I would leave but I don’t know where the hell I am. Nestor is gone, I don’t see him anymore. I wonder if he left. Fuck. The only people in this room that I know are Marissa, Randy and Alan. Randy must know that I am getting anxious because he is pointing out a few other the people around the room; “The big man with a silver pompadour is Bert Shino, the governor’s chief of staff and the people with him are his assistant, Mr. Kamu and Mr. Kamu’s girlfriend, Trish. C’mon, let’s go over there I want to introduce them all to you.” He says.
Walking across the room I stop to ask Alan where the bathroom is. He is standing in the corner, scanning the room. His gaze is fixed upon a the framed number fifty two jersey of the Baltimore Ravens Ray Lewis hanging between a copy of a Jackson Pollock painting and a picture of Mr. Saru finishing the Honolulu Marathon. “Lewis was the MVP at the Super bowl this year “Alan says quietly. “Mr. Saru already get one autographed jersey. Damn, he has the best of everything.” As he says this, Alan raises his eyebrows to direct my attention towards the wall behind him, where there is a sculpture of a male torso and a framed poster of Mr. Saru shaking hands with the Chicago Bull’s Michael Jordan. Around the room there is an eclectic mix of artwork and memorabilia. Artwork like a copy of a Frida Kahlo painting hung next to the picture of Mr. Saru with a Marlin that he caught in Hawaii. Eclectic items like the velvet Elvis painting that hangs above a drum set in the opposite corner of room. Randy comes over with a fresh drink, slurping down a mouthful.
“Hey, there you are. I thought I lost you” he says. “I guess I will have to make the introductions later because right now I need to keep an eye on the staircase so I can announce the big entrance.”
“What big entrance?” I ask.
“The Saru’s are making their grand entrance, pahtnaaaah” Randy says “let’s go, come on let’s go to the entryway.”
“Finally Mr. Saru is here. I was wondering where he was.” I say.
“Mr. Saru came in through the garage to avoid being seen by anyone. He likes to make an entrance. And an entrance it will be!” Randy says.
The entryway is filled with a raucous laughter as Mr. Saru appears at the top of the stairs wearing a scarlet red shirt, white slacks and a pair of shiny red house slippers. Slowly descending, Mr. Saru flows with the grace and flamboyance of a Las Vegas show girl. He seems to be eclipsing someone as I catch glances of a small figure moving down the stairs directly behind him. He takes a bow at the bottom of the stairwell and a petite, elegantly dressed island girl steps out of his shadow and stands on his left side. She has long dark hair with a red plumeria behind her left ear and a radiant smile.
“That is my cousin, Mrs. Elisabeth Ke’gacha Saru.” Randy whispers to me.
Mr. and Mrs. Saru walk through the entryway and into the karaoke room with the rest of us following. The girl with the karaoke microphone asks if anyone would like to hear Mr. Saru sing. The crowd comes alive with applause. It’s a strange scene to witness as Mr. Saru, Mr. Shino and Mr. Kamu walk to the karaoke stage to perform. The crowd is reacting as though the Beatles had just reunited right here in this very room. The big screen scrolls the lyrics of the song ‘The Hurt’ by Kalapana. Mr. Saru begins to sing the lead vocal with Mr. Shino and Mr. Kamu joining in on the chorus. How surreal to be standing in Mr. Saru’s house as he sings a Kalapana song. Back in Honolulu at Kapono’s I had wondered if he even liked the band Kalapana. Now here he is singing one of their songs in his house.
“Do they sing karaoke a lot?” I ask.
“Oh yes, they sing karaoke all the time! Mr. Saru is a slave to his every whim and caprice and this is comical . . . like a musical comedy” Randy laughs spilling half of his vodka tonic on the marble floor.
