa, when the plane started dipping and diving erratically. She snuck a nervous glance at Baron.

  He was facing straight ahead, calm as could be. “Relax, this is nothing,” he said.

  Closer to the spit of land that is Kalaupapa, Lana could make out the zigzag of the mule trail down the cliffs. A memory suddenly arose from over twenty years ago. The first time she had felt a strange prickly feeling in the air that preceded a tragedy.

  One morning during third grade, a Hawaiian girl named Mele showed up to school with a rosy spot on her cheek. A few of the kids were teasing her about it, but Lana was scared for her. Everyone knew what a spot could mean. One of the teachers must have reported it, because just after lunch two men in suits came and hauled Mele off. For days and weeks afterward, Lana kept a lookout in the morning before school, hoping to catch sight of the girl’s long, thick braids. But Mele never came back.

  If you were Hawaiian, you had no immunity. And since Lana was part Hawaiian, she was convinced that she would end up with the sickness. She took to inspecting her entire little body several times a day, until her father informed her that, with his haole blood, she need not worry. Still, the look of pure terror on Mele’s face was forever etched in her mind.

  From above, with all the whitewashed plantation-style cottages, churches, rock walls and the lighthouse, it appeared a more bucolic settlement than anything. Then she noticed the runway. If you overshot it, there was a good chance you’d end up in the ocean. Lana closed her eyes and prayed.

  They touched down without incident, and a cluster of men immediately came out to help unload. These were workers, not patients. Lana stood off to the side, wind tossing her hair in every direction. The air was ripe with salt. Onlookers crowded along the field: little kids, teens, men, women. Some stood; some were in wheelchairs. They all waved, and Lana and Baron waved back. People shouted aloha and thank you. She strained to see their faces. Would she even recognize Mele? But there were too many tears to see through.

  A realization smacked her in the side of the head. All this time she’d been going about her life the wrong way. Here she was, distanced from her own father and refusing to come back home for how many years now? And the whole thing was self-imposed. These people would have given their lives to be together, in fact many had, following their diseased loved ones to Moloka‘i and contracting leprosy themselves. A chill traveled up her spine.

  Now, for her, it might be too late.

  * * *

  Midway between Maui and the Big Island, the weather took a frightening turn. Baron had warned her that the ‘Alenuihāhā Channel was the windiest in the islands, and boy, was he right about that. The plane bucked and dipped like an angry wild bronco. Probably a good thing they had dropped off the cargo. Below, the ocean was a frenzy of white, and Lana wasn’t sure if she’d rather be on a steamer or in this flying can of tin. The only thing for certain was that she would kiss the solid ground if they made it to Hilo alive.

  “Hang on tight, there. Those clouds up ahead may cause some bumps,” Baron said.

  “Aren’t we already in the bumps?” she asked, blood pressure rising by the second.

  Just north of Upolu Point, everything was swallowed by an ominous wall of charcoal-and-navy storm clouds. Raindrops showed up on the windshield a few moments later, streaking up like tiny water snakes.

  “Don’t you need to be able to see where the cliffs are?” she yelled.

  From there to Hilo the coastline was mostly deep valleys and sheer cliffs, thousands of feet high.

  “It helps,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and smoothing down his hair.

  Five minutes into the wall of clouds, the plane went into a free fall. Lana let out a small scream. The box
of malasadas hit the roof and rained down sugar. She looked over at Baron, whose face was unreadable. He made a wide turn. “I’m going to swing farther out to sea just to be safe,” he said.

  Safe was a poor word choice. In fact nothing about this whole experience felt safe. “Should we turn back?”

  “You need to be in Hilo, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why turn around?”

  Baron must have been born with an extra helping of confidence, for which she was grateful. Her father always said that confidence was catching. Spend enough time with confident folks, and some would rub off on you. Lana began reciting the words have faith over and over in her head. But that ended with the first flash of lightning and a clap of thunder loud enough to drown out the engines.

