Aloha's End Will Return

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Sunny Anderson: I'm Lau, Lomi Lomi and Poi'd out!!!

Sunny Anderson: I'm Lau, Lomi Lomi and Poi'd out!!!

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Aloha's End, The Archives @ http://zangarijournalism. com and theZblog

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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.

Aloha's End

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Aloha’s End
By Michael F. Zangari
© 2007 With All Rights Reserved

Chapter 37: Glitz and Steel Pagotas

True West rents a late model Miata sports car and glides it out of the parking lot. It’s a Conestoga. He’s got the canvas down. The wind blows on his hot face. The Honolulu skyline lies against the green soft mountains like a shawl on the shoulders. The architecture is glass and Asia, glitz and steel pagodas on barrels.
He detours down a crowded side street in China town and meter parks on a narrow street. He looks at the address written on the match book. He compares it to the shop mid block, gets out and goes in. A tiny bell rings as he opens and shuts the door. The young Chinese couple Stand behind the counter together in front of a bright tapestry of the Virgin Mary. Tara, the Buddhist goddess of compassion is on the far wall. She is beading fluorite.
The shop is full of beads; every color you can imagine hanging in threads down the walls. They are everywhere in wild tinctures and mixtures.. It is a tactile as a dense brail. The beads lump, roll and wave at him as he breaths.
True West watches her politely as she stirs the purple marbles in the black and pink enameled rice bowl with the painted fingernail of one hand. She carefully picks one, about the size of a cantaloupe seed and threads it with the rest. She pulls the fishing line through the line of balls.
The young Chinese man looks up at True West looking. “I am Tommy Young” he says. “And this is my wife Trisha.”
Trisha barely nods as she picks out another fluorite bead and strings it.
“Coo;” she says. “This once osscilates.”
“They are magnetic, aren’t they?”
“Yes” says Trisha. “Like hot little coals.”
She looks at him. Takes in the cowboy hat.
“I am aligning them as to polarity and vibration” she says. “Every bead in it’s place.”
Her husband looks at the cowboy hat, boots and shorts.
“You look like you need stringing.”
“Stringing up” he says. He is hung over.
Trisha knots the fishing line and bites it off.
“There” she says holding it up.
She slips into Chinese pigeon.
“You better, you buy it” she says.
True West can feel the magnetic 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.
“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.
Mr. Young 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 Mr. Young. “I just got back from China. I actually found some yellow jade balls.
”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 Trisha.
“Yes” says True West.
“That one is two dollars.”

Aloha's End Chapter 36 Momi Looks Under The Hood

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Aloha’s End
By Michael F. Zangari
© 2007 With All Rights Reserved

