Strong Like the Sea, стр. 64
Below us, the boat ramp slants down into a small lagoon completely cut off from the ocean by a solid wall of black sand. What a race it must have been with the lava eating up everything all the way to the sea.
I glance at Dad as we walk out onto the new black sand, but he’s still talking and pacing.
Auntie takes Uncle’s hand, and I follow them across the beach. When we pass a stack of lava rocks, Auntie tsks, and we stop to spread the rocks back out to a natural state, ’cause stacking rocks is not pono—and rock stacks are contagious. First one tourist does it, another copies, then another, and they keep making more, never stopping to think whether or not they should.
Too soon, Dad waves and shouts from the car, “Hey! Time’s up!” and we hurry back.
After he pulls the car back onto Red Road, I ask, “What was your phone call?”
“Don’t worry about it. Everything will be—is fine.” Dad flashes a fake smile and pats my knee. “So, what do you think of the new black sands beach?”
By the time I answer all his questions, we’re already part of a line of cars headed to the next stop on his agenda: Uncle Robert’s.
Lava rock surrounds the parking lot and most of the buildings, but it’s older than the flow by Pohoiki. We pull into the sandy parking lot, and Dad waves me out of the car and swipes at his phone. “I’ll be right there.”
I scowl as he takes forever to finish whatever he’s doing. What about Dad’s precious schedule? Weren’t we in a hurry? I bite my lip. The call must’ve been something bad for him to be careless with time. I turn toward the music playing under a pavilion below us where people crowd around market booths and dance to a live band.
“We go.” Uncle leads the way, but instead of heading down to the pavilion, he crosses to a sandy path through a wide lava field. Swirls of slow pahoehoe lava curl underfoot in beautiful lines; jagged ’a’a lava pokes up here and there where the flow must’ve moved or cooled too fast.
When we reach a high spot, Uncle nods toward the vast lava field beside us. “That was Kalapana Village.”
“Under the lava?” I scan past young palm trees for any sight of a building or town beyond, but there’s nothing but lava.
Auntie says, “Not much left, but Uncle Robert’s was spared.”
“So, Uncle Robert’s is the name of the marketplace down there?” I ask.
“Yes, but Uncle Robert is a real person—a revered kupuna and Hawaiian sovereignty activist.” Auntie watches the people way down below. “Though when we say ‘Uncle Robert’s’ now, we usually mean his place with the farmer’s market and music. When the eruption happened and so much was taken back by the volcano, lava came right up close to his house, but didn’t take it. After that, his family helped make it a gathering place like it is now, and they made this path across the new lava flow to the ocean.”
“So, when the eruptions happen, can’t they . . . I don’t know, make it go around the towns? Maybe build a trench or something?”
“Oh, they have,” Uncle says. “They’ve dug trenches and built up walls. In Hilo they even bombed the lava tubes once to try and cool the lava before it could reach its end.”
“Bombed?” I look to Auntie, who nods.
“With bomber planes. But none of it works for long. Lava flows where she wishes. Only the volcano can stop the flow.”
“Sorry about that.” Dad jogs up the path and takes my hand before checking his watch. “Okay, ah . . . I wanted to show you the market inside Uncle Robert’s there, but we’ll have to skip it.”
He clears his throat, stands up straight, and puts a hand on his chest. “My lady Alexis, you’ve reached the end of your quest. Allow me to escort you to Kaimū Beach.”
“Cheehoo!” Auntie teases as she and Uncle follow us. “Lead on, noble knight.”
Dad’s hand is clammy around mine as we walk over sand and lava on the worn path to the ocean. Whatever the call was, it shook him.
Plants of all kinds sprout from the rock beside the path—even dragon fruit with its flat, segmented vines. The closer we get to the ocean, the more palm trees dot the lava, some tall as a house, but most less.
With the sun dipping toward the horizon, streaks of orange, yellow, and red fill the sky over my right shoulder as we reach the end of the path. In front of us, waves rush up a narrow black sand beach and beat against the rock ledge that stretches out to either side as far as I can see.
“Did you find it?” Dad asks.
“Find what?” I glance at him, but he’s looking at his phone again with his lips mashed into a tight line.
“Dad? What’s wrong? Is it Mom?”
“It’s nothing, hon. Nothing to worry about. Your mom left something here you need to see.” He pats my back like all is well, but the pinched wrinkles around his eyes say different.
“It’s here, sis.” Auntie pats the trunk of a tall coconut tree and waves us closer. “This is your mom’s tree.”
“What? Here?”
“Our Elizabeth went crazy for these young trees putting down roots,” she says. “That next day, we brought a coconut for her, and she left it here on the rock.”
Uncle taps lava at the base of the tree. “No dirt. No care. Nothing to make a good home—only one good seed with the will to grow.”
“Next time we come, we found her tree with roots reaching down into the crack here.” Auntie points where the crack extends