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| Surfer
Magazine - April 1988 |
A short story I wrote about surfing. It's a fantasy piece that appeared in the April 1988 issue of Surfer
Magazine.
As Heavy as Storm Surf
As Light as the Rainbow
by Alan K. Mitchell
The path, made by wild hogs, is negotiable to waist-height. Above that it is a chaos of branches and vines. Except for an an occasional hunter of the large black boars, travelers are few in this part of Oahu’s Waianae mountains. Those who do journey here are condemned to travel the pig trail - a dangerous road. Wild pigs are shy creatures, but the word is that once a boar is running on a trail, it won’t stop for anything.
Where was the trade wind? The air was dead weight; the sun was ablaze. Scattered clouds were lead shields holding in the humidity. I hunched my body through the ragged channel in the vegetation. When the crick in my back became unbearable, I trudged on erect, fighting through the thicket with my knife, and battling the stupor brought on by the oppressive weather.
As I walked I purposely made noise, to give boars in the area an opportunity to avoid me. I sometimes heard them, rooting in the undergrowth or trotting, but not close by. The heat was unbearable. I squatted in the loose dirt for a breather.
Over the decades, valuable ancient Hawaiian relics have been discovered in the hidden burial caves throughout the Islands. I was obsessed with the notion that treasures were still to be had, somewhere out in the countryside beyond the urban sprawl. In fact, I’d come across odds and ends: stone fishhooks, and such. I sold the stuff to private collectors. It wasn’t a lot of money, but at least I was able to keep surfing without getting bogged down in a full-time job.
An “artifact hunter.” That’s how I thought of myself. It sounded more respectable than “grave robber.” But I knew that to an Hawaiian, the burial caves are sacred, and plundering them is sacrilege.
It’s rumored that to ensure a hidden crypt would remain untouched, the kahuna-sorcerers of old would conjure spells and curses - deadly to any intruder. But, in my opinion, that was a load of superstitious hype. In any case, my greed had overcome my qualms.
I dug my canteen out of my backpack and slugged at the tepid water. Time passed, and I knew I’d better get moving. The drumming vibrations of the boar’s hooves were in my boots before I heard the frenzied pounding. Around a bend in the trail he charged; snout, tusks - a bristling bomb of a beast, churning up the dirt as he came.
I lunged, throwing myself against the overgrown tangle that enclosed the path. My arms and legs were flailing like a spider scampering up a web. The rank stench of a hell-bent hog hit me as I vaulted. The boar bolted by below. My momentum sent me careening over and down - past a few feet of scrub brush that hid the edge of a cliff. I went crashing through the scrags of twigs that grew horizontally from the precipice, and spilled onto a narrow ledge that short-circuited my descent.
I stood up, bruised and trembling. Fifty feet below, a kukui tree canopy blanketed the bottom of a gorge. I could see that to attempt a climb down the escarpment would be extremely risky; The brittle volcanic crust of the cliff face was not reliable. Could I get back up to the path? I turned around and saw that I couldn’t, but I was standing at the mouth of a cave.
The opening appeared to be a lava tube. Flashlight in hand, I snaked my way through fallen detritus and convoluted outcroppings, following the shrouded passage into the mountain. Some 30 yards beyond the entrance, the tube terminated in a hollowed-out cavern.
Against the far wall, reposed on an age-worn koa wood surfboard, was a mummy wrapped in tapa cloth strips that were wasted and moldy from the years. Bits of red and yellow fluff were attached to a rotten webwork draped over the corpse - the remains of a feather cape! If it’s in prime condition, an archaic cape woven with the feathers of now extinct birds can bring over a million dollars! I reeled with rage as a picture of stunning wealth flared up, tantalized me, and fizzled in the next instant.
Then came a whisper of panic. Was I trapped in this tomb? No. There was a way out! The koa surfboard - it was certainly long enough to reach from the outside ledge to the path above. I could carry the board to the lava tube’s entrance, where there’d be plenty of light, then set to work with my knife, chiseling a notch-ladder into the board’s deck.
Yet, I faltered…. What about the mummy? I squelched my timidity; why be skittish about a ragbag of old bones? As I lifted the koa plank, its grim cargo tumbled off in a musty heap, and I made for the outside sunshine.
The afternoon had darkened, and when I was several yards from the cave’s entrance, I stopped. Intuition was sending warning signals. Oily cloud cover oozed over the mountains. I had shoved my flashlight in my backpack to use both hands for lugging the heavy koa board. What was making me so jittery? Lightning kindled the sky, illuminating the cave. A skull - its bald dome reflecting the flash - sat to one side of the entrance. The shadowed pits of its eye sockets faced in my direction.
