TURTLES

The road was a straight line, with rows of coffee growing on both sides, and dirt, dry and red, flickering behind the slats of the railing, as if inside of a spinning zoetrope. Gavin twisted the plastic bottle cap off of his water with his thumb and forefinger while steering with is other hand. He looked over at Marla and saw that she was dozing off. Her fine brown hair hung lightly against her cheek. Her head was turned away but he could see that her lashes were turned downward. As he took a sip from his bottle, a large roar tore the space above them. He wasn’t sure how far or close or how truly loud it really was. It  simply engulfed the entire road and rumbled along it, sudden, as if the sky was torn open and then resealed. It was as if the clouds had parted and a portal had opened and something fell out, exploding into existence, creating a hot crater into the metal and shattering the windshield. An explosion of white smoke and steam spew against the glass, little plumes of it shooting into the cabin. He hit the breaks and the car skidded and jerked, smoldering, onto the shoulder of the road.

A turtle had fallen from the sky, crushing the hood of his toyota, and was now bleeding into the tesselations of broken glass.

Ironically, they had been talking about the different things that had fallen from the sky in history. Jellyfish in New Jersey, 1833. Fish in Maryland 1828. Pastilles in California, 1857. Flesh in Kentucky 1876.

Recently, the sky had rained tadpoles in Japan. And now, the road leaving Haleiwa, 2009 after a short 3 day sleepover, a turtle. It’s legs shivered and drew inward toward it’s bloody chassis. It’s shell was halved. It’s head trembled. A tiny geyser of blood, as if shot from a water pistol, erupted once from it’s wrinkled neck and then the majestic, ruined creature expired.

Far off there was an empty parachute flitting downward and a plume of smoke bleeding darkness into the sky a few miles beyond. If a plane had crashed, it would explain everything, yet nothing.

They fell out of the car. Gavin, ran to the passenger side door, and helped Marla out. She had not screamed. She hadn’t made a sound.

••••

Gavin and Marla got married in the Summer of 2009. They decided to hold off on an the official honeymoon, but decided to take a week long staycation on the north shore of the island. It had been the norm on the weekends, to drive out along the coast to sample Kahuku sweet corn, or farmed shrimp from Giovanni’s. Sometimes, during the winter they drove out to Sunset beach to watch the big wave surfers ride waves as tall as three story houses - waves collapsing like the giant ice sheets in the Antarctic. In the spring they ventured out to the local markets and  learned about macrobiotic cuisine.

As the wedding approached, they had become too busy to enjoy their usual outings. Weekends were filled with planning as well as an overload of work, which they had taken as a blessing, given the economic downturn that had left many unemployed. He worked from home as project manager for translations for a small company in Honolulu, working on projects that ranged in medium from legal, to commercial to medical, he himself being fluent in Japanese, Spanish and Hawaiian. Occasionally, he translated entire books, magazine articles and essays into Japanese. He had met Marla on the job over a year ago, and worked with her on creating a series of multilingual eco-tourism brochures for the Nature Conservancy. Once, when she asked him why it was that he translated with a pen and note pad, instead of on a computer where the information would be stored anyway, he answered “because I like feeling as if my body is a conduit. I write because it’s a tactile and more expressive way to work. I can feel the words, each letter, line and shape, coming out of me through my hand. One language goes in, is transformed, and comes out right here through my fingertips.” They had dated for a year and a half, and he proposed on the evening of an annual Earth Day festival, where he presented her with a platinum white sapphire and watched it glint in the moonlight along with her eyes.

The wedding itself was entirely eco-friendly, and Marla kept a close eye on all of the details to ensure that the event’s carbon footprint remained the size of a small seagull’s. From the invitations which were made up of recycled paper and sustainable fibers; to the all natural center pieces; to the vegan, organic menu; to the dress itself, which was made of organic cotton, hemp and silk. All of the items on the registry consisted of green products from smaller local boutiques, and they received gifts ranging from sheets, towels and tablecloths woven with sustainable fibers, to organic herb sets, to organic wines and bath and spa products, all manufactured locally. The ceremony was held on the lawn of a friend’s home fronting the Maunalua Bay and the reception was held in the front yard under candlelight and tiki torches.

