IN HONOR OF HALLOWEEN…

And at the urging of a few friends, here is the whole text of my short supernatural adventure:

THE WALKING TREES

(Told in two installments; maybe three, if I live through it…)

We had an energetic, even jittery full moon that night; I remember because it kept draping itself in rainclouds and disappearing behind their cover.

It reminded me of the way a cocaine addict disappears briefly into the bathroom at a party, then returns with a bright face, chemically aglow. You’ve seen that.

Crusoe and I had been swapping terrible jokes in his ramshackle bachelor shed and drinking ‘Natural Ice’, one of the shitty beers he likes because of it’s alcohol content and wonderfully affordable price – something like 36 cans for 5 bucks. The GOOD stuff.

Crusoe is my Hawaiian friend, a jack of all trades and master of his beer coozy. He is ostensibly a plumber, but can build, paint, design, lay block, and mechanic with skill.

He can also drink me under the koa-wood table.

Crusoe is a confirmed alcoholic. I, on the other hand, can catch a buzz just smelling cough syrup. (Vicks Formula 44…thanks, mom!)

But tonight, I had taken the plunge and joined him in his vice; soon there were only 24 beers left, then 20, and we got very loud, then very quiet.

It had been raining shards of glass on the tin roof above, or at least mimicked well the brittle sound of it; and since I had been trying to match Crusoe’s boozy pace, I felt the bravery of numbness rise up in my soul.

‘You’re DRUNK, you stinking Hawaiian!’

‘So are YOU, you dumbass haole!’

And we clanked cans together in a toast celebrating the drinking cultures of our disparate races. I saw an opening.

‘Tell me about the Walking Trees’, I demanded, and was startled to see Crusoe drop his nearly full can and turn as white as any haole.

He uttered an unreproducible epithet.

‘I can not say nothing about those sommabishes!’ he choked out in a harsh, unsteady whisper. ‘What if they hear? If I talk story ’bout da kine, they will kill me!’ and he retrieved the dropped beer, taking only seconds to make it disappear.

Three gulps! That’s championship skill, especially for beer that burns going down.

‘Wha..KILL you? What bullshit…’ I snorted as I likewise tried to guzzle my own horrid ration of Natty Ice, which by the fourth can tasted pretty…damn…swell!

Crusoe began cussing a blue streak in Hawaiian, and when he’d exhausted all those combinations began the process in pigeon English.

‘GahDAMBIT! Sommabish! Gahdambit sommabish!’

He likes all-purpose English cuss words especially; also another that I am too polite to assault your tender eyes with, but it rhymes with a popular brand of jelly, which with a name like that has GOT to be good…

I begged, cajoled and pleaded, as those three verbs are often seen in each other’s company; but he refused to talk anymore about local lore or Walking Trees, and instead walked to the door and pissed steadily into the rain.

I’d asked several other native Hawaiians about this same legend, and although the reactions weren’t nearly as vehement, they all became dark in the face with unspoken dread before hurrying off to gather fruit and weave hula skirts, or something.

I thought they maybe didn’t want to waste their aloha answering dumb questions from a clueless haole, but Crusoe had never behaved that way drunk or sober, except on this topic alone.

These Hawaiians were keeping a silence born of genuine fear!

Fear? Ha! Haoles know no fear, especially after chugging Natty Ice with abandon.

‘Woooo! WOOOOOO! I’m a Walking Haole Tree!’ I teased, stiff-legging my way around him like a zombie; and the next thing I knew I was out in the rain, my Frogg Togg poncho thrown after me with a flutter.

The rustic door slammed and a wooden latch drawn; I had been 86’d!

‘How about one for the road?’ I yelled at the screenless window, and a silver and blue can sailed through, missing his cat by the merest whisker but hitting me squarely in the groin.

‘SommaBISH!’ I hollered, dropping to my kneecaps in that most exquisite of all male pain onto the lava bubble in his garden.

I was getting the hang of cussing like a Hawaiian, even if they wouldn’t talk much to me. ‘GahDAMbit that hurts…’

I groggily gathered the few remaining grains of my haole wits, as well as the dented can of beer, and stumbled in the direction of Hoop House by the capricious light of a cocaine moon.

It was this way, right? Or maybe through those guavas. Or was it through the banana patch? The damn jungle all looked the same, courtesy of my unaccustomed boozing. Shit!

Shit shit shit shit shit!

Maybe if I just sit here until the beer finishes its route…and I plunked myself sloppily on a damp bed of moss.

It was soft, mooshy, and I remember thinking just before the moonlight switched itself off: I should cover my pallet bed in this lovely stuff…maybe have a shirt made of it too…and I passed out blind.

