At some point, Stefan's son showed up. He was a pretty kid w/ thoughtful brown eyes, blond hair and a thin, stubbly growth above his upper lip. His speech was slow and quiet, probably in part because his grasp of English was less firm than his father's. I'd studied German in high school and college, so I said some simple stuff to him. ("How are you," "Whassup!" and "In terms of semiotic film criticism, do you believe that the individual frames of a motion picture serve an analogous function to that of the letters found in a specific word, the words found in a specific sentence, or neither?")
He became more animated and started enthusiastically spouting all kindsa shit auf Deutsch, and pretty soon I understood how he must've been feeling since he reached the U.S., 'cuz I was virtually lost. My mind would latch onto an individual word, and that word would be long gone already. It was even more confusing than listening to someone speaking in a language you don't understand at all. Then you don’t feel obliged to sort anything out. You can just kinda listen, fascinated by the unfamiliar sounds. Or, at the very least, you can just ignore them.
When he found out I wrote fiction, the kid went really ape shit, furiously spewing out Teutonic consonants, as though he were a living Howitzer. Apparently, he was writing a novel of his own, and he was now bombarding me with a complex plot summary.
By this time, my eyes were bulging, and my mind had assumed the form of sputtering static on an unused broadcasting frequency. In that state I was surprised to find that I could understand enough German to get that Stefan was telling him to slow down and be a little more realistic. I obviously wasn't understanding alla that.
And it might be worth making a somewhat judgmental observation here: Stefan often assumed this kind of fussy, scolding tone when he dealt w/ Niko. He was constantly correcting the kid, pointing things out to him, and becoming impatient w/ his lack of interest in some things that a kid very well might find boring. I never saw him become openly angry w/ Niko, and his comments were rarely outright criticisms, but they were, uh, patronizing. It led me to suspect that the kid wasn't just soft-spoken because of a language gap or general shyness—‘tho I do think these were contributing factors. In part, I began to think was that he just kept his mouth shut around his dad to avoid further bitching and roundabout brow beating.
But maybe that's just the way I saw it.
So conversation drifts into Stefan's uncertainty that, after setting up his camp, he's gonna have time to come pick up Niko for the evening hike to the lava. He seems philosophical, and we move onto subjects like jet lag and time zones. Germany's exactly 12 hours askew from Hawaii, so Stefan laughs off my sympathy by pointing out that at least they don't have to reset their watches like I do.
Niko is asking me questions about this novel I've been writing in between the professional obligations, like the investigation of cheating spouses, con schemes and the occasional missing person. And here's where Akiko dragged me into her Machiavellian plotting. Get this:
One minute, she's putzing around, washing dishes. The next, a #1 Best Divine Lightning Bolt whacks her on her enlightened head. I actually heard the crack of thunder, and I think that for just a moment, I saw Mighty Jove hisself lurking in a storm cloud over by the spice rack. And in case you're wondering about the mismatching of Eastern/Western living/dead religions (as opposed to a living dead religion—Wow, that'd be fucked up—dig if u will a picture of a church full of rottin' cadavers. Mulch mouthed undead priest oozing around on at the pulpit sez, "Let us now bow our heads... Let us now eat our heads..." N' at the end of the service, all the zombie folk turn to one another & say, "Pieces to you, brother/sister..." HAWHAWHAAW! I knew readin' all those EC comics was good for somethin'... And if you think I'm unfairly singling out Catholicism here, just consider all that Eucharist shit. They started it.)
But so in case you're wonderin' 'bout that, well see the thing is that Buddhism supposedly allows you to incorporate other religious shit into it. I think. Anyway aren't there 'sposed to be all these Hindu gods n' demons & shit that some Buddhists recognize. And plus like Richard Gere told Lisa Simpson she could observe Xmas even 'tho she wuzza Buddhist, on The Simpsons, I mean. And besides, you prob. don't know it, but Jove is a Buddhist. But he's nowhere near as devout of a Buddhist as Siddhartha Gautama was a devout Hellinocist (or whatever). Matter of fact, every incarnation of the Buddha since has been a devout Hellinocist.
