13
The Confluence Ku
Winter 2001
It had all worked out at Fox’s Landing, but perhaps the unresolved cultural tension would lead to violence instead of--well it was hard to understand what had really transpired on our last encounter with the locals. There were around 60 of the moontribe, when around midnight a horrendous scream cut through the music. It sounded like a cat giving birth to a coconut. Later I learned that someone had pushed Scarecrow, but with the fortune of the floppy, he had managed to crash roll on the Ironwood needles and scramble out of danger without losing any stuffing. Not many had seen it happen, but Mandi felt the situation needed immediate attention.
With the manna of an unhinged Punatic, Mandi tapped into the primordial scream itself as she bellowed. The generator rattled off and the music cut out. Unfortunately, the generator had also been powering a white string of lights, and the braddahs were lost in the darkness of an Ironwood moonshadow.
“Circle up!” Dean called out, clapping his hands in the tone of a middle school gym coach. The moon was near its zenith as it shined down on the highway from the cloudless sky, and Dean’s voice was confident and reassuring. The braddahs looked confused at the sudden movement of the tribe.
Mandi was being shushed by Stacey who was guiding her by the shoulders away from the new arrivals. Completely triggered, she might have spit an impromptu litany, and with one foot over the rainbow, Mandi lacked the mental wherewithal to tread anywhere near this tenuous cultural confluence. It had been good that Stacey was on her in time to deflect what could have escalated from a screech to a social justice warrior, indignant and ready for battle. From colonics to starving children in Africa, Mandi’s frumpled ship had a big sail, but no rutter. Just a weak gust from the one of the braddahs and she would capsize immediately.
Standing just off the edge of the isolated strip of highway, the five braddahs stood almost motionless as we rushed about. The maniacal game of musical chairs was frantic as people competed to land in seats least vulnerable. Before everyone had settled, I noticed the pitiable row off college kids. First timers to the moontribe, they had their backs toward the braddahs, sitting opposite me. The oval of linked humans bent into the road a a wee bit there, but they were almost upon the toes of our unexpected hosts. Soon enough we were all crossed legged and forming an oval circuit around both lanes. Someone began an OM, and a discordant harmony commenced as we reached for one another's hands.
Was this why every full moon party began with an OM circle? A fire drill of sorts, preparation for the diceyness that seemed so inevitable on the Big Island.
Their obvious leader had pushed Scarecrow. Gigantic, his tattoo traveled in two long strands down his left shoulder ending at points on his forearm. Its triangular pattern reminded me of the long braids of Kūkaʻilimoku, god of war. He was no longer interested in Scarecrow who had probably floundered into him on accident with his emblematic uncoordinated dance moves.
“Listen Hea!” Ku said, and stepped over the arms and laps of two of the college kids. I wondered if they knew what was happening as they leaned in opposite directions, nearly on the laps of those seated next to them. All eyes around the circle were wide as Ku made his way to the center. The silence felt taut, about to kablooey, the moment he stood illuminated by the moon. Slowly he rotated to look us over in turn.
“You haoles need go! Dis aina sacred. All dis new land.” His voice boomed as he faced the audio equipment. He had stomped his foot on the pavement as he said the word ‘land,’ but his message could not have been clearer.
“You need have respect!” His words trembled with passion. “So pack up all ya shit, and get outta hea!” The sound system and speakers set up in the middle of the road were indicated by the arch of his hands.
Although Stacey was trying to shush her, Mandi began to spew hysterics as one of Ku’s hands swept across her position. Stacey pulled on, and then began to wrestle Mandi when Monica decided to cross over and help. Ku lifted his head and took two steps forward to look at the restrained lunatic.
At his movement, some of the bigger moontribe guys stood up. There was a collective adrenaline surge through the connected hands, and with psilocybin in my system the current made me giddy. There were a few unintelligible alpha barks from the braddahs outside the circle that caused the two college kids which Ku had stepped over, to lean sideways once more, unsure if they were to be the official gateway into the oval. However, the braddahs began to shift in place from foot to foot, and it was clear that unlike Ku, they didn’t want to be anywhere near, let alone in the circle that had formed so unexpectedly.