The home they rented out was fitted with solar panels and they replaced all of their bulbs with LED bulbs. And they continuously set aside portions of their paychecks for their next planned improvement, such as a set of solar attic fans, to keep their home cool during the oppressive summer doldrums, or a series of compost boxes for their food scraps.

What Gavin feared, was that he would be discovered. That despite all of his minute gestures toward the environment, being as eco-friendly as was possible without having to move into a commune as a philanthropist to the world, he questioned his altruism. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t care, really, and his newfound environmentalism was for Marla's benefit. At times, this made him feel hollow. And although he loved her dearly, for her kind hearted patience toward the world, her optimistic, intimate manner of working with people she coordinated and collaborated with in her own quietly heroic way, making their immediate world a better place for all, himself included, he was not sure he that could become the kind of person that she was. When no one was watching, he would find himself guilty of an absentmindedly crass gesture. He would toss scraps of paper out of his car window, or he would heave a  full trash bag full of recyclables down the trash chute. He enjoyed red meat, despite Marla’s insistence on a more humane diet, he found ways of supplementing her White bean and Kale soup with a midnight burger. He logged onto the Hummer website and drooled into the keyboard, wishing that one day they would own one of their own. Wishing thinking, of course. He was all for puncturing holes into Alaska and opening up previously restricted areas of the world for speculative oil drilling. In keeping up with world events he had the secret conviction that all threats to global stability and peace should simply be nuked and rid of. The entire country, if necessary, like one swollen, gone-to-seed, gangrenous limb. He was selfish. He knew it. He was petulant. At heart, he was crude. And he feared that given a chance to exact an act of politically incorrect crudeness, that he would obliviously take it up with aplomb. Maybe he would take up a secret hunting trip with some buddies. He would shoot game, skin and gut-roast it over an open flame. He was an animal. But did that make him as bad as that football player for Atlanta, who was arrested for ramping up a dog fighting ring? What if he found himself face to face with the last Iberian lynx, just him and the spotted cat on an open plain, no one else around, just the two of them, a bottle of whiskey and a trusty rifle? What would he do? Bang! He would need a taxidermist! He would stuff and mount the creature. Or he would wear it on his feet at night. Maybe he would sell it in an underground market and make hundreds of thousands! Or maybe he would bury it out of guilt. Yes. No! Was he that bad? Was he suppressing his own secret imperialistic view toward nature? He would imagine the heartbreak on Marla’s face, love draining from her eyes upon discovery, and feel smaller than ever. So Marla was his only saving grace, then. The only one who could change him. It made him feel false and weak, for not having the true wherewithal within to be able to take these self redefining measures; at having to observe another person’s goodness in order to create a template for his own.

Yet, at times, he felt himself growing cooler and cooler to her virtues. He would watch her in the morning, inserting little clips into her hair. “She can practically can that imagined halo over her head like a CFL bulb,” he would think to himself, and then regret it almost immediately. “What kind of person thinks that way?” he would ask himself reproachfully. Then he would ask “how can someone be this good? It’s not fair!” But how could he possible have any complaints in that arena? And so he reproached himself again and soldiered on. At the market he let Marla lead the cart, pulling only all natural and organic products. She avoided any foods that were owned by the monolithic Monsatto corporation for their unethical and immoral methods in the global marketplace. No junk food. No Processed food. Mostly local. And he nodded and went along while giving longing glances at the facade of glowing teri-style frozen hamburger patties enclosed in a penumbra of frost behind the freezer doors. “Do you know how they process these foods? The inhumane living conditions these animals are forced to live in?” She once told him when he suggested they try Bubbas Big Boy Burgers and realized that inserting his own items onto the grocery list was writing a list to Santa. And when he was given the opportunity to scout out a new product for himself, he felt like a confused puppy that had just fetched the wrong stick. She would always be more informed than he was, and there would always be some flaw with the goods he plucked off the shelves. Once, he returned to the cart carrying a 4 pack of vegetarian burgers. There couldn’t be anything wrong with these, he thought. Of course there was! She scrutinized the package, flipped it over, her lower jaw extended, molars grinding each other and said “This is chock full of GMO’s. We can’t eat this. I know it’s a non meat product and all, but it’s filled with genetically modified soy and altered corn. It still has ingredients derived from dairy and eggs that have been taken from poor animals bred in the most awful living conditions. I mean. Can’t we just go with the brand we normally go with?”

