Kantaka struggled to his feet a third time, but stood still, trying to fathom this new situation. He minced around with small steps, which tugged at the hackamore binding his head, but as soon as he kicked out his hind leg, his head jerked around and he hit the dirt.

  “Let’s eat while Mr. High-and-mighty gets used to this turn of events,” Matt Reece said.

  “Hobbling him will only piss him off, and I don’t blame him.”

  “Some animals you can throw a saddle on their back, climb on, and ride them until they surrender. But with a hellion like this, I like to show them who rules the roost before I climb on. Saves wear and tear on my butt, and I don’t have much padding down there.”

  “But this is batshit crazy. I—”

  “Being trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey for an hour or two will have a powerful effect on his ego.”

  He turned and walked back to the house, and she followed. They found Gran Kamamalu sitting on the veranda with an open bible on her lap. She wore a pair of half-moon reading glasses, and her lips moved as she read.

  They carried the kitchen table onto the porch so they could eat while keeping an eye on Kantaka. Later, Lilikoi carried out platters of meaty conch soup with crusty bread and a shrimp salad. Once Gran sat, they took their time eating, the three of them. He finished his soup, and Gran filled his bowl again. He protested, but she ignored him.

  Later, he sat sipping coffee while Lilikoi polished off another glass of vodka. He could feel frustration building in her until she said, “Why did you have me take Kantaka to the stable and then lead him back in? And what’s so wrong with my sunglasses?”

  “Horses need to see your eyes to know you’re an animal, not some creature from outer space with glowing eyes. As for the rest, social rank is central to any herd. Rank determines everything. By leading him out, that let me own the center of the corral, so that when he came back, he was invading my territory, not the other way around. That ownership made me the alpha. He became hostile and aggressive, which is an expression of insecurity. Right then, I’d already won. Everything I’m doing, including trussing him up, is to demonstrate that I’m superior. My posture, demeanor, steady gaze, speaking a language he’s never heard, and owning the corral are a psychological ploy.”

  “So, Mister Expert, what’s the verdict? Can he become a good riding horse?”

  He sipped his coffee and set his mug on the table. “Once he’s a finished horse, he’ll be the finest animal I’ve ever seen.”

  “People say he’ll never be any damned good.”

  “He’s just arrogant. You can add up an animal’s qualities and faults side by side on a sheet of paper to show you a bottom line, but it won’t tell you what’s in his heart.”

  “You talked in Spanish, but God knows he didn’t understand a word.”

  He looked out and saw two parrots gliding over the canopy, flashes of inflamed red against a cool green background. “He heard my respect for him, my promise to care for him. No, he understands I’ll give him exactly what he demands.”

  She poured more vodka and swallowed a mouthful. “You can tell what a horse is thinking?”

  “Maybe I’m as arrogant as he is, but yeah, I generally can. A horse knows true from false. If you have a true heart and mean to let the animal keep his dignity, a good horse will figure that out. That way you form a partnership, and the horse stays whole and respects you back. If you’re false, he’ll see that and fight you. Animals have justice in their hearts.”

  “You have a mighty high opinion of animals,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, they’re more transparent than humans. When it comes to people, I’m dumb as a fence post and getting dumber by the day.”

  Gran smiled. “You don’t need brains if you got the Lord looking over your shoulder.”

  He felt reluctant to finish breaking Kantaka, knowing once that was done, Lilikoi would have no further use for him. What would he do then? Where would he go? He lingered on the porch until the sun began its descent.

  “What’s with that slaughtered-sheep look?” Lilikoi asked.

  “What the hell,” he said to the birds gliding over the treetops. He pushed back his chair and shuffled to his feet. He drained his cup, set dead Ted’s hat on his head, and moseyed back to the corral. By the time he got there, Kantaka had been trussed up for two hours and was relatively calm. Coolie lay by the corral gate, waiting for him.

  The crowd of children had doubled in size, and there were a dozen men standing around as well. Most of them looked like ranch hands, but there were also the four men in military drag that had accompanied Lilikoi at the dock.

