Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

“Oh.” I cast Dad a questioning glance. He shrugs.

“What did you have in mind?” asks Buzz. “How can I help?” I see the hope in his eyes.

I was going to drink a diet soda. That’s it. That’s all .

Mom and Kai and Grandpa could be at the house right now, reading our note. We could be together. Are we wasting time up here—time that we can never get back? For Uncle Akoni’s romantic notions of caves and mountains. All the things he could do with those telescopes and … and …?

“

I love the Big Island. Wish Moloka`i had mountains like that. Mauna Kea’s what, fourteen thousand feet high

?”

“Yeah. Think so.”

“All those telescopes and radio dishes.”

“Radio dishes,” I say. I turn to the astronomer. “Radio dishes.”

“Of course! The array!”

Dad looks between us. “Radio dishes? Sending a message by radio telescope?”

Buzz’s eyes are aglow. “We don’t have one big dish, but a bunch of smaller ones. We can link them and blast something out to the Star Flowers. We tried it once, but we didn’t have any idea what to say, or how. Pummeled the poor thing with prime numbers for two days. Lot of good that did. Can you imagine: a scuba diver shoving an abacus in a sea turtle’s face? But … but if Leilani can somehow manifest its thoughts, maybe her brain can formulate something that it will be able to interpret.”

“The dishes weren’t damaged?” asks Dad.

“Well, the computers—all the integrated circuitry—are fried. But I’ve still got my slide rule. I can physically align all the dishes. I know exactly where to point them. And aside from some gas generators to give them some juice, we won’t need any power. Leilani’s going to provide the signal herself. I really think we can do this.”

“Lei,” says Dad. “What do you think?”

I offer a hesitant nod. “What do we do now?”

Buzz reaches over the counter and grabs his jacket. He’s already on his way out the door as he replies, “If Mike can help me arrange things up there, I think we can be ready to go by Flower-rise. Leilani, you’ve got the hardest job of all.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to figure out what you’re going to say.”

I walk alone over a Martian landscape high above marshmallow clouds, chanting a familiar prayer.

Ai, Ai, Ai

.

Ho`opuka e-ka-la ma ka hikina e

Kahua ka`i hele no tumutahi

Ha`a mai na`i wa me Hi`iaka

Tapo Laka ika ulu wehiwehi

Nee mai na`i wa ma ku`u alo

Ho`i no`o e te tapu me na`ali`i e

Rise up, rise up, rise up.

Make a hole in the sun and find the light hidden inside.

May the light of the gods dawn on me like the rising sun.

Come to me through your breath and take me by force.

Come, drift upon me, and spread.

Bring me the means of life.

Come to me like the creeping of lava,

and may this sacred ceremony of the

ali`i

bring me meditation and release.

The wind ruffles my hair. The air is frigid, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. Mighty white domes of telescopes look down upon me from their high thrones. Relics, shrines to a fading era, guarding great secrets, yet silent as the mountain beneath them.

Ahead lies another temple.

Lake Waiau is little more than a pond that sits in a gentle bowl at the top of Mauna Kea. It was once thought to be bottomless. For many Hawaiians it remains a threshold between worlds. It has an emerald glow, caused by nutrients in the form of human umbilical cords, which have been fed into it for centuries. Hawaiian chiefs would come here and offer the piko of their firstborn sons, securing their chiefly status in this life and the one to come. My grandfather’s umbilical cord was placed in this lake. And now I will make an offering.

Along the ridge overlooking the lake, I sing and chant an ancient Hawaiian oli kāhea . I ask permission of the land and the akua to enter their sacred dwelling place.

Ke ka-nae-nae a ka mea hele, He leo, e-e

,

A he leo wale no, e-e

.

Eia ka pu`u nui owaho nei la

,

He ua, he ino, he anu, he ko`e-ko`e

.

Maloko aku au

.

In the stillness, I feel them stir. They grant me permission.

I proceed down the slope slowly. The shore of the small green lake is just before me now. I pause, listening to the silence. My heart beats slowly but with great purpose. I remember how Aleka gave me that warm, welcoming hug. She was glad to see me. She was glad I was home.

I belong .

We’re all in the same boat now. We belong here. We belong to each other.

This is my home, and no one can ever take that from me .

I yank the medical bracelet with its corkscrew serpents off my wrist. I keep it in my hand along with my last pills and squeeze.

Pele fought her sisters here. She won her right to remain on the Big Island. Dad and I fought our way home, and we won our place here, too. But now we must win another battle.

And how shall I win it? The Orchids arrived as pale green angels of death. Now they would flee. But if we are to survive, they must stay—even if just for a short while. It means a future filled with hardship and suffering. But at least it means a future.

E iho ana o luna

E pi`i ana o lalo

E hui ana na moku

E ku an aka paia

Chants and ancient whispers dance through my mind, loudest among them all the prophecy of the arrival of King Kamehameha. So many forces have led me to be here: Uncle Akoni; the sheriff and Grandpa, once partners; finding a van with gasoline; a mountaintop guru who can wield a slide rule and a radio-telescope array. The timing of my trip to O`ahu to change up my meds is itself an amazing thing. I don’t know whether it is fate or chance or God or gods. But I feel the mystery in the air.

That which is above will come down

That which is below will rise up

The islands shall unite

The walls shall stand firm.

There is no fear or doubt. No shame. No denial or regret. No choice. There is only acceptance—and a sense of honor.

I will never again run from who I am, or from where I belong .

I throw my medical bracelet and my remaining pills into the green waters to meld with the life-delivering flesh of my Hawaiian ancestors, and I prepare to fight for my family, for my islands, and for my world.

We stand among the radio telescopes, very near the highest peak of Mauna Kea. The sun is low on the horizon, bathing the mountaintop and the puffy clouds below in a fiery orange befitting the end of the world. Soon the heavens will be given over to the night, in its velvety gown, dazzling with sequins and pearls and emerald-green flower brooches. I can feel the cold seeping into my bones. But soon I will reach out and touch the stars.

“Are we really going to do this?” Dad asks. He and I are sitting on the tailgate of Buzz’s old truck, parked at the center of the array. “Have these things here for the rest of our lives? No more computers? Internet? Phones?”

“We’ll grow old together,” I say.

“I’d give everything for that.”

“It’s not for life, though. Years? I mean, we need enough time for people to box up the world’s nuclear material. Stuff it all underground, in that Yucca Mountain place in Nevada or something. Then I can send the Orchids away.”

“Piece of cake,” Dad says. “We’ll just send instructions to every nuclear nation by carrier pigeon.”