As the months passed on, they realized that both of their jobs offered up a slow period during the month of June. Although they had been planning a trip to Australia, they decided on leaving their little savings in tact, opting instead to use a certificate a three night stay at the Turtle Bay Hotel on the North Shore, an extravagant luxury that they would have never thought of had it not been given to them on the occasion of their wedding. It was the only gift not listed in the registry.

It was on that short stay in that lap of luxury that Marla had begun to grow detached from their surroundings. They were enjoying breakfast, sipping virgin bloody marys at the Palm Terrace, when Marla grew perturbed.

“Oh no,” she said. “I’ve completely forgotten about the donor list.”

“Donor list?” Asked Gavin.

“Cynthia must be going nuts. She must be pulling her hair out.”

“No big deal. They’ll sort it out.”

“No, you don’t understand. For me to have done it would have been a simple formatting measure. She'd have to start from scratch.”

“She’ll figure it out.”

“No, it’ll be a nightmare. Things are so fragmented and disorganized. It’ll look as if I’m not doing anything. As if, I’m a sloppy worker.”

"She'll live."

“She’ll be livid!”

“It’s not like they’ll fire you or anything. Relax. Look, if things were that bad, they would have called.”

“My phone is in the room...”

“Leave it. I’m sure they have things under control.”

“God. I can’t believe I just let that slip.”

“Mar, it’s okay.”

“Would you mind excusing me? I’ll be right back. I just need to go check my phone messages.”

Gavin drew back in his seat. He felt sullen. Angry. Marla’s plate of pineapples and strawberries remained untouched. She had made a fuss over their origins and the waitress assured her that they were grown locally and without any pesticides. Although they could not attest to the fruits being certified organic, they merely stated that the farm that they had come from had forgone the cost of such an evaluation, but they were indeed, all natural. This seemed to quell her anxiety, but she had not touched any of her food.

A soft breeze blew through the palms, lazy and rested and playful – free range wind, unfettered by the Byzantine structures of their world. The ocean was a teal color and the sky matched it wavelength for wavelength.

When Marla returned, she sat slowly and quietly. Remembering her food, she ate a chunk of pineapple. “There’s a protest in Iran over a rigged election,” she said, looking out at the vast blue cloud-smeared horizon. “There are people rioting in the streets. I saw it on my iphone.”

Gavin sighed. “Maybe we should go home.”

Marla stirred a small droplet of pineapple juice with the tine of her fork. She looked at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Everything okay at work?” Gavin asked. He rested his elbows on the table and tapped his fingers against his forearm.

“It’s fine. I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

The waitress came along and refilled their glasses with water. She was tall and thin with a small birthmark just under her left eye. “Is everything okay here? Can I get you two anything else?”

“No, we’re fine. Thank you,” said Marla.

They finished their meal and walked down to the beach. Gavin rubbed sunblock over Marla’s back and shoulders. There was a scar on her left deltoid that she had gotten when she was 30, learning how to surf with a friend who had left her alone. She drifted imperceptibly toward the reef and her board suddenly lodged itself over the rocks. Wave after wave, washed over her, pushing her over the rocks, into urchins, buried n pockets along the reefs tough, porous volcanic surface. She had never tried surfing since.

