ohn Danford was my grandmother's second lover and the father of my Uncle Tommy. He was famous in the islands because he was about the only man who could compete with Duke Kahanamoku when it came to surfing, outrigger canoeing, and rough water swimming. Danford beat Kahanamoku only once, in an unofficial sprint at Alakea Slip, but that victory made him a legend on Oahu.

"What was Danford like?" I asked my father.

"He was a big, rugged Portagee.”

"Do you have any pictures?"

"No."

"Then how do you know what he looked like?"

"Just look at Tommy," my father replied.

I compared Wilkins, my father's father, to Danford. Wilkins was English and Danford was Portuguese. Wilkins was blond and Danford was dark. Wilkins was a pretty boy from England and Danford was a tough guy from the islands. Wilkins spoke with an English accent and Danford spoke Hawaiian creole. But, despite their differences, the two men had a lot in common. They'd both loved and deserted Gramma before their sons were born. When Gramma turned eighteen, she had two boys to remind her of the two men she'd lost.

Uncle Tommy had a great build and he loved crouching over and showing me his boxer's pose. "One punch," he said as he threw an uppercut. When Tommy was a teenager, he beat up Billy Duva's cousin at Ku'uipo Dance Hall; Gramma sent him back to Honolulu early to avoid a war with the Duvas. Back when Tommy and my father were kids, they only visited their mother in the summers because Chipper Daniels, my grandmother’s third lover and first try at marriage, didn’t want to raise her bastard sons. The brothers were raised hanai by their grandmother in Honolulu.

"Did you ever fight in the ring, Uncle Tommy?" I asked.

"Heavyweight Champ of the Seabees."

"Did you ever beef my father?"

Tommy threw a second uppercut. "Knock out."

Tommy and my father could both speak Hawaiian creole, but my father used it only when he thought it might help him get a better deal from local merchants and mechanics. Tommy incorporated creole into his everyday speech. In pictures of Tommy as a boy, he holds up his fists at the camera. If my father is in the same picture, he stands apart from his younger brother. Gramma said Tommy was in Bobo Olson's corner when Olson fought Sugar Ray Robinson for the middleweight championship of the world. Now Tommy managed some of the best restaurants and bars in Honolulu, including Queen's Surf and Prince Kuhio's. His reputation as a lady's man had caused him to lose Dolores, his wife of thirty years; a year after their divorce, Tommy remarried her.

"Can't live without yah, babe," he'd told Dolores, "let's go anothah thirty."

"No cheatin'?" she'd asked him.

"No cheatin'."

It was at Prince Kuhio's that Tommy met Donna Fushima. Tommy was the day manager. Donna was a cocktail waitress with shiny black hair cascading down to her eighteen-inch waist. They drank Volcanoes one day after work and it wasn't long before Tommy gave Donna an emerald bracelet. Dolores showed up for lunch the following day and, after drinking three Blue Hawaiis, she invited Donna into the Wahines' Restroom. Donna followed her in and closed the door.

Dolores yanked Donna's hair. "Yah slant-eyed bimbo!"

Donna threw a hook. "Portagee bitch!"

Tommy sat at the bar sipping a rum-flavored Beautiful while screams echoed through the restaurant. The walls shook. Patrons thought it was an earthquake when a picture of Queen Lili'uokalani fell to the ground. Dolores walked out of Prince Kuhio's with two black eyes and a squashed bouffant. The week after Tommy divorced Dolores for the second time, he married Donna Fushima at the Kahala Hilton's porpoise lagoon.

Tommy rarely visited Moloka'i because he didn't want to cross paths with my father. There'd been bad blood between them ever since they were living in Honolulu with Granny, their grandmother. Dad Hinkle, the star boarder, had been jealous of my father's close relationship with Granny. In retaliation, Hinkle had treated Tommy like a son while beating my father with a whip fashioned from a manta ray's tail. Tommy, intimidated by my father's power as an attorney, feared he would try to steal Hale Kia after Gramma passed away. But until that happened, Tommy though it best to avoid his half-brother.