I was awakened by the kind of sound only the jungle makes when it talks, that swirling, grating, mysterious voice both undefinable and unlocatable, more moan than meaning; it was like someone trying to sing an aria with a throatful of wood.

At least that was my half-drunken impression…

I opened my eyes with some effort, and discovered that the world was upside down. I was hanging by my feet, a snakelike tendril of thick greenery lifting me high and tight some twenty feet into the air.

I screamed.

Repeatedly.

For gathered around me in tribe-like assembly were at least a hundred of the very trees that had caused my friend such incredible distress.

Yes, they had faces, eyeless; they had mouths too, but most definitely were not toothless.

If you’ve ever been fanged by the barbs on a bougenvilia, you know da kine…and the teeth glistened a blood red, five inches long.

The foliage atop them resembled the spiky hairdo of a particularly vicious variety of punk rocker, the kind who only jumps into mosh pits to cause pain; and all around the bottom of their trunks waved little animated root legs, writhing like a mass of large, hideous and greasy worms upon which the tree could locomote.

And though still sideways from the wooziness of mass-produced swill, I was sober enough to know I should be very, very frightened…and I was.

And still am.

For indeed, these were THE trees…the panic-inducing Walking Trees no Hawaiian could speak of…and I was held high in the moonlight, powerless in their grasp.

(The pic is one of the breed during the day…oh sure, they LOOK harmless enough, BUT…)

(Continued soon! Hopefully before they kill me!)

PART TWO: THE WALKING TREES

I am upside down twenty feet or more in the air in the deep Hawaiian jungle, on a night flooded by a nervous and full Hawaiian moon. My location at the moment is not exactly of my own choosing; heights bring out the coward in me, ever since a severe ear infection as a child.

I am instead held helplessly in the leafy grasp of some kind of snaking vine, commanded by a very tall and spiky tree able to move under it’s own volition.

And I am about to wet my pants.

The very tall and spiky tree moved toward me, undulating on row after row of worm-like tendrils until it was able to peer full into my nearly purple upside-down face.

‘I have to pee!’ I gasped aloud, hoping that a tree that can ambulate will also be able to understand plain English.

The oddest-sounding rustle struck up a presence in the air around me, something like a cross between sandpaper on wood and the sound a hyena makes, only lower in tone.

The tall spiky tree waved a branch and suddenly I felt myself falling, falling, falling; only to land in the well-muscled arms of a tall and regal warrior, nearly twice my size and weight, and made of spring steel to judge by how little effort he expended to catch me.

The odd rustling sound had dissolved into something at once humanly familiar: the roar of laughter!

And in the place of the army of Walking Trees, there stood a gathering of native Hawaiians, beautifully garbed in the costume of tribal antiquity.

The nervous night had magically become brilliant day, the shimmering blue of the endless Hawaiian sky shining all around us.

I was lowered to the ground gently by this mountain of a man, obviously the uncontested spokesman for all gathered behind him.

And behind me, I saw a pair of the warriors who had held me aloft in their own mighty grips, now grinning in that wide-open way that these beautiful people still do today.

‘Haole boy! Behind da kine!’, and the leader pointed to a nearby banana tree, whereupon I could release a little pressure from all the beer I’d guzzled with Crusoe, my Alcoholic Hawaiian pal.

The group thought this was pretty funny. I poked my head out, a little embarrassed, and they howled again. I finished my business and walked sheepishly back to the tribe.

I was met with broad smiles all around as I rejoined them, but I guarantee, I had no idea how to react, and was in the weirdest frame of mind of my entire life (not to mention a tad embarrassed…)

But somehow, the smiles and sweet round faces of this strange group put me at ease, and my fear became my fascination.

The day was completely glorious, the air the cleanest I’ve ever taken in, and the colors of the world had a radiance I’ve never seen in my day to day, except at the births of my five wonderful daughters…

I was in old, old, old Hawaii.

This HAD to be a dream! I bit my arm, and had the reaction you might expect when I drew a little blood.

Hurt like hell. I was conscious, all right.

I scanned my surroundings and immediately realized we were no longer in the deep jungle, but had somehow materialized on a long black sand beach fronting a wide, crescent bay.

There were ukuleles plunking some distance in the background, and calm, sweet harmonies followed its sound like ripples in gentle water.

That bay was something familiar…as was the river cascading into the left end of the bay…

Hilo! This was HILO!

I looked again in awe at the landscape around me, sure to a fault I was imagining this yet knowing in my heart that I was indeed seeing my town as it was at least two hundred years in the past.

There were no storefronts, no paved streets, no vehicles that resembled cars, certainly; in their place stood a variety of the old Hawaiian hales that were gorgeous in their simplicity and oneness with the natural world in which they stood.

I saw half-naked women, not only unashamed but likely unaware that it would never be possible to walk around modern Hilo so alluringly.

