"You cannot escape liking the climate," Cudworth said, in reply to my panegyric on the Kona coast."I was a young fellow, just out of college, when I came here eighteen years ago.I never went back, except, of course, to visit.And I warn you, if you have some spotdear to you on earth, not to linger here too long, else you will find this dearer."We had finished dinner, which had been served on the big lanai, the one with a northerly exposure, though exposure is indeed a misnomer in so delectable a climate.
The candles had been put out, and a slim, white-clad Japanese slipped like a ghost through the silvery moonlight, presented us with cigars, and faded away into the darkness of the bungalow.I looked through a screen of banana and lehua trees, and down across the guava scrub to the quiet sea a thousand feet beneath.For a week, ever since I had landed from the tiny coasting-steamer, I had been stopping with Cudworth, and during that time no wind had ruffled that unvexed sea.True, there had been breezes, but they were the gentlest zephyrs that ever blew through summer isles.They were not winds; they were sighs--long, balmy sighs of a world atrest.
"A lotus land," I said.
"Where each day is like every day, and every day is a paradise of days," he answered."Nothing ever happens.It is not too hot.Itis not too cold.It is always just right.Have you noticed how the land and the sea breathe turn and turn about?"Indeed, I had noticed that delicious rhythmic, breathing.Each morning I had watched the sea-breeze begin at the shore and slowly extend seaward as it blew the mildest, softest whiff of ozone to the land.It played over the sea, just faintly darkening its surface, with here and there and everywhere long lanes of calm, shifting, changing, drifting, according to the capricious kisses of thebreeze.And each evening Ihad watched the sea breath die away to heavenly calm, and heard the land breath softly make its way through the coffee trees and monkey- pods.
"It is a land of perpetual calm," I said."Does it ever blow here?- - ever really blow?You know what I mean."Cudworth shook his head and pointed eastward."How can it blow, with a barrier like that to stop it?"Far above towered the huge bulks of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, seeming to blot out half the starry sky.Two miles and a half above our heads they reared their own heads, white with snow that the tropic sun had failed to melt.
"Thirty miles away, right now, I'll wager, it is blowing forty miles an hour."I smiled incredulously.
Cudworth stepped to the lanai telephone.He called up, in succession, Waimea, Kohala, and Hamakua.Snatches of his conversation told me that the wind was blowing: "Rip-snorting and back-jumping, eh?...How long?...Only a week?...Hello, Abe, is that you?...Yes, yes...You WILL plant coffee on the Hamakua coast...Hang your wind-breaks!You should see MYtrees.""Blowing a gale," he said to me, turning from hanging up the receiver."I always have to joke Abe on his coffee.He has five hundred acres, and he's done marvels in wind-breaking, but how he keeps the roots in the ground is beyond me.Blow? It always blows on the Hamakua side.Kohala reports a schooner under double reefs beating up the channel between Hawaii and Maui, and making heavy weather of it.""It is hard to realize," I said lamely."Doesn't a little whiff of it ever eddy around somehow, and get down here?""Not a whiff.Our land-breeze is absolutely of no kin, for it begins this side of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa.You see, the land radiates its heat quicker than the sea, and so, at night, the land breathes over the sea.In the day the land becomes warmer than the sea, and the sea breathes over the land...Listen!Here comesthe land-breath now, themountain wind."
I could hear it coming, rustling softly through the coffee trees, stirring the monkey-pods, and sighing through the sugar-cane.On the lanai the hush still reigned.Then it came, the first feel of the mountain wind, faintly balmy, fragrant and spicy, and cool, deliciously cool, a silken coolness, a wine-like coolness--cool as only the mountain wind of Kona can be cool.
"Do you wonder that I lost my heart to Kona eighteen years ago?" he demanded."I could never leave it now.I think I should die.It would be terrible.There was another man who loved it, even as I.I think he loved it more, for he was born here on the Kona coast.He was a great man, my best friend, my more than brother.But he left it, and he did not die.""Love?" I queried."A woman?" Cudworth shook his head.
"Nor will he ever come back, though his heart will be here until he dies."He paused and gazed down upon the beachlights of Kailua.I smoked silently and waited.
"He was already in love...with his wife.Also, he had three children, and he loved them.They are in Honolulu now.The boy is going to college.""Some rash act?" I questioned, after a time, impatiently.
He shook his head."Neither guilty of anything criminal, nor charged with anything criminal. He was the Sheriff of Kona.""You choose to be paradoxical," I said.
"I suppose it does sound that way," he admitted, "and that is the perfect hell of it."He looked at me searchingly for a moment, and then abruptly took up the tale.
"He was a leper.No, he was not born with it--no one is born withit; it came upon him. This man--what does it matter? Lyte Gregorywas his name.Every kamaina knows the story.He was straight American stock, but he was built like the chieftains of old Hawaii.He stood sixfeet three.His stripped weight was two hundred and twenty pounds, not an ounce of which was not clean muscle or bone.He was the strongest man I have ever seen.He was an athlete and a giant.He was a god.He was my friend.And his heart and his soul were as big and as fine as his body.