Should I be standing? It seemed that there had been enough peace keeping volunteers, far more capable than my 140 pound frame, that had stood. Mandi was dragged off the road into the Ironwoods. Her vitriol converted to protests as she snapped at Stacey who was escorting her. Monica was trying to talk her down as well, but she was nearly feral in resistence.
Somehow none of it seemed real. There wasn’t going to be any violence or it would have happened already. Believing that, I didn’t know what could be done or said to appease the locals. If we were all born on the island, then maybe it would have been alright, but it was going to be difficult to show respect without deference.
Ku’s four friends on the outside of the circle had been reluctant to enter, but as Bruce, the biggest in our tribe stood up near the altar, they decided to enter the ring. One of them tripped over two cross legged omers, not the former gatekeepers, and there were a couple staccato yips followed by gruff apologies. It wasn’t as if the contact had been intentional, as one tripping braddah nearly fell on the pavement, but the fracas persuaded me and several other of the less-than-warriors to stand up.
“Alright, enough!” Dean said. The resounding authority made everyone, our five unexpected hosts included, turn to face him.
“Skyler, Bruce sit, just”--Dean patted the air with his hands--“Sit back down everyone.” We were all in kindergarten again as we sat back down, attentive. The four brothers, not knowing what to make of it all, stepped carefully back between the college kids and shuffled to a shadowed area a few paces off the road.
Dean’s approach to Ku looked formal, and he was somehow able to introduce himself as they met in the center without a hitch. A collective breath of relief helped dissolve the tension as Dean began to explain that our gathering was in reverence and dedication to the land, to Pele, and that everyone was welcome to help us celebrate and give thanks.
“No!” The yap made the girl linked to me jerk my hand to her leg. There were a few sharp inhalations and what sounded like a whimper, down at the far end of the oval, followed by soft words of consolation. Ku looked around at us, away from our captain. Dean’s welcoming speech might have been cut short, but he didn’t take a step back. It looked as if his pulse hadn’t even quickened as he folded his hands behind his back.
“Hey whea dat guy?” Ku asked as he scanned the faces near the altar. “You!”--and he pointed to Bruce--“You faka. Get up!”
But Bruce exuded mojo from a uniquely charming and grandiose personality. He nodded before smiling wide, teeth glowing with moxie and moonlight. It was unfortunate that his great blonde wavy mane had been pony tailed back.
“Love.” Bruce said, his voice deep and rich. He placed his right hand over his heart. “Nothing but peace, love and aloha.” And then he bowed, touching his nose to tented fingers, and said, “Respect Uncle. I feel the honor of your presence. Mahalo. Thank you for this lesson.”
Every word of adoration seemed to inflate Ku, his chin lifting as he looked down his nose at Bruce. No longer could I underestimate the power of flattery. Beyond respect, the spell seemed to work.
After a couple nods of acceptance, Ku looked over to where Mandi had been dragged. The noises of her displeasure had been softened by Monica who was trying to get her to understand the situation, but as Ku’s gaze rested on her, she began to wail again.
Dean had turned sideways to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ku, or rather head to shoulder. The juxtaposition and energetic balance of the two Kahunas was incredible to behold. A shorter and physically unimposing man, Dean was a force of compassion and communication. Without him, none of us would have been there.
“But how you come out hea?” Ku’s shout was in the general direction of Mandi, and the ferocity laden in his question quelched the oxygen. “You no ask no one. You know what dis land is, ah?” The silence in the pause of anticipation reverberated, and even Mandi had stopped fussing to listen. “Pele. Dis is our”--he said ‘our’ pounding over his heart with a sledgehammer of a fist--“Sacred aina. You no can be hea!” His eyes were wide, two black sockets in the shadow of his brow.
Most people were nodding, but when he came to the part about asking permission, all heads ceased to bobble. Dean remained impassive, hands still folded behind his back during the five second pause that followed.
