Under the Volcano

After my brother was drafted into the Vietnam War. I rarely saw him again.

Following the divorce from his first wife. He’d suffered cocaine addiction and visited me for a short time. After completing a substance abuse program in California. He returned to visit me a few years later with his new and much younger Asian wife. Soon after that, in 1989, He hired to work as a technician for an observatory on top of Mt. Mauna Kea. So they moved into a house near the base of the mountain in Hilo, on the Big Island of Hawaii.

The moment I stepped off the plane in Hilo, HI. My senses ignited into an explosion of surrealistic mystical Gaia events. I reveled in the tropical fluorescence glowing. All around me, while Mother Nature caressed my soul with her infinite energies of “be here now” and so I was.

As a current floating on the breeze caught my attention. I breathed in a taste of salted ocean flavored with a coffee bean. Standing on the tarmac in Hilo, Hawaii, with my beautiful wife, prepared to reunite with my bro.

“Aloha!” Bro and my sister-in-law said in unison, as they approached us. They placed traditional lei garlands over our heads. Constructed of pink and white flowers, shells, seeds, nuts, feathers, and the bone of an animal. The garlands were a symbol of peace as well as a greeting. Emerging from within heady-scented gardenia and plumeria blossoms. My wife and I smiled and thanked them for their hip reception.

I was tripping on the whole scene and didn’t know where to start.

“Bro, how are you?” I asked, shaking his hand. And turning my smile to his wife, I added, “and my new sister-in-law… aloha!” My wife and I both hugged her.

“How was your flight?” Bro asked.

In teaching me to ride a bike, bro got me up on the seat and pushed me like a boat from shore. He taught me not to fear a movie about scary birds. By watching him, I learned how to swim, and to jump from a diving board. Bro taught me how to play his Farfisa organ, and turned me on to rock ’n’ roll. If he wore a polka dot Surfer Joe shirt, then I had to have one, too. Once, when I was 12, he gave me a bloody nose to remind me that he was king of the hill.

I found his girly magazines and saw him throw up from being drunk. He was two years ahead of me- enough age difference to be first, to be stronger, bolder, and the wiser. When we spoke by phone, after going our separate ways, he often sounded sad and dislocated. I could hear him strumming his guitar in the background. My Bro never shared the root of his moodiness. All I had were my theories. Was it the responsibility that came with providing for a family? Did he desire a life in rock ’n’ roll?

“Aloha kakahiaka” (Good morning) Bro greeted us the next morning, “It's day one. Are you ready to climb the Mount Everest of the Pacific?”

“Yeah, let’s do it, Bro,” I replied. Between slurps of the delicious organic, grown, and roasted Kona coffee.

My sister-in-law was busy packing the car for our adventurous outing.

“Be sure to bring everything you need for an overnighter,” she told my wife, “we won’t be returning until tomorrow.”

My wife gathered our overnight bags and changes of clothes for both of us.

We all loaded into the car and were off to sample the many wonders of Gaia’s blessed Hawaiian island. Pele, the volcano Goddess waited.

We rode through the island’s lush. Colorful scenery until we reached the base of the mountain — a steep arid moonscape.

The car groaned in first gear as Bro pushed for more power. I had driven through parts of the Rockies, but I was sure this road was the steepest I’d ever been on.

Below us, an endless ocean stretched into eternity.

“So, how’s everyone feeling?” Bro inquired.

“I’m feeling fine,” his wife and I said at about the same time.

“Not me…” my wife told us, “I’m feeling a bit woozy, and I’ve got to pee.”

“There’s a company shack up the road a bit,” Bro said, “We’ll stop there in a couple more minutes. Can you hold on that long?”

“Yes, I can,” she replied.

The planet had gone wild on this small stretch of heated, cooled, heated, and cooled again magma. Over the millennium. The island had become a crucible. The limitless design of animate and inanimate forms of spirit. I could feel the healing energy from the depths, and it flowed through me, igniting my man seed.

We stopped partway up the mountain for about half an hour at a canteen facility. It was private and belonged to other observatory staff. Bro made no mention about acclimatizing either because he was too impatient or it was a joke he was playing on me? I didn’t know but I starting to feel a bit light-headed.

Once more we all loaded into the little car. Bro continued to narrate our ascension to his new and unusual workplace.

“Mauna Kea means White Mountain,” he told us, “and it is a dormant volcano. The summit is above 40 percent of the Earth’s atmosphere. It’s dry and cloudless, so it’s an optimal place for the observatories, but sometimes it snows up there, too.”