Chapter 36
Momi looks under the hood

Momi looks up from her computer screen at the hotel’s main desk.
The cowboy hat seems to float across the room to her.
True West still has on his wool burnoose. The hood is up shadowing his face.
The hat is on his head on top of the hood.
It floats towards the on desk like a gently thrown Frisbee.
“Howdy Momi”
Momi goes back to the computer screen, her fingers tapping the keys rhythmically.
Every so often she looks up then looks down again.
“A little late for the beach, eh?” she says.
True West pushes the hood back a little so he can see her face. “It’s not a beach robe” he says. It’s a monk’s robe.”
“There should be a key that dots the “I” she says back to him, finishing up the order she is typing.
She takes a deep breath and looks up at him.
He’s cute.
At least the eyes peering from the shadows are.
If cute covers it.
His eyes hide in the shadows and glow out at her, like someone switched them on and turned them down to the lowest level. They are night light eyes in a sea shell, translucent and warm.
He’s been drinking a little. A big old purple bottle of the Monk’s Moonshine Holy Vine.
“You look like cowboy death” she says. “All you need is a sickle and a six gun.”
Momi looks up at him.
He’s still there in the hood and hat.
“There is a dark side of you that scares me” she says, looking down. “It scares me very much.”
“I’m just a complicated man” he says, “trying to be simple.”
Momi squints her eyes at him.
“Yes” she says. She admires his words and his ways.
She likes the deepness of his voice.
It seems to echo out of the hood.
She imagines her face disappearing into that hood for a kiss on the ripe plums of his lips, sucking them softly for the juice.
But that would be forward and fresh of her, to assume kiss when they are so newly acquainted. She likes biting the fruit when it feels ripe. She is that way.
Horny.
Momi brings the braid of her oiled hair over her breast shyly.
She looks under the hood.
The nose is out now, the eyes hanging back in darkness.
The lips dominate.
He has a nice, little boy pout on.
“Momi” he says, “Let me ask you something. It’s about the Duck.”
Momi looks down again.
She gets sad.
“Don’t speak of the Duck” she says.
“No really” says True West.
“Its bad luck to talk Duck” says Momi.
She knocks on the desk.
“What they are doing to him could be done to us.” She says.
She looks down again.
“But I speak out of place” she says. “To speak of politics at the courtesy counter is inhospitable” she says.” It is ungracious and unwelcoming, especially when it of such a personal nature.”
“Feel free to speak” says True West. “God knows I can’t. Everything is coming out jellified.”
He looks at her again, pulling the hood just far enough back so she can see the glitter in his eyes.
“They say it is the endorphins in the monk’s feet that give the Moonshine wine its kicker. They do a lot of yoga and say a triple Rosary bead before stomping the grapes with “Gloria” on the CD player. They say nerve endings of the feet are as pliable and supple as the veins in the purple of the grape flesh.”
True West goes for poetic.
The slur that falls off the ends of his words are as warm and frothy as the wine keg wine.
Momi thinks about surfer feet and getting them rubbed on, Lomi style.
True West’s has big hands. He can be trained.
She plays with her braid, twisting it, smoothing it, tugging on it.
True West brings a half bottle of wine out of his sleeve.
“This is a gift for you” he says.
Momi jumps a little as the bottle bottom hits the desk and sloshes a little in the bottle.
True West eyebrows arch into the top of the hood.
She looks down.
Then up again quickly.
She shakes her head and hustles the bottle under the desk.
“No hooch, eh? I’m working here.” She says, regaining herself.
“Duck” says True West.
She does, some primal influence working on her.
It is bad luck.
“I’m going to Pahenuinui this weekend to spend some time with his family.” He says.
She blanches a little.
“The west side of the island is a little rough” she says. “You know the AAA trip manual has said for years that you should be careful when you go there. It’s not Waikiki. I won’t be there to tell you where to go.”
“I’m not worried about it. I hear it’s great in the country. Great beaches. Nice people. Good golfing.”
“Of course you golf” she said.
She imagines him in a polo shirt with a little whale on it. Spouting.
He probably has the perfect grace and style that most celebrities have when they play the game.
Like it has been choreographed by ballerinas on tippy toe.
She can see him whacking a ball with big arm and chest muscles taunt and sweating.
She can hear his big, bass voice calling “fore” to his Korean Caddy as the ball whips and slices into the green green green of the course. It bounces and clinks the pole.
The hole is as dark as his hood over his face.
The ball falls in.
“I been known to shoot a few” he says. “I like bubble ball better.”
“Surf” she says. “You are in Hawaii near the best beaches on the island.”
“You know I will” he says.
He thinks of Mimi’s compact form in her bikini riding her board in with strong legs and thighs.
She was beautiful and sleek. Like a Hawaiian Brown Dolphin.
“I was wondering what to bring with me to the house” he said. “Is it an insult to bring groceries?”
He asks.
Momi thinks about it. “Duck feeds everyone. He is like an Italian mother. Z girl will appreciate it. She supports the family.”
Momi puts her hand on the bottle under the desk like it is a throttle of a yacht.
“Done” say True West.
“Go shopping with them and meet local people” she says. “You’ll have a better time then shopping the little stores around here.”
She looks down again.
“Perhaps you find me forward”
True West smiles at her.
“I’m having a hard time finding you at all in this hood” he says.
Momi looks for his eyes and finds wool instead.
She feels the heat come again.
He makes her ovulate with those eyes and teeth of his.
“It’s good to get out of Waikiki” she says.
True West knows it’s true.
“I’m excited” he says.
Momi feels the steam of the moment hoot like a tea kettle on the stove.
She puts her hand on his chest and pushes him back playfully.
“Go West, young West” she says. “Only good times out there.”
True West goes dark again.
“Someone is trying to kill them” he says.
“They haven’t done it yet” she says. “Better watch your backside though. We have a surf date on Sunday.”
True West remembers it and sparkles plenty.
“Yeah” he says. “I’ll make a point of surviving for you.”
“You better” she said. I’m giving up time with my Tu Tu.
“You don’t have to do that” says. True West.
“Tu Tu will give you half” she says.
True West pushes back his hood.
“I’ll take it” he says.
“I knew you would” says Momi. “You are that way.”