“And that’s why we give thanks.” It was Kat who broke the spell. She stood and approached Ku. Dean rocked back and forth, toes to heels and smiled taking the slightest step backwards.
“And to you, we give thanks.” Kat’s voice reminded me of the princess of Fantasia at the end of the Never Ending Story. She daintily lifted the five gardenia and plumeria leis and placed them over her arm. What perfect serendipity! The Krishna girl, had brought five leis and arranged them on half a sheet of plywood that had been covered with a black velvet fabric. Now they could be offered up as tokens of supplication. The moon altar was still covered with crystals and totems of high woo, but missing the flowers would be the least of our aesthetic problems if the braddahs gave us the boot.
“Mahalo,” she said as she rose on her toes with the first lei outstretched, her voice clear as a bell in Paris. Dean stepped behind her and though I could no longer see his face, I imagined the expression to be somber and ceremonious. Ku leaned in so Kat could drape the flowers around his neck. The oval’s whispers, like dry leaves crumbling, made the other four braddahs shift in the shadow under the Ironwoods. One braddah tried to look around Ku to see Kat, but the other three were looking to their truck.
Although she was beautiful, her blonde dreadlocks and eagle blue eyes pegged her ancestors as anything but Hawaiian. Perhaps it was the way she had risen to her toes, so expectantly, which had bowed the head of Ku to receive the garland. Kat was wearing a black bikini top, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the shimmering jingle of her purple bell covered skirt spoke like rustling laughter and happiness. Her getup coupled with her dramatic curvature, and Kat could have seduced any Syren of Ulysses.
“Thank you for allowing us because we are only guests.” She had taken one step back after putting the lei around Ku’s neck. If it could be called that. The meat between shoulders and head was a Polynesian arch of thick skin and muscle.
“This is your land and we respect and give thanks.” She carefully set the other four leis down, her movements delicate. Adjusting her skirt, Kat knelt, her skirt bells tinkling in front of the god of war. As she touched her head to the pavement, inches from Ku’s feet, there were a few sharp inhalations around the oval. Some guy shouted “yeah!” and was reprimanded with a slap. He sat a few heads down from me, and it must have been his vantage point that overloaded his limbic system, his societal propriety temporarily fried. Two perfect curves, like purple honey dew melons of Kat’s booty pressed toward the moonlight. Dean, for the first time that evening, didn’t look fully composed. Someone cleared their throat, but every other breath was held, ears pricked as we struggled to make out whatever Kat was whispering into the asphalt. The silence in the space it took for her to complete whatever oath she was swearing to the toes of the god of war, stretched on and on. Each heartbeat apologized for disturbing the peace and the stars strained with the moon to brighten the stage.
Tense shoulders around the circle relaxed as Kat lifted her head. With a Mahalo, she rose to her feet and stood next to Dean.
“Would you like some pakalolo?” Dean asked, his voice all butter.
“Shoots, if you got em, let’s smoke em.” Ku’s words were low, still in somewhat of a trance with his eyes fixed on Kat, more stunned than anything else. The exhalations of relief around him released like the waves of the Red Sea upon the Pharaoh Ramesses.
It was surprising to see the Scarecrow jump up. Taking the initiative, he scuttled over to the DJ booth to retrieve the big glass bong. After walking to the center, Scarecrow faltered, unsure of who to hand it to.
“Thank you,” Dean said as he took the bong. Scarecrow’s indecisiveness and overall twitch-o-matic character made the exchange slapstick, and he nearly dropped the bong. Whether terrified of being anywhere near Ku, or merely a swoon in the spotlight, Scarecrow stepped backward, half shuffling as he bowed in swift retreat. Too swift. As a girl he was heading for attempted to uncross her legs and make way, Scarecrow tripped over her knees and and fell, nearly taking one of the Mackie speakers with him to the floor.
