Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

Mass ends, and we linger near our folding seats while the crowd thins out. The shadow of the nearby cliffs has receded, and the sickly sun is warm against my skin. Dad’s eyes look red.

“How are you doing?” I ask him. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. Thinking about Mom and Kai. I’m glad I came. How about you?”

I nod. My eyes drift to Uncle Akoni, working his way slowly through a crowd of admirers. Finally, the three of us stand face to face.

He shakes our hands and inspects the stitches on my forehead. “You have a nice memento, there. It’ll heal well, though.” He turns to Dad. “And you’re looking good, too! Shot four days ago and you’re sitting through my homilies!” Akoni laughs. Chuckles putter out of him like smoke from an old steam engine.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” Dad says.

“I don’t deserve much credit. All of us want this.” Akoni turns to me. “Leilani. Any fits lately?”

I glance down. “No.” Such a weird question .

Akoni smiles at me. “I’m so glad you came. So glad you’re doing better.” He beckons Dad and me to move closer and lowers his voice. “Listen, I was hoping we could talk more. But I don’t have time right now. Things aren’t going very well up the cliff, and it’s going to spill over fast. Our council needs to head back up there. Everything we’ve built here is at stake.”

“Can we help?” Dad asks.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t your struggle. If you guys want to get home, I suggest you leave now. Things are shifting. I can get you to Maui on an outrigger tomorrow, but that’s it, at least for a while. I know you’re still recovering, but I know you want to get home, too.”

“Wait,” I say. “A free ride to Maui?”

“Tomorrow only,” Akoni repeats. “We need our boats.”

“We’ll go!” Home suddenly feels closer than ever. “Thank you.”

Akoni nods. Dad says, “What’s going on? More turf wars?”

Akoni chooses his words carefully. “It’s getting harder to convince people of the long view.”

He pauses, then leans in. “Listen, they still have a working ham radio up the cliff. There’ve been confirmed reactor meltdowns everywhere . Arizona. At least two on the East Coast. One in Japan. A handful in Russia. Europe. Australia. I doubt that’s all.”

Dad’s expression is blank. My throat feels dry. Akoni continues. “The meltdowns will progress one after another, too. Several hundred power plants out there, yeah? As gas runs out, as backup generators fail, as local communities break down, plants will continue to malfunction. Even in the most stable places, nuclear engineers are eventually going to stop showing up for work in the morning. They’re going to head for the hills with their families like everyone else. It’s … bad. Really bad . Each time another one blows its lid—we’re not talking near disasters like Three Mile Island and the Japan tsunami fiasco. Not even Chernobyl. Months from now, new explosions are going to keep happening. On a bell curve. Like popcorn kernels on a stove top. A few to start out with, then a whole bunch in short order, and then a handful of stragglers at the end.”

“Jesus,” Dad croaks. “Except each kernel could blow up the kitchen all by itself.”

“Much of the globe could be a nuclear wasteland for the next geologic age.”

“Jesus,” Dad whispers again.

“It’s not even bombs. It’s just … power plants .” Akoni shakes his head. “Here’s the mystery, though: we aren’t detecting any fallout. Nothing. Nothing . No radiation.”

“That …” Dad’s voice cracks. He tries again. “That doesn’t make any sense. What equipment are you using? Maybe it went kaput with everything else.”

Akoni’s eyes brighten. “No. Not that. An old Geiger needle doesn’t require integrated circuitry.”

“We are in the most isolated place on Earth,” Dad says. “Stands to reason that even trace amounts of radiation would get here last.…”

Akoni shakes his head slowly. “No. Not that, either. Dr. Milton, surely you understand that we’d be able to read something . But there aren’t even normal levels of radiation. I think I know what’s happening.” He points to the sky. “ They are mopping up the radiation.”

“Huh?”

“Everyone wants them to leave. God forbid they do.”

Dad frowns. “Uncle Akoni, I don’t think I heard you correct—”

“Yes, you did. Listen. Listen . Leilani knows what I’m talking about. I’m sure she does. We can hear their communications. Something about our epilepsy. There’s a kid up the cliff who’s heard them, too. During seizures.”

I laugh—one short bark. Dad stares blankly ahead. Uncle Akoni doesn’t care. Maybe he’s used to this reaction; maybe he assumes what he’s saying is obvious. I don’t know. Other islanders approach. He plows quickly forward. “The Orchid. I believe it’s a ship. Maybe several vessels. They’ve touched down, too. All that ‘meteor’ activity. It’s only a matter of time before they descend upon Hawai`i, too.”

“Wait,” says Dad, frowning. “Do you have proof of this? Or are you—”

“No proof.” He shakes his head. “But I’ve heard them. You will, too, Leilani, if you just listen. Funny, right, coming from a priest? But I’m not talking about God this time. They’re out there. I’m sure of it. I don’t know why they’ve come. But whatever else they’re doing, they’re preventing our global nuclear winter. Makes sense, right? What’s the point of usurping a wasteland?”

Someone tugs on the sleeve of Father Akoni’s robe. “Get some rest, Mike,” the priest says. The crowd is pressing in on us now. “Get home. Focus on your family. And Lei: one more favor, yeah?”

“Anything.”

“Nānā i ke kumu.”

“ Nānā i ke kumu ,” I repeat. “ ‘Look to the source.’ ”

Akoni starts. “You know that phrase?”

“I love Hawaiian.”

“Well, you know the words, but do you hear ? Look to the source. A wise Hawaiian proverb for seeking fundamental answers to our problems. Learn to listen, Lei. The second you reach Hilo, you go up on the mountain. Stand at the mouth of the cave. And when you hear the whisper, see if you can’t answer back. You promise?”

He’s not making any sense. What am I supposed to say? His gaze is penetrating, insistent. “Okay, Uncle.”

“Lord knows we’re running low on Hail Marys,” he says. And then his sea of followers closes in and we drift apart.

MONDAY, MAY 25

We rush quietly over the waters at midmorning in a large wa`akaulua —a boat with a double hull—pushed by the powerful trade winds blowing along the upside-down triangle sail. The boat we’re on is much smaller than the vessels the original Hawaiians would have arrived here in, but it still looks impressive.

The shores of Maui drift by to our right, a short distance away. As our craft rises and falls on the large ocean waves, the deeply gouged slopes of the West Maui Mountains bob rhythmically in the near distance. I study the rugged terrain that we’re effortlessly skipping past with a profound sense of gratitude. The Moloka`i coast is only ten miles behind us. Maui and Moloka`i and Lāna`i and Kaho`olawe were all once connected as one island. The set of islands is known as Maui Nui by scientists and others—Greater Maui. But to me they’re as isolated and different as O`ahu is from the Big Island.

For the moment, home is growing nearer at a swift fifteen knots.