With a boom of thunder came a jolt of understanding: That skull was the guardian! It was all that was left of the kahuna who had tended this cave. Even so, some phantom of his supernatural power continued to preside over the place. My skepticism denied this conclusion. It wasn’t something I believe, but a crackling malevolence now hung in the air like poison. I, too, had been allowed admission here. Exit was out of the question.
The surfboard slid from my shaking fingers, but my cringing retreat down the dark tunnel was checked: Where could I go? Would I cower in the cavern of the ancient dead? I had to take action. I’d kick that vile skull like a soccer ball, right down the mountain.
Dread choked me, but resolve gave me courage as I started back toward the cave’s mouth. The old koa plank lay where I’d dropped it, lengthwise down the tunnel. Its nose rested a foot or so from the kahuna’s skull. In the gloom I tripped over the board, and toppled full-length onto it. My jaw crunched painfully into the deck.
There was thunder, muffled by distance, and the scent of a woodland recently drenched with rain. A chill was in the cave. And first light....dawn? How long had I been spread-eagled, out cold, here on the surfboard? The skull sat in the dust, just in front of the boards’s nose. It seemed to return my gaze. My head was cocked forward at an awkward angle. I needed to stand up, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed! Oddly, my binge of panic dissipated, as the soft hypnotic patter of water dripping on the ledge captured my awareness.
Two pale sparks began spiral dances in the skull’s eye sockets...each spiral intensifying, adding color on color on color, weaving whirlpools, expanding, until the edges of the spiraling spectral lights met, and crossed each other’s paths. Then the two became one: like binocular images focusing, a revolving spiral of multihued lines of radiance, yet expanding… encompassing… circling… extending out… before and beyond; becoming a swirling gallery of racing, spinning lights, flows of splendor, tints of ruby and sun, cerro and agua, indigo and violet....
And I - turning and spinning, too - was caught up in the skein of energy: a sickening whorl of vertigo skewering my midsection. It was reflex, a product of years given to habit and training, that released me from the quicksand of my trance. I snapped loose and sprang to my feet on the deck of the surfboard. In a split second, all my faculties returned. I was surfing! In control! The old koa surfboard - recalling bygone days of sun and sea - responded to my every nuance of footwork and body movement. I was trimming now, flying down a sheet of tubular translucence!
The wall was becoming vertical, threatening to collapse. The board began bouncing as the maelstrom started to erupt in a sizzling kaleidoscope of stars. I scuttled toward the nose and crouched, grabbing the outside rail as I gained maximum thrust.
Then - just when close-out looked imminent - from my position deep inside, I saw the section ahead go streaking away, upward! And in short order, the rest of the wall followed… the surfboard and I with it. The wave of lights went streaming out, arching through the morning sky in a true rainbow! The night’s thunderstorm had passed. The rainbow sailed out of the mountain and high over the ocean, slicing a shimmering, ethereal highway through a sparkling, windblown, azure sky. Only a hint of the rainshower was left, breezing by to feed the bow - orchids cast across the blue.
As I ascended the rainbow, fear chased me. Logic cried out that rainbow surfing was physically impossible; I would fall to my death! But the words of woe wafted away on my laughter, for within the rainbow’s embrace, negativity had no currency, and possibility was a bird set free!
Effortlessly soar-skating I went, winging through deep angling turns, tack-climbing a multi-ribboned skyway. The world was a distant cameo, as I swung past the rainbow’s zenith. Windswept whitecaps danced on the sea.
Suddenly the spectrum contracted into blues of empty, gaping sky, and hungry, waiting sea. The last of the breeze-borne rain flurry was gone, and so was the rainbow. With no energy track to link us now, the surfboard and I plummeted. Head-over-heels I dropped, catching glimpses: a flicker of sky, a glint of ocean, a blink of topsy-turvy horizon, and… an island.
The stark glaring sand and its brilliant beach came twirling…. A violent current of air whistled past my ears. My eyes were half-blinded, but I could just make out that my trajectory was altering, as a stiff offshore wind veered me away from the beach, toward the surf line.
Down I shot. Directly below was the tilting wall of a tall, lumbering, storm-generated comber, that started to break as spume showered from its heavy lip into the offshore blow. Masses of froth and foam cascaded onto the great wave’s face as tons of swirling brine roared into an avalanche. I struck, punching through the disintegrating curl, plunging through the whiteness. The soup was a perfect buffer, cushioning me from death on impact.
