The Ohana Part 33

It was a long and b.u.mpy ride to Steve's Hana home. The scenery was breathtaking yet disturbing in its primordial disorder. Susan pa.s.sed overgrown areas so lush and jungle-like the vines completely covered the tree trunks, giving it a spectral quality. There was a disquieting sense of waiting and discovery.

As she drove further up, the air grew cooler. She came upon pasturelands rolling idyllically to the sea. The horses gazed at her indifferently as they flicked their tails lazily, shooing the flies. Below, the sea shimmered like a mirror of pale blue sapphire unrelieved by the usual lines of white foam. Most of the homes were hidden from the road behind thick trees and vine-covered lava rock walls.

She stopped at Hasegawa's General Store. They looked at her oddly when she asked for directions. "Look for the Tahitian long house up the hill, take the first dirt road to the left, and go straight down until the end."

"Is it easy to find?"

"No can miss if you look for the long house," the elderly j.a.panese man with wispy tufts of gray hair said.

As she came up the road, she spotted the long house. It was a Tahitian-style meetinghouse with a gra.s.s-covered roof held up by ma.s.sive poles of carved Tikis. It had no walls. To the right was an unmarked road. She turned down the road adjacent to the long house and drove until she reached the end where she parked her car.

Although the area was overgrown with trees and bushes, she spied a footpath cut through the foliage to a clearing a few hundred feet away. Stepping out of the densely wooded area into the clearing, she paused and held her breath at the sight of green pastureland sloping gently to the sea. From her vantage point the sh.o.r.eline looked like a charcoal black snake weaving its way between the land and the ocean. Further out into the ocean, a tiny atoll broke out of the water.

"It's the most beautiful spot in the world, Sue," a soft voice said beside her.

Startled, she turned and saw Steve. He was thinner than she had ever seen him and his long blonde hair and beard gave him a slightly feral look. But his eyes were as she remembered; dark violet with glints of blue. Now, however, a gentle sadness lingered there.

Susan threw her arms around him and the years melted away.

Steve held her by her shoulders and peered at her. "You look different. Pretty, but different," he said with a wink.

"I guess we all change." Susan smiled. "You look pretty different yourself."

Steve chuckled. "That's an understatement."

Susan looked at him searchingly. "Are you happy, Steve?"

Steve looked past her, she guessed at the ocean. "Am I happy? I don't even know what happy means anymore. Maybe I never knew. But, I'm at peace in this little slice of paradise."

For the first time Susan noticed the little gray house with a makeshift tin roof perched incongruously on a little knoll to the right. It was dilapidated, but had a fantastic view.

Steve grinned. "My castle awaits you, Princess."

"You live there?" Susan couldn't help but think of the mansion in Kahala he'd grown up in.

"Yes." Steve's eyes twinkled. "As you can see, my humble abode is humble indeed."

"It's in a beautiful spot."

Steve took hold of Susan's hand and walked her toward his cabin.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"It's so quiet here any foreign noise filters down through the trees." Steve stopped at the entry to his cabin and put out his hand. "Enter my castle, Princess."

Susan walked in.

The house was almost primitive with gas lamps and a wood-burning stove. There was no evidence of electricity or running water. She thought she saw an outhouse in back. However, throughout the house were extraordinary woodcarvings on the beams, the walls, the doors, and doorframes. The carvings depicted parrots, foliage, tropical flora and fauna, and even a volcano. Hanging on some of the rough walls were astonishingly beautiful canvases, some of them with scenes of Hana, past and present. She didn't know much about art, but the power and beauty of the pieces shook her to the core. Captivated, she wandered around the little house, irresistibly drawn by the pa.s.sion of the artist inherent in his work.

"My G.o.d, Steve," Susan threw up her hands in amazement. "Did you do all this?"

Steve nodded. "It's a little hobby of mine."

"Hobby? These are masterpieces." She examined each one closely. Each piece elicited powerful emotions. Most of his work held an intangible sense of melancholy mixed with joyous wonder. The conflict resonated throughout his work. In a way, it reflected his life, which should have been beautiful but instead was riddled with despair.

"You like it?" he asked in a way telling her he was both surprised and interested in her response.

"I love it." Susan spun slowly around. "If only Jimmy could have seen this!."

There was a moment of awkward silence. She looked at Steve and knew he was thinking of Jimmy too.

