The Stench of Honolulu: A Tropical Adventure Read online

  The Sights

  THERE WERE basically two bars in Honolulu. One was called Pops’. Coincidentally, it was owned by a guy named Pops. He was a big, friendly, ruddy-faced fellow, always ready with a joke and a hearty laugh. Which was why I got out of there right away. I went to the other bar, called Shut Up.

  I had a couple of Drowsy Lifeguards, which is the local cocktail. I struck up a conversation with an old one-eyed man. I told him I noticed that he only had one eye. “You’re very observant,” he said. His other eye had been clawed out by that hawk that lives in Central Park in New York. “Oh, but everyone loves that hawk,” he said bitterly.

  He gave me a warning. He said we would never reach the Golden Monkey. In fact, we would not even get out of town. In fact, I wouldn’t even get out of the bar. That was when I saw he had taped my wrist to my chair. In alarm I started swinging it around, knocking over bowls of dried geckos. The bartender threw me out. When I looked back, the one-eyed man was inviting someone else to sit with him, and getting his tape ready.

  I made my way through the foul, steaming backstreets of Honolulu, dodging fistfights and buckets of slop thrown from windows. A boy carrying a wooden box called out, “Blacken your teeth, mister?”

  I passed the Golden Cow Stink Bomb Factory, with its famous logo of a cow chasing a Chinese man.

  I noticed I was being followed. It turned out to be someone from the hotel. I thought that was nice. Wherever Don and I went, Bizzy sent someone to follow us.

  The brochures all said to go to the Honolulu Museum, and I don’t like to disobey brochures. One exhibit explained how stench rot, over time, can corrode the strongest of wood. And even your bones. Another exhibit had an interactive display that showed what you’d look like with the plague. It was pretty funny.

  My favorite exhibit told how Hawaii was formed. Millions of years ago, under a soft blanket of warm blue ocean, two rock formations, lying side by side, began pushing and grinding against each other. Slowly at first, then harder and harder. The pushing and thrusting and grinding produced enormous quantities of heat and lava. Finally, when it seemed like the two formations could not take it any longer, the lighter one slid on top of the heavier one, and rode on top.

  After the museum, I went to the so-called “beach,” where you can hire a boat to take you out and harpoon a whale. Then the whale pulls you around while you hold on to a parachute. They said the harpoon doesn’t actually hurt the whale.

  Some surfers were surfing in the murky, bad-smelling water. Most of them had severe skin lesions.

  For me, the best part of Honolulu was Appliance Town. You can walk on a boardwalk that’s built on top of all the old appliances that people have dumped. Fruit stands sold pieces of what they called “pineapple.” It tasted so strange and foreign. I wish I could describe it to you.

  I tried my luck at the Dynamite Throw, where you can throw lighted sticks of dynamite at cars that have washed ashore. My aim was off because of the sticky pineapple juice on my hands. I sent some people running.

  I asked if they had any hand grenades to throw. They said grenades weren’t allowed. I guess the explosives laws in Hawaii are pretty strict.

  The Souvenir

  I WANDERED down a crooked back alley and came to a souvenir shop. I don’t think I would have even noticed it except for a big neon sign that said, Souvenirs! Curios!

  The shop had the usual tourist junk. But something caught my eye. I had never seen anything so exquisite. It was a little statue of a native girl with her arms held out. It was locked in a display case. I jimmied the lock with a paper clip and took it out.

  “Be careful with that!” said the nervous shop owner, rushing over and grabbing it.

  “Is it glass?” I said.

  “No, something very rare.”

  “Rarer than glass?” I said.

  “It’s made out of stenchite, the solid form of stench. It is the pure, crystalline essence of stench.” He said it was thousands of times more powerful than regular stench. Boy, how many times have you heard that?

  Through some sort of complex mechanism I still don’t understand, the statue did a dance called the “hula” when you tapped her. She was hypnotizing, and not in a way that makes you quit smoking. I had to have her.

