Devotionals

 

S speaks of her in the present tense. He'd been to see his wife, he says; he comes every morning and feeds the cats. There are fewer cats than there were, and the boss hates them. Ola tells me S got his job because he used to sleep in his car near her grave. He buys her flowers and, because he wears a wedding ring, one friend assumed she was alive. (I think she is, in many ways.) He got fired a couple of months ago, still comes to see her and feed the cats. The woman who quit before she could be fired feeds them in the evening.

 

Up the hill, we talk about the next storm. A woman on a plane years ago told me that after Iniki took all her neighbors' roofs off--but not hers--everyone moved in. Ola says power was out in Kahalu`u for days. His grandfather took a shovel and dug an imu in the empty lot next to his house, invited everyone to cook there. "It was one fat party!"

 

Some social media posts suggest Hawai`i is preparing for sovereignty. After all, we're on our own. "Da national guard do nutting." Others tell us two more storms are coming. Each storm leaves a map on one of our ceilings. The map changes color, brown to black. We agree to help each other.