"Come." Steve took her hand in his and led her into another room. Susan held her breath. Above his bed, was a painting of the three of them during their last night together on Kahala Beach. Although it was a moody piece like the others, there was a gentle peacefulness about it. The crescent moon slung low over a placid, mirror-like ocean. The three friends sat on the sand, gazing at the moon, the stars, and the ocean. There was a powerful feeling of love and innocence entwined with hope. Nothing could have captured that moment in time better.

Tears came to Susan's eyes and for a moment she was unable to speak. "Oh, Steve," she finally said. "Jimmy would have been so pleased."

Steve put his arms around her and held her as they both wept.

Later, they lay in his bed listening to the rain clattering on the tin roof. They were at peace. Their lovemaking had come naturally. Susan snuggled up next to him. This is how it was supposed to be from the very beginning, she thought. She hadn't realized until now some part of her had always loved Steve.

"Steve, what happened to you?" she finally asked. "Why are you here?" Her fingers traced little circles on his chest.

Steve was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with sadness. "I guess you could say I'm a squatter here. Aunty Meg owns a two hundred acres. We used to call her crazy old Aunty Meg because she shut herself away in her Tantalus home after she got her heart broken as a young woman. Maybe I'm like her, shutting myself away because my heart was broken too." Steve kissed the palm of her hand gently. "After Vietnam, I wandered around California for a while. I had no direction. Everything I once believed in, I despised. I joined an anti-war movement for a while. They loved having me as their poster boy. They called me the hero who hated the war. I grew tired of causes and realized I had a more pressing problem. I was an addict."

"Oh, Steve, not you." She ran her hand up and down his abdomen; she couldn't stop touching him.

"I won't make excuses. I was too weak to tolerate what was going on, and it was too easy for me to do drugs in 'Nam. It took me away from the horror. I did a stint in rehab. I returned to Hawaii."

"And after that?" Susan asked.

"I fell in with, don't laugh, the Hare Krishnas. I shaved my head, wore orange robes, and worshipped the blue G.o.d Krishna. The continuous chanting anesthetized me, as did getting up at three or four in the morning to slave eighteen hours a day for Krishna.

"The Krishnas I fell in with employed brainwashing techniques, especially on the children, and advocated the use of drugs. Worst, they planned to take over the government with the a.r.s.enal of guns they owned. Some of them went so far as to disguise themselves as straight, suit-wearing politicians." Steve chortled. "They looked like Mormon missionaries."

Steve stroked Susan's hair. "Children were taken away from their parents and became zombies through sleep and food deprivation. The Krishnas tried to turn them into perfect little Krishnas by depriving them of the basics of life. They were methodically brainwashed and used as guinea pigs. The kids worked as hard as the adults."

Susan raised herself on an elbow and peered at him. "If I didn't know you better, I would say you were making it all up."

Steve reached over to rub Susan's upper arm. "Sometimes I can hardly believe it myself. It didn't take me long to get it was nothing but a cult. G.o.d nudged me to stop taking drugs and for the first time since joining the Krishnas, I was clear. I left before they got me for my trust fund."

"Thank goodness."

"I was searching-I'm still searching. There's a vacuum in my life nothing or no one seems to fill. The thing I struggle with the most is if there is a G.o.d, why does he allow tragedy? After Krishna, I joined EST, then Silva Mind Control. But the only thing I found was that people were being duped. These movements had one thing in common. They insisted we were our own G.o.d and able to create our own reality through the power within us."

"I understand." Susan traced his face with her finger. "After your letters stopped coming, I questioned everything too. I wondered how I could have been so wrong about Vietnam. Believing the propaganda I was fed made me doubt myself."

"Realizing we were deceived about Vietnam made me cynical and helped me to penetrate all the lies surrounding the different movements I got into. I wondered if it's true we're G.o.d, how could we account for the horror in this world? If we have the power to create our own reality, then what happened to Jimmy? He loved life to its fullest and used the same visualization techniques the false religions taught. Remember how he loved to sit and imagine himself behind the c.o.c.kpit of a plane flying to Paris, Rome, or Vienna? How can anyone tell me Jimmy created his own death?"

"They can't."

"You're right there."

She allowed a moment of silence to pa.s.s before asking, "So then what?"

"I continued my search."

"And did you find yourself?"

"I don't know. My search brought me here. I need to find out who I am and why I'm here. To find the answers, I needed my own s.p.a.ce without the clutter of the outside world. But I sense I'm near the end of my journey." He reached toward the nightstand and picked up a Bible. "You won't believe this, but I've been reading this amazing book. I even started praying."

"How did you get into the Bible?"