  “You have good taste,” said the owner. But when I saw the price, I was stunned. “Is that paleekas or pipsqueakas?” I said, not really knowing what I meant. He said it was paleekas. I gritted my teeth and said okay. “What?” he said. I ungritted my teeth and said okay.

  While he wrapped the hula girl in bubble wrap, I noticed something else: a wooden back scratcher! I had to have it! Instead of the hula girl!

  “No, I think you should stick with the hula girl,” he said.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  As he handed me the hula girl he told me that I must never ever let the hula girl touch something—I can’t remember what it was—or it would set off a devastating chain reaction of utter destruction. Something like that.

  I shrugged and turned to leave. He stopped me. “I don’t think you’re listening to me,” he said. “DO NOT LET THE HULA GIRL TOUCH [whatever it was]. IT WILL CAUSE A CATASTROPHE.”

  I nodded and set off down the alley. The souvenir man called after me from his doorway. Something about wood.

  Angry Don

  ON MY way back, I made some other stops. When I finally got to the hotel, Don was waiting. He had a frowning look of disapproval that I call “Don Maximus.”

  He started asking me all sorts of questions about the supplies. What kind did I get? How much did they cost? On and on.

  Finally I had to confess I got mixed up and spent most of the money on prostitutes. He was furious. He said it was like I had robbed him.

  “Maybe,” I said, “but the prostitutes robbed me.”

  I started to tell him about the little stenchite hula girl, but then I thought, in the mood he’s in, he probably wouldn’t even like that.

  Before he stormed off, Don told me to meet him at the wharf on Friday or he would head upriver without me. Oh, great, now I’m supposed to know what day of the week it is.

  Don was really starting to make me mad. But I decided to channel my anger. And by channeling, I mean combining it with drinking.

  The delivery boy arrived at my room with the case of scotch and some Hawaiian cigarettes. Scotch and cigarettes are “supplies,” aren’t they?

  At least it was good scotch. Usually I can’t afford Glenriddance, or even the cheaper version, Glencockie. But when you’re spending paleekas, it’s like it’s not even real money.

  I sucked on a Manatee and blew a couple of smoke rings across the room. I poured myself a large scotch. Maybe I wouldn’t go upriver after all. Maybe Honolulu wasn’t so bad.

  There was a knock at the door. It was the prostitute I had ordered, the one with epilepsy. (She was cheaper.) By then I had decided: I didn’t need a solid-gold monkey. I had something more important: my integrity.

  Reality

  THE NEXT morning things were looking shaky. And I don’t just mean the prostitute. I was broke.

  I thought about going on welfare, but I was too proud for that. So instead I became a street beggar. But good luck trying to compete with lepers and amputees, let alone starving orphans.

  As I got more desperate, I even considered wiring the Pingle brothers for another loan, but the transpacific cable was down again. It’s always getting chewed on by sea beavers.

  There’s no denying reality. I did once, and I wound up running across a field with my pants on fire, with an old man with a shotgun running after me.

  And the awful reality was, I needed a job.

  I got hired right away herding crabs down on the “beach.” (The signs always put quotes around beach; I think it’s a legal thing.) Crab herding is a lot harder than it looks. You think that if a crab wanders off, and you go to get him, the other crabs will just stay put. Man, think again. Every night I came back to the hotel tired and “crabby
,” as they say in the business.

  I got fired. I blame my supervisor, Oswaldo. Instead of teaching me good crab-herding skills, he was usually off watching two crabs fight to the death for his pleasure. Somehow it amused his twisted mind. I vowed that one day Oswaldo would be fighting to the death for my pleasure.

  Don didn’t leave on Friday. Bizzy kept talking him into getting more and more supplies. Don had supplies coming out the pachooga.

  Don and I avoided each other. One time we were passing each other in the hotel hallway. We didn’t say a word, but as Don went by, I grabbed the treasure map from his back pocket. “Half of this is mine!” I said. I tried to tear it in half, but those old maps are really strong. Finally I was able to tear off part of it.