“Oh, my pahtnaaah, let me get something to wipe that up.” He hurriedly walks away to find one of the kitchen staff and I am left standing in the entryway with Mrs. Saru. She smiles at me and says; “Hafa Adai, welcome to Guam. It’s nice to finally meet you after hearing so many good things about you. I am Mrs. Saru, but you may call me Elisa.”
“It’s nice to meet you Elisa” I say just as Randy and one of the kitchen staff walk up and begin to wipe up the spilled vodka. Satisfied that the floor is dry, Randy thanks the staff member, Joe, and asks him to bring another vodka tonic. Randy begins methodically waving both hands in the air, as if he is signaling a landing airplane. “Edward Matuna” he calls out, waving to a muscular Caucasian man with dark hair and prominent features who is standing in the hallway. “Edward Matuna come over here and say hello, okaaaaaaaaay.” The man that Randy called to is walking over towards us. Randy tells me that Edward Matuna works for the Guam International Business Advisory. Both of his parents are half Chamorro and half Caucasian.
“But as you can see he inherited the haole genetics” Randy says shaking hands with Edward Matuna “and he is just as white as you.”
“Eh, maybe we related” Edward Matuna says to Randy before he turns to me and extends his hand.
“You the new manager for Tropics Gym, I’m Ed Matuna” he says, shaking my hand.
“Call me Tuna, everybody call me Tuna. Eh, you hungry umby?” he asks.
C’mon, let’s go eat” he says before I can respond.
I like this guy, Tuna. He didn’t wait for me to answer. He must know that it is a long flight and standing here smiling while being stared at by a group of strangers is making me uncomfortable. Besides, I really am hungry. I follow my new friend ‘Tuna’ Matuna into the dining room.
The buffet table is overflowing with platters of food. Following Tuna’s lead, I take a plate and some chopsticks. I have only seen set ups like this at catered events like wedding receptions and I am so hungry this is a welcome sight but I don’t see any familiar food except for some small tortillas and a platter of BBQ Chicken. I take three small tortillas, and pile on some kind of ground up meat.
“Like Kelaguen?” Tuna asks me. I smile. I have no idea what the hell he is talking about.
“Umby, that stuff on your plate is one mix of lemon pepper, onion, peppers, coconut an shredded chicken, called Kelaguen” he says as if he can read my thoughts.
“Try put kelaguen on tahteezahs. Had Chamorro food?” He asks.
My blank expression makes him laugh.
‘No worry, umby. On Guam we call corn tortillas, tahteezahs. Its spelled T-I-T-I-Y-A S but the letter Y is pronounced like ‘ZH’. Take one scoop red rice too” he says, scooping some reddish orange colored rice onto my plate. “Chamorro style rice, we put achiote seeds into the steamer with the rice. It gives the rice one nutty flavor and make it red. Try fiddahdenny” he says handing me a small saucer with what looks like soy sauce.
“Is it shoyu?” I ask.
“No, F- I- N- A- D- E- N- E” he says spelling out the word and then pronouncing all four syllables for me: “fin-ah-den-ny. Is soy sauce, lemon juice, chopped onion an chop chili pepper” he says.
I take the small saucer and follow Tuna over to one of the large dining room tables. There are two long tables, each with seating for twelve and two smaller circular tables, each with seating for six. Randy sits next to me to my left and Tuna takes a seat on my right. Tuna is talking to a girl on his right side so I just start eating.
“You will love it here pahtnaaaah” Randy says “the food, the weather, the people, pahtnaaaah, you are going to love it here! But you probably don’t know anything about Guam and if you do, you probably only know the history that you read in text books and they are filled with lies, okaaaaaaaaay!”
“The history of Guam, the real history”, Randy says “cannot be found in text books. You may have heard that Ferdinand Magellan named the island of Guam Los Ladrones which is Spanish for ‘the thieves’ but Magellan was a pirate who stole from the Chamorro people. He got away with it here but he paid for it in the Philippines. That is where Magellan the pirate met a fate similar to Captain Cook in Hawaii.”
I’m stuffing my mouth with