The Kite of Kilauea

by Carl L. Biemiller

Copyright © 2005 by Eric C. Biemiller Please respect the copyrights.

Chapter Twelve They left Hilo early the next morning in the pineapple company's plane with the pineapple pilot who asked Maka if she weren't a mite young to be staying out all night on an old mountain. Terry had a last look at Kilauea, still fuming and fussing from the hot ache deep in its upset stomach, and then he watched the blues, violets and greens of the sea all the way back to Honolulu. Then the plane started down, and Terry could see Pearl Harbor. He could see clouds banked as always over Oahu's mountains. He could see the airport and cars and roads and people. He could see sun splotches on the runways, and then the wheels squeaked. They were in. "Say good-bye to the Pachekos," said Uncle George. "Their father is taking them home. You can see them later on the beach. We're going to do some important business here before we go. I have a surprise for you." "What?" asked Terry. "Not a new kite," grinned Uncle George. The Pachekos yelled alohas and were gone. Uncle George and Doctor Tommy and Terry said good-bye to the pineapple pilot. Then the three of them walked around the fence and alongside the terminal building to a private parking lot. Kimo was standing by Uncle George's car. There were two people with him and a scattering of luggage. Terry was off and running with his first glance. He bolted ahead of Uncle George and Doctor Tommy, sprinting easily and quickly. "Mother," he yelled. "Dad!" He was part of a tangle of arms and hands and huge hugs and pats. He was part of a blur of talk and kisses. He felt bouncy. And Uncle George was booming like a bass drum. "Let's go home. Can't stand around here all day!" "We'll go swimming," said Terry. "Fine," said Dad. "You'll like Maka," said Terry. "I know it," smiled Mother. "…and Buster and Bobby, too," said Terry. The surf was high on the beach. Terry's mother and father and Uncle George stood ankle deep in foaming water and watched a bright blond head in the sea beyond the breaker line. Three dark heads bobbed with it. Terry and the Pachekos were playing shark tag. They had been in and out of the water for an hour. Uncle George yelled. "Food! Food!" he yelled. "That's a message they really get," he added. The heads moved toward the shore. Uncle George put his arms around Terry's mother and father. "There he is," he said softly. "High as a spear, hale and hearty with a rainbow in his hair. Leave him with me a year and he'd be a giant." "He's going back to New Jersey," said Terry's father firmly. "But when I'm ready he'll come again, and we'll be with him, maybe to live here." "Fine," said Uncle George. "Just fine!" End Will Yolen was indeed real. He authored a major book about kites. It was The Complete Book of Kites and Kiteflying, Simon & Schuster, 1976. Valerie Govig penned an excellent article about Will Yolen