Avoidance was just what my father wanted. After Gramma gave him title, he built an A-frame cottage east of Gramma's house. He told her the A-frame was off limits to Tommy because he wanted to keep it a rental for tax purposes. But one June weekend, when the A-frame was unoccupied and my father was in Honolulu, Tommy flew over with Donna. They stayed in Gramma's guest room and kept to themselves. I thought it strange that here was my Uncle Tommy, practically on his honeymoon, and his big brother hadn't offered him the privacy of the A-frame. The morning after their arrival, I saw Tommy and Donna eating papayas in the living room.

I joined my big brother Ben out on the lanai, where he was cleaning his .22. He was wearing his camouflage outfit, including the cap. He had our Irish mother’s blond hair and green eyes; I had the dark complexion of our hapa haole father. We were only a year apart but he was five inches taller. Ben had opened four of the wooden storm windows and there was a sweeping view of the coast and the sea. The islands of Maui, Kahoolawe, and Lanai were beyond the deep blue of the channel.

"Hey, Juicy," I said, "why doesn't Daddy let Tommy stay in the A-frame?"

Ben squirted cleaning fluid on a cloth swab. "The General hates

Tommy." Ben had started calling our father "the General" because he loved giving orders.

"How come he hates him?" I asked.

" 'Cause Tommy wasted his life drinking and screwing."

"Sounds like fun."

Ben looked up from his work. "The General's secretly jealous."

"Why?"

"He'd like to fuck Donna himself."

"The General digs Asian chicks?"

"I've seen him looking," Ben claimed.

"Think we'll stay friends later in life?" I asked.

Ben ran the swab through his barrel with a metal rod and then inspected the dirt on the swab. "I'm no psychic," he replied.

I was worried what my relationship with Ben might become because, back in Honolulu, we weren't the picture of brotherly love. He considered me his nemesis because we were both in eighth grade at Punahou and I was a constant reminder he'd failed to match up intellectually with kids his own age. Whenever we crossed paths on campus, he either ignored or belittled me. Besides not blinking an eye when the class bully threw me in the lily pond, Ben encouraged it. He treated me better at Hale Kia because I was his only friend. He needed someone to pal around with on Moloka'i because being alone triggered moodiness and bouts of self-loathing.

Ben had learned to hate himself after years of being criticized by our father. My father had wanted to mold Ben into his image and likeness but his attempt at playing god produced a sad boy who despised authority figures. Ben had tried shoring up his sense of self worth by trying to establish himself as our father's equal in Gramma's eyes. But competing with her myths was a losing proposition. I understood the basics of Ben's mind-set and, even though I blamed our father for the way he'd turned out, I could never share my innermost thoughts with Ben because I didn't trust him. Ben could be your best friend one minute and your mortal enemy the next. We existed on a superficial plane, a place of feigned friendship and temporary alliances. We'd had only one fight on Moloka'i so far but that fight had been a doozy. It had happened after I forgot to wash the saltwater off his reel and the internal gears rusted. He got me in a headlock outside and began rubbing my face against the screen door. The screen was like sandpaper and my face began to bleed. I got away and grabbed the closest weapon I could find—a spear gun. I pulled the sling back so it locked on the spear's shaft, aimed at Ben's head, and fired. The spear narrowly missed him and I sprinted across the lawn to retrieve the spear for a second try. That's when Ben ran down the beach and disappeared around the point. I watched Ben put the .22 on his bed and picked up his old BB rifle. He sat down at an open window and rested his elbow on the window frame. He sighed down the barrel and fired at a can thirty yards away on the sea wall.

"Someday," Ben said, "somebody'll pound the General into the

ground for being a know-it-all."

"I hate know-it-alls."

"I've got news for you, Peanut," Ben told me, "you look like him."

"Do not."

"Have you seen Gramma's old pictures?"

"I don't have thin lips."

Ben laughed and fired again. "You've got fat ones from gobblin' donuts."