Which is why that "noble" refugee and spiritual teacher the Dalai Lama is suspect. He wrote a book n' stuff, and by this time he's probably made music videos w/ Madonna, (who's using his higher profile and surplus public goodwill to try n' save her own foundering career—in matters of celebrity, one palsied hand washes the other—) and has his own game and reality shows and several movies wherein he's an action hero blowin' away a buncha Arabs n' drug dealers or a wacky, clumsy guy tripping over things or all naked takin' a shower while some insane killer guy spies on him through a peephole and maybe jerks off, which is fucked up on various levels and let's hope that the Dalai Lama has the good sense to avoid porn 'cuz that would really be getting outta hand, I'm sure you'd agree. And plus he's got a shoot 'em up action game w/ all sortsa levels—I keep gettin stuck on level 17, which pisses me off, 'cuz I've made about 1,009 calls to the hint line, & those 1-900 calls on my phone bill have pretty much broken me, and I know for a fact that the next level after level 17 is Nirvana.
And he's also gotta a theme park w/ golf courses and cool rides and a chain of fast food restaurants, which worst of all, serve Buddha Burgers—What the fuck is next?
And so you can see whatta sellout the Dalai Lama is, so no wonder he's renounced the Helliocism that every incarnation of the Buddha and of all the spiritual teachers of Buddhism have held in such reverence since the time of Siddhartha. And he didn't even renounce it as such—he really just kinda let it go, as in lapsing. Lazy, greedy bastard. Some Buddhist.
Anyhoo, so there was Jove sniggering behind one hand as he and his thunder cloud receded into the kitchen wall. And I seemed to be the only 1 who saw the fucker.
And thennnnn Akiko gets this light bulb over her head that apparently, also, only I can see. (And to those of you who feel that my imagery is getting a little incoherent, I might pose this question: What powers a light bulb, hmmm? Well? I'm waitin'...
That's right, you bastards, sheepishly kick the dirt, avoid my gaze: Electricity! And what's a lightning bolt? Don't know? Cat gotcha tongue? Electricity. So next time you open yr. mouth to "helpfully" point out a "mistake" I've made, save us all a lotta trouble by using that ugly maw to slurp on a big juicy starfish dick, and yes starfish have dicks and don't even ask me how I know unless you want to further compound yr. humiliation...)
And she turns her face toward me, and it's positively a-beam—and not w/ Enlightenment neither—& I'm not even sure what's coming, but instinct is leading me to shake my head, except I'm not shaking my head, because I seem to be paralyzed. (And I suspect the Hand of Jove mighta been at work there too—last time I slaughter a hog and roast little bits of its fat for that asshole.)
And she looks at me & sez, "Steve has a car!" She turns to Stefan. "Stefan, maybe Steve could take Niko up to the volcano, so he can get a look at it and then meet you somewhere near the lava flow! Then you wouldn't hafta worry about getting’ back to pick up Niko. How ‘bout them apples? Huh? How ‘bout ‘em?"
She's on a roll. Her head snaps around w/ a cartoon boinging noise. "And Steve!" she nearly shrieks, and I swear she's starting to froth at the mouth. Maybe this is divine enlightenment after all. Or insanity. Or rabies. "I'm sure you'd like to see the lava too!"
Ha! It's a win-win scenario! Everyone profits! Except for humble Akiko who has to be content w/ the halo around her head. (Not to mention her feelings of absolute power.)
And except for me, because while I really did want to see the lava, I was still whacked from yesterday's odyssey. My plans for the day had been something along the lines of sitting on a beach somewhere and maybe reading a book. Then maybe I'd check out Hilo, do a little relaxed lookin' around after this Wendell fellow, maybe get some food and a drink or two before, etc. And now I was being drafted for service in the German Army. (And hey, since when do we allow these fuckers to conscript people anyway? I thought we were gonna keep 'em under lock and key for a few more decades or so until we were sure that weren't gonna fuck the whole world up again.)
