Chapter 14: Day 3: 7:11PM

It is the Golden Hour. The time-of-day cinematographers and photographers cherish as it bathes the world with perfect light for their craft. We are heading east; the jade and gold hills of Maui are to my left lit in perfect relief. The light accentuates their steep slopes, precipitous valley and ravines.  The few trees that populate these hills stand out like mushrooms in a sea of grass. I am sitting in the aft, facing the setting sun. I am alone by choice. After a shot of tequila to honor Duke and Con, Del, Sam, Hadley and Liam retreated to the bow seating area with the bottle. It is clear their intention is to dissolve the sting of the afternoon with a bottle of Herradura Anejo. I understand. Olive therapy has helped me through more than one emotional crisis. But it was alcohol that killed Duke and memorializing him with drink seems wrong to me.

Kam taps me on my shoulder. She asks with her mild Hawaiian accent “You look all alone back here, are you doing okay?”

I appreciate her kindness and say “Thanks. I am fine. I am content being by myself.” Laughing I add. “It’s how I have spent most of the last year and a half, so I am used to it.” I don’t share with her that the real reason I am sitting by myself has more to do with not spending time with Del and ripping open old wounds than anything else.

 She says “Well, I don’t want to disturb you. Just let Mo or me know if there is anything you need.”

I reply and say, “Would you mind answering a couple of non-serious questions for me.”

She gives me a quizzical look and says “Sure, shoot.””

I ask, “Is Namaka, an ancient Polynesian name?”

She chuckles and says, “I think that you know that it is.” 

“Sister to Pele, right?” She nods and I share with her the self-satisfied smile of someone who has solved a puzzle. I look off to the west. The sun is hanging a couple of fingers above an indigo sea, the horizon beginning to develop a corona of tangerines and pinks. I say, “About thirty minutes to sunset, right?”

She replies, “Something like that.”

I ask, “Do you think there will be a green flash, tonight.?”

She pats me on the shoulder and with a grin says, “That is a question even I cannot answer but you know what we Hawaiian’s say?”

“No.”

“That seeing the green flash is reminder of Pele’s presence and her volcanic temper.” She pauses and adds sardonically “Like we need reminding.”

The Sea Goddess continues its leisurely cruise in the golden glow of late afternoon. Its wake is a white v on an indigo ocean generating small waves in each direction that diminish the further they travel from their source. Above us, sea birds circle, no doubt looking for a late afternoon meal and perhaps mistaking us for a fishing boat where they can get it without too much work. My father was a birder. When we had been to Maui years earlier, he had spent hours with a pair of small binoculars trying to identify birds that he had never seen before. I remember names like spectacled tern, masked booby, and Laysan albatross. I don’t have his encyclopedic memory of avians nor a pair of binoculars to help me see them better. Instead, I just enjoy their effortless flight, surfing air currents and rarely if ever flapping their wings. If only life were so easy.

I had never heard of the green flash until Conor, and I had gone on vacation to Key West together in our early twenties. We were single and poor, and we wanted to go on vacation somewhere that wouldn’t break the budget and where there was at least a possibility of meeting friendly young women. Key West fit the bill.  After our arrival it did not take us long to discover that the kickoff celebration for the night of partying was the daily ritual of watching the sun descend into the Gulf of Mexico from the pier at the foot of Duval Street. In addition to the tourists from the north who had not felt the heat of the sun in months, there were the card-carrying members of the Conch Republic whose lives were caught up in the Margaritaville lifestyle of sun and fun. They earned a living by juggling, sword swallowing, tight rope walking, playing the steel drums and dozens of other ways of having the tourists gathered on the pier fund their lifestyle.  

The second time we attended this nightly festival of fun, Conor charmed our way into meeting two comely young women from Miami who had come to Key West as a mini bachelorette party. Kaydee Brown, willowy and blonde was a flight attendant on American Airlines and was the bride to be. Her companion, Leila Tove, was 5’3” with sun-streaked dark hair, large engaging brown eyes and an easy smile, was an account executive with a large Hispanic advertising agency who spoke with a mild Latin accent. They had been fast friends since their undergraduate days at the University of Miami when both pledged Delta Delta Delta (TriDelt) sorority. Kaydee’s schedule wouldn’t allow for a normal bachelorette weekend and this trip had been decided on the fly when her schedule had suddenly been shifted.