“Look at dat clumsy faka,” Ku said, and then laughed. As intimidating as he had been, his laugh was full as an affable Friar Tuck. Many joined in, and all were smiling as Ku’s cliche released us like the dropping of a courtroom gavel. The verdict: Peace Pipe and Pakalolo to be shared in accordance with one another in harmony. Or not. What exactly had happened? But people felt free to talk and got up slowly, yoga stretching and shaking off the ten minute trial. Many hugged, and soon enough the moon was veiled by the green skunky smoke that rose up, lighters flicking
“Cherried brah, just hit it,” the girl next to me said as she passed a pipe down the line.
Dean placed a hand on Ku’s shoulder and waved over the other four to a blanket on the side of the road to smoke some bubble hash. Kat placed a lei around each of their necks, and though they didn’t light up like magnesium, the braddahs certainly didn’t object to receiving flower power from the goddess.
The flowers didn’t mind either. Self conscious after being gawked at the night before, they had looked their freshest in front of the painting of Krishna at Garuda’s holy pizza playhouse. Feeling relieved to get away from the contrasting black light above the altar, their fading brown edges looked and felt a little less hideous, less exposed. They rather enjoyed the bronze backdrop of the braddah’s barrel chests, and now no one could accuse them of withering before their time, not after this brouhaha.
I looked over at Kat. Bruce and Skyler were talking to her with dramatic gestures of adoration. Her performance had been quite convincing, but I suspected her of being a former star in some high school drama club. A slight English accent colored her words which came out strong and even, both in tone and volume. A trained stage voice heard by all. Kat had flown in from Eugene Oregon, and like me, she was fleeing the bone chilling wet of winter in the Northwest. Tonight it was all praise to her pixie prowess.
The music and lights seemed brighter and less inhibited once the generator juiced the works. Sumlanders donated various folding chairs and lined them about ten feet back from the edge of the highway. The transition was seamless as the braddahs took their seats at the end of the string of white lights. Most of their expressions were morose, or perhaps just uneasy, as they were offered seats, but at least Ku was smiling. Whether his change of heart was due to Kat or THC was unclear. Had there even been a change of heart? There were two Hawaiian’s that I considered part of the moontribe, but weren’t most of us still offensive with our white skin?
Monica decided that Susan and herself should be our new guests personal attendants. She and Dean had long ago established a solid rapport, and now they formed a wordless agreement. The gifted socialite stepped in as a hostess replacement for Dean who bowed adieu, and moved to get the party back on track. Monica helped in the introductions of those brave enough to approach.
It was good that Monica would keep the braddahs free from the likes of Scarecrow or anyone so flung about by the beat, and with Kat to watch, they wouldn’t notice me dancing in the shadows across the street. Feeling like the controversy was far from settled, I couldn’t take my eyes off the braddahs.
Kat knew how to entertain, and took up residency on the double yellow line in front of the them. Everyone gave our voluptuous ambassador room to work. Her serpentine bending caught the moon and the braddah’s eyes eventually came to rest. They were hesitant at first, but the skirt’s bells were insistent, and only Ku looked away to chat with Monica.
There were non dancers milling about, some smoking all sorts of nonsense further in the trees. A few guys had shaped a TP with Ironwood branches in the center of the road. Pocket was just introducing himself when he noticed that the branches were probably too big for safety, and excused himself to intervene.
A half hour later, a couple more scantily clad hippie chicks went over to introduce themselves to our party crashers, but it didn’t take too long before our guests looked ready to go. Receiving this mockup royal treatment was, in all likelihood, the exact opposite of their original game plan. From disruptors to honored guests, they were looking less and less inclined to tolerate what they had so recently considered disrespect. With Mandi quarantined and Kat to watch, perhaps they were mollified, but I wondered for how long.
With the music pumping and people dancing again, our cultural banks grew distant. The canyon between widened, and who knew what bubbled beneath the exterior of their leader? Under the lights, Ku was muttering responses to Monica, her eyes like lasers on his profile. It wasn’t that Ku looked angry, but whatever lay behind his mirthless and bloodshot eyes was stirring, growing restless. Perhaps he was merely stoned and out of his element, but the god of war looked less placated with each pounding thump of the subwoofer. The moontribe was far from all white, and I had wondered why Hawaiian’s were underrepresented in our little subset of society. Why would anyone not want to enjoy participating in a multicultural outdoor dance party to celebrate the moon? And Pele.