  “There a rodeo coming up I don’t know about?” Matt Reece asked as he entered the corral and refastened the gate. He slipped on his gloves, picked up the saddle blanket and hobble rope from beside the saddle, and walked to the horse, speaking Spanish in a calm voice the whole way. The animal shivered but didn’t try to rear, which was a good sign. It showed the horse had figured out his situation and was more intelligent than emotional.

  He stood there for fifteen minutes, telling the big brute everything that would happen. He talked as he crouched and hobbled the front legs together. Then, for the next half hour he talked about whatever popped into his head while he floated the saddle blanket over the animal’s back, under his belly, over his face, and down his neck. When he felt the animal’s fear drain away, he slid the blanket into place on his back and gave Kantaka’s neck a pat. He talked as if he and the horse were lovers. He leaned into the horse until they were head to head, rubbing their faces together. He murmured in Kantaka’s ear, telling him how much fun they would have running in open country. Now the horse had no fear.

  He sat the saddle on the animal’s back and gently rocked it into place. Kantaka took a few panicky side steps with his hind legs. Matt Reece stroked his neck and kept talking.

  Someone in the crowd said, “You planning to ride him or talk him to sleep?” Everyone laughed. Kantaka’s ears laid back, but Matt Reece kept speaking in that same manner, a voice of authority mixed with compassion.

  He reached under the horse and pulled up the strap and cinched it. He kept talking while he waited for the animal to exhale. When he did, he cinched it tighter. He waited for one more exhale before he heaved up the cinch strap and buckled it. Kantaka stayed relatively calm, which surprised him. He asked Lilikoi to bring him the bridle.

  As she crossed the corral, he untied the side ropes from the horse’s hind legs and hackamore. He slipped the hackamore from the animal’s head and then fitted the bridle into place, setting the bit in the horse’s mouth. Kantaka protested, tossing his head up and down, becoming afraid of the bridle bit clink, but Matt Reece held him firm.

  “Undo the hobbles while I hold him. Once I’m on his back, go saddle up Top Hat. We’ll take them for a run.”

  “A run? Were you born batshit crazy, or is this some new development?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never put it to the test before now.”

  “This demon is going to launch you over the moon.”

  “If he does, notify NASA in Houston. They’ll want to track my trajectory.”

  She freed Kantaka’s legs, and all the spectators moved to the corral rails. Men sat children on their shoulders for a better look. The excitement grew.

  When she backed away, he gathered the reins, put a foot in the stirrup, and pressed against Kantaka’s shoulder. “Okay, brother,” he whispered, “don’t make a fool of me.”

  He swung into the saddle, ready for anything, his heart slamming inside his chest.

  Kantaka stamped his hooves with Matt Reece still talking low and smooth. The horse shot out a hind leg, and when he realized he was no longer a prisoner, he spun in a circle and danced sideways. He came to a standstill, breathing hard, taking in this new turn of events, with Matt Reece still talking steady and stroking his neck.

  Matt Reece touched his ribs with his boot heel, and Kantaka jerked into a trot. He pulled up on the reins, and Kantaka stopped, waited. He touched the ribs again, and Kantaka moved around the corral. He reined him left, and the horse turned and cut across the center of the corral. He reined him right, and the horse trotted the opposite way.

  “Show’s over folks,” Matt Reece said.

  Lilikoi and the others were clearly disappointed but respectful. “Is Top Hat saddled yet?” he said as he passed her. “We feel the need for speed.”

  Minutes later, as he trotted Kantaka around the corral, Lilikoi led Top Hat out of the stables, saddled and bridled. He dismounted, opened the gate, and walked the stallion out.

  When the horses stood side by side, she leaped onto the filly’s saddle, and he slid carefully onto Kantaka’s back. He waited for a sign of anger from between his legs, but none came. Once again, he became an unwelcome yet acceptable passenger.

  They turned the horses toward a dirt path and nudged them into a trot. Kantaka pranced, seeming as happy as Matt Reece to be free of the corral.

