Aloha's End, The Archives @ http://zangarijournalism. com and theZblog
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Jazz, blues, comedy, art, dance, culture and cultural politics.
The Newspaper Archives of Michael F. Zangari
http:/360.yahoo.com/michael_zangari
The Zblog
The misadventures of novelist, psychologist and journalist Michael F. Zangari
Entry for March 22, 2008 Chapters 37 and the new chapter 38
Aloha’s End
© 2008 by Michael F. Zangari
With all rights reserved.
Chapter 37: Glitter and Steel Pagodas (A Rewrite)
TrueWest rents a late model Miata sports car and glides it out of the parking lot. It’s a Conestoga. He’s got the canvas rolled down. The wind blows on his hot face. The Honolulu skyline grows against the green soft mountains like wild grass. The architecture is distinctly Yankee-Asia, glitter and steel pagodas built on paper Chinese carryout boxes.He drives down the water line, past the harbor where the pleasure lines used to come in. He goes past the ship terminal and Aloha Towers, where his parents got aboard the ship with him that took them to the mainland. He detours down a crowded side street in Chinatown and meter parks on a narrow street.
It is late afternoon. The streets are quiet. He looks at the address written on the matchbook cover with the pineapple on it. He compares it to the shop midblock, which has the same numbers written over the door on the glass. He gets out of the car and goes in.
A tiny series of bells ring on red string as he opens and shuts the door. The young Chinese couple is behind the counter working in front of a bright tapestry of the Virgin Mary. Tara, the Buddhist goddess of compassion is on the far wall sitting on a reef. The walls are absolutely covered with gemstone beads strung in long leis down the wall. Deep burgundy Carnelian, sky-blue angelite, aventurine and jade greens, gold, white and black jades are hung in layers. There is no wall space visible. The earth color-wheels the walls, which seem to overflow like waterfalls into bins, filled with more gemstone beads.
“Is this Mary and Joe’s Bead shop?” Asks TrueWest. He looks down at his matchbook.
“Does it matter?” answers Joe.
“Yes” says TrueWest. “Benny Aloha sent me.”
“Benny Aloha” says Joe. “Is my uncle. We are Aloha.”
Mary looks through a gem glass embedded in a pair of black rimmed jeweler glass at a string of beads she has just finished. She ties it off and puts it on a portable rack beside her. She stirs a bowl of beads around in a bowl filled with purple and white fluorite. She sorts them and picks up a small bead, holds it then begins string a new string.
True West watches her politely as she stirs the purple marbles in the black and pink enameled rice bowl with the painted, rounded fingernail of one hand. She carefully picks another one, about the size of a cantaloupe seed and threads it with the rest. She holds the fishing line up. The beads stack perfectly up the line.The young Chinese man looks up at True West looking at his wife. “I am Joe Dhang Yan Kee.” he says. “And this is my wife Mary, the amazing beading Korean lady.”Mary barely nods as she picks out another fluorite bead and strings it. Her eyebrow squints down in super magnification at the introduction.“Ooo;” she says. “This once oscillates nicely.”
She hands one to TrueWest.
He takes it and rolls it around between his thumb and forefinger.“They are magnetic, aren’t they?”“Yes” says Mary “Like hot little coals to hold or wear.”She looks at him and takes in the big cowboy hat in his other hand.
“You need a magnetic hat band?” she asks.
“Maybe” he says. “I am aligning the beads as to polarity and vibration” she says. “Every bead in it’s place like the flower garland leis in the flower garland sutra.”Her husband looks at the cowboy hat, boots and shorts.
“That’s a poem” he says. “It is about how everything is connected like the flowers on a lie.”
“Yes” he says. “Buddhist Scripture. You may not believe it but I have Chinese ancestors.”“I thought you looked integrated” says Joe.He handles a string of beads.
“Stringing one up” he says. “I like these. And I need grounding.”
He is hung over. Mary knots the fishing line and bites it off.“There” she says holding it up.She slips into Korean pigeon.“You better, you buy it” she says.True West can feel the magnetic gravity pull at him as it swings in her hand stirring the air with a warm energy.His heart pumps in his chest.He reaches out to touch it.“No” she says. “Don’t mess up the aura.”True West stops.
“Put it in a bowl full of sea salt for twenty four hours.”
