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That was the handwritten message at the bottom of a black and white photograph that hung on the wall of Song Cajudoy’s Sunrise Cafe in Lahaina. The faded print was of a sun-browned, Oriental fellow with a full-looking face, long black hair, a wispy little goatee, and a big smile on his lips. For some unexplainable reason Julian Crosby could not take his eyes off the picture.He was also keenly interested in the girl working behind the counter. She was a petite Filipina with delicate but determined-looking features, and her silky, black ponytail hung down over her flower-print shirt all the way to her waist. Her hands were nimble, and she moved quickly, so like the sparrows and finches that flew from perches in the mango tree just outside the cafe’s wide-open, double doorway.Normally not a deliberate eater, Julian lingered over breakfast today, and before he’d drunk his coffee and finished eating his banana-nut muffin, a willowy blond with a volcanic figure, wearing a very revealing bikini and a buoyant expression, came sauntering into the diner. Obviously a friend of the Filipina, she casually ordered a glass of passion fruit juice, then inquired, “Where’s Kamehaloha this morning?”For the first time in over a year Kamehaloha Kong was not sitting at the Sunrise as the day dawned over the mid-Pacific. It was his enigmatic smile that beamed down from the picture on the wall. Song Cajudoy shrugged her shoulders as she poured the drink.“Our friend is sailing his boat from Shipwreck Beach to Lahaina Harbor,” she said. “I think he wants to sell it.”“Next time you see him,” implored the blond, “tell him that there’s a haole in town looking for him, okay?”“Sure,” Song agreed. Her unappreciative opinion of Kamehaloha Kong was based primarily upon the fact that he owed her money for meals eaten at the Sunrise.From his corner table Julian Crosby eavesdropped on the conversation. Shamelessly he admired the bikini girl. As she turned to walk out of the cafe her shoulders rocked gently and her long arms swayed like palm fronds touched by the Trades. Julian allowed that she was probably no older than his grown daughter, Kirsten.He paid his bill and needlessly left a tip. Out the door and onto Front Street he wandered, past the Pioneer Inn and the giant banyan tree, all the way to the far end of the pier where the Carthaginian sailing ship was docked. There he stood out on the launch, watching rays of golden sunlight dance over the straight that separated Maui from Lanai Island. Julian took a moment to acknowledge his broker, Kevin Miles, who had first suggested, then facilitated this Maui vacation. “So you were right about this place, my friend. Here a decrepit attitude doesn’t stand a chance for survival...”Julian spent most of the morning exploring the leeward side of the West Maui Mountains. Driving through the cane fields after noon he stopped at a busy farmer’s market in Wailuku to buy mangoes and a pineapple then drove mauka to Pukulani and Makawao, where Hawaiian paniolos worked on upcountry ranches. Later, on the ninth floor balcony of Miles’ ocean-view condo, he cooked ahi on a gas barbecue and assembled a salad made from tropical fruits. He drank an entire bottle of Chardonnay to toast his arrival in Hawaii.The view from the lanai was sublime. Molokai Island appeared distant and surreal at sunset as the billowy clouds concealed its conical summit. Its leeward canyons were cast in fiery shades of pink and mauve. As dusk fell Julian heard the sound of waves breaking onshore. The white foam was oddly luminescent in near darkness. In the distance the ‘Sugar Train’ whistled as it chugged through the cane fields from Kaanapali to Lahaina Town.The ocean breeze cooled the apartment, and Julian slept more soundly than he could remember sleeping in years. It was barely light when he opened his eyes. For a moment he lay in bed trying to recreate the fundamentals of a dream he was certain he’d dreamed. In time a curious image presented itself.Sitting on a bridge near a rain forest waterfall was the round-bodied Hawaiian he’d seen in the photo at the Sunrise Cafe. With bare feet and busy hands the ‘fruit juice philosopher’ was weaving baskets out of freshly cut, vibrantly green palm fronds. Aware of the haole’s intrusion he extended his thumb and little finger. “Aloha, brother!”“Aloha,” Julian returned the greeting.“A little out of your element, aren’t you?”Julian shrugged. “I think everybody’s looking for a little piece of paradise...”“True, brother. But Paradise is surely a state of mind. Don’t you agree?”“Come on now,” Julian wrangled. “Who could contend splendor like this?”Of course he was referring to the many and obvious blessings of a prolific tropical garden - as well as to the mental and emotional comfort it so quickly and unanimously imparted.“But the umbrage is quite dense, and maybe the haole doesn’t truly understand,” Kong said cryptically.“What’s a haole?” Julian asked. “I keep hearing the word, but I’m afraid I don’t know it.”The Hawaiian laughed at him. “You are haole!”“The blond girl at the Sunrise said we would meet.”“Could be we have important business,” conjectured Kong.“With all due respect,” said Julian, “business is the furthest thing from my mind.”“A poor choice of words on my part, brother. No doubt, your trip is one intended for pure pleasure!”“So where do you fit in?” Julian wanted to know.Kamehaloha’s big belly rolled. “Kahuna’s power is very curious, brother. I search your soul. I uncover dreams and fantasies. Then I work through your sense of possibility. But such things are never precise.”“An accepted risk,” acknowledged Julian.