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Maybe he should just be a tourist and forget the whole thing. He'd gotten along without his father this long; what difference would it make to meet him now? He didn't know. That was the problem. That was why he had to look up Kenso Nakano Ken on Alewa Heights. Chances were good that Ken was his uncle. Oliver rolled the whiskey around in his glass.
There were distinctly different neighborhoods in each of the narrow valleys that stretched two and three miles back into the mountains. Other areas, like Alewa Heights, were built on the faces of the ridges; at night their lights reached with sparkling fingers high into the dark. He found formal gardens, temples, and a red light district with hustlers of every race and description.
"There's Mohammed and Hassan and Abdullah and Alewa and Saord-el-Tawahi " "What do you call him when you are in a hurry?" laughed the girl. It was a tremendously pleasant evening. He had expected constraint and secret embarrassment and he had discovered this delightful interest and bright vivacity.
"Yes," she said. "But the buses are good. You can get out, go around the island." "I will. I'm going to try and look up family I've never met." "Where do they live?" Oliver had found a listing for Kenso Nakano in a phone book at the airport. "Alewa Heights," he said. She laughed. "Ah LEV Ah . . . That's the real Hawaii." "Look at that!"
He walked up Alewa Drive in bright sunshine, enjoying the view of the city and the ocean which grew in immensity as he climbed. The higher he got, the more vast the ocean became and the smaller the island, until he began to sense that he was standing on a happy accident, a green miracle in a marine world. The planes taking off from the airport below him looked puny.
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."
He dressed and walked toward the shopping mall, stopping at a Tops Restaurant busy with cab drivers, early risers, and night owls winding down. He had half a papaya, served with a piece of lemon. Delicious. Eggs came with two scoops of rice. Eggs and rice? Not bad. Full daylight came as he finished a second cup of coffee and looked at his map. Alewa Heights was on the other side of the city.
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