  Suddenly the plane went into a steep dive. If it had been possible, she would have curled herself into a tiny ball and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no desire to watch the ocean come up on them. But her eyes refused to follow orders. Through breaks in the clouds, black and angry seas appeared here and there, waiting to swallow their little plane. One glance at Baron and his chalk-white face told her more than she needed to know.

  “Just hang on, Mrs. Hitchcock,” he said, somehow managing to level the plane out.

  “But the ocean is right there,” she said in a strangely high-pitched voice.

  “Not for long.”

  Every hair on her body was standing on end. Another flash. They banked left and climbed a little. It was one of those strange moments when the entire world narrows to a pinhole. The slamming of her heart against its walls. The gasping for air, as though they had already gone underwater.

  “Say, does this plane float?” she managed to ask.

  Baron risked a glance her way. “I’ve never tested it out.”

  It seemed unlikely, as rainwater had made its way in through one of the window cracks, and the whole right side of her dress was soaked. Something funny happened then. A sense of calm started off in the middle of her chest and spread out in all directions. Like someone flipped a switch on the inside of her ribs. That rapid pounding subsided. Her hands stopped gripping the armrest.

  Now she knew. This was the tragedy that had been buzzing through the air in recent days.

  Dying might not be so bad after all. If there was a heaven, her mother might be there to welcome her in, and they could have all those mother-daughter conversations she’d missed out on throughout her life. Her father might even be there soon, too. Nor would she have to suffer any more heartache about Buck and that dumb Alexandra woman, and feeling like a failure in love. Granted, she didn’t have the energy to care anymore, but the sad fact of the matter was that life was extremely overrated.

  As luck would have it, the clouds began to thin. They were about a half mile offshore, safe from the cliffs but close enough to see waterfall after waterfall emptying into the ocean. The bumps lessened. Ten minutes later Hilo Bay came into view. Lana felt a surge of pure relief at being wrong. Apparently this wasn’t her time.

  Baron let out a huge exhale. “Now that is a damn happy sight.”

  Lana felt like cheering. “A miracle.”

  He patted the dashboard lovingly. “I’m a firm believer.”

  THE HOUSE

  December 8, 1941 Volcano

  The sky could not make up its mind. Rain turned off and on every thirty feet or so, and once they had put some distance between themselves and the guards, Lana pulled over to reexamine the directions.

  Follow the road past Kano Store (29 miles). Turn up first side road, then at second cluster of Sugi pines turn right onto dirt drive and follow it about a mile or two. At fork, veer left. Watch out for cracks—and goats.

  “Clear as mud,” Lana mumbled to herself.

  “Mud is not clear,” Coco said.

  Lana debated explaining but was too worn out. They rolled past Kano Store, which looked abandoned, though every place along the way had seemed the same: dark and closed up on the outside, while you knew there were people inside huddled around the radio, hanging on any and all news. In this case, though, she wondered if the Japanese owners had been hauled away.

  Coco sat forward and looked out, her little button nose sniffing the air. “Where is everyone?”

  “People are being cautious.”

  “It smells spooky here, don’t you think?”

  Marie jabbed Coco in the ribs. “She does this, talking about smelling things, like she thinks she’s a dog or something.”

  It felt spooky everywhere, though Lana couldn’t attest to it smelling so. Air-raid sirens, convoys, armed men spilling through Hilo town. The fact that an invasion seemed imminent was enough to keep the whole island chain on the edge of their seats. But Coco was right—up here so far out in the sticks in a universe of fog, there was an extra feeling of unease.

  Coco argued, “No, I don’t. It just smells weird here, like something rotten.”

  A light went on in Lana’s head. “Oh, that. It’s the sulfur. Not far ahead, there’s what they call the Sulphur Banks, where the whole ground is full of yellow crystals and seeping gases. Fun to visit as long as you have a bandana or something to put over your nose.”

  “Can we go?”

  “Maybe once we settle in.”

