Calico Pennants (16 page)

When the rain finally quit, Julian waded into the lagoon and climbed on board the Scoundrel. He poured fuel into the gas tanks, primed the carburetors, and checked to make sure the blades cleared bottom. Overhead the sound of airborne engines faltered amidst dense cloud cover, but this time Julian paid no attention. Succeed or fail, he had to know if his modifications would indeed power the cruiser. Indulging no reticence, he turned the ignition key and held his breath. The inboards roared back to life, and the reinstated sailor danced happily on deck.

“Buenaventura!” he called. “Are you staying here, or coming with me?”

BV abandoned Paradise and flew to his perch on board the Scoundrel.

From the head Julian throttled up the engines and took the cruiser out of the cove. As the island receded, he recalled the landing at Hilo Harbor of the voyaging canoe, Hawai’iloa. Julian considered Nainoa Nainoa’s prodigious accomplishment. Without a motor to power his boat the venturous sailor had traveled all the way from the Marquesas to Hawaii. Perhaps he, too, might discover within himself the vision to navigate the broad expanse of water between Paradise and a place called home.

HE SAILED into the small boat harbor at Lahaina without a welcome. Exhausted, malnourished and dehydrated, Julian had successfully traveled the tenuous lane between the Empyrean and earthly life. Mooring the Scoundrel in slip number thirteen, he stepped onto the Lahaina pier. The place looked as though he had left only yesterday. But perhaps it was yesterday.

He left the pier and walked up Front Street with BV riding upon his shoulder. With skin the color of cinnamon and dressed only in filthy tattered shorts and sennit rope sandals, with sun-bleached beard woolly and full, and his hair tangled and tied into a pony tail, Julian must have resembled a pirate in port as he passed the Carthaginian sailing ship and the Pioneer Inn.

Still possessing the key to Kevin Miles’ apartment, he walked directly there to attend his personal needs. For three days he secluded himself, neither seeing nor talking to anyone. He rested and nourished himself. He shaved off his beard and tenderly combed out his snarled hair. He cherished the feel of fresh clothing on his body. He found the taste of tap water quite peculiar. Television made him feel tense. Street noise was invasive. The support of a real bed was unaccustomed. He felt dissociated, nevertheless happy to be back.

“I miss Amie,” Julian confessed to BV. “I suppose you miss Jewel, too.”

“These experiences are within us now,” the parrot told him. “Like Amelia’s myth, they will last forever...”

On his fourth day back in Lahaina, Julian ventured out of Miles’ apartment. Intent on documenting his appearance at the end of the ordeal, he visited a photography studio where he had a portrait of himself made. A broken front tooth distinguished his shy smile.

Next morning he walked up Front Street to the Sunrise Cafe. Buenaventura perched upon his shoulder. At the cafe’s counter Song Cajudoy greeted him as if he’d been there only yesterday. Kamehaloha Kong sat idly at his usual table, a glass of POG before him.

Julian approached Kong’s table and took a seat.

“Aloha, little brother,” said Kamehaloha. “I saw the Scoundrel docked at slip number thirteen, so I knew you were back in town.”

“It was quite a trip,” said Julian.

“I see you made it through Wili-Wili.”

“Thanks for the note,” said Julian.

“And how is my ship sailing?” Kong wanted to know.

“Well, I had a little trouble with the carburetors, you know. But I managed to re-jet the intake valves with some spare parts I came upon, and now the engines are running better than ever.”

Kamehaloha smiled. “So, what’s next?” said Kong as he sipped his juice.

“First off,” said Julian, “I’m giving the Scoundrel back to you, Kamehaloha.”

“I can’t refund your money, brother.”

“I think I got more than my money’s worth,” said Julian. “The Scoundrel took me places no other boat could have taken me.”

“Are you certain you want to give it up?” Kong asked.

“I’ve decided to go back to California,” Julian related.

“Oblivion in California!” screamed BV.

Kong laughed heartily at the bird’s assessment. He turned to Julian and asked, “What are you going to do with him? The Department of Agriculture will never allow you to export a parrot.”

“My one regret,” said Julian. “I was hoping that Song would keep him here at the Sunrise.”

“Where’s Julian?” called BV. “Electra is running on line. Will repeat. Will repeat...”

Song also laughed at the bird’s antics. “Buenaventura will always have a home here,” the Filipina promised.

“Life at the Sunrise... What a Paradise!” proclaimed BV.

“When are you leaving, Julian?” Kamehaloha asked.

“I fly home day after tomorrow,” Julian informed.

“You won’t forget us, here at the Sunrise...”

“No chance of that,” said Julian. “And just so you won’t forget me, I had this photo of myself taken. I’d be honored, Song, if it hung here at the Sunrise right next to Kamehaloha’s picture.”

“Thanks, Julian,” said Song. “I’ll hang it up right now.”

Hammer and tack in hand, Song noticed that Julian had written a rather curious caption at the bottom of the 8X10 black and white photograph. It read:

“
Paradise
...
Just when we think it’s within our grasp, the scene changes, integrity dissolves; and only fundamentals remain
.”

THE DAY after Julian left for California, Tamara Sly walked into the Sunrise Cafe. From his perch in the rafters BV called out, “Tamara Sly! Tomorrow’s lie”

“Where did he come from?” the beach girl wanted to know.

Song winked at BV. “Julian Crosby showed up a few days ago and left him here. I foolishly agreed to adopt him.”

“Where is Julian staying? On board the Scoundrel?”

“No, he gave the cruiser back to Kamehaloha. Julian went back to California,” said Song.

“Too bad I missed him. I would have liked to wish him well,” said Tamara. She ordered her usual passion fruit cocktail and sat down at the counter. Her sarong fell away from her bare thigh. “Where’s Kamehaloha?” she asked.

“He’s down at the small boat launch adjusting the carburetors on the Scoundrel’s engines,” said Song. “I think he means to sell it. Again!”

“Oh,” said Tamara. “Well, when you see him, tell him there’s a haole in town looking for him...”