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Back Under the Wave at Waimea Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part I
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. Part II
  18. 1
  19. 2
  20. 3
  21. 4
  22. 5
  23. 6
  24. 7
  25. 8
  26. 9
  27. 10
  28. 11
  29. 12
  30. 13
  31. 14
  32. 15
  33. 16
  34. 17
  35. 18
  36. 19
  37. Part III
  38. 1
  39. 2
  40. 3
  41. 4
  42. 5
  43. 6
  44. 7
  45. 8
  46. 9
  47. 10
  48. 11
  49. 12
  50. 13
  51. An Excerpt from THE BAD ANGEL BROTHERS
  52. 1The Rejection Ritual
  53. About the Author
  54. Connect on Social Media

“Joe Sharkey!”

At first he mistook it for hostility, it was so shrill. But he saw that the boy shouting it was Eddie—the wild hair, the knobby nose and big doglike jaw. He was beckoning Sharkey to the wave and in the same gesture calming the pack of other boys, who backed off.

So Sharkey was welcomed to the wave and allowed to surf it, and later, on the beach, Eddie said to the others, “Sharkey—he’s ohana.”

9

Competition

They were amphibious savages, they were sea creatures, wild mongrels and water dogs, their wide shoulders and thick necks were burned black from surfing all day; they were tattooed, they had no interest in anything on land—they looked awkward onshore, walked haltingly, bowlegged, barefoot on sand and pebbles, and were smaller than they seemed when they were standing on a wave. Anytime the surf was up they set off in the morning, and if it remained high they stayed in the water all day, perhaps resting on the beach, flopped like monk seals, and still taking waves after sunset in the gray sea that in places looked like hammered iron.

On land they were paler, their skin sodden, their hands bluish and pickled from the whole day in the water. The boards that had been so buoyant were big and hard to grip, banging against their bodies or buffeted by the wind gusts, sometimes scraping the stony ground, thick awkward things that had been so light and swift on the water.

They lived to surf, chasing each other like puppies through the incoming waves to the outer break. Sharkey, part of the ohana now (as they put it)—but it seemed more like a pack of dogs—followed them, paddled behind them, bobbed with them, took the waves that no one wanted, and always, as the younger brother, was the last one to ride to the beach. It was a form of respect, this hanging back, but his watchfulness helped him improve his technique. Uncle Sunshine had said, Find the rhythm to mount the wave and learn to ride it. But Eddie and the hui had devised different ways of taking the wave, timing each move onto the board and charging—“hard charge, Hawaiian kine,” Eddie said—and since the right speed was essential—the speed of the board had to match or slightly exceed the speed of the wave—being a strong paddler was essential. Balance could not be taught, but a way of kneeling and standing could be imitated.