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Entry for November 16, 2007 Aloha's End Chapter 35: The Stench Of Talky Talky
Aloha’s End
by Michael F. Zangari

© 2007 With All Rights Reserved.

Chapter 35: The Stench of Talky Talky

True West hangs out in the hood.
It comes down over his forehead like a veil to mid nose, throwing the rest of his sun dark face into shadows. His hands twitch looking for pockets that aren’t there. So do his lips. They look Looking a lot like Elvis Presley’s lips, pulled by some ghostly TMJ into a tug of war between a smirk and sadness. He is alert, watching the world through a wool filter.
Benny Aloha returns from the rest room.
“What a trip, man” he says.
“How’s that?” asks True West.
“Peeing” says Benny Aloha.
True West comprehends the difficulty of the operation. He considers the logistics.
Benny Aloha nods at the unasked question.
“I stood on the seat and hiked the burnoose around my knees” he says. “Like a wahine.”
True West looks at him.
“Women stand on the seats?” asks True West.
“Depends on the bathroom” says Benny Aloha.
Father Oblivious and Brother Stenky also return. They barely can contain the excitement. It keeps bubbling up on their faces in a bright flush. They head into the auditorium.
The double doors to the Volcano Room open wide as a Monk pushes through to the lobby. The auditorium is pitch black and smoky with incense. It is striated by red and green laser tracers that strobe the open space of the room above the crowd. The mob of monks bob in time to the intense Polynesian rhythms. The drums are a fast clatter that drive deeply and break. Slow it down, thinks True West and you’ve got a West Texas waltz. Bob Wills on jalapeño overdrive. A real fast waltz.
It sounds like someone dropped a case of coconuts down a stairwell.
The breaks fall on the triplet with a bang, as the hula dancers hip the air like they are driving nails into a hard wood frame. Then the fire dancers hit the stage, spinning fire across their oiled chests and passing it between the legs. The “ohs” and groans of the monk break the air. The applause scatter in.
True West is excited as he passes into the make shift chapel.
He knocks his hood back to take it all in.
The space is vast, like it is under the open night sky.
Little twinkling Christmas lights are scattered across the ceiling creating a stunning panorama of electronic galaxy.
Benny Aloha follows True West in, his hands tucked into his sleeves.
He also knocks back his hood with his head.
They are transfixed.
Just as suddenly, everything goes black.
With one final unified coconut knock everything is silent.
There is no time to applaud.
The whole room holds its breath.
A deep voice booms from the darkness over the P.A. system.
“Gentlemen, sisters and guests” it goes “Put your hands together for the Devine Point”
True West finds himself clapping wildly and alone in the rooms.
Everyone else is praying.
He quickly joins his hands together in prayer.
The room is a murmur with a Latin supplication, also a waltz time akimbo.
On the stage, a tall, thin man in a purple burnoose emerges from the smoke and blesses the gathered monks. He throws Holy Water into the crowd, blessing them from a silver champagne bucket. The water sparkles in the light as it is thrown like pearls over the crowd.
The Devine Point listens to the ensuing silence and surveys the crowd.
There is tension in the room.
Some are unwilling to let go of the momentum of the party atmosphere.
A few hooters hoot and unravel enthusiastically as the gavel comes down on the wood block at the back of the stage where the senior monks sit.
The Devine Point paces the stage with his wireless microphone.
He intones deeply “The Armageddon Club. From the shadows thrown by the moon across the turgid oceans of time, in the echoes of the first words of the Lord in ecstasy and pain as the world came into being and ended, we were born in his breath and live in it’s exhale.”
There’s no breathing going on in the room.
It’s as still as the breath before the snore in the monastery.
“I’ve noticed over the centuries” he begins, “That discipline in the order has deteriorated” he says wearily. “It bothers me.”
The brothers and sisters sink into the shadows of their hoods.
“Granted" he says, "There have been a few false calls. But I remind you in a solemn promise that it is just as the official Armageddon Club T-Shirt says”
He pulls one out of his sleeve and holds in up. “The End Is Always Near.”
A few party hooters hoot and unroll.
“As you know all too well, our role is to prevent the Anti-Christ from rising to prominence. Of course, we will fail. Or so it is prophesized. But we exist to try. Our order represents the progressive wing of the church in that we believe that there were human editors in the service of the darkest angel and they were involved in the editorial process of the good book. Our elders believe that the final contest is a crap shoot, that not all is revealed and that we might play a role in the final victory that none of us are aware of. We believe that every effort counts for something.”
“For some that is hard to believe. Our Job is hard to comprehend.”
He looks as if he is trying to comprehend it.
“My own mother urged me to become a dental hygienist instead of following this path.” He says candidly.
“I can not tell you how or why I or anyone else got into this dark battle business.
It makes no sense. It is simply kismet.”
“Kismet.”
The brothers and sisters posture improves slightly as they whisper the word like a prayer.
A lone hooter unravels with a sick, goat like blat.
“As you know, possible Anti-Christs rise and fall. They have been few and far between in the last few years. I have news. I have seen the quarterlies and evil incidents are on the rise.”
There is subdued applause.
“There are some who believe the Anti-Christ is in the world.”