  Eating Crow

  I APPLIED for some other jobs, if the form wasn’t too long and I could get the pen chain untangled. But wherever I went they always asked the same question: “Do you have any crab-herding experience?” Try explaining to someone that you were fired from crab herding but it wasn’t your fault. Besides, I’m not applying for a crab-herding job! Can’t you get that through your head?!

  I sank lower and lower. One night I took a powerful Hawaiian drug called paloomba. The next morning I found myself lying in a backyard with a big-armed woman yelling at me. Hey, quit yelling! I’m high on drugs, I’m not deaf!

  I hit bottom. As much as I hated to, I decided to eat crow. But crows are a lot harder to catch than you think. Hungry and depressed, I wandered along the shimmering waters of the Bay of Diarroa, where children were playing with sailboats.

  As I dragged myself back to the hotel, I passed the statue of Sir Edmund Honolulu. A bum with a blowtorch was cutting on it. “Hey, buddy, wanna buy a metal arm?” he said. Sure I would, but with what?

  I had dreams once. Once I wanted to build the world’s longest suspension bridge. But then I found out someone else had already done it.

  Once I dreamed of becoming an astronaut, but they told me I needed some “training.” Oh, well, let’s all go get some “training.” What a perfect world that would be.

  Once I dreamed of putting an end to all fighting—except between women, for entertainment purposes.

  I’ve always wanted to be an inventor. But the “powers that be” have decided the world doesn’t need things like the cardboard canoe, for when you only feel like canoeing for an hour or so and you’re too lazy to drag your canoe out of the water.

  For a while I wanted to become a naturalist, until I found out it wasn’t what I thought. They wear clothes.

  I had dreams of starting a big family. Every night the children would gather in the parlor and play their musical instruments. Then I would announce who was the best and who was the worst.

  I even imagined building a gigantic robot that would conquer the world. And so people wouldn’t be mad, I would make the robot solar-powered.

  One by one my dreams had been dashed against the wall like helpless coconuts.

  No Way Out

  I KNEW what I had to do. It was all so clear. There was no other way. My whole life had been leading up to it. I left a note for Don, telling him I would probably never see him again.

  I went to the top floor of the tallest building in Honolulu. A balcony ran the length of it. I paced back and forth, trying to get up the courage to open the door. The sign on the door said, Recruiting Office—Hawaiian Army.

  I looked down at the street four stories below. I grew wobbly from the height and grabbed on to the railing. I swung my knee up onto it, to steady myself.

  “Don’t do it!” cried Don, suddenly behind me. He approached me warily. “This is not the answer. Don’t throw your life away.”

  “I’ve thought it over, and this is the best solution.”

  “Life is too precious for this.”

  “But what about the benefits?”

  “What benefits?” said Don.

  “No more worries about food or shelter or any of that.”

  “Yes, but is it worth it?” He looked over the side. “You might get lucky and die. But what if you don’t? Think of all the terror and pain and suffering.”

  Wow, was the Hawaiian Army really that bad?

  Don was right next to me. He pulled out the treasure map and opened it. “This map is no good like this,” he said. “It’s missing a vital piece.” He looked me in the eye.

  I pulled out my little corner of the map. I took out my Mini Swingline Pocket Stapler, which I always carry, and carefully removed it from its holster. With about twenty-five fast, fist-pounding staples, I connected the two pieces. The map was together once again.

  A New World

  THE WORLD looks different after you’ve narrowly avoided joining the Hawaiian Army. Colors seem brighter. Every breath seems like a gift, and every cigarette a treasure.

  There was a spring in my step, so much so that people told me to stop doing it.

  My mind was expanding. Or maybe my brain was expanding. Something was expanding.

  The sunshine seemed warmer, the breeze cooler, and my pants seemed to fit better.

  I felt generosity toward all mankind. I gave my stapler to a leper.

  I noticed things I had never noticed before, like the dew on the spiderweb and the blood on the giant spiderweb.

  I was aware, for the first time, of all the meth pipes in the skunkweed and all the used condoms on the sidewalk.