(Come to think of it, and I don't mean to be insensitive here, but the word Axis was comin' to mind amidst all these German and Japanese people and their plots. All I needed was some Italian to come along and confirm the whole thing. And then it occurred to me that the guy I was workin' for was Italian. Fuck I really was in trouble.
Ha ha, but no, really, Apologies to persons of Axis-power-descent.)
"Yeah, I'd like to see the lava..." A “but” was comin' here. (Which I'm having trouble picturing—a butt cummin’—but whatever.) Buuuutttt Akiko weaved w/ the skill and grace of Rumble in the Jungle-era Ali.
"Then you can make plans to take Niko up to meet Stefan, and in the meantime, he can go set up his campsite!"
And I woulda said, "Get bent," or at least, "Uh, I'm kinda tired from the trip. Sorry." But noooo.... I tell myself I was too frazzled to argue or something like that, but the truth is that Akiko's eyes started makin' these throbbing circles like the ones that cobra's eyes made in that cartoon of Riki-tiki-tavi. (Tell me that shit wasn't scary. And BTW, they got mongeese all over the Big Island, but we’ll get to that later.) And I got all limp. And flaccid. And well, you get the picture.
I was even offered another out that I did not take:
Stefan seemed uncertain, maybe a little regretful that it'd come to this, "Only if you want to do this," he says. But he sounds like he's expecting me to do it—that what's really being said here is something along the lines, "Ach, dude, I'm really sorry you have to do this, but hey thanks for responding to that pistol of guilt n' obligation that’s bein’ held to yr. head!"
No, I'd like to say that I'd asserted myself, or even that I assented outta the goodness of my heart, (Which I hope is partially true. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between yr. own possible kindness & yr. own possible acquiescence.) I'd even like to say that I went along because I wanted to see the lava, and although I'd been planning on resting some today & maybe hitting the lava somewhere down the road, it seemed like a good opportunity to travel w/ someone who knew more about this lava-hunting jazz than I did. But I can't be sure. And I guess it doesn't matter at this point. For whatever reason, with both eagerness & reservation, I agreed to deliver the kid, and then to go look for the lava.
So now Stefan displayed where his son got that tendency to suddenly leap into effusiveness. He broke out a map of Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. He'd procured it from the park itself when he'd made an earlier visit to check out Crater Rim Drive, which like its name implies, circles the crater, allowing you these glimpses of this constantly mutating volcanic landscape. I won't go into it at the moment, but I made the drive several times while I was there—or rather parts of it. It's easy to spend so much time pulling off & gawking at yet another incredible piece of chaotic terrain that pretty soon, daylight is fading, and you’re realizing that maybe you'll have to come back again to see the rest. (Good news: an admission to the park covers you for as many repeat visits as you wanna make for a full week. Just remember to bring yr. crappy little ditto receipt that quickly shrivels into a dirty, sun-bleached ball in yr. rental car—at least if you're me.)
Anyway, Stefan, who turned out to be a meteorologist, of all fucked up things, (fucked up, particularly for me at that moment, as you can just imagine how ecstatic someone of that profession might get over a volcanic climate—thank god the fucker wasn't a geologist. I'd probably still be scrubbing the semen outta my hair,) launched into this dizzying set of scenarios for how we might meet, interspersed w/ Fun Fax re: the park, the volcanoes, etc., etc., etc... as well as anecdotes about his previous visit. (Stefan, it turns out, is one of those people who not only goes looking for park rangers to lecture him about the various natural features of the park, but who watches those crappy little video loops they have set up at "visitor's stations” around the parks.)
"It's just incredible!" he kept squealing, as he nearly sprang offa his bench, "Simply incredible!"
When I'd arrived for breakfast, my brain had already been a bit clouded from my trip. Following Niko's Germanic plot summary, Akiko's Daedelian maneuvering, and Stefan's, I felt completely lost and very far from home. And the day—not to mention the trip—was just beginning.