There was an Akita I knew up in Alaska in elementary school. It seemed okay with bicycles and cars. Just about anything with wheels was tolerated--anything but skateboards. Skateboards didn’t even have to be moving for the dog to curl its lips and give a low warning growl. Maybe Kat was the exception, but what if the rest of us were skateboards here? Could this be the equivalent of an impromptu skate park in the wrong dog house?
Ku might have been looking in the direction of Kat, but for a moment I feared he was staring directly at me. That wasn’t it at all. His introspection was deep, his gaze glassy, gone. What had changed since he arrived? Well, he was stoned, but if he was like the rest of us, and pakalolo was more common than caffeine, then he had probably regained his equilibrium. The plant medicine could reveal the obvious at times, but wasn’t everything beyond muddled now? But then again, perhaps Ku was looking at Kat in assessment. There was a brain beyond the eye candy that he might be contemplating. She had thanked him for the permission, and he had so readily bequeathed it. But had he? He received the lei and she thanked him--tricky Kat with her seduction!
Skyler and Bruce were standing on the edge of the road in the opposite lane from Kat. They weren’t making direct eye contact with Ku and boys, but I wished their sidelong glances were more discreet. In particular, it was Skyler who needed something else to occupy his mind. His pouting movements were void of subtle grace and made it glaringly obvious that he was uncomfortable with Kat’s alluring antics. A diehard fanboy of Kat, perhaps Skyler felt a victim of reverse mysoginism.
The dynamics were so obvious--what a show! Although I was dancing just fifteen feet away from Skyler, my glances were irrelevant and unacknowledged by the braddahs. Just a little hippie, one smack and he finished brah.
The best place to see it all go down was in the shadows across the highway and a little out of the line of site of the braddahs. Kat was somewhere between us, though not directly, but the DJ was laying down some phat tracks. Losing myself in the rhythm, every movement of Ku in my periphery brought me back around to wondering about him. The Ironwood arms which stretched above were an umbrella canopy of protection from the pouring moonlight, so I wasn’t too worried about getting caught looking.d
I wished Skyler and Bruce would take cover. Lit up in silver, I didn’t know if they were posturing, or why they had chosen to stand across from the braddahs. Maybe to watch over Kat, but they needed to be much more savvy. If Skyler continued his blatant sulking, this mythical treaty of peace might be torn to shreds.
My focus shifted as a Kelsie ran passed. Wearing heavy eyeliner, white thigh high tights, and feathery drawers, she was lit up by bright pink and green glowing jelly bracelets wrapped around her wrists and ankles. She carried two twirly balls that sparkled like phosphorescence on strings. With white fairy wings sprouting from her shoulder blades, she fluttered by, bouncing up to nip a kiss at Skyler and finger feather Bruce's back on her way. She flitted about in a dance as she giggled up to Kat. She was about to grind, but Kat took a step forward, swinging dat booty out of the reach of Kelsie’s pelvic thrust. Her brain swirling with serotonin, it was impossible for Kelsie to be distressed by the rejection, so she carried on across the highway to meet the braddahs with even more bounce in her steps.
Kelsie was on ecstasy, and after a bouncing “Nice to meet you,” to Ku, she ran around the row of chairs to massage the head and shoulders of a braddah that had reclined his beach chair. I saw that he had leaned back as a statement to Skyler. He was royalty for the night and would look anywhere wanted, but to the saucer pupils of Kelsie, he had obviously reclined for a rub down. His eyes went wide, but only for a moment before relaxing into her excited fingers. She worked on his shoulders, and then his grin took on a boyish shine when Kelsie began making bird noises. The braddahs next to him looked away, feigning respectful indifference. They tried to look aloof, but little ticks of distress betrayed their true state of mind.
Monica, Ku’s personal attendant, was coffeehouse friendly, but poor Susan looked forced to stay next to her. Still as a statue, Susan sat next to Monica, eyes wide and looking vexed. She stared longingly at the gyrating bodies between herself and the DJ, her only movement was an index finger tapping the rhythm on her ankle.
