“You should have taken my word for it, and not wasted your time testing the theory.”
“It wasn’t a waste of time,” I said.
His mouth opened a little, closed again, and the muscles of his throat worked. But all he said was “Oh?”
“Don’t judge me,” I said, exasperated. “You and Bee and Slate and Rotgut, you all had lives, you all have stories and memories. You’re worldly and experienced.” I wrapped my hands around my knees and watched the rising moon lay a path of silver on the sea. “I’ve never had anything or anyone outside the ship.”
He reached into the bag for another orange, turning it over and over in his hands. “Why does it have to be someone outside the ship?”
I tensed, cautious—suddenly sensing the reefs only inches below the surface, but I couldn’t go back. I had to keep my eye on the horizon ahead. “Knowing something has an ending . . . makes it easier to begin,” I said carefully. “I never want to be stuck missing something I didn’t expect to lose.”
“Baleh, I understand.”
“You do?” I checked to see if he was making fun, but his face was earnest.
“Of course.” Kashmir started to peel the orange; the smell of citrus perfumed the air. “When I was young, I learned to expect loss. Every time you slept, something disappeared. Whenever you woke up, someone else was gone. But . . . I also learned that every day, you created everything anew. And whatever you had, you enjoyed as long as it lasted. Spend money when it’s in your pocket.” He took my hand and put the orange in it. “Eat fruit while it’s ripe.” His other hand found my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “Paradise is a promise no god bothers to keep. There’s only now, and tomorrow nothing will be the same, whether we like it or not.”
I bit my lip and tasted oranges; the juice was very sweet. “Is that really true?”
His smile was bright in the moonlight. “I promise.”
“Then I suppose . . . just tonight—”
This time I did not turn away, and so I discovered that his lips were even sweeter than the orange.
I woke naturally before dawn and went to stand watch at the water’s edge. The sky lightened from the color of stone to the soft purple of lavender blossoms, then to the rich blue and orange of a gas flame, all reflected in the mirror of the morning sea. As the sun began to glow gold, Kashmir came to stand beside me, very close but not touching, giving me space. Flecks of foam washed our feet. Words came to mind and then melted away like spun sugar on my tongue. Last night, there had been so much to say, but tomorrow had become today, and everything was different.
I turned from the sea and kicked sand over the coals of our little fire. Kashmir washed his hands and face in the Pacific. In silence, we gathered our things. Finally I spoke. “Breakfast?”
“Absolutely.”
We found a saloon that was serving eggs and hash to patrons who looked like they’d had a liquid supper. After we’d had our fill, we hired horses and bought shovels and torches from the general store downtown. Then I led Kashmir up into the mountains.
We took Nu’uanu Road, past the little stream, by the boxy white house, onto the track in the woods, through the empty clearing where we tied our horses, and up to the waterfall Blake had shown me.
“He told me there were caves above the falls,” I said.
Kashmir put his hands on his hips and assessed the craggy mountainside, a wall of orchids and bromeliads and wet, mossy stone. “Did he tell you how to get up there?”
“There’s an old trail somewhere,” I said, walking along the edge of the greenery. “But it may be hard to find. The Hawaiians used to keep the bones of their kings in caves along the ridge, and the locations were very secret because the bones had great power. Ah.” I pushed aside a tangle of ferns to reveal a slippery trail, little more than a path for runoff. “Let’s try this.”
We explored the mountainside, ducking into caves and crevices, finding the occasional petroglyph but, thankfully, no graves. We settled on a narrow cleft near the stream with a loamy floor where we dug a deep trench, working side by side in companionable silence. It only took an hour, but better now than the night of the theft.
When we finished, we left the supplies there and climbed gingerly, slowly down out of the mountains. I made sure to map the location in my head, the twists and turns of the narrow track that led us back to the ghost village where our horses grazed in the slanting afternoon sun.
We arrived at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel covered with mud to the knees and endured the tight-lipped disapproval of the concierge, but Kashmir put on a show and pulled out a heavy handful of coins, and suddenly rooms became available. We lingered in the lobby that night, being seen, and the next morning there was a message waiting for us at the front desk.