Sharks of Kealakekua

Sharks of Kealakekua
by G. T. Maman

         I’d heard old Zoc needed polyester resin for his dinghy.
Zoc is a hermit living in Kealakekua, in a lava-rock home he’d built himself. It's shaped like a dragon, at least from the air, for Zoc sees the world in a Daliesque fashion. He needed resin, and, hoping to exchange a gallon for one of his fantastic paintings, I asked my little brother Eric to accompany me the next day to visit Zoc.
         The only way to Zoc’s is by water, the only easy way, that is. To hike down to the point he lives on takes several hours, through hot, dry lava beds covered with spiny trees and brush. We didn’t own a boat, but we had several surfboards, so we picked out the longest of these, and headed down to the bay.
         Kealakekua Bay is an underwater preserve – no fishing allowed here. It is deep, and rich with marine life. The flanks of this island of Hawai'i fall steeply from volcanic cones down to shoreline, and they continue to descend just as steeply from sea level down to over a mile deep. No coral reefs to protect the shores, black sand beaches from ground glass, the art of Pele, the volcano goddess of the Hawaiian people. Open ocean lies just off the coast, which makes for good fishing and sweet point breaks.
         We hit the water around 8 a.m., feeling good. It was a perfect, windless morning, the water was crystal clear, dark, dark blue green. Just a few strokes out, no bottom was visible. I had packed the gallon of resin in a canvas sack, along with food and water, on the nose of the longest board, a seven-footer. I paddled that one. My brother took the shorter board; it was about six and a half feet. He’s almost as long: a Viking, one would say about Eric, with his long blond hair, blue eyes, wide shoulders, and skin bronzed from years in the tropics. I have much fairer skin, reddish hair and freckles, and always cover up as much as possible under the beating Hawaiian sun, so I wore a t-shirt and shorts over my swimsuit.
As usual, Eric wore only his swim trunks, and had plunked his flip-flops on the nose of his bright yellow board. We paddled about fifteen minutes, then exchanged boards. We were now about two-thirds of the way across and out about half a mile from shore, still feeling fresh, as we were taking it easy. We joked and laughed, speculating whether we would find Zoc dressed or in his normal state, that is, buck-naked with a coconut frond hat adorning his long, gray hair.
We had just exchanged boards again, and my brother was now back on the shorter board, all six feet three of him, when we saw the fins. Shark fins, eight of them, dark gray equilaterals, and they began circling us. Terror seized me, replacing my relaxed and happy mood, and I tensed up as only a frightened human can. I immediately tried to fit every inch of my self onto the top of my board. I pulled my hands and toes out of the water and squeezed my body into as small a package as possible. My survival instinct took over, and my thoughts were thudding and ponderous compared to my body’s action.
But Eric, he was just too big. Try as he might, he could not get every finger and toe on the board at the same time without risking it tipping and sliding his whole long self into the ocean! He started to panic, I could tell from the pallor of his skin, and his round eyes. I wanted to get him talking.
“Let’s change boards.”
“No!” he shouted. Then, a bit more calmly, he said, “No, it’d be more dangerous to go into the water right now. Let’s just hold our boards as close together as possible and keep still.” His voice got stronger as he spoke, and I knew the panic was subsiding. Mine was growing though.
The circling fins were much closer now. I could see their dead-looking gray-green eyes, those eyes that looked at me as if I were just meat.
The sharks were getting really interested. Maybe they smelt my fear. Their fins cut left and right, more and more jerkily, as they became excited. Dinnertime!
“I don’t want to be dinner!”
Eric and I looked at each other but he could not speak. I felt like a rabbit trapped in a hole with the snuffling nose of a dog inches from my neck. Their circle became tighter and tighter around us. What were we going to do?
         Just then, from around the point, Zoc’s point, a tourist boat slipped in to the bay, and immediately anchored very close to shore. Our saviors! Hope flooded me.
We waved, we shouted, “Help!” “Hey!” but no one heard or saw us. The smooth, slight swell lifted us gently up and down, and the light trade wind puffed on our cheeks. The tourists, looking like fat white sausages, were fixing masks and tubas to their faces. Now they were jumping off the boat into the water. How strange they appeared, leaping into this shark-infested water, with no consciousness of the drama happening within their view. If only they would realize what was happening! If only they could hear us. No, they were playing syrupy Hawaiian music, laughing, shouting and playing. “The fools!” I thought. “And tomorrow, they’ll read about us, and gasp, ‘My, but weren’t we in that, how do you say it, that K-something Bay yesterday?’”
         Suddenly, the fins disappeared. I thought, “This is it. They’re going to explode from underneath us, and bite off our legs, our heads and hands.” Tears flowed down my cheeks. I hadn’t yet done anything with my life, not anything important, and now it was too late. I felt sorry for myself and my brother, so young.
Absurd thoughts flurried the surface of my mind.
I thought of Zoc, and how I was never going to get my hands on one of his surrealistic paintings.
“Who will bring him his resin?” and, “Yep, Zoc would appreciate this. This is truly bizarre, just like his art!” The shining bright day, the pale tourists innocently playing, the lava and the thorny brush, the smooth gentle swell…and the shark’s fins, their red jaws and white teeth!
         Yes, they were coming up, we saw white shapes twisting about underneath us now, rising swiftly, and we grabbed hands, Eric and I. I squeezed my eyes tight shut and braced. What else could I do?
         Then, nothing happened.
         I opened my eyes.
         The shapes turned from grey to white to speckled, and they were not the straight, black fins of sharks anymore, but the curvy, light gray fins of dolphins – three dolphins who rose beak first, nodding sharply up and down, squeaking and humming, all movement, joyful, welcome. They acted like happy dogs who expect a bit of reward after doing a service. I cried, and thanked them; my smile, my intense joy was their reward evidently, for they smiled back, touched noses, all three, then sank back down a few feet, and took off swimming energetically, out to sea.
         One of Zoc’s uncanny paintings now hangs in my living room.
                                                  THE END