As time crawled, seconds confusing themselves with minutes, Ku’s friends looked to where they had parked more frequently. With the truck’s jacked up knobby tires, they had rallied halfway across the lava surface that separated Fox’s Landing from the road where the moontribe’s vehicles were parked.
The pahoehoe landscape was almost flat but had bulged, cracked and tilted. Deeper than twenty feet in some places, the 1991 flow had blackened the earth and rolled over the most photographed and stunningly beautiful white sand beach. Many believed that Pele had chosen to blot out the corporate development that had been escalating in Kalapana. Whether it was the Goddess or simply nature that had squeezed out a fresh black shelf on top of the whole shabang, the moontribe and braddahs could agree that the new aina was to be respected. What that respect was supposed to entail, or look like, was the point of contention.
The braddah’s truck looked like a stud horse posing, majestic. The blue Tacoma blinged with chrome roll bars that caught moonbeams like flashing scissors. It sat back, head tilted, as if looking intent for its posse to get a fucking a move on. Ten miles beyond, the orange glow of flowing lava seemed soft, even gentle in comparison with the truck’s lines that sliced the night with ribbons of the zeitgeist. The crack it had parked in front of had been too wide to traverse, but it looked happy enough to be king of the little lava hill.
After two hours, Ku looked stiff as he rose from his chair. Monica stood, and they both looked to Kelsie’s petting operation. The braddah had blissed out, eyes closed and glowing as Kelsie pressed her fingers in time with the music. She was focussing on his scalp and temples, and seemed to be getting almost as much pleasure from the exchange as him with her little coos of contentment.
The skateboards could stay. Three of the braddahs got up, seeming more than ready to bounce out of this hippie dippy world, so different from their own. The reclined braddah was nudged, and seemed shocked to find himself where he was after opening his eyes. As Dean walked over to bid Ku farewell, three of brothers were already heading toward their truck.
Dean was making the slightest bows with a hand over his heart as he wished Ku to farewell. Without physical contact, he spoke within the personal bubble of the god of war who nodded, but didn’t face him squarely. Ku’s expression could have been that of boredom or exhaustion, but he finally half-smiled. Dean put his hands together and turned away with one final bow, his attention toward Kelsie who had inexplicably begun to cry.
Ku seemed about to turn and leave but hesitated, glancing up at Kat. Her back was to him, and she seemed oblivious of their departure.
“Sistah, hey!” he boomed, his voice jovial. Kat must heard him, how couldn’t she have? In fact, many people further up the floor had glanced back as he called for her, but she kept to her to serpentine twists and didn’t look back.
Ku seemed about call out again, his expression edged with lividity after the apparent snub. With a jerk of his head, he turned to Skyler who had the misfortune of not averting his eyes in time.
“Whatchoo looking at faka?” Ku’s voice was a bark, and a bite would have followed, if it wasn’t for Bruce. He reached his arm around Skyler’s shoulders and pulled him into a schoolyard headlock. Skyler was big, but Bruce was a monster, nearly as big as Ku, and without time to squirm away, Skyler was bent over at the waist, locked. Reflexively, Skyler clutched with his hands against Bruce's elbow, attempting to gain freedom, but Bruce’s hands were clasped. Bruce’s laugh set bubbles of buoyant mirth whirling into the air, a cachinnate spell to displace the scaffolding of Ku’s rage.
“You rascal!” Bruce said, to Skyler’s curly mop of brown hair. The headlock had actually been Bruce’s signature move, genial and affectionate in most cases. It just happened to be a little less consensual this time, but Bruce looked as good natured as ever as he stutter stepped Skyler across the road to Ku. Bruce’s chest and shoulders were flexed, bulging so the moonshadows accentuated his muscle definition. Without straining Bruce was already swollen, but now he looked like He Man.
Though I had been watching Ku’s expression, I felt an urgent desire to see Bruce’s face. I ran around the DJ booth making a wide and furious sprint to the other side, dodging trees and forest loungers.