Kaydee immediately attached herself to Con. Perhaps she sensed that if you were looking to sow wild oats, he would be the right one to harvest them. It didn’t bother me at all. She was way too loud and way too forward for me and the idea of having an affair with a woman who was about to be married bothered me. I am not a prude, but I know me. I tend to fall in love with people with whom I have sex. And falling in love with a soon to be married woman would not be good for my heart.

Besides, I found Leila far more attractive, physically and otherwise. There was more to her than her party girlfriend. There was laughter in her eyes. She seemed happy with herself and her life, but she was also holding something in reserve. She was not going to share all of who she was with just anybody. You needed to qualify first. She had secrets and if you wanted to plumb them you would have to put in the time first.

While our friends tried to determine how many Hurricanes or Woo Woo’s a person can safely consume within an hour, we would find a quiet corner in the bar and talk. She had not grown up in the United States. Her father, a veteran of the OSS in WW2, had gone to work in South America. She was vague about what his business was, but he moved around quite a bit and somewhere along the way he had married a Brazilian woman and Leila was the only child from that union. When Leila was ten, and they were living in Rio, her mother died. When I asked her how, she changed the subject and would not return to it. They left Rio and moved to Sao Paulo, then Buenos Aires and just before she left for University, Montevideo.  

Over the course of the next few days as our friends made them scarce and our hotel rooms became off limits to us, we spent a lot of time together. We found we could talk about anything and everything from her favorite soccer team, Flamengo, to politics where we shared the same progressive outlook,  to what we hoped our life would bring to us including family and devotion to our partners. We only had one major disconnect. She was determined to spend her life in Florida. She was a warm weather woman and could not see herself living somewhere the temperature routinely dipped below sixty. I, on the other hand, could not see myself living in a state where every strip mall had a strip club, and the average age was near death.

Our disconnect meant that we could not see a future for us. Still, the attraction between us was palpable. Being together, while wonderful, became difficult. We were like two magnets. The closer we got to each other the harder it was to pull us apart. Something had to give way and on our last night in Key West something did. We were at the end of the pier, standing shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching and hyper aware we were not, when Leila asked, “Have you ever seen the green flash?”

I had no idea what she was talking about and told her so. She laughed and said “You northern boys! You don’t know anything important. The green flash happens every once in a great while just as the setting sun dips below the horizon there is a brilliant green flash. Some say that if you see it tomorrow will be a beautiful day. Other people say that if you see it whatever you hope for comes true.”

Flirting, I said “Really? So, if we see the green flash this evening what will you be hoping for.” I knew what I was hoping for, but she would not take the bait. She just smiled and continued to look to the west where the sun was minutes from touching the horizon.

Being nervous, and at a loss of what to say, I utter “Are you sure the green flash is not some myth created by the local chamber of commerce to drum up revenue for local businesses?”

Leila, still gazing out at the rapidly setting sun, responded by taking my hand and saying “My favorite myth about the green flash is that it has the virtue of making anyone who sees it impossible to deceive in the matters of the heart. If you see it, you will not only be able to see more closely into your heart but read the thoughts of others.”

The sun touched the sea. I have no idea if there was a green flash that evening as Leila and I were too busy kissing when the sun disappeared below the horizon.

That was the only evening Leila and I ever spent together. Distance and timing made sure of that. But we remained friends and over time used to tease each other about the Green Flash. I took the position that the green flash was a myth, and she defended its existence. On occasion I would send her photographs of the setting sun and say, “Yet again no green flash.” She would return the favor like the time she sent me a YouTube clip from the movie “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

Hector Barbossa: “Ever gazed upon the green flash, Master Gibbs?”

Joshamee Gibbs: “I reckon I seen my fair share.  Happens on rare occasions.  The last glimpse of sunset, a green flash shoots up into the sky.  Some go their whole lives without ever seeing it.  Some claim to have seen it who ain’t.  And some say-”

Pintel: “It signals when a soul comes back to this world from the dead!”

At that point, Leila was living in Los Angeles with her husband and son, so I wrote her back and said, “And we all know that everything created in Hollywood is true.”

But my curiosity about the Green Flash and my cynicism about its existence did not begin and end with Leila Tove. I joked with everyone about it. Conor, the boys, other friends, even my father on our trip to Hawaii.