“That’s the ancient mystic Chinese stone laundry” say Joe.“You take one string from the wall.”True West looks around.He walks over to the waterfall of fluorite on the rear wall and feels it pulse in front of him. He is drawn to the deeper magnetism. The size and shape of the bead resonates with his belly.He picks the string of beads like he is picking up seaweed.It dangles and drips in his hand.“This is it” he says.The purple marbles gleam in agreement. It’s sparkle time in the late afternoon light.
“Nah” says Mary. “Take the one with the bigger price.”
TrueWest looks sadly at his string of beads.
“Only kidding” she says, “Good choice.”
“They all look the same” says Joe. “But each one is unique and different, with different energies.”Mr. Zhang Yan Kee takes the beads from TrueWest and rolls them up in silk and puts them in a red silk bag.“I also need some carnelian and yellow jade gumballs” he says.“You’re in luck” says Joe. “I just got back from China. I actually found some yellow jade balls. The quality is good. The color will deepen with age. The color looks nice against your UV exposed skin.”
TrueWest nods.
“I bet those will sting on your burns. They are very active.”“He goes into the case and pulls out one. He places it in True West’s hand. It rolls down his life line.“So small the world” says Mary.“Yes” says True West.“That one is two dollars.”
38. Not Enough to Talk About
TrueWest takes the car around the block, past an open air grocery.
In the open car, the smell of the fruit and vegetables is strong and sweet.
The wrapped silk beads are in small silk purses, tied with yellow silk ribbon.
“Paper, plastic or silk?” asked Mary as she rang the beads up. For a second he wanted to be approved of, wanted to say the politically correct thing. “Paper” he said. That would be more ecologically sound.
“Only kidding” said Mary as she handed him the beads.
Mary’s mom came through the curtains out of the backroom and grabbed the bags from TrueWest, unwrapping and looking at the beads. She shook her head, and untied the string, replacing a bead at the end.
“Now you leave” she said. “Cowboy.”
The cargo boats and freighters line the Harbor. The warehouses are next to the road. The air is filled with the smell of diesel and salt. It is stirred round the open air car by the winds, which come up to join the winds of momentum from the moving car.
He makes it to the Interstate in about 15 minutes and joins the stream of traffic moving West. It’s not quite bumper to bumper, but the traffic is dense enough for the cars to do a little Bunny Hop down the road.
So, off to Pahenuinui.
“Welcome to Hawaii” said his little guide book.
“The West Coast is beautiful, with wonderful people” it said. “Don’t go there.”
The writer is emphatic about this.
“When you drive around the island, turn around and go back around the circle” it says. “I’ve never been there. Let that be a lesson to you. You are on your own.”
That was a quote from a member of the Chamber of Commerce.
Duck had said “pooey” on it. “It’s a wonderful place. Come earlier enough to catch the sunset on the clouds and waves. The colors will knock you to your knees.”
“The desert is a lot like that” said TrueWest. The shades of tans, creams and dirt browns get into you like a parasite.”
“Yes” said the Zgirl. “I remember the cactus.”
TrueWest smiles. “Ever had a cactus sandwich?”
“Too expensive” said the Zgirl. “The bread. I like the salad better.”
TrueWest smiles again. “Gotta watch out for the cactus bones when you pick them wild.”
Duck looks at them, back and forth.
“I lived on cactus and mango when I first got here” she said.
TrueWest let that one pass.
He knew families that ate a lot of cactus. He also knew others that Sun Danced on it. There were all kinds of cactus where he grew up.
He knew them by the way the flowered and the size of the spine. They were really beautiful, even when they were dried up and ready to die. The twists and turns were as alive as snakes, the big buds even more beautiful when cut open and sucked for moisture when you were thirsty. That was growing up. Now hacking up the desert was more or less against the laws of God and man.
You let the cactus be beautiful against a beautiful sky.
Duck raised his eyebrows. Cactus.
You’ve got to eat cactus to know cactus” says TrueWest.
“Yes” says Zgirl.
Duck sticks his hands in the pocket of his jeans.
“Pahinuinui is a lot like cactus” he says. “Filled with juice and pricks.”
The Zgirl squints her forehead at Duck before smiling at him.
“You angry again, Senior Duckeroo?”
“Not enough to talk about” he says.
http://zangarijournalism.com
Jazz, blues, comedy, art, dance, culture and cultural politics.