Cookie grabbed my shoulders and asked “right?” pointing to the speaker he was dancing in front of. I managed to wriggle free and flashed passed the dreadlocked psychonaut after a quick concession: The music sounded good.
It took far longer than I had hoped it would, and what I missed I’ll never know. When I arrived, Bruce was smiling bright as he talked to Ku who was still shifting from foot to foot, hands clenched in fists. Dean was still consoling Kelsie and didn’t seem to mind what looked to me like a terse faceoff. The other braddahs didn’t stick around for the Ku and Bruce showdown either. Their pace was slow and tired as they neared the end of the pavement enroute to the truck.
My heart was beating in my ears too loudly to hear what Ku and Bruce were saying, but Skyler had gone almost limp. It didn’t appear he was in danger of passing out, but his submission to Bruce was complete. Ku was no longer shouting, but his words sounded sharp.
The stinging whistle that rang out made both Ku and Bruce look down the highway. The four braddahs were at the end of the pavement where the lava land wave had dried, an inverse shore of land on land. Ku looked over to his friends and back to Bruce who seemed ready and willing to offer Skyler up as a sacrifice.
“You coming?” The yell was more of a statement than a question from one of the four.
Ku was clenching and unclenching his fists in rapid succession as he looked to his friends and back at the top of Skyler’s head. He must have whispered something, and though I doubted it had been funny, Bruce leaned back and laughed, teeth gleaming as he gave Skyler a noogie. It must have been a hard one, despite Bruce’s gay demeanor, because Skyler’s hands shot up to protect his scalp.
Ku shrugged his shoulders a couple times, loosening the muscles that had tensed.
“No you faka disrespect no mo!” He said, shaking his index finger inches from the back of the head of Skyler. On the last syllable, he gave a thwack, but it was no harder than a puppy nose scolding. Skyler tensed at the light impact, but I saw that Bruce was nodding, his smile softened with a perverse compassion--was it? Either way, Ku didn’t look back up at him and turned abruptly to depart, his steps agitated. Bruce grinned, wishing aloha, thanks and blessings, in tones of syrupy french toast. Ku’s friends had turned and were making their way across the tilted lava slabs up to the toy truck. The orange glow on the mountain was hot, but so distant that we didn’t need worry about the magma purging us. Not tonight.
Kelsie was about to run after Ku, but Monica grabbed her wrist in time. The truck roared to life, headlights flashing over the party as it reversed. There were a couple shouts, audible but unintelligible. With the music and overall confusion, it was impossible to distinguish threats from insults, but it didn’t sound like a mahalo kine ting.
In the empty backdrop where the truck had been, the black flow beyond was flecked with iridescent eyes that caught the moon. The new earth was glass enough in places to reflect lunar light. The flowing lava looked as peaceful as a village on the hillside lit up by streetlights, the hot arteries burrowed down, filling tubes and breaking the earth into mounds. Bubble hills would form and crack. No ground in Puna had been around long enough for vegetation, or any other kind of life, to establish itself permanently.
After the final flashes of headlights through the trees, I watched Dean talk to Kat. Even without hearing the words, I could tell she was being praised. She beamed, looking up at Dean. Gone was the seductress, and now she had the sapphire eyes of a schoolgirl who had just won a spelling bee championship. Why she hadn’t turned to say goodbye to Ku when he called out would remain a mystery. Was that all part of their plan--had their even been a plan?
For the rest of the night we danced, we smoked and sat around enjoying eachothers company. All was pono, but as the moon looked paler in the dawn celeste, a cloud of introspection darkened Dean’s countenance. Or maybe it was the night without sleep, that had rendered so many of us haggard, which I mistook for apprehension. My own serotonin was being swallowed back after the receptors gassed out, vanquished. Now famished they sucked the feel good from my soul. With my dendrites frayed, even though I watched the sun paint the tips of the clouds pink, I felt like a zombie. Or maybe just a haole, afraid of the bright light of another day in paradise.
