The Maui Effect (Man-Made Trilogy #1)

Brah

Dane

Dane flew back to the mainland feeling as though someone had poured cement in his stomach for breakfast. Normally, when he left Hawai’i his tanks were full and he couldn’t wait to return. He had even gone as far as secretly looking for houses. Not that he could afford much on Maui, but he had found a few old plantation fixer-uppers with potential. New roof, new siding, new red and white paint, and he and ‘Iwa could have their own slice of jungle. That dream had just gone out the airplane window.

Even though chances had been slim, he’d still been holding tight to the notion that he might convince ‘Iwa to forgive him. What he hadn’t counted on was the old guy, Uncle Tutu—the man who spoke to him on the cliff the morning of his Pe’ahi win. When Dane first saw him sitting next to ‘Iwa playing music, he had done a double take. The man could play, even upstaging ‘Iwa. Then all of a sudden he locked eyes with Dane and made his way over.

“You’re the one,” he said.

Dane glanced around, making sure the guy was talking to him. There was no one else around, so he reached out his hand. “I’m Dane Parsons, and you are...”

The man shook it, firmly. “Tutu Bertlemann.”

He thought the man was going to tell him to beat it, to leave ‘Iwa alone, but instead, he said, “I known dis girl since she was in her mama’s belly. Nevah you mind what comes out of her mout.” He crossed his fingers in front of Dane’s face. “You two li’ dis.”

Each syllable formed its own word. Was he some kind of soothsayer, or just an old man who got off making cryptic predictions about other people’s lives?

“No offense, Mr. Bertlemann, but the last thing you told me never came to pass. On the cliff—”

“I remembah. Nothing is ever set in rock, boy. A subtle shift in your wind sends the canoe in a whole new direction. A puff of breath here, a hurricane there.”

Dane closed his eyes and imagined the forces working behind the scenes in his life. A swish of a fish tail. Just the right swell direction traveling across the Pacific. A flutter of bird wings high on the mountain. Or the voice of a beautiful woman.

“So if I read you right, you’re saying not to give up on her.”

A nod.

“I’m here. But I won’t force anything,” Dane said.

“No one said to force. Just trust.”

“I tried.”

“The work is done. Stop doing.”

Isla growled at Tutu, who touched Dane on the shoulder, smacked his lips, then walked off. A weird encounter that left him more confused than anything. Dane had never been good at sitting back and waiting for things to happen. Maybe that was the lesson here.

Back in Santa Cruz, he took on another small carpentry job, sketched out a few table and rocking chair ideas, and kept training. But he felt flat and unenthused. The tides and the waves came and went, and he watched them with a previously unknown detachment. There were two things that consumed him: ‘Iwa and returning to Nazaré. ‘Iwa was out of the question, despite what old man Tutu had said, but taming Nazaré might be a way out of this melancholy funk. He had glimpsed its possibility, but he wanted to ride it at its full potential. He wanted that XXL that he knew Nazaré could deliver, especially since Pe’ahi had been quiet.

In late January, Dane got a call from Yeti one night. He was still up, in bed reading the waterfall poem for the nine hundredth time. It had become his bedtime story, which was probably not healthy, but there was no one there to stop him.

“It’s happening. Get your gear together. I’m booking us flights for Tuesday,” Yeti said.

Dane didn’t even have to ask where. When they hung up, he checked the forecast. Wave models were showing deep red and purple in the North Atlantic. The seeds of excitement began to stir, accompanied by a heavy pit in his stomach. He knew if he didn’t do this now, there was a good chance he never would.

The town of Nazaré had not changed. Unhurried, layered in sea mist and nestled in the calm between the storm. Skies were gray and colder than last time, and Dane, Kama and Yeti huddled together at Cafe O Mar sipping espressos and eating pastries that turned their beards white with powdered sugar. Kama had tried to grow a beard, too, but he didn’t have enough hair.

“Don’t worry about it, women will like you better without it,” Yeti said.

“As if this guy has anything to worry about,” Dane said.