“Tell me,” Gavin said. “What’s bothering you?”

Marla leaned back on her elbows. She dug her feet into the sand and let her toes emerge. There was a group of kids building a fort out of a red pale, digging up bucketfuls and turning them over in a circle. Other couples lounged about, stumbling in and out of the water with goggles and snorkels wrapped tightly around their foreheads.

“You know. The earth is 70 percent water. All of us, just really occupying such a small space on a large planet. An unknowable ocean on all sides of us, really. With animals we may have yet to encounter. Vast. With depths difficult to fathom. There are little lakes that form on the bottom, like separate lakes because the water is so dense. I had always thought of it as a humbling entity. Violent, with storms and oceanic uprisings. It was there long before we came and will be there long after we’re gone, and it’s waves will wash over us, flood our coastal lands, take what it wants and erase our existence as time goes on. And, yet, there’s a garbage patch floating in the North Pacific. Miles and miles of it, larger than Hawaii. Maybe larger than all of California. A collection of debris, trapped and clustered together in the center of a circular current. A dump.”

Gavin nodded. “I read about that, too.” He surveyed he beach and saw a another child throw sand at his parents with a small yellow plastic shovel. Another shovel washed in gently with a wave and as sucked out again when the water receded. He could see it floating, obscured momentarily by the chum of loose sand when a little wave lifted itself as if to curtsey and then collapsed again.

“Someone had better claim that shovel before it becomes a part of that waterworld.”

Marla stood up immediately and walked to the water’s edge. She caught the shovel before it withdrew back into the break and walked over the child. “Is this your shovel?” she asked. “Better make sure to keep it safe. You don’t want to lose it do you?”

The boy took the shovel and threw it into his pale and ran off.

When she returned Gavin said “I didn’t mean you.”

She returned to her spot in the sand and continued. “Some animals are so charismatic they eclipse the extinction of other species. No one cares that certain unsightly species of slugs are disappearing from the earth. Nor frogs nor snails or any anthropoid deep in the boreal forest. Those lamentations are saved for the Pandas. The whales. The bees. Tigers. A lot of them are over hunted.”

“Every loss is felt, Mar, yet some cultures rely on these endangered animals for their livelihood. It would be easy for an outsider to frown upon the human impact on certain species, but when it’s a part of your culture and a part of your living, well, that’s another aspect of things...” Gavin realized that Marla’s condition may have always been one of quiet sadness. Of looking off, her focus dissolving into some distant tragedy. He tried to perk up. “The sun is out. We’re on a beautiful beach. We’ll snorkel and have a nice lunch. We’ll check out the market and take home everything we can carry and have a nice meal tomorrow night. And we’ll get back to doing our very best. No matter what happens.”

“Whales” Marla interrupted. “One might never even see a whale once in their entire lifetime. Yet they have these awe inspiring memories of them. They stare into a monitor and can picture touching the sides of this giant. One day people will be watching these whales on television, not realizing that they are gone from the world.”

“What’s really bothering you?” asked Gavin. “First it’s the food. Then the ocean, then the bees and now whales. We’ve been living in this same world for a while. We drove out here for crying out loud. Polluting the environment. Everything we do leaves a tangible trail. But what can anyone do? We do our best. Are you feeling a little guilty about all this? The sun-kissed, philanthropist in you? The environmentalist. The happy, honeymooner about to go snorkeling in the increasingly depleted sea?”

She fell silent.

“What are you so worried about? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I suppose, I just have these spells sometimes. That’s all,” she said and turned away.

The ocean continued its peaceful rhythm of breathing in and out, inhaling then exhaling itself onto the sand.

****

Eventually they went snorkeling. Once, the waters were bejeweled with fish of every color. There were parrot fish and angel fish — undersea butterflies. Colors were everywhere. Now, if clouds could descend and rain within the ocean, it would have looked like this, an underwater sahara. They were giant beings surveying a grave.

