Page 1 of Tiki Beach
1
I wouldn’t normally spend a Friday evening at a Japanese tea ceremony; I, Kat Smith, former Secret Service and current Postal Service, was tired.
I’d already spent the day manning the counter of Ohia’s busy post office—but Pearl Yamamoto’s invitation, printed on formal card stock no less, carried the weight of a summons.
The Red Hat Society ladies didn’t make casual requests, least of all Pearl.
Upon arriving at Pearl’s beachfront house in Ohia, each of us Red Hatters, including Josie, Edith, Clara, Opal, Rita, myself, Aunt Fae, and Ilima, had been issued a delicately patterned cotton kimono to wear and a zabuton cushion to sit on. The normally boisterous group was subdued by the formality of the occasion as we filed out onto the deck.
Tiki, my formerly feral, one-eared tortoiseshell cat, had also been invited—she was a favorite of Pearl’s, and she sat beside me on her very own little pillow. I never would have believed my ornery feline could act like such a lady.
And then, Tiki extended a leg and leaned down to lick her privates.
The rhythmic shushing of waves on coral sand below Pearl’s deck provided a backdrop to the clink of delicate porcelain as Pearl arranged the tea bowls at the low round table where the other Red Hat ladies and I sat on her beachfront lanai. Kawika, her burly young aide, placed a bell beside her place should she need something, before gliding back into the house.
Late afternoon gilded the surface of the ocean beyond us and a warm breeze carried the scent of Pearl’s prize gardenias, growing in a large ceramic pot nearby. I shifted on my cushion, the kimono clinging to my skin in the humid air, finally beginning to relax in the beautiful setting.
But then my stomach gave a loud growl. Tiki interrupted her intimate personal grooming to glare at me and hiss a challenge.
“Okay, Pearl, lay it on us.” Outspoken Edith tugged at the sash around her plump waist. “You’re darn lucky I can still sit on this pillow without a back support. The tea better be good after all this folderol.”
“Hear, hear,” agreed Opal. She’d attached one of her trademark crystal frog pins to her kimono; I winced as a sunbeam reflected off of it and hit me in the eye with all the potency of a laser.
“Patience, ladies.” Pearl’s tiny form, elaborately gowned and made up, was propped to sit with us in a detachable section of her electric wheelchair. The elderly Japanese woman’s signature red hat featured a live bonsai orchid that bobbed as she moved, casting dancing shadows on the weathered teak floor of the deck.
“Watch how I fold the fukusa.” Pearl’s commanding voice cut through my distraction. Beneath the arching orchids of her headdress, Pearl’s eyes held a sharpness that belied her age. “Every motion has meaning. Josie will interpret as I go.”
All of us watched the precise gestures Pearl made with a colored silk napkin, and Josie’s brown eyes sparkled as she translated the cultural nuances. “The folding of the square represents the four elements: earth, air, fire, and water. Each fold connects earth and sky, like the way we honor both mauka and makai in Hawaiian tradition.”
Pearl then purified the tea utensils by wiping them down using the fukusa. She then added hot water from the iron pot into the tea bowl to warm it up. Her arthritic fingers moved with surprising dexterity as she soaked each side of her bamboo whisk by gently moving it through the water in the bowl. She then discarded the water into a waste water bowl and dried the bowl with a cloth. Then she added two large scoops of matcha into the bowl and added hot water. The morning glory pattern on her vintage kimono rippled as she demonstrated, each sleeve carefully tied back with a cord. “This bowl belonged to my grandmother’s grandmother. It bears the marks of loving repair—kintsugi.”
“Kintsugi is an art form practiced in Japanese culture,” Josie said. “Making cracked things beautiful through the application of lacquer dusted with powdered gold in the broken places.”
“Very important to understand both cultures, yeah?” Pearl nodded to us as she whisked ceremonial matcha, the green tea bubbling like seafoam. “Japanese tea ceremony, Hawaiian protocols—they’re all about respect. Mindfulness.” She paused, her weathered hands steady as she poured, then handed the first bowl to me. Our eyes met. “Sometimes, the old ways show us things the new ways miss.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the banana leaves screening the lanai’s sides, sending chicken skin racing up my arms as she poured and passed out the rest of the tea. Tiki’s fur bristled, and she came to press against my thigh. The cat’s amber eyes fixed on something in the deepening shadows beyond the circle of women. Was somebody out there watching us?
After we’d all dutifully sipped our tea, Pearl rang her bell. Kawika reappeared, carrying a large tray of fancy tea cakes, cookies, and pastries. “Now that’s more like it,” Edith said, filling her delicate plate with goodies as Kawika held the tray for each woman to help themselves. “I was feeling peckish.”
“Mmm,” I agreed as I bit into a cream-filled eclair that burst in my mouth with sinfully luscious vanilla goo. “Delish!”
Once we were all served, Kawika set a fluted glass sundae dish filled with wet kitty food in front of Tiki—and she hopped back onto her cushion to partake of her treat with the rest of us.
Once we’d eaten, Kawika removed the extra dishes.
“Let’s get to the main event,” Pearl told him imperiously. “The real reason we’re here.”
Edith, who was an attorney, put on a pair of readers. She adjusted her witch-style Red Hat. “Do you have to be so theatrical, Pearl?”
“Heck yes.” Pearl clapped her hands. “How often does a woman get to reveal her legacy to her closest friends? Kawika, bring out the blueprints.”
I still had a few cookies and pastries to go and wasn’t about to skimp on the good stuff. I rolled the goodies into one of Pearl’s silk napkins and stuffed the whole caboodle into my bra, handily concealing my snacks under the loose-fitting folds of the kimono. After all, talk of “legacy” and “blueprints” with a bunch of old ladies was liable to require further sustenance.
Tiki finished her food and climbed into my lap. The twenty-pound cat spread herself over my thighs like a hot furry rug with teeth. I knew better than to argue with her space invasion. We both knew who was boss, and it wasn’t me.
“Here, you see?” Pearl’s crimson-painted nail traced the outlines of the blueprints Kawika helped her spread out over the table, placing a teacup on each corner to hold it down. “This’s my property. I plan to leave it to the towns of Ohia and Hana as a cultural park and event venue. A traditional Japanese tea garden created around native Hawaiian plantings.” The tiny yellow orchids on her headdress trembled as Pearl leaned forward, a crimson nail pointing to the key on the side of the plans that listed all the types of vegetation being used. “Endemic Hawaiian plants will create a sense of peace and preservation for all who visit.”
Everyone leaned forward to study the plans, noting the careful integration of existing features like the beachfront house. From one end of the property, a natural spring (currently a ditch) fed into a series of pools. Ancient rock walls webbed through the property like veins, each carefully planted and artistically framed. Arched decorative bridges rose above the meandering stream. Raked sand areas were dotted with art and repose benches marked places to pause and enjoy.