“Like it or not, I’m the fly in your soup. It’s my task to throw the world off its axis!”“You don’t say,” said Julian skeptically.The Chinese-Hawaiian busied his hands with his weaving. “Remember one thing, Julian. I never make knots which are impossible to untie!”Again Julian heard the sound of the breakers rolling onshore, and redirecting his attention back to more tangible circumstances, he quickly dismissed the memory of a strange dream, already fading. Putting on his bathrobe he walked onto the lanai to assess the morning weather. A thin mantle of fog cloaked the velvety escarpments to the east. The sea was gray and foamy, bold but not cold looking. Though it was quite early he observed a young couple making their way, arm-in-arm, up the deserted beach, and was momentarily overcome with the uneasy suspicion that too many opportunities had been missed, and good years gone by. How utterly absurd it suddenly seemed that he’d never run barefoot along the seashore. Determined to correct this omission immediately he put on his bathing suit and went downstairs to the beach. One mile up and one mile down: he stopped periodically to examine his footprints left on the fine sand. They were not unlike the others he saw, but the waves washing onshore erased his telltale signature almost as quickly as he’d made it. He stopped to watch two wind surfers flying over eight-foot waves with their sails unfurled. He experienced a vicarious feeling of freedom, as if he were the one riding the thundering swells.This ribbon of wind-swept beach separated the ocean from a life-size terrarium. Here blossoms of every conceivable shape and color - Birds of Paradise, Torch Ginger, Heliconia - engendered within Julian a reformed sense of personal size and proportion. Such profusion shifted his attention away from the triviality of toil and replaced it squarely on the majesty of nature. Quite unconsciously he’d begun the unequivocal process of giving up a long-fostered, nervous and competitive perspective.Walking inland he discovered a network of wondrous caves—cool, moist, and mossy—where patches of ferns grew out of cracks in the rocks and water trickled down the walls into limpid cave pools. Peering into the depths he drew a startled breath and blinked his eyes in disbelief. Overcome with a sensation that he’d rediscovered a place both secret and taboo, Julian thought he saw the image of a beautiful girl—not Polynesian, but fair-skinned and Teutonic-looking—taking shape in the concentric ripples where his reflection should have appeared. Her cool, blue-gray eyes reflected a keen awareness of her circumstance and seemed to suggest mysteries beyond the realm of time. Her tensile body intimated both elemental conflict and natural harmony. She appeared to be endlessly searching some unfathomable horizon. Who was she?Quite unaccustomed to revelation, Julian drew back.Suspended between doubt and security, he returned to Kevin’s Lahaina condo. There he bathed in the Jacuzzi for an hour, trying without much success to calm his newfound visionary predilection. That night he went to bed before it was fully dark.Next morning he awoke early with the obscure feeling that he was late for an appointment. Considering he knew not a soul on Maui, such an impression seemed unfounded. Still the sensation would not leave him. And having eaten nothing the night before, he was very hungry, so he dressed and walked up Front Street to the only restaurant open at this hour - Song Cajudoy’s Sunrise Cafe.He ordered coffee and a cinnamon roll. The only other customer in the cafe at this hour was the enigmatic local in the black and white photo - the same rain forest basket weaver of Julian’s fantasy/dream! With a glass of fruit juice before him, the kahuna meditated at one of the outdoor tables facing the sea, contemplating Hibiscus corollas on a trellis as he waited for the sunrise.“Mr. Kong, my name is Julian Crosby,” said the haole.The Hawaiian nodded in recognition. “Do you want to sit down?”“Thanks,” said Julian. “The girl at the counter told me your name.”“Somebody said there was a haole looking for me.”“I heard you have a boat for sale.”“You want to buy a boat?”“I’ve been considering it,” Julian said.“You don’t look like a sailor,” said Kamehaloha Kong.“I’m not, really. I sailed occasionally in California. But that was a while ago. I decided to come over to Maui for an extended vacation, and my friend in San Diego generously offered me his condo. And I’ve been thinking it might be great to get a boat. Nothing too fancy—just big enough to go from island to island. It’s probably a foolish idea.”“Maybe the best reason to do it!” said Kong, wringing his thick hands and sermonizing. “When you’re young, brother, you pay a dime and get a dollar’s worth of pleasure. But when you get old, you pay a dollar and only get a dime’s worth of fun. How old are you, anyway?”“I’m fifty-two,” said Julian.“So maybe you can get forty-five cents on a buck,” Kong laughed.“How big is your boat?” Julian asked.“It’s a six-passenger, thirty-one foot Bertram Flybridge Sportfisher called ‘Scoundrel’. It’s powered by twin four-cylinder, one hundred sixty-five horse inboards. It’s a real beauty! The engines are a little fickle if they’re not tuned just right, but you’ll get a feel for it.”“How much are you asking for it?” Julian wanted to know.“Eighteen thousand cash,” said Kong. “I’m probably giving it away, but I’m hard up for money.”“When can I have a look?” Julian said.“Right now, if you like,” said Kong. “It’s docked in slip number thirteen over at the small boat harbor at the end of Canal Street. We can walk there in five minutes.”
