My name is Maddox Hough—as in hamstring a cut of beef from the leg, used in stewing. Sitting at Lu Min’s restaurant in Lahaina one rainy night in December, I cannot avoid speculating about what I will be able to offer as an heirloom gift. In my family, there are no precious possessions, and recently the economy was slow to react to stimulation, resulting in the pitiable amount of spending money in my purse.
Even the visit to Lu Min’s separates a part of me, as if I were cut with a knife. I am thinking, we could also adopt if I am too old to even offer the tiniest bit of sperm necessary to have our own child. I am deep in thought while Lei is sitting right next to me. She is my fiancée and named Lei because her parents recognized in their child mother nature’s expression of delicate flowers.
The rain that has poured for a while stops abruptly, as if severed. Across the street, the Pacific Ocean reflects solitary stars and some virginal clouds that are lightened by a hidden moon. Small boats bob up and down in the dark, iridescent water.
A Chinese boy, probably the child of the owner’s girlfriend and server at the same time, is showing off his way of dealing with an extraordinary situation. He acts up, irritating people, to pass the night away.
My initial impulse is to ask politely, “Would you like to come to our table and we do something together, like play the little golden harmonica on the golden chain around my neck?”
For a moment, it catches the brat’s attention, and at the same time, I notice the white guy, who I cannot pin an age on; he feels very familiar to me.
Lei suddenly intervenes and helps to entertain the disagreeable child who is interrupting our fun and could ruin the night. The waitress mother relieves me and all other guests momentarily of her mutinous youngster.
Across from the Chinese restaurant veranda where we are sitting, guests arrive in shorts and hula shirts for the trendy and costly restaurant at the water’s edge. The street asphalt is sparkling with rainwater from the recent heavy shower.
I am a sociable person, and intrigued, I ask the lonely but civilized-looking guy at the table on the other side of the aisle, “Where do you stay here?”
Since I noticed him a moment ago but was preoccupied by my thoughts and the kid, it feels like I am helping destiny on its natural path. Slowly the man turns his head and looks at me with blue eyes, his thinning hair not quite blond anymore. For a moment, it feels as if time is standing still. I am not positive whether I am making a serious mistake, or perhaps the stranger actually likes the interruption.
“I am staying at a hotel,” he says, after looking at me for a long time as if lost or unsure how to answer. “The Royal Ohana.”
At that moment, I realize that the stranger likes the attention, and I become aware of an accent. “Where are you from?”
“Originally from Germany,” he says, as if going through a ritual, “but I live in LA.”
I must confess that I am thrilled by this revelation. A German in a cheap Chinese restaurant in Lahaina at this moment is perfectly opportune. It feels and appears to be a promise of distraction and an opportunity to practice my talent and trained investigative brain.
“What part?” I continue.
“I was born near Frankfurt,” he replies.
In this rather swift exchange, we establish a prescribed procedure of getting to know each other. He seems to be a somewhat interesting, unusual person. I am certain this impression is reciprocal, that he welcomes the interruption of events this early Sunday evening.
I invite him to our table, catch a closer look at the man’s features, and am surprised by his adolescent appearance. I am thinking he might be almost my age. My fiancée, Lei, appears to be rather pleased, and the boy vanishes into the background. I am able to let go of depressing thoughts and can now dig deep into my memory bank. I tell the stranger that during World War II, I spent time with the armed forces in his home country, specifically in the area he just mentioned. This confession on my part makes it easy to interact with him. I do not mention that I was in Germany because I was in the newly founded CIA as an analyst, interpreter, and evaluator for all kinds of situations and individuals. We order Japanese beer, and then my new friend talks for a long, long time.
Lu Min wants to close the place down. Lei and I have been very silently listening for a few hours, sipping on beers and experiencing how a stranger with the name Walter gently turned into an intimate acquaintance. I invite Walter for lunch at my place the next day and ask him whether it would be OK to record his story while we eat and during his visit with us. I know by now that Lei will not object. Being a Hawaiian wahine, she enjoys a good, long story. Walter has many days of vacation and agrees to my offer; he appears to enjoy recounting his own life’s narrative and also looks younger, fresher, and rejuvenated while doing it. We quickly say our good-byes and mahalos.
We continue the next day with recording.
Lei and I own a jewelry store in Lahaina. We specialize in Hawaiian heirlooms, diamonds, and Tahitian black pearls. As I mentioned before, business is not doing so well; tourists keep a tight belt while staying on Maui—in the event they even make it to Maui. Walter’s arrival is a perfect distraction and helps me practice my journalistic abilities. Of course, uncertainties and doubts cross my mind—and especially Lei’s because it begins to look like I am spending more time with Walter than with her. Meanwhile, she attends the store during business hours, and I operate the tape recorder while Walter tells his tale, occasionally interrupted when I ask him a question or two.
I have no idea where it will lead or whether there will be any notable outcome. It simply is a pleasure to listen to him, and for Walter, it appears as if it is an opportunity he has been waiting for.