nows what Jimmy and Kapono would have thought? They were
pretty sharp.

The following day, he took TheBus around most of the island. That's
what it said in big letters on the side: "TheBus." Mountains three
thousand feet high separated the leeward and windward sides. The
windward side was cooler, breezier, and less touristy. Steep sharp
ridges radiated out to a coastal plain. Deep valleys disappeared into
mysterious shade, wilder than he would have thought, so close to a
city. TheBus returned across a central highland between two mountain
groups. They passed a pineapple plantation, long rows of spiky bushes
in red dirt, and a military base, Schofield Barracks. Pearl Harbor
spread out before them--large, calm, and silver, warships moored at
docks, small boats moving about. Then they were back in traffic, back
in the city. He got out at the shopping center and walked to Waikiki.

It had been cloudy most of the day. The wind had begun to blow hard.
Gusts caught the hair of young women and whipped ebony parabolas three
feet over their heads. The women turned their heads like wild mustangs,
laughing--counterpoint to their Asian composure and perfect make-up.
This is it, Oliver thought. I could die right here. I'll never see
anything more beautiful.

He ate dinner in a Thai restaurant. His waitress was another knockout.
Across the room, someone who looked like Gomer Pyle was eating and
joking. It _was_ Gomer Pyle--Jim Nabors. Wilt. Gomer. Gorgeous women.
Oliver began to feel that this was the way things should be, that it
was his due. He was Oliver. He had family on Alewa Heights, he was sure
of it. Tomorrow would tell.

At nine the next morning, Oliver called the Nakano's number.

"Hello?" A quiet male voice. Island.

"Hello, this is Oliver Prescott. Are you Ken?"

"Yes."

"I'm trying to find Muni."

"Michiko told me you helped with the moss-rock."

"Not much. Those guys were pretty big . . ."

"They my football coaches, phys-ed teachers," Ken said.

"Aha."

"Do you have business with my brother?"

"Not business, exactly. My mother knew him a long time ago. Did he ever
mention Dior Del'Unzio?"

"Mmmm . . ." Silence. "That _was_ a long time ago."

"My middle name is Muni. My mother told me that Muni was my father and
that he had a brother named Ken. I think you are my uncle." Ken made a
sound deep in his throat.

"Mmmm . . . What year were you born? Do you have identification?"

"1958. Yes, I have