He paces the stage, stopping to look full eyed on the gathered congregation.
“This invigorates me in a curious way.”
“Yes, yes” says the crowd.
They can feel his excitement.
“This is weird” he says. “To celebrate the rise of evil as an indication of the coming good.”
He looks over the gathered order.
“As I lay cooking on my beach rug in the sun the other day, I heard stories that sent chills up and down the blanched tomato of my body...”
The Devine Point is known for his poetic speeches.
There is a quiet thrill at his presence.
“Later, at the Hotel Luau, I heard the same stories again. The stories had the strength of repetition behind them, as if passed from mouth to mouth like a Life Saver in a parked car.”
The Devine Point has acknowledged a lustful youth in the Redwood Communities of Northern California and Italy.
He has lived, as they all know, life.
They thrill again.
“There is a strong oral tradition here. History survives in the words between people, in how things are spoken of. It is not unlike our own tradition of books and scrolls read in solitude. The intimacy is similar if not the same. The whispers have depths.”
He bends is head to the microphone.
“When this talk turns to evil, the local people have a name for it.” He pauses dramatically. “They call it the horrible stench of talky talky.”
True West scribbles this phrase down, through a momentary confusion rules his comprehension. “The stench of talky talky…”
“This is gossip and rumors” says the Devine Point.
“The talky talky centers on one person. The one known as...” There is another pregnant pause. “The Duck.”
“The duck…” the murmur goes around the room until it turns into an affirmation. “The duck.”
“The Duck. Yes.” The Devine point lets the name linger in the air of the room. “The talky talky is vague concrete. He is said to have done horrible things, not the least of which is wearing an abominable rubber duck bill around to civic functions. He is said to be the mother board of all evil. That his very presence causes things to happen, like disruptions in weather patterns and transubstantiation of molecular particles into objects.”
The crowd goes into a coma, it is so quiet.
They are like flies in amber.
“As you know as the great saint of the order, Saint Pewtercast has said. “When objects appear out of nowhere, the shit has hit the fan.”
The coarseness of his comment shocks attention back to him with a thud.
“He mocks at creation with his rubber nose. He has done evil.”
The crowd perks up.
“Evil?”
“Whether or not he is the devil is another subject” The Devine Point says.
He looks over the crowd with a sardonic, wizardly look. “Perhaps he just looks like the devil” he says. “As do many of you.”
There is shame in the room.
He motion to several monks in the back stage area.
They bring forth wooden chests that have been hidden in the back of the room.
As the Devine point opens the lid on one of the chests, True West notes that it is lined with burgundy velvet.
From it he brings out a dagger.
True West notes the obsidian blade of the knife. On the handle, Hawaii 2007 is inlaid on the handle in mother of pearl.
“It is indeed a strange duty that brings here. As I mentioned, it is prophesized that we will fail in trying to stop the advances of the Anti-Christ. Many of you feel that this is pointless, this opposition. In fact some have gone so far as to suggest that we aid and empower the Anti-Christ in an effort to bring the prophesies to fruition.”
“No! No!” The crowd shouts and shakes fists. “Never! Never!”
“Then don’t mess up” says the Devine Point. “Some are depressed. They feel like our mission is without sense. “What’s the point? They ask. It is predicted to be so.”
The Devine Point brings forth another t-shirt with his portrait on it and the words, “What’s the point?” over the pocket and on the back. He flashes front and back several times and mentions sizes.
“The point is irrelevant” he says. “Doing it is God’s middle breath and the will of creation. The end is at the beginning and the beginning is at the end.”
“Simply observe this duck. Use this as an opportunity to understand things that will be. Do not be quick to sink your commemorative blades into his body. He is also rumored to be a man of service. A good man. His is not unlike the prophets of old, some of which were real stinkers. He is said to be clairvoyant as well.”
He says it with a dark finality.
“I am sure he is not the Devil. It is not time for the Devil. That’s later in the convention.”
There is a lurid and knowing chuckle in the room.
The Devine point shakes his head.
“Watch it” he says. “He is simply a man who heralds the coming of the new century and new challenges to the order. Be mindful of your psychic disciplines. Pray when you get the chance. Have a good time. Practice your craft of stealth and accuracy. Scribble readable notes. As Shakespeare said so eloquently in Romeo and Juliet, “Sheath thy tool, Petrocio” Do no harm.”
The crowd listens intently.
“Find point where point is” he says.
The crowd goes crazy as the Devine Point spreads his arms and bows, then raises and points to and blesses people individually.
Some drop to their knees.
The sound of the applause is deafening.
He strains to be heard over the crowd.
“Oh yes” he says, hiking his robes to reveal new neon plastic flip-flops.
“The Last one in the pool is a Pagan” he yells, his clenched fist turning into a fluttering dove of peace as the crowd cheers and exits through the doors.
The clatter of the Hawaiian hula drums begin with a crack and the dancers are back to dance around the Devine Point as he leaves the stage.
As he leaves, he turns towards True West and looks directly into his eyes.
Benny Aloha starts to speak, but True West cuts him off. “I know” he says. “I know.”
True West gets chicken skin, big time.