The Newspaper Archives of Michael F. Zangari
http:/360.yahoo.com/michael_zangari
The Zblog
The misadventures of novelist, psychologist and journalist Michael F. Zangari
Entry for March 22, 2008 Chapters 37 and the new chapter 38
Aloha’s End
© 2008 by Michael F. Zangari
With all rights reserved.
Chapter 37: Glitter and Steel Pagodas (A Rewrite)
TrueWest rents a late model Miata sports car and glides it out of the parking lot. It’s a Conestoga. He’s got the canvas rolled down. The wind blows on his hot face. The Honolulu skyline grows against the green soft mountains like wild grass. The architecture is distinctly Yankee-Asia, glitter and steel pagodas built on paper Chinese carryout boxes.He drives down the water line, past the harbor where the pleasure lines used to come in. He goes past the ship terminal and Aloha Towers, where his parents got aboard the ship with him that took them to the mainland. He detours down a crowded side street in Chinatown and meter parks on a narrow street.
It is late afternoon. The streets are quiet. He looks at the address written on the matchbook cover with the pineapple on it. He compares it to the shop midblock, which has the same numbers written over the door on the glass. He gets out of the car and goes in.
A tiny series of bells ring on red string as he opens and shuts the door. The young Chinese couple is behind the counter working in front of a bright tapestry of the Virgin Mary. Tara, the Buddhist goddess of compassion is on the far wall sitting on a reef. The walls are absolutely covered with gemstone beads strung in long leis down the wall. Deep burgundy Carnelian, sky-blue angelite, aventurine and jade greens, gold, white and black jades are hung in layers. There is no wall space visible. The earth color-wheels the walls, which seem to overflow like waterfalls into bins, filled with more gemstone beads.
“Is this Mary and Joe’s Bead shop?” Asks TrueWest. He looks down at his matchbook.
“Does it matter?” answers Joe.
“Yes” says TrueWest. “Benny Aloha sent me.”
“Benny Aloha” says Joe. “Is my uncle. We are Aloha.”
Mary looks through a gem glass embedded in a pair of black rimmed jeweler glass at a string of beads she has just finished. She ties it off and puts it on a portable rack beside her. She stirs a bowl of beads around in a bowl filled with purple and white fluorite. She sorts them and picks up a small bead, holds it then begins string a new string.
True West watches her politely as she stirs the purple marbles in the black and pink enameled rice bowl with the painted, rounded fingernail of one hand. She carefully picks another one, about the size of a cantaloupe seed and threads it with the rest. She holds the fishing line up. The beads stack perfectly up the line.The young Chinese man looks up at True West looking at his wife. “I am Joe Dhang Yan Kee.” he says. “And this is my wife Mary, the amazing beading Korean lady.”Mary barely nods as she picks out another fluorite bead and strings it. Her eyebrow squints down in super magnification at the introduction.“Ooo;” she says. “This once oscillates nicely.”
She hands one to TrueWest.
He takes it and rolls it around between his thumb and forefinger.“They are magnetic, aren’t they?”“Yes” says Mary “Like hot little coals to hold or wear.”She looks at him and takes in the big cowboy hat in his other hand.
“You need a magnetic hat band?” she asks.
“Maybe” he says. “I am aligning the beads as to polarity and vibration” she says. “Every bead in it’s place like the flower garland leis in the flower garland sutra.”Her husband looks at the cowboy hat, boots and shorts.
“That’s a poem” he says. “It is about how everything is connected like the flowers on a lie.”
“Yes” he says. “Buddhist Scripture. You may not believe it but I have Chinese ancestors.”“I thought you looked integrated” says Joe.He handles a string of beads.
“Stringing one up” he says. “I like these. And I need grounding.”
He is hung over. Mary knots the fishing line and bites it off.“There” she says holding it up.She slips into Korean pigeon.“You better, you buy it” she says.True West can feel the magnetic gravity pull at him as it swings in her hand stirring the air with a warm energy.His heart pumps in his chest.He reaches out to touch it.“No” she says. “Don’t mess up the aura.”True West stops.
“Put it in a bowl full of sea salt for twenty four hours.”