The men were full-muscled, black-maned specimens of all that is handsome, and they looked unstrained, intelligent, and happy.

My mouth must have dropped open in amazement, which I know because a curious bee flew in and I spit it rapidly out in a sputter of amazement and consternation.

This was again hilarious to the assemblage around me, their kind eyes and bright teeth sparkling in the sun. It made me want to laugh too, and somehow I found myself howling along with them, albeit with a tinge of hysteria.

I must have looked quite a strange fish to beach on the black sand shore, deeply puzzled as to what was happening, and why.

I again turned to the massive man who led them, mantled with a cape of glorious feathers expertly crafted from the most exotic plumage on the island.

His headdress added another foot to his stature, and I know I will never again meet anyone whose fitness for nobility rings as true.

‘Who ARE you?’ I pled, although inside I could already hear the name ringing in my ears.

The great man held out his arms in a gesture of natural power, spreading them wide to include the scope of the entire scene.

‘I am called Kamehameha, son of Pele, Goddess of these islands; and I am the eternal and anointed King of Hawaii!’

I suddenly had to pee again.

(PART THREE OF THE WALKING TREES, COMING UP SOON!)

PART THREE: THE WALKING TREES
(Final installment for now! But only Pele knows for sure…)

I was surrounded by the Hawaiians of old, to whom I must have seemed as curious as they did to me, and was standing on the bayfront of my beloved Hilo town as it was at least two hundred years in the past.

Their leader was the King of Hawaii, whose remains were never found; an ancient Kahuna had thrown them back into the womb of the volcano, but he now stood in magnificent flesh and bone not three feet from me.

Blood not only rushed to my head in the presence of Kamehameha the Ist…it took a jet.

Now, I’ve met all manner of great men, generals, presidents, prime ministers, top tier thinkers and entertainers, when I was performing at a large business conference a lawyer friend of mine organized each year in my hometown; I even sat the entire day with many of these leading lights in backstage trailers as we relaxed and waited our turns before the crowds. Because I like to ask questions and relate, I got to see into them a bit and examine them for the keys to their glories.

But Kamehameha…he was like a warship compared to their rowboats. If there truly is such a thing as natural royalty, then that quality radiated from this huge and powerful man unmistakeably, the living embodiment of charisma, unbounded energy, and perfect harmony of body, mind, and spirit.

His fitness for his position was a simple fact of nature, and my proximity to this legend made me a tad…bit…nervous.

So I had to process the rest of the beer I’d drunk.

‘King’, I began, and seeing the look of controlled strain on my face, he pointed back to the thicket of trees I had previously watered.

That particular clump of greenery still exists as a vigorous growth on the shore in Hilo to this very day! Well, it’s ancestor, perhaps. But you can thank me for fertilizing it…

And as if on cue, when I stepped back onto the sand, the entire village had come down to the bay, bearing a rainbow of glistening fruits, flowers, fish, and five very, very, VERY large wild pigs, trussed and succulently roasted in the old Hele fashion, a feast to end all feasts!

I was invited to sit with the King. Well, carried by two warriors and plopped on a mat next to him, anyway. How could I refuse?

At complete ease among his people, Kamehameha laughed and joked and teased, and I sat in a state of blissful delirium to find myself at table in the most improbable luau I could imagine. I consider it still the finest meal of my entire life…

Fire dancers began a performance of their ancient art, spinning flame and flesh into a whirlwind of impossible feats; half-naked Hula dancers accentuated the sensuality of the foods set before me, dish after colorful dish we ate with our bare hands; and as we ate to bursting, we were charmed by the serenades of gifted musicians and singers, who sang of the island’s beauties, and battles, and loves, and gods.

And at the close of a hymn to Pele, goddess and keeper of the flame in Hawaii, her son Kamehameha stood, his massive and muscled frame towering above us all as we sat on our grass mats in sublime expectation.

The players began a slow, languorous melody that angelic Hawaiian voices turned at once into five-part harmony, and over this haunting, luxurious background Kamehameha began to sing.

In clear, sweet baritone he sang of the aloha in his heart for each of his tribe and their families, of the promise that he would always safeguard his people, the sacred fishing and burial grounds they cherished, their ancient gods and ways.

The pureness of his voice seemed to penetrate the deepest part of my own soul.

At the close of this amazing song, those present stood and each took the hand of another until all were connected by touch.

I was dazzled by the smile and exotic beauty of the rather under-dressed wahine who had slipped her soft hand into my own; and maybe a little less taken with the towering warrior on the other side whose hand was so large it easily swallowed mine…but who’s complaining? The experience was so lyrically magical that it turns itself over and over in my heart to this day.