They had come to Nazaré early enough to give them more down time, and more time to acclimate and prepare for the swell. They spent mornings running the beach, watching the tides, and getting a sense of currents and wind patterns. Dane was quickly becoming addicted to meia de leite and ham and cheese sandes , similar to lattes and American sandwiches, but with a European personality. Portuguese bread was double thick, a meal in itself.

In the last month, he had been practicing standing on one leg with his eyes closed, and his balance had returned to baseline. All systems were go. Being here and settling into the rhythm of the place made it seem less daunting than last time. It felt strange not to have Hope with them, but her younger sister was getting married, and this one she couldn’t miss.

A few other surfers had flown into Nazaré this time, invited by Garrett, and lured by the promise of mammoth surf and killer photos. It was only a matter of time before winter Nazaré was crawling with surfers and photographers and throngs of spectators. Dane had seen it happen in Hawai’i, in Bali, in California. Crowds, gridlock traffic, everyone trying to make a buck. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. His mom had been right about that all those years ago. The commercialization of surfing—of everything, really—was taking down the planet.

Yet here he was. In the thick of it.

The cause.

And all for what?

On the night before the big swell, wind whistled down the street. Nearby, a flag or maybe someone’s laundry flapped loudly. Dane and Kama lay in twin beds six feet apart in the tiny hotel room, lights out. Dane was second-guessing throwing away the postcard he had almost mailed off to ‘Iwa earlier in the day. The photo of a golden plover, just like the ones on Maui, had caught his eye, and he’d felt a strange compulsion to buy it. He wrote the first thing that came to his mind.

Thinking about you.

Miss you.

Love you.

D

Then he scribbled over it and threw it in the trash.

“Are you tired?” Kama asked from across the way.

“No. Are you?”

“Not one bit.”

Kama’s bed squeaked, like he was rolling over. “I can’t stop thinking about paddling in, instead of towing, what about you?” he said.

“It’s crossed my mind, but it would take just the right swell. And I don’t think this one is it.”

Nor am I ready.

“Maybe not, but I can almost taste it—just us and the ocean, no engines, no boats, no riffraff. Seems like it would be the ultimate ride.”

Dane stared up at the ceiling, lit from a streetlight outside. “It would be, if we could pull it off.”

“I think we could,” Kama said.

They had only brought their tow boards. “We’d need different boards,” Dane said.

“Our longest, thickest guns.”

The thought caused a thump under his rib cage. “Let’s do it. Before the end of April, if there’s another swell, in time for the XXL. I’m in.”

Stating the words aloud felt like making a pact with the universe. A threat and a promise. In the distance, he could hear the sound of ocean on the beach. A light wash that by tomorrow would be shaking houses miles inland.

“What were you thinking about, a little while ago? I could hear the machinery grinding in your head,” Kama asked.

“Oh, you know. The usual stuff. Living and dying. Wondering if I can hack it. Wondering if I still have it in me to do this,” he said.

“You do.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you and I are cut from the same cloth,” Kama said.

“I just want that feeling back, you know? The freedom, the energy, the buzz. I want to be hungry for it and one hundred percent in. Right now, the doubt is sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear.”

“I think if you went through what you did and had no doubt, that would be something to worry about. Doubt was built into us for a reason. Any of the waves we ride out there could easily kill us.” He paused. “But...they also keep us alive.”

They lay quiet for a while, listening to the flapping flag and the whine of a scooter driving down the narrow street.

“Is it worth the risk?” Dane asked.

“Totally.”

He heard the smile in Kama’s voice, and he felt so much less alone. “I’m counting on tomorrow to be my initiation back into the club.”

“, you never left the club.”

Dane felt a swarm of warmth for his buddy. “Love you, brah,” he said, quietly.

The words surprised him, but he did love Kama. Like a brother.

“, right back at ya.”

“Try to get some sleep. We’re gonna need it,” Dane said.

“Roger that.”

The morning chill cut to the bone. They were wearing five mm wetsuits and still, Dane could feel the cold burrowing in behind his knees, deep in his ears, along his spine. Remarkably, there were no clouds, and ropes of waves pumped in. Bordering on huge, but not huge yet. He and Kama were partnered up, and Yeti was towing with a young local guy named Leandro. Leandro ripped, and he knew the spot. Allegedly, in the past year, he had ridden Nazaré on every rideable day.

