"Are you going to stay in Honolulu, Joe?"
He sensed the proposal behind the question. It was tempting to follow
her, to merge lives, to be a normal husband and give up his frustrating
search for something he didn't understand. He spoke slowly. The words
formed themselves. "For the time being," he said. "This damn story I'm
writing isn't any good."
"You mustn't give up." She looked at him seriously, a hint of tear in
each eye.
"I can't," he said. "I think it's who I am." He meant: I'm not going to
come with you and be your man.
"Oh, Joe." Her tears came and she put her arms around him. They held
each other as the bamboo played. "Won't you be lonely?"
"Yes." He squeezed her. "I'll miss you."
On Wednesday, a version of _Aloha Oe_ poured down from invisible
airport speakers. Joe placed a pikake and ginger lei around Alison's
neck. "I love that song," he said, pulling away. "Even Muzak can't ruin
it. Did you know it was written by Queen Liliuokalani? Can you imagine
any of our politicians leaving anything as good?"
"Joe, will you come see me in Wisconsin? You'd like it. Madison is very
cultural." Alison was going to try until the end.
He hesitated.