  The path cut through dense algarroba, sandalwood, and coconut palms that canopied in lush sweeps of green, towering over leafy banana plants dangling hard fruit. They rode leisurely, heading north. Bees crisscrossed the path like golden bullets, and finches dipped out of the sky. He kept waiting for a burst of wild anger from his mount, but Kantaka was getting comfortable with his touch. The horse was a quivering furnace of heat and muscle between his legs, and he moved to Kantaka’s rhythm, as if they were dancing a tango, and he let the horse lead.

  They came to a sandy beach on the Kalaupapa Peninsula, west of the old leper settlement. They booted their mounts into a gallop at the water’s edge and set off side by side. The stallion leaped into a run, and it felt like Kantaka became airborne. He stretched out his neck and reveled in effortless speed. Matt Reece crouched down until his cheek almost pressed to the horse’s neck. Lilikoi and the filly fell far behind. The horse between his legs with the sun on his back felt almost religious.

  The stallion wanted to prove something, and Matt Reece felt his own need to work out the frustrations of this new life that he had not wanted. For the first time, he seized firm control of the stallion, booting him faster, harder. Kantaka responded, racing the wind like a magic carpet. Matt Reece’s frustrations fell away, and he clung to the moment in the same way he clung to the saddle. Nothing existed except the joy of movement. He lost that part of himself that had a name, becoming only the stallion racing the cosmos. This was what he lived for. He wanted that beach to stretch out into timeless infinity, and he was pretty damned sure Kantaka felt the same.

  When they came to a wall of rock, he reined the stallion to a halt, turned him, and raced back. If infinity had boundaries, then they would run in circles, anything to keep the rush going. They ran until they were both spent.

  Later, while resting in the shade of a rocky outcrop, he caressed the stallion’s jaw while pressing his forehead to the place below his ears and above his eyes. Kantaka snorted and raised his head to ruffle Matt Reece’s hair with his muzzle. While he and the horse were locked in this budding affection, he saw a new glimmer in Lilikoi’s eyes. She lost that edge she wore like a shield. Her eyes, her face, were more feminine.

  They rested a long time and then mounted and rode back up the mountain. The earth was still damp, spongy with crushed ferns and primeval smells. The heat came in layers. It was a draining heat, the sort that sucked moisture out of every living thing.

  When they came to a clearing, Kantaka lifted his head high and stood staring at the mountain peaks, aloof and proud, with a heritage of arrogance that he seemed to cherish, as Matt Reece was learning to do.

  WHEN THEY reached the corral, Matt Reece walked the horses into the stable and locked them in separate stalls. He unsaddled and unbridled both and stored the equipment in the tack room. He brushed the horses down and dropped a leaf of hay into each stall. Coolie stayed with him. When he walked back to the house, Coolie followed.

  When they reached the veranda, a smiling boy no older than five held out a mug. Matt Reece took the mug and drank the tea with Coolie leaning against his leg. He heard women’s voices coming from inside the house. He stood in the sun sipping the brew and watching two hummingbirds dart here and there. Lilikoi came onto the porch, took his empty mug, and led him into the house and to a bedroom.

  He stood in the doorway of a room with high ceilings and blue walls, and furnished with a double bed, a dark wood armoire, and a humble chest of drawers.

  “Take a nap,” she said. “I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

  He was tired, and that mattress with clean sheets looked inviting, but he said, “The hammock on the porch will do.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s in the sun. You’ll be more comfortable here.” She pulled him toward the bed and slipped around him and closed the door on her way out.

  He shed his clothes and crawled between the sheets. He listened to the sounds of the household, trying to piece together this island-family life. He felt something resembling happiness, or perhaps only a profound contentment that came from being so tired.

  Thirty minutes later, he hovered at the edge of unconsciousness when the door opened and Lilikoi walked in and closed the door. He jerked back to full awareness, realizing she had taken a bath and changed her clothes. She now wore a low-cut calico dress with printed flowers on it. Her hair fell over one bare shoulder. She looked and smelled more feminine than he would have thought possible. Without a word, she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her white slip. She held his stare, looking like a virginal bride. Then she let the slip fall to the floor in a perfectly forthright manner—no awkwardness or lewdness. Naked, she smiled. She seemed like an endearing child, tenderly raised, but lost.