  The town stench seemed more complex than I remembered, and the ravings of the street lunatics much more subtle.

  “Feeling better?” said Don. I put up my hand for him to hold that thought, as I was busy noticing things.

  You?!

  BY THE time we got back to the hotel I wasn’t noticing things so much, which was a relief. I borrowed fifty paleekas from Don and set off down the street.

  I had just turned a corner when I saw a dreadful sight. It was Uncle Lou, with his dog, Screwball! My sore tooth began to throb. I ducked down behind a pickle barrel, and peeked out. A thug stopped Uncle Lou, brandishing a knife. Uncle Lou knocked him out with one punch. A pimp approached him with a young girl. Uncle Lou knocked him out and the girl ran off. A juggler approached and was quickly knocked out.

  What was Uncle Lou doing here? Did he finally get that Tomlin transplant he was always talking about? I had a bad feeling about this.

  He pulled out some little electronic gizmo, looked at it, and started toward me. I was trapped. I looked around for a place to hide. I decided to climb inside the pickle barrel. But I would need something to breathe through. Anything! I spotted a snorkel tube and diving mask lying nearby. I started to put on the flippers, too, but there was no time. I lowered myself into the brine. Somehow I was able to breathe through the snorkel. “He’s around here somewhere,” I heard Uncle Lou say. I looked up to see him through the floating pickles. He picked one up and bit into it. Screwball was scratching on the side of the barrel. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, jerking the dog away. I heard his big boots tromp off.

  I fell asleep. There’s something about breathing through a snorkel, suspended in pickle brine, that really makes you sleepy. I woke up when the shop owner tipped me over and poured me out.

  I didn’t tell Don about seeing Uncle Lou. He’d get upset. Don’s tender. But I told him we should head upriver right away, and he agreed. We would leave early the next day. Seeing Uncle Lou had been a wake-up call.

  A Rocky Start

  I OVERSLEPT the next morning. I crammed some clothes and packs of cigarettes around the scotch bottles to prevent breakage, and started waddling as fast as I could to the wharf. Don was on the boat, motioning for me to come on, then motioning at his watch. Don’s always motioning about something.

  As I climbed aboard, Don seemed surprised by my case of scotch. People are always surprised when you plan ahead.

  We weighed anchor, cast off, and did some other nautical things. I want to say “screwed the pony,” but that’s not right.

  Bizzy was standing on the bank, watching us go
by. I waved, but he didn’t wave back. I guess waving is an American thing. For a second it looked like he was going to wave, but he was just scratching his whiskers. Then he spit to the side. That’s sort of a wave, isn’t it? I wondered what Bizzy was like as a child. I bet he was cute.

  Don introduced me to the crew. First, there was Frenchy, the wily old veteran. He knew the river like the back of his hand.

  Then there was Peleke. He was young, brash, and cocky. But if you were in a tough situation, he’s who you wanted by your side.

  Pip was always making us laugh. But there seemed to be something a little sad about him.

  Next there were the twins, Greg and Greg Jr. Or maybe they were father and son, I’m not sure. But you could count on them to keep the engine running smoothly.

  Finally, there was Chicken Skin. I don’t remember much about him.

  We headed upriver, into the vast, untamed vastness of Hawaii. Gradually, the smell of Honolulu faded and was replaced by the smell of the crew. At last, we were on our way.

  We hadn’t gone far when something happened that I took as an ill omen: we were attacked by a huge swarm of bats.

  The bats flapped about our heads, scratching and biting us without mercy. They were like a tornado, only not a regular tornado—a tornado of bats. We tried to slap them away, but they were relentless. What were bats doing out in the daytime? That’s when I noticed the solar eclipse, which didn’t seem like a good sign, either.

  When the sun finally came back, the bats went away, but then we were attacked by pelicans. Their beaks jabbed and poked us as we scurried for cover. I jumped over the side, but even underwater the pelicans dove on me. I was like a defenseless little baitfish.