"Crazy Aunty Meg sent it to me." He chuckled and put the Bible back on the nightstand. "It sat there for a year before I actually opened it. Having gone to chapel at Punahou, I thought I knew everything about it. But I knew nothing. It's part of my journey."

"Is finding yourself the most important thing to you?"

"Yes," Steve said. "For now, anyway."

"But how do you live? Is your trust fund so large working isn't necessary?"

"It's not so large. After Krishna, I vowed I'd never be the target of a cult because of money. I gave my brother Patrick the bulk of my trust. The income, the Corpus, everything. I just kept some minor a.s.sets to live on. I guess I miscalculated how long it would take and how much I would need." He looked away. "I asked Patrick if he would consider returning the trusts to me."

Susan lay on her back again. "And?"

"He refused." He shrugged. "Oh well, he was right. I gave it to him. It wasn't his idea. So if he wants to keep it, it's his money."

She remembered May saying Patrick was contemptible. She was right.

"Anyway, it all worked out because my Aunt Meg decided to let me live here and I still own a little stock in the family companies. I don't care. Really, I don't."

"Do you care about anything at all?" Susan asked.

"Not really. My feelings died in 'Nam. It's hard to care there. If you did you risked going nuts. But sometimes, when it rains while I'm asleep, the drops clattering on the tin roof remind me of the villages and I panic thinking, Charley's coming, Charley's coming. Sometimes I see the thin, starving, accusing faces of the villagers and wake up screaming." He closed his eyes against the memory. "I wonder if the nightmares will ever end."

Susan kissed him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Steve whispered against her ear. "It is what it is."

"I became a war protester myself. Mostly due to your letters."

"I'm not surprised," Steve said.

"I've changed too, Steve." Susan turned on her side again and propped her head in her hand. "I found it hard to live on principles, especially in a place as expensive as Honolulu. I didn't have a trust fund to support my idealism."

"So what are you trying to tell me? You sold out?" Steve traced the line of her hip with the tip of his finger.

"No. I simply had to face reality."

"Like working for my father."

Susan felt her face grow hot. "Did he tell you that?"

"No," Steve answered. "My mother did. She writes me every week and keeps me updated." He grinned at her. "So what are you going to put in your report?"

Susan sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. "They're worried about you. As I am. I wanted to come and see you."

"So what are you going to say to him?"

"That you're lost and can't seem to find your way back home again."

"I don't have a home, at least not with them." Steve waved his hand about the room. "This is my home."

"For now." Susan looked around the room. "This looks temporary to me."

"I have a proposition. Why don't you throw materialism out the window and come and live with me? We can be as idealistic and impractical as we want while we seek G.o.d and the meaning of existence. You know I love you. I've always loved you. I think you love me too. We don't need anything or anyone else. It'll be just you and me."

"I can't do that."

"Why? Is this home too poor?"

"Yes, okay," Susan admitted. "I've succ.u.mbed to the call of materialism. Still, who are you to judge? I want what I never had. Maybe after I experience it, I can divest myself of it like you. But I don't think I can live without the basics in life-electricity, running water, a bathroom for with plumbing, for goodness sake. I don't know how you can."

"So you've sold out to materialism," Steve said.

"Stop judging. Just because you can afford to live like a hippie, don't get on your high horse. I'm not you, okay? I love you, but I'm being real. I can't live like this." Susan indicated the room with broad hand strokes. "Very few can. You can't hide the rest of your life, you know."

Susan wrapped a blanket around her and got up to sit in a chair facing the bed. She ma.s.saged the back of her neck.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to make you mad." Steve apologized. "I'm glad to see you. Seeing you again makes me realize how much I've missed you. If you decided to stay here with me, I'd be the happiest man in the world."

"Turn it around. It would make me happy if you came back and led a normal life. I don't need to be rich, but I do want to be normal." She looked around the room. "Not like this." Her eyes focused on some of his work. "You could be sell your art. You're fantastic, you know."

Steve shook his head. "I can't go back yet. I'm an empty sh.e.l.l needing to be filled up with something I'm not sure of."

"Why does it have to be this way? I now know why I could never find anyone after Jimmy. You're the unfinished business in my life." She began to cry. "Can't we compromise?"

"Shh... " Steve rose and went to her, kissing her on the forehead. "There is only today. Let's cherish today forever." He drew her to her feet and kissed her long and hard on her mouth. Leading her back to bed, they made love again. Poignant regret shadowed their every movement; they knew they were saying goodbye. As they rocked together, their bodies and souls fused.

It was the most beautiful moment in their lives.

Chapter Forty-five.