I.D."

"Mmmm . . . Muni lives in Japan, but he is in California, now. I will
try and contact him. I will give him your number."

"Thank you." Oliver gave him the hotel and room number and the name of
the hotel in Eugene where he would be staying for a few days the
following week. "I live in Maine. He could reach me there, after that."
He gave Ken the address.

"I'll see what I can do," Ken said.

"Thank you."

"It may take a while. Muni unpredictable sometimes."

"I'll wait," Oliver said.

"O.K. . . . Maybe we get together sometime."

"I'd like that," Oliver said.

When Ken hung up, Oliver felt truly disconnected. Ken had sounded like
a decent guy. Made sense, with a wife like that. My coaches . . . He
must be a principal or a superintendent in the school system. Having
finally made contact, Oliver wanted more.

But no one called the next day. Or the next. Oliver thought about
visiting another island, but he didn't want to be away from the hotel
that long. He couldn't sit by the phone for four days, so he explored
the city, checking back for messages at least once during the day.

Honolulu was interesting. With the exception of Waikiki and the
downtown district, it was a residential city. 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. He found a dirt alley with mud puddles, wandering
chickens, barefoot children, and a grandmother with two gold teeth. He
discovered small factories and, incredibly, in the middle of the city,
a watercress farm.

He read _The Advertiser_ every morning in Tops. He got to know the city
as well as he could in a few days. But no one called.

At the end of the week, he took a city bus to the airport, preferring
not to travel with the vacation group. He was sad when he boarded the
plane. He sat next to the small oval window and buckled his seat belt.
The buckle clicked together with a finality that seemed to say: that's
it; you did what you could.

The tour package had originated in Eugene. Oliver had chosen to return
there instead of Portland. The cost was the same, and he could see
another part of Oregon. He slept most of the way to the ma