The Christmas after the trip to Hawaii with my parents, my mother, the antiquarian book seller, gave me the first American edition of the Green Ray by Jules Verne. It is a magnificent book with wonderful illustrations by Mary De Hauteville and a hand colored, imprinted 19^th century depiction of seaside life surrounded by a frame of ivy. The note that accompanied the book read,  “I overheard your conversation with your dad about the Green Flash in Hawaii and thought you might like it.

I did. I loved it. Not only had books been my escape since I had read the House at Pooh Corner when I was four, but Jules Verne was a particular favorite. His book, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea was the first adult book I ever read. Mom also knew that books were my weak spot. If I read a book, I could not give it away or even lend it to anyone. Which is why my library has grown to eight full bookcases and a few stacks located at strategic locations around our home. The Green Ray was given a place of pride, un-read on the bookshelf in my living room that contained my most cherished books.

It was not until shortly before I left on this trip that it occurred to me to read it. And then only by accident. I was walking through the living room early one day and the morning light highlighted the colorful spine of the book. It stopped me in my tracks. Mom’s death was still raw and here was a gift that she had given me that I had not even bothered to read. It made the near constant undercurrent of guilt I felt about my mother’s passing acute. I would receive no more gifts from her. To assuage my guilt and perhaps to feel the warmth of Mom’s hug one more time, I pulled the Green Ray from the shelf and settled myself in the brown leather Swedish recliner that used to be in my Dad’s office and now graced my living room and began to read.  

I read it in a single four hour sitting only getting up when nature called and to refill my cup of coffee. It is the story of an indulged nearly eighteen-year-old wealthy Scottish girl Helena Campbell who is being raised by her bachelor uncles. She reads in the local newspaper of a phenomenon known as the “green ray.”

What intrigues Helena Campbell is not the visual. Her Uncles are anxious for her to marry. While she is sure they have her best interest at heart she also knows them well enough that when it comes to love they know less than little. The article says “The Green Ray has the virtue of making him who has seen it impossible to be deceived in the matters of sentiment; at its apparition all deceit and falsehood are done aways, and he who has been fortunate enough to once behold it is enabled to see closely into his own heart and read the thought of others.” For her, seeing the green ray is the only way to ensure her future happiness. 

She convinces her uncles to go on an expedition so she may see the Green Ray. They travel from their home in Glasgow to the West of Scotland where they hope to catch the phenomenon. Things do not go as planned.  First, she runs into the suitor her uncle’s hope she will marry. He turns out to be an unattractive boorish mansplainer who provides anyone who will listen to the history of and origin of everything he sees. He thinks the “green ray” is nonsense. Worse, he ruins her opportunity to see the flash on two occasions.

A weekend junket turns into weeks. She travels from island to island looking for a spot in which she can see the Green Ray. There too she is blocked from the sight of it. Once by directing the ship she charted to rescue a man caught in a maelstrom. That man, Oliver Simpson, an artist and a romantic, becomes sympathetic with her mission and knowing the archipelago well directs her to a deserted island that boasts a completely unencumbered view of the setting sun. But before they can view the sun’s daily departure the island is battered by the remnants of a hurricane.  Helena becomes trapped in a cave during the height of the storm. Oliver, heroically, saves her.

That evening, as often happens after a storm, the skies cleared. Helena, Oliver and the rest of their party climb to the highest point of the island to view the setting sun. Finally, the Green Ray is seen, an “incomparable tint of liquid jade.”

It is missed by Helena and Oliver who are busy kissing. Instead of regretting missing the Green Flash Helena tells Oliver “We have something far better still! We have seen the happiness of the legend attached to the observation of that phenomenon! And since we have found it my dear Oliver, let us be contented, and leave to those, who have never yet known it, the search for the green ray.”

The recliner is one of the all-time great napping chairs and even though I am tired from my reading I have to do one thing before I close my eyes. I punch up Amazon on my phone and order a copy of “The Green Ray” for Leila with a note that reads “I think at the very least you will find this book ironic and maybe realize we don’t need to see the Green Flash to experience it.” I am just about to hit the “Place Your Order” button when I remember that Leila is gone. She caught Covid while undergoing treatment for Thyroid cancer. Hers is a ghost I have not been able to confront.

It takes a while to fall asleep and when I do it is not an easy rest.