  He was perplexed by the heart jump he experienced when her slip hit the floor.

  He admired the rich color of her unblemished skin. Almost as tall as himself, she had a strong, slim frame, conical breasts with nipples the same darkness as the rest of her, and a wedge of black pubic hair. She was the first woman he’d ever seen exposed, and she was stunning. He was particularly struck by her strong legs—a ballerina’s strapping thighs and calves. She pulled the sheet back and slid in beside him.

  “Make love to me,” she said.

  “You can have any man on this island.”

  “They’re all out to prove something. I’m not anyone’s trophy.”

  “I’m not what you want either.”

  She pulled back. That sparkle in her eyes extinguished. She managed a crooked grin.

  “You little shit. I should have known. Actually, I suppose I did know, but I had to make sure. I live on hope.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not at all like Patrick.”

  He held his breath, trying to fathom this new development. “You know my brother?”

  “Every girl at Berkeley knew Patrick, or at least, knew about him. He’s infamous, which is a polite way of saying he’s scandalous, notorious, and villainous. Most of us fell in love with him because he seemed lost and fragile. We wanted to protect him.”

  “You sound like he broke your heart.”

  She dropped her eyes and stared at those three-inch scars above her wrists, which told him his barb had hit the bull’s-eye. Finally she said, “There are one or two men on the island I can introduce you to. I mean, the kind who’d love to get to know you.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need a pimp.”

  She laughed, and the embarrassment and sadness of the moment fled. They leaned toward each other and hugged.

  Chapter Forty-one

  JESSUP, PATRICK, and Vishal flew over the ocean the next morning, and every morning for the next two weeks. Each day the sea was massive and empty. The weather held—crisp clear days, cold nights. There were a few days of drizzle, but then the skies cleared and a warming wind came up from the south, bringing bright and steady sunlight.

  Each sunrise, the copter would be ready. Randall and the pilots would study the chart book. Then Jessup, Patrick, and Vishal would fly off to continue the search.

  They flew in massive sweeps, searching a panorama where sameness was the rule. Horizons folded into sky, and solitude bent back on itself. Everything was nothing. Perfect unity, oneness, mirroring the country’s religious beliefs in Zen.

  One night, Jessup suggested they bring in the Japanese government to help search.

  “No,” Landau said.

  “It’s been weeks, and we’re getting nowhere.”

  “No means no,” Landau said. “This must be kept secret.”

  Over dinner on a veranda overlooking the garden, Jessup brought it up again. Paper lanterns hung overhead, the moon overpowering their soft glow. Landau wouldn’t budge.

  Jessup cursed, crumpled up the napkin, and threw it onto his plate. “I’m sick of flying over an empty ocean, waiting for him to kill again. If this was his destination, he should be here. I mean shit! Talk about a slow boat to China.”

  “This is the job,” Landau said. “Months of preparation and it all comes down to a good hunch, a lucky break, and a few minutes of excitement if all goes well.”

  “Dad’s right,” Patrick said. “This sea search is a bust.”

  Randall lifted a cup of sake. “Same luck searching the monasteries. We’ve found a big fat nothing. They’re right, Sal. Maybe it’s time to rethink our strategy. This lunatic is probably right under our noses, but we’re too busy looking in the wrong places.”

  “Don’t call him a lunatic,” Landau said. “There’s a fine line between insane and inspired. Even if he is insane, it doesn’t mean he’s stupid. He’s been a jump ahead of us since the beginning. He knew each move we’d make before we did.”

  Randall downed his sake and refilled his cup. “Okay, Freud, you’re the expert. But that’s not the issue. What we’re discussing is how to attack this from a different angle?”

  “Right, the million-dollar question,” Jessup said.

  Landau nodded. “This man is no lunatic, unless all men are. He represents the strength, the resistance, the stumbling thinking of all men, and all the joy and suffering, too, canceling each other out, and yet remaining. He is a repository for a little piece of each person’s soul. What he’s discovered is monumental. I’d hate to think what I would have done in his shoes. I’m not sure any of us would have handled it any better.”