A Short Story

Albert spotted him on the way home after basketball practice, sitting on Old Man’s Bench, a redwood table beneath a tin awning in Dole Park. It was Grandfather Fulgencio, all right: He was wearing his same brown khaki pants and faded aloha shirt of no discernible color. The only thing missing was his walking cane, a rusty seven-iron with a rubber tip instead of a club head, which he’d used after the boom spray accident forced him into early retirement. He was talking with his old friends, Mustache Fujimura and Sixto Lopez. The three of them had picked pineapples together on Lāna`i for 44 years, until Grandfather’s accident. When Dole closed the plantation two years later they were reunited as pension men. Every day they sat right here on Old Man’s Bench, and talked about the life that was disappearing everywhere in Hawai`i.

When Grandfather’s heart failed him, Father lit a spirit log in the front yard and let it burn for three days, the way they used to in the small Ilocano village in the Philippines, where Grandfather had grown up. After the funeral, the priest had let them bring the casket back to the house for one last visit. Mother made sure Grandfather’s feet had pointed directly at the door. That way his spirit can get up and walk out of house whenever it’s ready.

The family had done everything right; Albert was sure of it. But now Grandfather’s spirit had returned. Why?

Before Albert could get close enough to hear what the three men were saying, Mustache and Sixto lifted themselves off their haunches and began to slouch on home for dinner, as they did every afternoon at this time. No dinner would be waiting for Grandfather Fulgencio. Grandmother Alicia had died twenty years ago. As Albert approached Old Man’s Bench, Grandfather turned and looked him square in the eye.

The look stopped Albert in his tracks. He watched Grandfather ease off the bench and balance himself precariously on his short, skinny legs. Before Albert could ask him why he had come back, the old man braced his copper brown arms on his hips and stared intently at Albert, as if he expected something.

"What do you want?" Albert asked.

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Grandfather had never answered direct questions when he was alive, and he did not answer now. Instead, he shifted his weight, cocked his head, and waited.

"I don’t understand."

In reply, Grandfather sat back down on the bench and looked away.

Albert turned and walked on home, filled with shame.

In the house on Ilima Street, Mother was grilling mahi mahi. Lucy was watching MTV. Father looked up from his paper and asked "How was practice?"

Albert decided not tell anyone Grandfather Fulgencio had come back. It was his job alone to figure out what Grandfather wanted.

Later that evening, as it was growing dark, he crept back toward Old Man’s Bench. There they were again, the same three old men. Albert watched from a distance this time, until once again Mustache and Sixto heaved themselves off the redwood. This time the two strolled off together, across the park toward the Blue Ginger Café where they would drink strong coffee and tell stories about the old days. When he was alive, Grandfather Fulgencio had always gone with them.

When Albert approached, once again Grandfather pushed himself up onto his feet, gained his balance, and gazed directly at Albert with hands on hips.

This time Albert understood.

"Wait," he cried–and raced back down Ilima Street.

It took only a few minutes to borrow Father’s Jeep and speed up the mountain to the small cemetery above the new Lodge at Ko`ele, where Albert would work one day, if he stayed on the island. Using the Jeep’s headlights, he found the correct marker. In the silvery beams, the items the family had placed between the twin stones last Sunday glimmered like ghosts: The laminated photograph of Grandmother in her wide-brimmed straw hat, scarf, long sleeves, and heavy gloves she had always worn when she helped pick pineapples in the summer. The bronze belt buckle Grandfather had won from a field hand who bet on the wrong fighting cock. And the rubber-tipped seven-iron, propped against the stone on the right.

As he lifted the seven-iron from the marker, Albert knew exactly what he would say when he returned to Old Man’s Bench: Walk with your friends in peace, Grandfather.