Sujata Massey - Shimura Trouble

Braden whistled, then said, “You flunk out or something?”

“Actually, they asked me to leave.” Michael’s voice was short.

I heard a collective intake of breath around the room.

“Most people try so hard to get into Punahou, they want to stay.” Edwin said.

Everyone, including me, was waiting for an explanation, but none came. I put my head down and went back to cooking. Oddly enough, Braden seemed interested in conversation, and he began peppering Michael with questions about wave heights and nautical miles. Michael answered him easily, and I saw my father appraising Michael as if was trying to reconcile all the discordant elements: the crisp New England accent, the private school expulsion, and all the sailing knowledge.

“Why don’t you sit down with the others?” I said to Michael when he left Braden for a minute and came over to watch me chop ginger and garlic to go into the spinach sauté.

“But nobody’s helping you,” Michael said sotto voce. “Surely I can do something.”

That would have made me even more nervous, so I shook my head and said, “Michael should tell you all about the fire we drove through. We saw some incredible animals fleeing.”

“What kind of animals?” Courtney looked up from her book.

“We spotted dozens and dozens of large, fluffy white birds with their heads tucked under their wings. There was a whole flock of them gathered on the bushes that border the resort. I guess they’d given themselves an evacuation notice, from wherever they normally live.”

“How cute,” Courtney said. “I bet they were waiting there for their friends to join them!”

“Maybe so,” Michael answered. “We also saw a beautiful family of wild dogs running across the golf course when we drove in.”

“You couldn’t have-there are no wild dogs in Hawaii,” Edwin said.

“True,” Calvin added. “There’s such a fear of rabies here that the numbers of dogs are kept really low and there’s a ridiculous quarantine for dogs coming in from the outside-six months! The Kikuchis have a Maltese they wanted to bring over for Jiro, but gave up because of the difficulty.”

“You’re both wrong,” Braden interjected. “Wild dogs live in the mountains. Scary yellow buggahs, make good watch dogs if only they could be trained.”

“Well, if these supposed wild creatures keep running makai, they might wind up on our little bit of seaside property and take shelter,” Edwin said with a false smile. “Which reminds me, we need to talk about our land.”

Edwin has no idea of timing, I thought while exchanging glances with my father and Uncle Hiroshi and Tom. Calvin raised an eyebrow, but the hell if I was going to enlighten him.

“Please don’t worry,” Uncle Hiroshi said. “We will definitely help. We’re just not sure how we can best do it.”

“Yes,” my father chimed in, ‘that’s the problem. We must help, but how?”

Edwin smiled as if to reassure him. “It’s not you that’s gonna do any work, it’s the lawyer. A trained expert. That’s what I mentioned before. If it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure you get your share of the house price, I’ll put it in writing.”

“No, no, it’s not about the money,” my father said. “We don’t want to take any portion of what belongs to you. But the question is whether anything could be proven. Preparing a good case takes considerable time.”

“Before you know it, his time will run out.” Edwin pointed dramatically at Uncle Yoshitsune.

“Enough,” Yosh said, leaning forward with his eyes blazing at his son. “I don’t want this again. All we get this time is family embarrassment, all over again.”

As if to punctuate his comment, the oven buzzer rang. I opened the door, and looked at my trio of beautifully sizzling whole weke ulua.

What was the word for dinnertime? I struggled for a few seconds, and then remembered.

“Kau kau!”

DINNER BRIEFLY INTERRUPTED the conversation. Everyone ate heartily; the hiyashi chuka noodles were properly creamy, tangy and nutty, the warm spinach was terrific with its ginger, soy and mirin dressing, the long beans were marveled at, and the fish were quickly reduced to skeletons. The fruit trifle was such a success that Braden, who had a thing against fruit, actually ate it: Margaret asked me for the trifle recipe, which I gladly gave her. Michael ate steadily, from time to time looking at me with the same mix of awe and pleasure that had been on his face the first time he’d realized that I could whip him at chess.

I offered to make both decaffeinated and real Kona coffee, but nobody wanted any except for Michael and Braden, who was forbidden by his parents to taste it because of his age. The others and I all took green tea. We moved outside to sit on the lanai for a better view of the fire. The winds had changed, blowing so much smoke that we were driven back inside after about five minutes.

By midnight, the newscasters seemed as weary as Michael, who had lost the battle to keep his eyes open and was asleep, upright, at a dining table chair. I watched the television, hating it for the monotony-how many times could the news people say that the fire was still burning and Farrington Highway was closed?

Michael awoke and asked me for a telephone directory. I gave it to him, and from the phone in the kitchen he called the Kainani Cove Inn to make a reservation. I waited in vain for someone in my family to offer him a chance to lie down upstairs, but the offer never came.

Around one o’clock the winds shifted and the fire was no longer spreading along Farrington Highway. The Honolulu fire chief came onscreen and declared that the danger had passed, and all evacuated neighborhoods were clear. However, the fire had burned over ninety thousand acres of Pierce lands. Ten firefighters had gone to the hospital because of smoke inhalation, and an unknown amount of cattle and horses had been lost.

“Thank God,” Margaret said. “I’m truly grateful. And sorry we were here so long-you all must be very tired. Michael, you go to your hotel now. There’s no more need for anyone to watch the news.”

To my dismay, Michael canceled his hotel reservation and ordered a taxi back to Waikiki. I walked outside with him to wait, while the Hawaiian Shimuras loaded up in Edwin’s Nissan to head back to Honokai Hale.

“Why go back now when you really should go straight to bed?” I put my arm around Michael, after they’d driven off. “You heard how expensive a taxi to Waikiki is. You should sleep in the hotel here, and I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”

“A night at the resort hotel costs about three times what a cab would,” Michael said dryly. “Besides, the guys are expecting me. We have early-morning surfing plans, and then I want to find a car rental place.”

Calvin walked past us, calling a loud goodbye just as Michael’s taxi arrived. I waved off both of them and went right into the kitchen to wash the wineglasses; Michael had loaded everything else in the dishwasher hours ago.

Tom followed me into the kitchen and picked up a dishtowel.

“Thank you!” I said, realizing that perhaps Michael had set a good example.

“I noticed your friend Michael is quite happy in the kitchen. Maybe that was his duty on the ship?” Tom asked.

“Oh, he doesn’t talk much about his past.”

“So, did you meet him at a bar-or was it on the street?”

“Actually, it was at a museum,” I said, as if I didn’t understand Tom’s insinuation.

“A museum! That’s good, he’s broadening his horizons. But as for Washington, is he attached to a ship there? I wasn’t aware Washington DC was a seaport.”

Now he was insinuating that Michael was lying. Swiftly I said, “He’s not working on ships anymore, and I don’t care for all these nosy questions. Please, Tom!”