topped by the first hotel that he reached on
the beach side of Kalakaua. It was older than the others. A huge tree
shaded a polygonal bar and a courtyard paved with stone. He ordered a
Glenlivet.

"Some tree! What kind is it?"

"Banyan," the bartender said.

"Oh." Hanging roots, dense green leaves, and thick nearly horizontal
branches created an inviting world. Oliver imagined a tree house. He
took a table in the shade and looked out over the ocean. 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. A very tall man in
shorts trudged past on the sand. He was a foot taller than a tall man.
Long legs held his upper body high in the air. Like a heron, Oliver
thought. Holy shit! Wilt Chamberlain! Wilt looked patient, proud, and
tired. A sports king, still holding his head up. He scored a hundred
points once. No one could take _that_ away from him. A familiar pang
squeezed Oliver. The nothing pang. What have you done? Nothing.

Scotch trickled down Oliver's throat. Wilt kept a steady pace down the
beach. Oliver thought of getting a ticket to another world--the
Philippines, say--and disappearing. He could go to a village on a
remote island and live until he ran out of money. It would be perfect
for a while, and then, to hell with it, he would get kidnapped or lost
in the jungle; it wouldn't matter.

No use. A force inside him would not let go. His spirit assumed a stone
face. Forward.

He awoke the next morning at 4 a.m., out of synch from jet lag. Half an
hour later he gave up trying to get back to sleep. 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. He could find a bus
that would get him close, no doubt, but it was early to be visiting.
Should he call? No. That was too much of a commitment. He wanted to
walk to the address and see how he felt when he got there, leaving open