“Expect a pulse at nine o’clock,” he told them.

Dane looked at his watch. Seven fifty-six. They decided Kama would surf first and then they would switch. They had come without their own photographers this time. Dane didn’t want the added pressure, and Yeti and Kama had been fine with that. But there were other skis in the water, and a fishing boat full of telephoto lenses floated in the channel.

Dane had chicken skin the whole way out, and not from the cold. He had dreamed of this for almost a year, and now that he was actually here, a strange pressure was building inside of him.

You are made of salt water.

The ocean runs in your veins.

The ocean is you.

Words from his mother. Words to live by, but easier said than done. A set appeared in the distance and he felt guilty for being relieved that Kama was going first.

“Cheehoo! Outside! You ready?” Dane yelled, putting on a good face, when inside he was scared as hell.

“Now or never.”

Yeti and Leandro were deeper, and they watched Leandro pull Yeti into a tall lump of green, leaving a trail of white in his wake. Dane pulled Kama into the second wave of the set, and Kama slid high and then swooped down with a wide arcing turn, barely outrunning the lip. When he kicked out, Dane plucked him out fast as he could. They did the same dance a few times, Kama soldiering on, fluid and effortless. Stoked.

When they were outside again, Kama paddled over to the ski. “Ready to switch?”

Dane felt queasy and unable to get a full breath. “Not yet.”

He wanted to explain, but Kama must have read the look in his eyes. “Gotcha. I’ll keep going. You tell me when you want to switch.”

If , not when , he should have said.

“Will do.”

Just a little more time to get used to being out here. That’s what he told himself. Another wave or two, and his jitters would be gone and he would do what everyone else seemed to be so effortlessly doing.

But at nine on the nose, the pulse showed up in the form of the whole ocean rising up on the horizon. All the skis sped out to meet it. Dane’s first thought was no effing way , but as the wave moved closer, he could see its perfection.

“This one has my name all over it,” Kama said.

“You sure?”

Kama was already in the water. “Hit it! I’m going right.”

Without hesitation, Dane pulled Kama along the feathering top, gunning it to gain enough speed. There had been a few rights earlier, but no one had ridden them. He was surprised at Kama’s choice, but went with it. The line went slack as Kama let go and dropped in. As the driver, you always hoped to get your guy in the right spot so they had the best chance of making it, while not getting yourself taken down in the process. For a moment, Dane teetered at the crest, then sped off to the shoulder to follow in as best he could.

Because of the sheer size of the wave, Dane swung wide. When he caught sight of Kama again, he was shooting straight down an elevator shaft. Crouched low, legs barely holding on. His position could not be worse. But he stayed planted on that board like a crab. Dane cheered for his friend, while at the same time feeling like a chicken shit. Then the whitewater swallowed Kama, and he disappeared under a mountain of white.

Dane drove alongside the wave, trying to keep an eye on his friend. On the inside, it was mayhem and froth. He spotted Kama bobbing next to his board. He wasn’t swimming, but his arms were making awkward splashes. Something looked off. Dane knew the ski could easily lose power in the foam, but he went anyway. Because that’s what you did. A cloud passed over the sun, turning the water gray. Or was it red? His mind must be playing tricks on him.

“Kama!” he yelled.

Kama turned slightly. His eyes were out of focus.

Dane shot over to him. “Give me your hand!”

Whitewater slammed against the ski, almost knocking Dane off, but he righted it just in time. Kama’s hand flailed around and he yelled something unintelligible at Dane. There was blood on his neck. Then, almost in slow motion, their hands connected and Dane clamped down with everything he had. Kama swung onto the sled behind him and managed to find the handles, just as Dane throttled them out of there.

In calmer water, Dane slowed and turned back. “Are you okay?”

Kama lay face down and groaned. “My eardrum. It must have popped. I have no fucking idea which way is up.”

The relief that Dane felt was monumental. A broken eardrum would heal. And it also meant they were done for the day. Dane was officially off the hook.