I was already panting in the thin air while my Bro continued to narrate our tour. As we neared the peak, the wind became cold, whipping the car back and forth. I thought it might blow us off the mountain gravel road. We rounded an S-curve. Sitting on the summit plateau. I counted eleven domed-shaped structures of varying sizes.

“Hawaii is Earth’s connecting point to the rest of the universe,” Bro said with philosophical flair. “Mauna Kea Observatories hosts the world’s largest astronomical community. Telescopes are operated by astronomers from 11 countries. The combined light-gathering power of the telescopes on Mt. Mauna Kea. 15 times greater than that of the Palomar telescope in California. For many years the world’s largest — and 60 times greater than that of the Hubble Space Telescope.”

This was where ET came to place collect call home, I mused.

As he showed us around his tech repair station at the Caltech Observatory. I was proud of him. He used his military-earned vocational school diploma in electronic repair to this level. He looked quite at home behind his meters and soldering iron. I figured that without my brother’s help, mankind wouldn’t know how the galaxies formed. He also showed us a radio dish that was the size of a house, pointed into the heavens. Through its receiver, we saw an intergalactic rainbow on a display screen. My brother, the atheist with influences of the Tao, remarked, “It is what it is.”

Some people believe we come from the stars, and it is our nature to return to them. To me, there was no better evidence of that theory than being on top of Mauna Kea.

As we headed out, Bro enlisted one of his workmates to drive us back down the mountain. On our descent, we entered a blizzard, with white-out conditions on the ice-covered road. The car started to slide and fishtail, and there was nothing to stop us from going over the mountainside.

“Get ready to jump!” I shouted to my wife while holding onto the door handle, ready at a moment’s notice to save her and our baby.

“Pump the brakes,” Bro yelled at our driver.

Several agonizing minutes later the car slipped to an uneasy halt. Ice caked the windshield wipers and the road ahead was the best guess. Bro huffed and took command of the wheel. Embarrassed, the driver crawled into the back seat with us.

“How many times have you driven down this road?” Bro scolded him. “You almost got us killed, for Christ's sake.” He shifted the transmission to the lowest gear. The car inched ahead, under control.

“I don’t know what happened,” the young man replied, shaking like a leaf.

I could feel everyone’s heartbeat and adrenalin racing through our bodies. Two and a half hours later, we reached the base of the mountain. Without a word, Bro’s co-worker got in his car and left.

Only in retrospect could I appreciate the irony of leaving Minnesota. In winter for a tropical getaway. Ending up in a life-threatening snowstorm in Hawaii.

For the next several days. My wife and I walked into the nearby town of Hilo, and chilled out at local beaches and restaurants.

We hiked past the hell glow of a lava lake. Through the melting heart of Pele the volcano goddess. Secluded palm-fringed beaches. Petroglyphs of space ships pecked into hardened lava. Smoking craters, rainforest, and scalded desert.

Standing on Pele’s skin, I felt the heat of moving lava through the soles of my shoes. At the trail’s end. A magnificent outpouring of lava plunged into the sea, sending a steam plume that touched the sun. Hot lava mixed with roiling surf, extending Pele’s hair.

Bro had more in store for us.

The first stop was Waipi’o Valley, where the legends began. The road ended overlooking the vast Jurassic valley. Leaving the parking lot behind, we walked down a mountain cliff to the valley floor. We passed many small, inhabited cottages that the jungle had reclaimed. At the shore, we watched wild horses charging up and down the black sand beach. Along with the cottages inhabited by ex-Vietnam war refugees. Appeared to me like a visual metaphor of my earlier life — on the edge.

Bro’s voice broke into my thoughts, “I want to take you to another spot, too,” he said. “It’s on the way back. The Hawaiian name is Puuhonua O Honaunau; locals call it the Place of Refuge. It’s a good place to picnic.”

The “spot” Bro mentioned is a 180-acre national historic park. Once the home of Hawaiian royalty. The area along the black lava beach is dotted with ancient temples. Stone-carved effigies. The grounds also included the Great Wall, standing 10 feet high and 17 feet thick.

We unpacked our picnic bags and sat among the fish ponds and temples.

“Hundreds of years ago, this was a place of refuge for Hawaiian lawbreakers,” Bro said. Biting into a sandwich. “The breaking of Kapu, or sacred laws, was punishable by death. If kapu-breakers could evade law enforcers and get to a place of refuge, their lives would be spared. After a ceremony of absolution, they allowed returning to society.”

I suspected that the entire island was Bro’s refuge.

“Bro, if you live in Hawaii, it’s not going to be easy for anyone to visit you,” I observed.

“Exactly,” he said emotionless.