They swam, side by side, letting the ebb and flow of the water push their bodies closer then away from each other. The sandy bottom always appeared closer than it actually appeared, and when Marla reached for it, to caress it’s loose untouched grains with her fingers, the bottom proved farther than she could have imagined.

In the grey gloom, a few manini darted by. Nothing impressive. A stick fish swam under them and dissolved in the distance. Young puffer fish hovered like tiny zeppelin’s below them. And then a new shape appeared in the distance. It was a blur that wavered and then darkened. A few details filled in. One shape, then two.

Turtles.

••••

Gavin once told her a story about turtles. It was a fable he had been told as a child. It was the story of a tortoise and an eagle. He had been told many as a child. “These are the stories I would tell our kids, when we decide to have them, of course. No pressure!” he laughed. “But when we do, I have these memories of my dad telling me these stories. And they were good. Kind of sad. I always questioned them and he would have to explain to me why he told me those stories. Anyway. So, the story with the tortoise and the eagle starts off with them living peacefully in their own habitats. One in the lush vegetation of the land and the other high up in the clouds and treetops. Word had gotten around about what a kind and generous fellow this tortoise was, and the eagle had gotten tired of having to hunt and swoop down on prey, sometimes not getting anything at all. I mean, how embarrassing, right? So he paid a visit to the tortoise and befriended him. Being as kind and generous as always, the tortoise offered the eagle food and the eagle ate his fill and said goodbye. He would return time and time again, being fed and entertained... now I don’t know how a tortoise would entertain an eagle, maybe he would bob his head or something. Or tell really long jokes and took forever to reach the punchline. Who knows? But that became the pattern of their visits. Each time the eagle would return home laughing. He would soar high above the treetops and laugh about how the tortoise would never be able to visit him, being stuck on land. He would never have to host or feed the tortoise. Would never have to reciprocate anything. And so after each visit, the eagle would say goodbye and scream cha-hoo! as he flew home, having eaten all of the tortoise’s food and having never offered anything in return. Word of this got around with the other animals. It was a gossipy ecosystem, you see. There was this meddling frog. And he told the tortoise that he heard the eagle laughing as he flew away about how he was taking advantage of his generosity. He’s using you! said the frog. So unfair! This is what you do, said the frog, and offered the tortoise a plan. The next time the eagle visited, the tortoise fed him and asked that the eagle bring a gourd with him on his next visit. That way, the tortoise could provide him with some extras to take home to his nest. So the next time the eagle visited, he brought the gourd. I don’t have anything for you today, said the tortoise. Actually, I have to go foraging for more food. If you come back tomorrow, I’ll leave the gourd here with whatever I find. If I’m not here, I’m probably out looking for more things to eat. But there’ll be some food in the gourd. I promise, I’ll fill that first. So don’t wait for me, I move very slowly and you’ll be waiting forever. The eagle went home, and the next day, the gourd was there waiting for him. The eagle picked up the gourd and flew high into the treetops to his nest. When he set the gourd down, the tortoise crawled out. Surprise! he said. Whats up, bird! I wanted to surprise you with a visit, being a land dweller I knew there would be no way for me to visit you where you live. The eagle got very angry. Trick me, will you?! he yelled and began pecking at the tortoise but his beak couldn’t penetrate the hard shell. I’ll throw you over the edge. I’ll pick you up and fly high into the clouds and drop you. The tortoise bit down on the eagle’s skinny leg, and the eagle shook and shook but he couldn’t shake the tortoise’s grip. He then flew out of the nest and flew high about treetops but the tortoise hung on. Eventually the eagle grew tired of flying and set the tortoise down on the ground. You’re no longer welcome to my home, said the tortoise and the eagle never returned. Isn’t that such a sad story? Eagle didn’t even apologize!” Gavin said. “It’s a good story about friendship. Not sure why it stuck with me so much. And I think there’s another one like it about a turtle.”