Aloha's End Chapter 34: Night As Deep As The Ocean

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Aloha’s End
by Michael F. Zangari
© 2007 with all rights reserved.

Chapter 34: Night As Deep As The Ocean


True West slips the grey burnoose over his head.
It’s too small. His hands and feet hang out of the bag of the robe big as balloons.
The sandals are too small on his Texas honkers. He goes for his boots but Father Oblivious stops him with an extended arm. He shakes his head “no.”
Benny Aloha looks him over from under his hood.
“The robe is too small” he says.
His is too big.
His hands, head and feet are out of sight.
He looks like a tumbled dried death without a scythe.
Father Oblivious is dismayed.
“We are not a poor order. We tailor” he says.
“At least I can wear my loafers” says Benny Aloha.
He joins his hands beneath the sleeves.
The sound of the key in the slot breaks attention.
Brother Stenky opens the door and comes in.
“It has begun” he says. He shakes with excitement.
Father Oblivious looks at him.
“Yes” he says. He looks at his vapor dispersing watch.
True West notices it right away. It is made of the same material as the Stealth fighters.
It dissipates the smell of the body into an unrecognizable mist of product and perspiration.
True West thinks to himself that it must be hell getting a “ha” from this guy.
The “ha,” the breath of life traded by Hawaiians and others at hello is diminished significantly. It is the human smell extended to others.
His humanity is traceless by smell and warmth.
The only smell is that of the incense on his robe, dull myrrh.
“No ha” says Benny Aloha, reading True West mind and Father Oblivious’ arm pits.
Father Oblivious looks at them. "In some native cultures, the individual smell of the warrior is disguised by dung and earth based paints to disguise the smell so the enemy can not psychically identify them or deplete them. We subscribe to the same notion. Be spare with the human exchange. We give nothing to the vampire like entities we deal with."
True West smirks. "I know some women who use the same tactics with perfume..."
True West and Benny Aloha are both perspiring freely already under the wool.
They feel like goats on a hot day.
They give smell.
“The ritual has begun?” asks True West.
“No” says Brother Stenky. “The hula show.”
Benny Aloha is concerned.
“It’s rude to walk in late” he says. “Especially if the Samoan’s are twirling fire.”
The flames are in Brother Stenky’s eyes. “Like juggling hell’s balls” he says. “I’ve researched it.”
“Yes” says Father Oblivious. “Hell’s balls.”
He is elsewhere.
“What concerns you, father?” asks Brother Stenky.
“Demons” he says.
True West looks at the obsidian dagger hanging from the priest’s belt.
“I’m confused” he says.
“We’ll talk on the way” says Father Oblivious.
He sets the motion detector on the floor by the bed, winding it like a clock.
It ticks like one too.
“Let us go” he says.
They file out.
True West puts the hood of his robe over his head so it drapes down over his face.
True West and Benny Aloha walk like they are going up the aisle of a church to get married. They are slow and sanctimonious.
Brother Stenky puts on his sunglasses.
Father Oblivious looks at him and vetoes it with a head shake.
“It is not the fashion that concerns me” he says. “It is visibility. You are my secretary. I need you to be aware of the surroundings and take notes.”
