Rudy lived in Sugar Mill Camp. His father worked in the Kahuku cane fields. I can't remember how many brothers and sisters Rudy had, but...it always seemed she had a small one at her breast.
It was in those early days of my youth that blended one into the other; colors fading one tinting the other. Some faces I can remember distinctly...others only the shades of how their lives touched mine.
For some reason Rudy was different. He had that kind of chipmunk face that was always ready for getting into trouble...and Rudy was always in trouble. He was Opie and Beaver Cleaver all in one...Maybe a little bit of Moe, Larry and Curly too. Rudy was always being sent to the principle's office.
We could not have been more than seven or eight at the time. Mom always made me wear shoes to school, but Rudy only had one pair...and those were to be worn only to church. So, of course, he had the toughest feet on the entire North Shore. He could kick a rock the farthest...play basketball on a hot paved court in the sun the longest...hoo da buggah had calluses on his calluses !!
Kahuku Elementary was only just across the street from the Camp where Rudy lived..but somehow Rudy would always get lost on his way home from school. I had to wait along side the highway for the bus to Sunset Beach and Rudy would get busy...getting lost. Oh, not permanently or anything serious like that...But just long enough to cruise the camp store for a soda and sushi. Do they still make pickles and encase them in wax ? Hoo Man..they were the best !!
Sometime we would go over to Japanese Camp. We tried to catch the carp in the neatly tended ponds. There was an art of making yourself invisible to Mr. Yamada because he was always ready for us. He'd be like sitting on the front steps with the Japanese newspaper looking over the top of his glasses. He would clear his throat and shuffle his newspaper and say to nobody in particular but loud enough for me and Rudy and hear: "Somebody going get dirty lickins', boy !!"
Generally, that was enough for Rudy to give me the signal which meant: "RUN LIKE HELL !!". Me and Rudy would come out from the side of the house walking on the sandy coral Kahuku camp road whistling like we were just passing by. Mr. Yamada would never even look up from his paper...but we could tell by the way he cleared his throat....that he knew we were in his yard...after HIS carp !!
The Tongans and Fijians went to our school. The Samoans didn't get along with the Tongans..who didn't get along with the Fijians and ALL of them never got along with me and Rudy. I was the skinny kid with ehu hair and glasses...AND remember my mother always made me wear SHOES !! I was a natural target for my Polynesian brothers. But eh...Rudy was MY FRIEND and he was like a fighting bantam rooster !! I remember very clearly him dancing on the head of one Samoan kid who tried to take my lunch money in the cafeteria line. Rudy was only half his size but he had the courage of Curtis "da Bull" Ieaukea !! When he was through, he made the boy buy me lunch for a week !! Of course, I neva tell my mother...who gave me a quarter each day for lunch....after school me and Rudy went on a spree with my twenty five cent windfall...We both had stomach ache from the wax pickles and creme sodas.
We moved to the city soon after that and I never saw Rudy for many years. Time passed, we were both grown and I was living on my own back in the country. Rudy came over my house for one visit. He was recently discharged from the service and was living at home with his Mom and Dad back in the Sugar Mill Camp. He looked the same but he was kinda "thick" now. He still had that chipmunk face and a quick smile. We talked about the old days. He didn't seem to remember as much as I did. He had a far away look in his eyes when I reminisced about the hanabuddah days...He didn't finish his beer. He begged off with some excuse to go.
Something happened to Rudy "over there" when he was in the service in a place called "Nam". His Mom told me Rudy was having treatment at the military hospital. She told me about his memory lapses and fits of rage. Whenever he got is disability checks, he would disappear for days at a time. The locals who hung out at the gas station would take his money in dice or card games.
My Mom wrote me recently. She writes me newsy letters. Who is having a baby..who got married...who died.... Rudy was last seen hitch hiking on the highway in front of the school by the old bus stop after getting his check from the nearby Post Office. It's been a couple of months now....
He's checking out Yamada's pond, that Rudy. That's where he is...hiding by da chicken coop by the side of da house.. I thought one day I would go back to that Filipino camp store and see if they still sell wax pickles. I would see how much I could buy for a quarter....I would buy some for...me and Rudy.
About Author
Kamaka Brown was born and raised in Hawaii. Childhood years were spent in Waimea Valley on the North Shore of Oahu. Now a California resident he has not forgotten his Island roots. He writes and performs local style comedy at concerts and clubs around Southern California.