Gramma came out carrying a black transistor radio and a cup of coffee. She was a small woman with deep wrinkles. “I got lines tah show wheah I’ve been,” she’d say. Gramma wasn’t fat but she wasn’t thin either. Her skin had a yellow pallor that reminded me of the pages of an old paperback. Her fingers were bent by arthritis and they pointed in different directions. One of her favorite expressions was “I’m weak as a bloody cat.” She always asked me to open cans and to unscrew the lids off jars. Gramma placed the radio on the window frame next to Ben and sat down. Her gray hair was short and wavy because a transsexual had dropped by to cut it and give her a perm. She had on her ranch clothes but wasn't wearing her lauhala hat. She put on her bifocals, sipped her coffee, and stared at the ocean. I knew she wasn't comfortable yet with Donna because she hadn't said anything bad about her. She turned her radio on and the news played.

The screen door opened and Donna walked down the steps to the lanai. She wore yellow capri pants and her hair was rolled into a bun and held in place by a pair of red chopsticks. Tommy followed her out; he wore a tank top and denims. He was a bald man who carried his weight well. He slid two chairs in front of an open window. Donna sat down next to me and I realized she was younger than Tommy's daughter. Her shirt had the slogan "Geev Um," island slang for giving something one hundred per cent.

Tommy stood next to Ben's chair. "Lemmee see that gun."

Ben handed Tommy the rifle.

"Come on, Tommy," Gramma said as she turned her radio off, "show Ben

how tah shoot."

Tommy braced the gun against the frame of the storm window. His belly hung over his belt. "Could outshoot yoah old man any day ah the week," he said and shot standing up.

"Miss," Ben said.

Uncle Tommy passed the rifle back to Ben and sat on the other side of Donna. His chest was a forest of gray hair and he smelled like English Leather. "Forgot about da wind," he told Donna.

"Did you play football with my father?" I asked Tommy.

"He tell yah that?"

"No."

"Yoah fathah was a bookworm."

"We call him 'the General'," Ben said.

Tommy chuckled. "I called 'im 'Captain Norm.' "

"He's moved up in rank," I said.

"Lemmee see that gun," Gramma told Ben.

He passed her the rifle and she cradled it in her arms. She closed her left eye and sighted down the barrel with her right. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally pulled the trigger.

"Theah," Gramma said. "That's how tah shoot."

"You missed," said Ben.

"Tommy," Gramma said, "I hit that can."

"Sounded like it tah me, muthah," Tommy said.

"I'll go check," Ben said.

"Peanut," Gramma said, "go down with yoah bruthah."

I hated being called "Peanut" around relatives, especially Uncle Tommy. I was a teenager now and that nickname made me feel as if I was back in first grade. I'd told Gramma to quit it but somehow she couldn't get "Peanut" out of her head. I was small for my age and couldn't seem to put on any muscle.

As we walked down to the beach, I wondered how Tommy would react when

he found out my father owned the land.

Ben picked up the can and turned it over. "She's a dud," he said and handed me the can. There were no marks.

"Can I take a shot?" I asked.

He nodded. "Bet you're better than Tommy." He placed the can back on the wall and we walked up the grassy incline to the house. Hawaiian music was playing on the radio and Tommy was dancing the hula on the lanai. Donna giggled as Tommy gyrated his hips to the slack key sounds of Gabby Pahinui. Gramma had on her polite face with the half-smile, the one she used when she felt uncomfortable around strangers. This was the first time she'd met Donna and she didn't know how to talk to her. The song ended and Tommy took a bow.

"No ka oi!" Donna said and clapped.

"My Tommy can dance," Gramma said.

Tommy sat down beside Donna and she gave him a peck on the cheek.

Another Hawaiian song played but Gramma turned the radio off.

Ben and I swung our legs over the frame of an open window and climbed in.

"Did I hit that can?" Gramma asked Ben.

"You missed."

"Yah shoo-ah?"

"I'm sure," Ben replied.

Ben loaded the rifle with BBs and we started shooting again. When it was Tommy's turn, he passed the gun to Donna. He showed her how to steady the rifle by pressing it against her shoulder and how to sight down the barrel. He was patient with her and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. Tommy and Donna didn't seem to fit, not because he was haole and she was Japanese, but because she was so much younger. I could tell they were in love because their voices got soft when they spoke to one another. The emeralds in her bracelet glistened and the muscles in her forearm flexed to steady the gun. A gold band glowed on her finger.