The entire tribe began a chant older than the islands, older than the ocean, perhaps older than time itself; and as their voices drifted into the heavens, a light rain began, soft as feathers, sweet as native honey, as though the very sky had embodied the spirit of aloha and sent this rain to kiss us.

And then, lightning!

The largest burst of jagged electricity I’ve ever seen hit the bay about a hundred yards from the shore, and the ocean filled itself with power, and began to move like a living thing, which of course it is.

But to my dismay it began climbing, a local tsunami climbing the beach where we stood as one being, hands clasped in unbreakable unity, and it rose and rose until it was to our waists, then our shoulders, until it at last reached over the heads of the tallest warriors, and finally Kamehameha himself.

No one had moved, flinched, cried out in distress. Indeed, no sign was given that it was anything less than the natural order of things!

I, on the other hand, was feeling a bit shaky about being drowned.

Although I have a Boy Scout Merit Badge for Wrestling and had practiced the sport of jui jitsu in my callow youth, I could not break free of the hands gripping mine. And as they were submerged, so was I. I resigned myself to imminent death.

But as the clear blue water topped my mouth, my nostrils, my eyes and hair, I found I could breathe with the same ease I could see through the ocean, which was brightly festooned with large schools of tropical fish of brilliant color, undulating and swirling in a mesmerizing dance under the waves.

Among them, I could swear I saw creatures described of old as Mermaids, atop swift dolphins and trailing lengths of long golden tresses in the wake of their movement.

Every conceivable color was embroidered into this underwater tapestry, a kaleidoscope of hue and shade and form that made me giddy with astonishment.

And as I watched, the entire submerged Hawaiian tribe began to change from the glorious and happy group with whom I had feasted into something strange, and dark, and terrible…

The water receded from the shores; and I was again transfixed as I witnessed, in
place of the tribe, the same number of shudder-inducing Walking Trees!

I glanced back at the peaceful little village of Hilo; and into the air it rose like mist, vanishing into a darkening sky which had suddenly threatened to storm.

I looked all around me on the sand. The sight of these hundreds of Walking Trees, dragging themselves slowly from the water up onto the shore, was both horrifying and wonderful.

They moved on legs that squirmed and wiggled, as unlike the beautiful people they had replaced as day is from night.

I started to feel dizzy, and a bit sick.

Then suddenly we were back in the jungle, where I had first encountered the Walking Trees in my half-drunken stumbling.

I was lifted again into the air, gently and upright this time, by living branches and vines that nevertheless held me helpless again.

The one I knew to be Kamehameha turned its great and terrible face to my own, and in the voice of a tree rasped this:

‘You have seen what we seem to be, and what we really are.

‘In this form we are safe, and from this heart of stealth and strength our people will again become great, and will reclaim the rule of our islands.

Here we keep every ancient custom and honor every god and goddess of Hawaii that the modern world has scorned. But they all shall arise again.

When there are finally enough of us to conquer, we will take back these islands and my mother, Pele, will cleanse all traces of the haole’s presence with fire.

This will remain our mystery, never to be spoken of, never to be revealed to the encroaching world. And you are one of the fortunate who have this forbidden knowledge. And a Haole, no less! But you will say nothing, or there will be consequences as my mother Pele has decreed…’

I could do nothing but furiously nod in agreement, but in mid-nod Kamehameha suddenly reached out a very sharp branch and I felt my side pierced through and through by its thrust.

I looked down and saw blood; not the crimson color I expected but a green that glowed and sparkled with the energy of magic.

And suddenly I was falling, down, down into the dark foliage, and lay on the wet moss unmoving…unconscious…

Something even wetter brought me to my senses; Crusoe stood above me pouring a can of Natural Ice over my head.

‘Hey, Dave! Stupid haole, you gonna fall into a puka and break something! Wake up, you sommabish! It’s too goddammbit wet to stay out here…’

And this time, for a change, it was Crusoe pulling ME up from the ground, and walking me back to reasonable shelter from the rain.

I never told him what I had seen, where I had been, who I had met. I don’t believe it myself, most of the time, and I have written it all out in spite of Kamehameha’s warning. I disregarded my promise of silence, as I have never taken orders from my dreams, no matter how magnificent.

And so the tale has been told.

But as I have written, my hands and arms have become strangely stiff, and just minutes ago, an aching in my elbow led me to find a small painful growth in the joint; green it was, and something that appears to me very like a leaf.

I dug it out with a penknife; a small trickle of blood spattered the paper. Green.

I am worried. Natural movement feels so suddenly difficult.

But I am strangely calm, as well.

My thoughts…become quite strange and slow…

My hair is spiky and fierce…

I begin to stretch my serpentine limbs and branches…

And I long for the companionship of other trees.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Handy Links:
The Walking Trees – Part 1 
The Walking Trees – Part 2
The Walking Trees – Part 3