  They came to a side road on the right that might have been a driveway, but fifty yards up and to the left, Marie spotted another road.

  “What about that one?”

  Of course the directions had to be missing that one crucial piece of information. But the road heading right, toward Mauna Loa, looked more like a real road, so Lana ventured that way.

  “Keep an eye out for the Sugi pines,” she told the girls.

  Not far in they drifted past several tiny red houses surrounded by neat rows of vegetables and vine-covered fences. Not a leaf was out of place. Two fat and muddy pigs stood on the side of the road staring at them. But again, no people in sight. And no Sugi pines. Without the fog they would have been able to spot the towering trees from a good distance, but not today. They headed toward the last remnants of soggy light. Lord, she just wanted to get there already. All this fear was causing her stomach to twist in on itself.

  Coco pointed to a tangerine tree. “Stop! Let’s pick some.”

  “We have to keep going. Sorry,” Lana said.

  The temperature had gone from cool to icy in the past few minutes, and Lana felt for those in the back. It was likely to get worse quickly. The nene geese were probably the best off, but even they were accustomed to Hilo and its sea-level air.

  When they’d gone farther than seemed right with no pine trees in sight, Lana turned the truck around and headed back toward the main road, silently cursing—or so she thought.

  “My mother would not approve of that kind of talk,” Coco announced.

  Well, your mother isn’t here, is she? almost came out, but Lana was aware her temper had whittled down to a nub. Instead she said, “Your mother would be right not to. Sorry. It’s just that I’m extraordinarily tired, and now add cold and hungry to that.” She left out scared and uncertain and alone.

  “My dad would call that an unhappy sandwich,” Marie said.

  Lana laughed. “Your parents sound like good people, and you know what?”

  “What?” both girls said.

  “As soon as they’re back, we’ll make them a big welcome-home dinner and—”

  Coco drew the scratchy blanket up around her and cut Lana off. “They aren’t coming back,” she said, as though she knew something that Lana didn’t.

  Note: do not bring up the parents if you can help it.

  “Your folks will be back once everything is sorted out. I promise you that. We just need to be patient.”

  More empty promises being made, and in all honesty she had no idea if the Wagners were helping the Germans in any way or not
. She hardly knew them. But they were probably innocent, in which case they’d have to be released sooner than later.

  “They haven’t done anything, so quit your worrying. The people in charge will know that, won’t they?” Marie said.

  “Definitely.”

  “Who’s in charge?” Coco asked.

  “I believe it’s the FBI and the US military working together. Right now their main concern is to keep everyone here in Hawaii safe. And in wartime that sometimes means acting first, asking questions later.”

  They were back on the main road, and Lana checked to make sure no cars were coming, then crossed and headed the other way, downhill from the volcano.

  “Sailor wanted to go with them, to help protect them, but I asked her to stay with us instead,” Coco said.

  They hit a rut and all went flying.

  “That was sweet of her,” Lana said.

  “She loves me the most is why.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  On one hand Coco seemed like such a cute and delicate child, and on the other, precocious and strong willed and rather unpredictable. Either way, she was Lana’s responsibility for the time being. It was all so surreal, how life could upend with the swish of a horsetail. One day enjoying the garden in Honolulu, the next on a harrowing plane ride to Hilo, and after that, war with Japan. Just the thought caused a line of perspiration to break out along her hairline.

  A minute later Coco bounced up and down. “Look, over there, the big trees!”

  Sure enough, there was a grove of Sugi pines. Their distinct cedar smell came in through the cracks. They went past it and kept an eye out for the next one, which they soon came upon. But there was no road in sight.

  “It says right side, doesn’t it?” Lana held the paper up for Coco, who passed it to Marie.

  “Yep.”

  Lana backed up the truck, careful to stay on the road, which was already muddy enough. Getting stuck out here would be cause for a mental breakdown, for which there was no time. “Keep an eye out. It has to be there,” she instructed.