The Road to Hilo

By John A. Broussard

"Why not?" He tried to keep his annoyance from showing. "Who could do it better than you?"

"Well, practical jokes really aren't the same thing as acting. Besides, I don't know the first thing about voodoo goddesses or whatever this Madam Pele is supposed to be." Jessie's voice was almost drowned out by the noise in the background. Craig's phone call had caught her immediately following the traveling troupe's early afternoon rehearsal, and the cast was either celebrating a successful performance or commiserating loudly over a bad one.

"Look! You aren't going to do anyone any harm. You'll just be teaching them a lesson. I'm fed up to the ears with listening to the warehouse crew go on and on with that drivel. And Keola and Emily are the worst of the lot."

"They're both Hawaiians?"

"Yeah. She's only about a quarter, but you ought to hear her. She keeps talking about how her grandma was a kahuna, and how the old woman kept a lava flow away from Uncle Stanley's store, and about sacred places, and about how you can feel the spirits when you go there. Every day is Halloween at the warehouse, especially when Keola shows up and throws more fuel on the fire."

"I don't know." Craig could feel the doubt reverberating in the earpiece. He did his best to control his exasperation.

Jessie had been a friend for years. More than a friend, for a brief period before she left Hawaii and went off to acting school on the Mainland. But they had gone their separate ways. Jessie to bit parts on and off Broadway and road shows back and forth across the US and Canada, Craig to a partnership in a small but successful coffee processing business south of Kailua town on the Kona side of the Big Island.

Jessie had two failed marriages behind her. Craig, one-and-a-half. His current wife had come back briefly, which had only induced him to spend that much more time at his office in the warehouse. No great hardship. He was a workaholic anyway, and the gloomy old warehouse sitting a mile back from the main road, always filled with the rich smell of freshly roasted coffee, was more a home to him than the modern apartment facing out over Kealakekua Bay and the Pacific.

"Think of it as a one-night stand. You drive down from Kailua and meet them around seven. You can do your stuff in less than half-an-hour and be back to your hotel by nine at the latest."

Craig figured she owed him one, and was hoping she was getting the unspoken message. On the off chance that she wasn't, he decided to dangle a reward in front of her. "And I'll treat you to a fancy dinner at the restaurant of your choice. How's that?"

The answer was an amused, "I expected at least that much."

"So you'll do it?"

"Well..." The doubt was still there, though far less evident. "Go over it again. Tell me exactly what you want me to do."

Craig was sure that the hook was now firmly in place. "It's simple. Keola and Emily are scheduled to run a load over to Hilo tomorrow night. I'll make sure they leave here at exactly seven. I'll think up some good excuse. A sack of special dark roast that has to be loaded at the last minute. I'll tell Keola he has to drop it off at Jimmy Miyamoto's Supermarket in Naalehu on the way over. Something like that. They'll be driving Keola's old gray minivan."

"How will I recognize it?"

"That should be no problem. Some ape crumpled the right front fender, and the old wreck is wall-eyed. The light shines way off to the right. Anyway, it should still be light enough out for you to spot the logo on the front. You've seen it. The coffee can on its side with the beans spilling out."

"But how do I know when they'll show up?"

"That's no problem either. It's five minutes from here to the 99-mile marker if Keola obeys the speed limit. And he will. I've drilled that into him. I'm willing to bet they'll pass that marker right at seven-o-five. And the traffic rush is over by that time of night."

"What'll I do with my car?"

"That's no problem. Just leave it in the 7-11 parking lot. The store's only fifty feet or so away from the marker. Keola'll stop when he sees you standing there looking like you need a ride. He's the kind who picks up anybody and everybody. That old van is usually packed like a Tokyo subway car by the time he gets to Hilo. So after you get in, wait about fifteen minutes or so, feed them whatever mumbo-jumbo line you want, then get him to come back to town."

"Any suggestions?"

"You're the one who's got thirty years of acting behind you. I leave that to your imagination."

"My imagination freezes up when it comes to Hawaiian voodoo."

"Hell! Tell them they'll get into a wreck if they keep going."

"Hmm."

Craig ignored the noncommittal response. "Once you get back to where you hitched the ride in the first place, just wander off until they drive away. Then back to your car. Job done. They'll come roaring up here the minute they drop you off to tell me all about their encounter with Madame Pele."

"What makes you think he'll turn back on my say so?"

"Look. That's the point. They'll for sure be convinced you're the lady, herself. You tell Keola to drive over a cliff and he'll do it. And Emily will egg him on."