"Good girl," Tommy said. "Now squeeze da triggah."

"Will it kick, Honey?"

Tommy laughed. "Like a mule."

The barrel jiggled when Donna pulled the trigger.

"Miss," Ben said.

Donna passed the gun to Tommy and he missed again. Ben was next and he held the rifle confidently and fired. There was an unmistakable plink of a BB striking.

"Hit!" I said.

"Good shot," said Uncle Tommy.

Ben and I went down to check. The BB wasn't strong enough to penetrate tin, but there was a dent in the middle.

I ran my finger over the dent. "Aim right for it?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Uncle Tommy said to watch out for wind."

"The only wind is what blows outa his fat okole," Ben said.

The morning became a contest of teenagers against adults. I felt the pressure when Ben passed me the rifle. I sighted down the barrel and wrapped my finger around the trigger. The can blurred, I pulled, but there was no plink.

"Hey, Jeffrey," Tommy said, "scoop me a Primo."

"So early, Honey?" Donna asked.

"Puts hair on my chest," Tommy claimed.

I went into the kitchen and returned with a cold bottle. I was glad Tommy hadn't called me "Peanut." I handed Tommy the beer and he took down half in his first gulp.

"Dat's da kine," Tommy said as sweat beaded up on his head.

I sat back down and Ben passed me the rifle. My heart was beating fast. I brought the barrel up and lined up the sights. I pulled and heard a plink.

"Yowza!" Ben cheered.

We went down to inspect the damage. Now there were two dents. Mine was a little higher up than Ben's. We were winning by two. The next round, Gramma turned the news back on and really took her time. It seemed like a half hour passed before she pulled the trigger.

"Hit," she said.

"You missed again," Ben said.

"I hit that can," Gramma said. "Whachah lyin' foah?"

Ben and I returned to the beach, but this time Uncle Tommy tagged along. "Gramma was a crackah-jack shot in her day," he said and told us about her hiking up the mountain at sunset to hunt dove when he was a boy. He picked up the can and inspected it. There were only two dents and Tommy burped. The poi dogs joined us on the beach and we took turns patting them. Tommy told us he owned three golden retrievers and that they all slept in the bed with him and Donna.

"Well?" Gramma asked when we returned to the lanai.

"No, muthah," Tommy said.

"Yah shoo-ah, Tommy?"

"Mustah grazed it."

We started in again. Ben hit the can again and we were winning by three. That's when Uncle Tommy decided to go for a swim.

"Donna loves da watah," Tommy said.

Donna smiled. "So clean on da east end, Auntie Brownie."

Tommy and Donna returned to the guest room to put on their suits. Gramma sat in her chair and stared at the beach. She turned on her radio and listened to a report about pineapples being phased out on the outer islands. Then a song came on and she switched the radio off. "Grad-oo-lations," Ben said to me and we did our tiny handshake where we shook with thumbs and index fingers.

Gramma threw the last of her coffee out on the grass. She picked up her radio, walked into the kitchen, and started tossing silverware and dishes into the sink. Then she opened the freezer door and slammed it. Tommy and Donna came out and walked toward the point. He had a towel from the Outrigger Canoe Club draped over one shoulder. Donna wore a black bikini and a silver chain around her belly. She reminded me of the models in Honolulu Magazine. She seemed to glide while Uncle Tommy waddled. I couldn't understand what she saw in him, especially with that gut hanging over his trunks. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"Donna's a fox," Ben said on the lanai.

"Yah kids go catch some fish foah dinnah!" Gramma called from the kitchen.

Ben and I went spin-casting near the point. Donna splashed in the water and Tommy sat on the beach. She waved for him and he waded out until the water reached his knees. She splashed him and he caught her and I heard them laughing. He held her in the shallows.

The gears inside Ben's reel squeaked as he wound in the line.

"Tommy did okay," he said, "the dirty old man."

"Why'd she marry him?" I asked.

"Not for his money," Ben said. "Tommy doesn't have a pot to pee in." "Then why?"

Ben cast out his lure. "Gramma says love’s a damn funny thing,” he said when his lure hit water, “and I believe her."

© Kirby Wright