The kettle whistled and Woody pulled out the can of instant coffee. “This stuff is nasty, but I love it. You want some?”
“No, thanks. I brought a French press.”
“Probably better that way. Anna calls my coffee ‘toilet water’ and says she’d rather drink out of the fishpond. I say it’s what keeps me young. You two would get along just fine,” he said with a chuckle.
They slowly sipped their coffee on the wall, with the sun rising at their backs. It felt like perfection, and Minnow wished she were here under different circumstances. Her foot was still swollen and an angry red, and she caught Woody eyeing it.
“I’ll make you a coconut poultice. Heal you up fast. But first I want to go out with you in the water. We got some business to take care of.”
“Nalu should be here soon.”
Nalu arrived with glassy eyes and a hickey on his neck. The smell of weed that had been missing the last couple days once again swarmed around him.
As they shook hands, Woody sniffed the air. “Brah, is this how you show your respect to thiswahinewho came all the way from California to help our sharks?”
Nalu’s face went red. “Uncle, I’m sorry. I had a shitty night’s sleep and there was a roach in the truck, so I smoked it.”
“We all had a rough night’s sleep. That’s what coffee is for.”
“My bad.”
“Don’t show up around here like this again or you won’t be welcome back. And I’ll drive the boat this morning. I don’t want some half-cocked kid at the helm,” Woody said, nostrils widening.
Nalu shot a look at Minnow, who shrugged. She wouldn’t want to be on Woody’s bad side and for about a half second she felt bad for the guy, but maybe he would learn something. There was more here to discover than sharks, and Woody possessed a kind of old-world wisdom that Minnow recognized.
After filling a cooler, they swam out to the boat. Woody wore a pair of faded blue Birdwell shorts so thin that the seat was almost worn through and a big straw hat, nothing else. Nor did Minnow see him put on any sunscreen. But his skin was even darker than Nalu’s and as smooth as a monk seal. He barked orders at Nalu, who obeyed like a frightened dog. Maybe this was partly a pecking order thing, a chest-pounding display of whose territory they were in. A common trait of males of most species.
The plan was to visit several places where Woody thought they might find Hank Johnson’s body, or at least signs of it. He drove slowly, almost painfully so, and Minnow wasn’t sure if it was because of his straw hat, which was held on loosely by two shoelaces tied under his chin, or because he was so busy talking. Both she and Nalu hung on his every word.
“This rock is where the manta rays hang out. The plankton get hung up where the currents converge. That inlet has one deep crack that funnels straight out to sea, bringing in colder water and biggerfish,niuhiincluded. See how the color of the water is different there? Plenty of freshwater springs running out from the land.”
Behind was a backdrop of massive volcanoes, long and sloping, topped in clouds.
As they putted along, in the breaks between talking Minnow thought about the earthquake, imagining the fish sensing it, just as the humans had, only better. She had first learned about fish and earthquakes from a boat captain in Mexico, who told them that there would be no more fishing for the next few days after a good-sized quake had rocked the area. When she thought about the shark’s electromagnetic sensitivity, it made perfect sense. Looking into it, she’d discovered that fish pick up seismic activity up to three Richter magnitudes lower than humans.
“What do you know about fishing and earthquakes?” she asked, curious about what Woody would say.
“Might as well call it a day if you’re out fishing. The fish go dark. They know. Sharks too. In ’75 I was in a cave grabbing lobster when three whitetips come shooting past me like they were late for a party. I should have followed them. Next thing, we were in a Shake ’n Bake box and I could hear the rocks grinding together. I thought the whole thing was gonna come down on my head. Now I pay more attention.”
A mile or so down the coast, he slowed. There was no beach or trees or anything that might mark where they were. “See that skylight there? The hole in the lava? That’s where we going,” he told them.
Minnow followed his line of sight and saw a big round hole at the top of a tall dome of lava. It was a good thirty yards inland from the water’s edge.
“What’s in there?” Nalu asked.
“This cave collects things. I call it the blue room.”
Woody grabbed the anchor and jumped in the water, sinking like a stone. No mask, no fins. When he came up, they all gathered theirgear and jumped back in. Woody had a three-prong spear, Minnow her underwater camera. The sea here was so alive, when she closed her eyes and listened, she could hear the triggerfish crunching on coral, the rattle ofwanaspines, the screeching of an angry eel.
Woody was watching her when she opened her eyes. “If you swim down a couple feet, you can see the light at the end of the hole. Faint, but it’s there. I’ve found things in the blue room after big swells. A cooler, a shoe, a boogie board. Even a glass fishing ball with the rope still on.”
“The big one at the house?” Minnow asked.
“Yup.”
Miracle it hadn’t shattered against the rock.
Nalu, who had grown quiet, finally said, “How long do you have to hold your breath?”