“That’s the ancient mystic Chinese stone laundry” say Joe.“You take one string from the wall.”True West looks around.He walks over to the waterfall of fluorite on the rear wall and feels it pulse in front of him. He is drawn to the deeper magnetism. The size and shape of the bead resonates with his belly.He picks the string of beads like he is picking up seaweed.It dangles and drips in his hand.“This is it” he says.The purple marbles gleam in agreement. It’s sparkle time in the late afternoon light.
“Nah” says Mary. “Take the one with the bigger price.”
TrueWest looks sadly at his string of beads.
“Only kidding” she says, “Good choice.”
“They all look the same” says Joe. “But each one is unique and different, with different energies.”Mr. Zhang Yan Kee takes the beads from TrueWest and rolls them up in silk and puts them in a red silk bag.“I also need some carnelian and yellow jade gumballs” he says.“You’re in luck” says Joe. “I just got back from China. I actually found some yellow jade balls. The quality is good. The color will deepen with age. The color looks nice against your UV exposed skin.”
TrueWest nods.
“I bet those will sting on your burns. They are very active.”“He goes into the case and pulls out one. He places it in True West’s hand. It rolls down his life line.“So small the world” says Mary.“Yes” says True West.“That one is two dollars.”
38. Not Enough to Talk About
TrueWest takes the car around the block, past an open air grocery.
In the open car, the smell of the fruit and vegetables is strong and sweet.
The wrapped silk beads are in small silk purses, tied with yellow silk ribbon.
“Paper, plastic or silk?” asked Mary as she rang the beads up. For a second he wanted to be approved of, wanted to say the politically correct thing. “Paper” he said. That would be more ecologically sound.
“Only kidding” said Mary as she handed him the beads.
Mary’s mom came through the curtains out of the backroom and grabbed the bags from TrueWest, unwrapping and looking at the beads. She shook her head, and untied the string, replacing a bead at the end.
“Now you leave” she said. “Cowboy.”
The cargo boats and freighters line the Harbor. The warehouses are next to the road. The air is filled with the smell of diesel and salt. It is stirred round the open air car by the winds, which come up to join the winds of momentum from the moving car.
He makes it to the Interstate in about 15 minutes and joins the stream of traffic moving West. It’s not quite bumper to bumper, but the traffic is dense enough for the cars to do a little Bunny Hop down the road.
So, off to Pahenuinui.
“Welcome to Hawaii” said his little guide book.
“The West Coast is beautiful, with wonderful people” it said. “Don’t go there.”
The writer is emphatic about this.
“When you drive around the island, turn around and go back around the circle” it says. “I’ve never been there. Let that be a lesson to you. You are on your own.”
That was a quote from a member of the Chamber of Commerce.
Duck had said “pooey” on it. “It’s a wonderful place. Come earlier enough to catch the sunset on the clouds and waves. The colors will knock you to your knees.”
“The desert is a lot like that” said TrueWest. The shades of tans, creams and dirt browns get into you like a parasite.”
“Yes” said the Zgirl. “I remember the cactus.”
TrueWest smiles. “Ever had a cactus sandwich?”
“Too expensive” said the Zgirl. “The bread. I like the salad better.”
TrueWest smiles again. “Gotta watch out for the cactus bones when you pick them wild.”
Duck looks at them, back and forth.
“I lived on cactus and mango when I first got here” she said.
TrueWest let that one pass.
He knew families that ate a lot of cactus. He also knew others that Sun Danced on it. There were all kinds of cactus where he grew up.
He knew them by the way the flowered and the size of the spine. They were really beautiful, even when they were dried up and ready to die. The twists and turns were as alive as snakes, the big buds even more beautiful when cut open and sucked for moisture when you were thirsty. That was growing up. Now hacking up the desert was more or less against the laws of God and man.
You let the cactus be beautiful against a beautiful sky.
Duck raised his eyebrows. Cactus.
You’ve got to eat cactus to know cactus” says TrueWest.
“Yes” says Zgirl.
Duck sticks his hands in the pocket of his jeans.
“Pahinuinui is a lot like cactus” he says. “Filled with juice and pricks.”
The Zgirl squints her forehead at Duck before smiling at him.
“You angry again, Senior Duckeroo?”
“Not enough to talk about” he says.
Labels: beading, chinese gemstones, michael f zangari's aloha's end chapters 37-38
posted by Aloha's End at 4:51 AM
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