In the water, Marla let Gavin swim away from her toward the turtles. They swam to avoid him and parted ways toward the deep. She had never seen two together before.

“The other story,” he had continued, “was about a turtle who wanted to fly. He was always complaining about having to be stuck on the earth. He wanted to know what it was like to soar above the land at a speed that was physically impossible for his body to achieve. So he enlisted the help of an eagle. Yes, another eagle. I’m not sure why they’re always being paired in these stories. The turtle asks the eagle to fly him up into the clouds and send him off into the wind. In return, he would give the eagle all the riches in the sea. “Hey! Eagle! I’ll give you everything int he ocean if you can make me fly!” "Got any wings?" asked the eagle. "No," answered the turtle. "Any feathers?" asked the eagle. "No," said the turtle. "So why would you want to do this? How are you going to fly?" The turtle answered, "I'm tired of being stuck on the ground. I can't see anything. I can't move fast enough to keep up with my curiosity. I just want to see the world!" So the eagle deliberates and agrees. "Okay. I'll do my very best. But you must remain very still." The eagle picked up the turtle, and lifts him high into the sky. “That’s it , Eagle! Now this is what I’m talkin’ about! Now, Eagle,’ said the tutle, ‘race along the clouds. Pick up some speed. So the eagle picks up speed, but because he is so focused on flapping his wings, he loses his grip. The turtle realizes that things aren’t going to work out for him after all. What business does he have in the sky anyhow? Such short sighted thinking! Before hitting the ground, the turtle thinks to himself, yes, this is an appropriate fate. Our ruin often comes from us attaining everything we want without thinking beyond that. And then he hits the ground. Now that, to me was a dark story. I didn’t get the point of it as a kid, but I think it’s an important fable. There are lot’s of turtle stories, aren’t there?”

In the water, Marla watched as these two turtles swam away. She floated face down, motionlessly and put her hands on her stomach. You may have to tell those bedtime stories sooner than you think, she thought to herself and smiled for the first time all day.

*****

Gavin’s  silhouette towered above the road. The blue lights of the police cars twirled and swathed his sides. The police men were gawking at the shattered animal on the hood of the car. Gavin held his hands up to shade his eyes, as if peering through a pair of invisible binoculars. The sun was setting and the sky above was streaked with stratus clouds, looking like the ocean’s waves from beneath the surface of the water, as if the entire world was now submerged, and he was standing there, suddenly able to breathe water into his lungs, looking at the surface.

He searched the skies for any clues or signs. He looked back at his car and at the carcass on the hood. He was crying. He looked back up. “How did this happen?”

An ambulance pulled up. This shook Gavin out of his stupor and he immediately ran over to Marla, who was sitting on a small rock. He knelt to her.  “Are you alright, let’s get you to the ambulance so we can get you checked out,” he said, sniffling.

“I’m okay, she said. No harm physically. Just rattled.”

Gavin stood again and looked up at the clouds. He surveyed the horizon. There was a plume of dark smoke at the base of a mountain. The policeman was on the radio.

“What the hell just happened?” Then Gavin screamed. “A god dammed turtle drops from the sky!” He was breathing hard. He dragged his fist across his eyes. "What kind of world are we living in here?"

Marla stood up and went to him. She held him. She wiped away his tears and felt surprisingly calm. Perhaps the shock had not worn off. “Hey, “she said and put her hands on his cheeks and held him there. “We’re okay,” she said. “We’re safe.” She took his hand gently and placed it flatly on her stomach. “That’s the important thing. You and I are safe.” Gavin looked at her and then at his hand on the soft pouch of her stomach and understood immediately. Her strange mood. Her uncertainty. His confused anger subsided. His features softened again. “All we can do,” Marla said repeating his sentiment from earlier, “is to try our best, no matter what happens. Right?”