Brother Stenky takes the sun glasses off immediately and hooks them on his belt with his dagger. The palm pilot comes out of his pocket.
“Walk normal” says Father Oblivious to the Benny Aloha and True West. “I’m letting you two come along to witness. I do not want you to draw attention to yourselves. It might be dangerous for you.”
True West looks at him nervously.
“Demons?” he asks?
“No” says Father Oblivious. “Lonely monks looking for conversations” he says.
“Endless.”
True West tries to walk in a normal fashion, his West Texas oil field swagger gentle like he is walking desert with blisters in his boots.
His big bare feet and ankles stick out of the bottom of the robe like it he is wearing a granny dress.
He puts up his hood.
Father Oblivious looks him over.
“Good thing it will be dark” he says.
Benny Aloha reverts to cool stroll though it is hard to tell in the big bag he is wearing.
They wait at the elevator as Brother Stenky presses the down button.
Father Oblivious and Brother Stenky exchange excited smiles.
“I’m confused” says True West.
“Yes” says Father Oblivious.
“What does this have to do with Duck?”
Father Oblivious shakes his head.
“The psychic” says Father Stenky.
“No” says True West. “The psychotic.”
He regrets it immediately.
“He in fact has no chronic mental illness” says Brother Stenky. “That is pure fabrication. It is disinformation.”
“Do you really think he is the antichrist?”
“No” says Father Oblivious. “You’d think he was from the rumors. But no, he is not likely to be the devil. He lacks definition. But he probably knows him, most people do.”
Benny Aloha smiles cynically.
“Then why are you here?” Asks True West.
“We needed an excuse to convention in Hawaii, if you really want to know” says Father Oblivious. “We need the training.”
He pulls out his obsidian dagger from his belt and studies the blade.
“Soon there will be no more questions or investigations.”
“They say he is a prophet” says Brother Stenky. “That his predictions are remarkably accurate. There have been documented miracles around him.”
“Duck?” Asks True West Incredulously.
Benny Aloha nudges him with his elbow. He motions him to silence.
“It’s a miracle he is alive” mutters True West.
The hold silence together.
When the elevator door opens, True West gets the chilly peppers.
“Chicken skin” says Benny Aloha. “Very weird the stories.”
“Yes” says Father Oblivious. “One never gets use to the arcane.”
Brother Stenky looks down at his sandaled feet and newly clipped toenails.
“Pay attention” says Father Oblivious.
“Suspension of belief” is a useful psychological tool, in these cases. Act as if the stories are true” he says. “You’ll understand us and probably the Duck better.”
True West struggles with the internal journalist before acquiescing to an impulse inside.
He makes a decision to suspend belief. At least for a little while anyway.
Benny Aloha says “The islands are full of magic. It’s not unusual.”
True West notes it. “Magic” he says.
“Yes” says Benny Aloha. “Or at least, things that are normally beyond our beyond. Hawaiians are very accepting of the unusual. When you look at our history you understand this. Who would believe everything that has happened?”
“I understand” says True West.
He does.
“Life is weird” he says.
They step into the elevator.
The doors close.
They ride down the elevator tube of the hotel in silence.
The night is as deep as the ocean.