Eventually, the sea released me from its grip. Against all odds I surfaced alive… but barely, and with little hope. I was so exhausted that the next wave would probably finish me off. Then something slammed into the back of my head. Blackness closed in, and I strained to stay conscious. There, floating into view from behind, came the old faithful koa plank. I hauled myself atop its deck, as a towering turmoil of whitewater from another breaking wave barreled down on me. I rode the board proned out, hurtling along in the deluge until I was dumped on the beach.
For a second time, I awoke on the surfboard. Day was almost spent; the sun touched the horizon. On all fours, I spat out sand. Thirst was a torment, and my legs felt like seaweed. My body was tattooed with bloody cuts and scrapes, inflicted when the wave had rolled and dragged me along the coral bottom. But incredibly, no bones felt broken. My boots, shirt, and backpack were history. All I had on were the shredded remnants of my once-sturdy hiking pants.
The beach was pristine. Save for my presence, there was no one. Some yards inland from the wash of the surf, the sand ended in a jungle of palms and ferns. My parched throat sent me staggering off that way, on the promise of windfall coconuts.
Up the beach, I saw what looked like a large boulder. As I drew near, I realized it was a sizeable Hawaiian calabash. The sand around the container was twinkling! What? I hunkered down and picked up...a gold coin! On hands and knees I scooped up more, holding the trove in the glow of sunset for a better look. There were no letters or numerals, but each had the intricately carved impression of a real or mythical sea creature on it: sharks, mermaids, squids, whales, starfish and sea serpents, jumbled together - a glittering assemblage in my cupped hands. I jammed coins into a pants’ pocket and was about to grab more, when I remembered the calabash. It would be loaded with gold! I got up and stole a look down into the fat gourd’s bloated belly….Empty.
I lurched backward in fright! The calabash was outrageously empty: it had no bottom! A forbidding, pitch-black abyss of limitless space opened away from the hole where the gourd’s base ought to have been. Then - on a waxing tide of lunacy - a flood of darkness poured out of the calabash.
Sand flew, as I ran stumbling in the gathering dusk, retracing my steps down the beach. This was the skull’s doing! I had to get it before it got me! But how? The kahuna’s cave was across the water, miles away!
I skidded to a stop by the koa plank, flopped onto it, and almost passed out. I’d forgotten the beaten-up state my body was in. I waited a moment until my strength returned. Then I scrunched myself farther along the board so that my head was almost up to the nose. I knew what I had to do! I whipped my arm in a scything hook over the sand.
Fire stabbed my fist… and the world shattered! The beach sand dissolved into dust. The kahuna skull, propelled by my swat, catapulted off the thick dust of the cave’s floor and glanced off the outer ledge, sending up sharp reports of splitting bone as it bounded down the cliff.
I hoisted myself off the surfboard, and leaned wearily against a tortured sculpture of tunnel lava. So! The rainbow ride, the giant wave, the strange island, the gold and the dreadful calabash… they had all been hallucinations. The phantom-guardian of the burial cave had slung me into the storm surf of my own emotions, in an effort to buffet my brains to bits. But his strategy had failed. What a relief to be back in a solid, trustworthy reality.
And the reality was that I would have to spend the night in this miserable cave, and make my escape in the morning. Not that I would get any sleep this evening. Without my shirt and boots, the cool night air was sure to keep me awake. Plus, the sea salt caked on my skin was burning its way into my coral cuts. As I picked bits of coral from one of my scrapes, comprehension hammered home. No shirt or boots? Coral cuts?
Terror ripped through me with inescapable vengeance. Did this mean that the island of the calabash was real? But in that case… where was I now? Thanks to these past hours of crazy confusion, I’d lost faith in the substantiality of anything at all. I had been maneuvered to the brink of an awful madness, and I could take no more. Wordless, primordial shrieks came wrenching out of my gut. The murky mountains echoed with my maniacal howls, as I dived for the cave’s mouth. Launching over the ledge, I was swallowed by the night… then the darkness exploded.
Light and myna birds… their familiar, raucous cries came to me from the kukui leaves high above. Sun dappled the forest floor where I lay. Groggy and weak, I eased myself into a sitting position - my back finding a sympathetic friend in the comforting curve of a tree trunk. Through aching, dog-dead slumber, the clench-fisted terror had held on, banding my battered body tight with tension.
But what miracle was this? I was alive! Then something inside me let go, as my palms opened, revealing in one hand a golden coin.
Morning’s rays gleamed from the secret smile of the mermaid embossed thereon, and in my heart I heard someone singing a meaningless melody. Yet, it seemed to be touching me… healing me… Over and over her refrain repeated: “As heavy as storm surf, as light as the rainbow….”