“So, you and your wife are loners, then?” I queried.

“We like being away from it all,” he chewed.

“All right, then. You picked a great spot, I grant you that. But, do you care about the rest of the family?”

“It is what it is, bro,” Bro drew a circle in the sand.

I began to hate that line.

“Not everything went the way we wanted it to in this life. Not a reason we shouldn’t stick together,” I told him, with frustration and an elevated voice.

My wife and my sister-in-law got up and went to explore seashells. That gave me the one-on-one time that I wanted with my brother. I pulled out a feature article from a local newspaper that I had been carrying around since I arrived.

“What do you think about this music contract I got?” I handed him the article.

“The right place at the right time,” Bro read the headline out loud.

“I paid my dues, bro, and I got lucky,” I said to him.

Bro read the rest of the article and gave the paper back to me, and said, “Not exactly a real job? How will that look on your résumé?”

Ignoring my accomplishment. I took the mean-spirited jab as a sign that he was unhappy with his own life.

“I realize that being self-employed in the arts. Not the same as repairing telescopes,” I compromised. “What I’ve accomplished is no less important than what you do for money.”

My brother and my parents remained skeptical about my “unconventional” accomplishments. They considered me delusional. And that troubled me. What more proof did they need? I had the money and the contract. What was missing? Did they have to see me on the Johnny Carson show to prove my success? I shook my head at Bro.

“I know you’re not that dumb,” I told him, “You’re disrespectful. If you still want to be king of the hill it would be quicker to sock me in the nose again.”

“It is what it is,” he chirped.

“Stop saying that, dammit,” I felt slighted. “Here’s a tip. Be careful that your boss doesn’t pick up on your anti-establishment discontent. Or you might find yourself playing Don Ho for tourists.

Back at Bro’s, we were able to move past the tension of the afternoon and enjoy our final evening together.

“It’s hard to believe one week has passed… I wish I could live here near you, Bro” I told him, and I meant it. “I can’t thank you enough for being our great guide… and even though you’ve always treated me like I’m your little brother. I will miss you, Bro.”

“I will miss you too,” he smiled.

Hearing my brother tell me he’d miss me, felt like another significant accomplishment, as well. I had no training or technical manual for relationship repair. Yet, somehow, we managed to get our relationship back on the mend?

At that moment the ancient Hawaiian wind (makani, life-giving spirit). Came through and picked us up like lost Koa tree canoes on the great sea of life. The gecko croaked his mating song to the sound of waves upon beach and wind through trees. Nesting sea turtles scurried across the sand. A seagull did a dozen mid-air barrel rolls, and a dolphin jumped in the starlight. Lono, the Hawaiian god of fertility, blew his breath.

I raised my head, to watch his expression, “my wife said she is pregnant.”

Bro sat up and asked, “Are you sure you’re the father?” We shared a good belly laugh. He then opened up a couple of beers.

“Here’s to my little brother who is going to be a dad.” We clanked our beers together. “I hope you’re the best dad this family ever had. The position is vacant.”

Part II

Several years later, I returned to visit Bro, with my mom. After we settled in on the flight, she handed me a brochure and broke the news, “Your brother is sick.”

In shock and disbelief. I began reading out loud. “Acute myeloid leukemia (AML) is cancer that starts inside bone marrow. The soft tissue inside bones helps form blood cells. Cancer grows from cells that would turn into white blood cells. Acute means the disease develops fast.” A few passengers turned toward me in disapproval of my volume.

“When did this happen?” I whispered to Mom.

“He went into the hospital last week and was immediately admitted to the ICU cancer unit,” she told me. The thought of my brother having cancer stopped cold the spit in my throat. Until then, Mom never told me anything about Bro’s condition.

“But, he lost his job. Does he have insurance?” I asked, becoming even more worried.

“After the insurance runs out they’ll throw him out onto the street.” Mom answered, covering her eyes with her hands.

Even as I pictured my brother as an athlete, I recalled a story that his first wife had told me. About a year before Bro moved to Hawaii, he took a hit of radiation while working in an X-ray lab. Following the exposure, he was ill for a long time. His ex-wife also said that the exposure was recorded on his radiation dosimeter badge. My shock and sadness became mixed with anger toward his employer.

Neither Mom nor I knew what to expect as we headed to the hospital. Before being allowed to enter his room. We had to wear a mask over our mouth and nose; our shoes and faces. I walked toward him — for the first time in five years. I saw that his face had become disfigured into a twisted slice of shrunken flesh. IV morphine and anti-dizziness medication dripped into both arms. He lay there in agony, eyes rolled into his head, arms extended like nailed to a cross. He exerted great energy to grab my arm, and pull me near.