"I suppose you want me to dress like Madam Pele?" Humor was creeping into Julie's voice. "Long white robe? Do I need to breathe fire?"

Now that the scenario was virtually agreed upon, Craig could afford to laugh. "Emily describes her as a woman with long blonde hair. She's even shown me some of Pele's Hair, those bunches of yellow threads of something the volcano spews out. That's what made me think of you. Beyond that, the dress is optional."

"Just what does Madame Pele do when people give her a ride?"

"Oh, the usual claptrap. She tells people that some relative over on Oahu has just died, or that cousin Kimo is going to recover from his motorbike accident--stuff like that. And then the first thing they know, they turn around and look in the back seat and she's gone."

"Don't go expecting me to vanish. I flubbed that stunt in Topper. And I had a ton of props to help me do it right."

Craig guffawed. "Nope. This contract doesn't call for anything any more supernatural than what I've already told you."

"So all you really want me to do is to get them to come back to town?"

"Right. I'll hang around late at the warehouse, and when they come in, wild-eyed and bushy-tailed, to tell me that Madame P. herself honored them with a visit, I'll beat them to the punch. That's when I'll tell them they were set up. That should put a stop to all these menehunes, and Maui rising from the deep to grab their fishing lines, and all the rest of those spook stories."

"OK. I'll do it. Might be fun. I need a change of pace from Arsenic and Old Lace. Do you know that Friday night's performance will be my eightieth one in that role?"

The stage was set. Talk drifted back to the old days, to common acquaintances, to how much Hawaii, and especially the Big Island, had changed during Jessie's many years away, and then back to firming up plans for the following night, plus some background on Keola and Emily to help Jessie confound them.

The following evening turned strange.

An unusual and unexpected storm blew in, and Craig considered it a mixed blessing. As the minivan pulled away, the first large drops foretelling a tropical downpour began to fall. The sheet lightning that had hovered along the horizon during the afternoon moved by overhead to give a rare performance along the lower slopes of Mauna Loa.

Half aloud, Craig said, "Perfect setting." On the other hand, he hoped that Madame Pele had thought to take along an umbrella.

Glancing at his watch, he settled down to bills of lading, a catalog of new roasting equipment, and a search for a missing receipt the bookkeeper had been hounding him about for the past week. Reaching over, he flipped on the radio to his favorite jazz station, but the raucous static made him quickly turn down the volume.

Half debating with himself as to whether he should shut it off until the storm passed over, he forgot it and kept on rummaging through his desk.

Seven thirty. Seven forty-five. Early yet, but they'd be coming back soon. The deafening noise of the rain on the metal roof was abating. Time between lightning flashes and the following peals of thunder lengthened. The static leveled off. He was just turning up the volume when he heard the distinctive sound of Keola's van pulling up to the loading dock. Craig grinned in amusement and prepared himself.

It all pretty much happened at once. Keola came in first, but Emily was only half a step behind. Keola's face had that curious shade which can only occur in dark-skinned persons when the blood drains from their faces. Emily was frankly terrified. Dark eyes open wide. Words rushing from her mouth. "Craig! She was with us."

Keola broke in, "She nevah get wet at all."

Emily's words expressed pure awe. "She rode with us!"

The phone rang. Craig held up his hand to stem the flow and reached for the portable. It was Jessie.

Craig smiled. "Great job, Jessie. They just came in."

"What? I'm sorry about that, Craig. It wasn't my fault."

"What are you talking about?"

The radio crackled with a news item. Keola and Emily were talking excitedly to each other. A final rumble of thunder crashed in the distance.

"About the plan. It was all this old lady's fault. She fell down almost in front of my car, and I felt obliged to drive her home. It was someplace way back there above Holualoa. You know that maze of roads. I tried to leave as soon as I could, then I got lost back in there, and I knew I'd never make it in time. I would have called you sooner, but my cell phone stopped working for no good reason at all."

The Honolulu announcer was droning on, showing little interest in the local news he was reading. "Police report hundred foot fountains of fire crossing the highway just north of Naalehu and have closed the road to all traffic. Scientists at the Volcano observatory say that they noticed the first seismic indications of magma movement yesterday afternoon, but admit that tonight's eruption caught them by surprise. The last volcanic activity in that area occurred over one hundred years ago."

Emily's voice rose. The wonder in it was unmistakable. "She warned us. We'd be there now, right in the middle, if she hadn't told us to turn back. She knew. She knew."

Jessie's voice sounded far, far away.

"Really, Craig, I'm awfully sorry."

Craig returned the phone to its cradle without answering.