“I can pay your way and house you.”
Her next words unspooled on their own. “Hold off on the housing, I may have a connection on the coast. When do you need me?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
Yes.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The next morning, she showed up at the airport without a ticket but managed to find a seat on a plane to Honolulu, where she would transfer to a smaller plane headed for the Big Island. On the five-hour flight over, Minnow took the time to review the few facts she knew about the series of incidents, rereading newspaper clippings and notes she had taken while watching the news. On top of the now-confirmed two incidents and one missing swimmer, there had also been a kayak bumped by what was reported to be a massive shark, and a surfer knocked off his board by something “big, dark and very strong.”
The first fatal incident occurred five days ago. A twenty-three-year-old man and his father were surfing a remote wave when the son and his board were thrown out of the water. The father had allegedly witnessed the whole thing. There had been so much blood that the whole area around them had turned red. They made it to shore alive, but the son died soon after.
Minnow closed her eyes. A hazy picture formed in her mind.
Red water, golden kelp leaves, a beam of sunlight.
Just as fast as it arose, the image disappeared. Whether it was a memory or something conjured by her imagination, she couldn’t be sure. In the past few months, more of these pictures had begun to appear during waking hours, and it felt like the hypnotherapy was knocking something loose inside her.
According to the most recent article, the man’s surfboard had not been found, but the search was still on. Bitten boards were often full of clues indicating the species involved. A shark sometimes left a perfect jaw imprint, better than a dentist could have taken. And even better if there was a tooth or a tooth fragment lodged in the foam of the board. Right now it sounded like all the scientists had to go on was the way the flesh was torn and the nature of the encounter to lead them to their conclusions. She hoped Dr. Eversole could provide more details.
The other death—presumed death, at least—was murkier. A swimmer had taken off from Niu Bay toward a passing pod of whales. He’d left his wife and daughter onshore and swam out to sea and up the coast until he disappeared from view. Visiting from California, and in Hawai?i to train for the IRONMAN Triathlon race, he was reported to be a very strong swimmer. But he never came back. According to the papers, a helicopter pilot involved in the search had seen a shark “the size of a small whale” in the area.
To be sure, Minnow was not in the business of flying around the country investigating shark attacks. Attacks on humans—especially fatal ones—were rare events. And when you got down to it, humans killed far more sharks than sharks killed people. Scores more. In the past year in US waters, there had been only two confirmed deaths by shark, while humans killedtwo millionsharks. The thought caused her a blink of sadness.
Weary from another nightmare-plagued, shitty sleep, she closed her notebook and looked out the window at the cloudless sky. The situation at hand was unusual. At least a few white sharks migrated to Hawai‘i each year, that was known. Many of the ones they had tagged ended up venturing out to the central Pacific in late fall and early winter, but they usually weren’tforaging—scientist speak for “hunting.” So, what was happening here?
Journal Entry
From the journal of Minnow Gray
Guadalupe Island, September 8, 1994
It was hard to tell where I left off and the shark began. She was that close to me. Longer and broader than most I have seen. Magnified by the water, her exquisite blue iris looked into me with a searching, ageless curiosity. She reminded me of my shark on Catalina but smaller, maybe seventeen feet. I resisted the urge to hold my hand out to touch her because I didn’t want to startle her. The feeling was sublime, as always, and I got choked up.
Once she faded away into the blue, I glanced back at the guys in the cage. Through their bubbles, I saw them all give an enthusiastic thumbs-up. The rush hit me then, and I felt like I’d just been injected with an elephant’s dose of adrenaline. I didn’t want to come up for air, but I had to; my lungs were screaming.
Am I afraid?People always ask me this, and I struggle to answer. The great white shark elicits a deeper kind of fear. One buried in the dark parts of our psyche. I think maybe the fear is so huge and so old, it turns into a kind of acceptance, if that makes any sense at all, and I tell them that I’d rather die swimming with a white shark than live in a world without them. There are so many things more dangerous that we humans have become habituated to. When you realize that, everything changes.
Because the one thing I know for sure is this: We are not in control. Not one bit.
Chapter 2
On Hallowed Ground
One hanau: homeland
Big Island, Hawai?i
February 1998
The Kailua-Kona airport was a little oasis in the middle of black fields of lava. The smell of jet fuel mixed with an onshore salty breeze and notes of plumeria. Not as hot as Minnow had expected, but that was February for you. Either way, the temperature was miles warmer than Santa Barbara, and she had left her boots and beanie at home, along with her cracked and cumbersome wet suit and any expectations of what the coming week would bring.
This was her first trip to the Big Island, and on the approach, she had not been able to tear her eyes away from the many gradients of blue. Midnight, noonday sky, and sandy shallow turquoise. Outlines of coral reefs stood out like lace, beckoning. And up the way, coconut trees clumped together along white sand beaches. The island seemed to be making its best attempt at dazzling her, belying the recent tragedies in these very same waters.
While an undergrad, Minnow had spent some time on O?ahu studying hammerheads in Kane‘ohe Bay but had never ventured toany of the outer islands. Now she was thinking what a stupid move that had been. Uncle Jimmy had always talked up the Big Island and his days there just after college as a dive instructor by day, waiter by night. But he had never taken her there, too busy running his bakery back home. Even though she called him Uncle Jimmy, he was more father than uncle, raising Minnow since she was seven.
After gathering her small suitcase and dive duffel, Minnow walked out to the curb where she saw a sunburned man with a shock of wet red hair and dark glasses walking her way.