“Why are you here, Bro?” he slurred.

“I’m here to see you, of course,” I declared. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Like a hot dog on a stick, cooked over a fire…” he shook, “my bones are burning.”

“Take it easy,” I encouraged, trying to comfort him. “I brought you some CDs to listen to.”

Bro choked. I understood when he gasped, “I’m dying.”

I squeezed his hand and shot him the Hawaiian high sign. Seeing him waste away before my eyes ripped my heart in two. I kept repeating, “Try to relax.” Then I put on a CD of Carlos Nakai’s, Native American flute. I left it playing while I slipped out of his room, ran to a janitor’s closet, and sobbed into the hair of a mop.

My brother’s wife, who had been with us at the hospital, screamed and wept back at the hospice apartment. She and my Bro now had a six-month-old daughter, who also needed tending. I held my niece while Mom tried to console a woman witnessing her husband’s death. They ended up weeping together, and it was the first time I had seen my mother cry.

Within a few days, my dad arrived, and together we met with Dr. Wild Hair. I called him that because his white hair resembled the kooky "Doc" Brown in the movie “Back to the Future.” Like a mad scientist who was missing one number to finish the formula for time travel. The doctor faced us with unmoving, glossy eyes.

A bouquet of pens sprouted from his lab coat pocket.

“This is a general hospital,” he mumbled. “The University of Hawaii cancer research center is down the hill. Public-means insurance is not accepted there. Your brother has an unusual form of aggressive bone cancer. What I’ve seen take months to happen is happening to him in a matter of days. There is nothing more we can do for him here. We have no choice other than to discharge him within the next 48 hours. His only chance is an emergency bone marrow transplant, and you have to find him a match. I’m sorry.”

At the doctor’s suggestion, my sisters and I had the blood work done. The results would be known as soon as possible.

The day before, I saw my mother cry. Now, for the first time in my life, I saw my dad cry.

“Is my son dying?” dad asked, stammering through his tears.

“Yes, Dad, he’s not going to make it.” I lowered my head and added, “Why don’t you visit him now?”

I showed Dad the way to his room, and let him go in by himself. My brother had not spoken to Dad in years. It was the last time they would see each other, and their time together as father and son were good. After my dad said his peace with him, I entered the room and stood there speechless over his weakened body.

“Is there anything you want me to do?” I asked him.

“Play my guitars,” he exhaled.

“Yes, of course,” I swore.

My Bro pulled me down to his lips, and whispered, “A hui hou” (goodbye, until we meet again).

I wanted to pick my brother up and carry him back to the Place of Refuge. There the ancient ones might prevent his spirit from body dislocation. Lacking a proper celebration of life ceremony. I did what any brother should do when his brother lost on the field of battle. I took his Amazing Grace to be at peace with the island goddess of Oahu.

From Pali Lookout. The hurricane-force winds, which had been gathering speed since Tahiti. Sent my hands to clutch the guard rail. My grief pushed from my eyes like sideways falling, spiky pineapple.

The breath-spirit of the Earth called for my brother. As it always has been and will be, we arrived on the wind and will leave on it. “Farewell, then my dear brother, Bro. We shared the same womb into this world. By the blood of your daughters, and by your lightmap, you remain a miracle forever. Beneath the waves in the great. Timeless sea of eternity we will play our guitars to a standing ovation in the concert hall of the Gods. Although for the time being, I must remain on the shore of the living, I will always hear your music. Bro, it was an honor to have you as my brother. Amen.”

I wept into the wind. When I returned from my tribute, I learned that my sister was a bone marrow match. We held out hope that Bro could make the trip back to Kansas City and survive with a bone marrow transplant. He survived the flight but remained too sick to undergo a transplant.

At his wife’s request, our family moved Bro to a veteran’s hospital in Kansas City. How ironic, I thought, considering my brother hated the military. Yet, since he had been honorably discharged after serving two years in Germany. The U.S. Army was bound to provide medical care for him.

Mom arranged for Bros’s two daughters to come from California. His newborn was already there. My daughter was too young to know her Uncle but I wanted her to connect with us.

Later that night, after my sister-in-law left the hospital, I went back to see bro, with my little girl. He was lying in bed, eyes closed. I thought too late. I set my daughter next to him.

“Bro, this is your Niece,” I told him while nudging his arm, “she is five years old.”

As Bro transitioned, granted one final miracle. He opened his eyes and looked at my daughter. He couldn’t speak and didn’t have to. I felt his loving message.

“Aloha…”