Plaguing him nightly and often during the day, the nightmare always ended with his daughter's piercing scream, "Mommy!" Once more, the prisoner's dark brown eyes exploded open to reveal the stained gray of ceiling cement. His thick black hair, face, and neck swam in perspiration. Callused fingers slowly uncurled their vice-like grip on the steel rails of the prison bed.
Hank Pualoa lay flat on his back in the lower bunk of a cell in B block of Halawa prison, a space no bigger than a pickup truck. He wouldn't have minded the six-month sentence so much if he'd known Malia and the children would be there to greet him upon his release. But Hank had killed his u'i wahine, his beautiful young wife, the mother of his two children. No, not murder, but he had killed Malia nevertheless and had to live with that thought for the rest of his life. Surely, guilt and remorse would punish him far more than any amount of jail time. By some miracle, Kekoa and Leilani had survived the car crash with only a few minor cuts and bruises. For now, they were safe with their widowed grandmother, Tutu Eme Waiwaiole. Malia had been Eme's only child.
Though the catastrophe had left Hank physically intact, his aching soul would not free him from that afternoon’s calamity. He had destroyed his 'ohana, his family, and readily accepted all the blame. He could still hear the judge's voice reproaching him.
"Let this monster stand as an example for those who think they can get drunk and raise havoc on our roads. It is not enough that he be fined and set free. Simply not enough. Hank Pualoa killed his wife and recklessly endangered his children, leaving them without a mother. He also injured nine innocent strangers and wreaked thousands upon thousands of dollars in damages. He shall financially compensate the victims of this drunken rampage according to the schedule agreed upon by the participating attorneys. It is also my judgment that this wretch sit in jail and contemplate the pain he has caused. Since his children are well cared for by their grandmother, I have no compunction about imposing the following sentence. Six months! And I'm probably being too lenient at that." The gavel slammed home to punctuate his decree.
Incarceration had not softened the muscular tone of Hank's six-foot, 210-pound build. Sure, a few more gray hairs now framed his wide, sun-browned face, weathered from two decades of construction work, but he still looked his thirty-seven years.
Hank drew up his legs as acid thoughts ate at his insides. His appeal for early release had been denied. Even worse, the children's grandmother refused to bring them to visit him, despite his repeated pleadings. Today was his eighth week in prison and still no word from her. Last Sunday's visitor, his brother, had promised to intercede for him. He prayed that Eme would relent. It was hard for anyone to deny Big John anything. They called him Big John as much for his tremendous heart as for his six-foot-six height and 300 pounds.
A staccato racket ripped Hank from his thoughts. He looked up to find a uniformed corrections officer clattering his nightstick along the steel bars outside the cell.
"Hey, Pualoa!" The guard enunciated his name in a mocking tone, Poo-ah-loh-ah. "Wake the hell up! You got visitors." The guard waited for the master solenoid to release the cell group lock. The steel rammed against the stops, and a clanging metallic echo returned from some distant chamber. Hank swung his feet to the floor and sat upright as the guard slid away the steel bars between them.
The guard and another uniformed officer ushered him to the visitor control room. Short, squat windows just below the ceiling provided the only natural light. A dozen wood and steel picnic tables filled the large, yellow-walled room. Before the officer could say table five, Hank spotted Eme seated there, holding his toddler son on her lap.
A shock wave hit him when he saw his children. It had been only eight weeks, but already they looked older and more serious. Kekoa's face was freshly scrubbed, his black hair combed in a fringe across his forehead. The toddler's dimpled fingers busily plucked at the ruffled sleeve of Eme's muumuu. Four-year-old Leilani sat on the bench beside Eme. Her fists were jammed into the pockets of her favorite dress, the one with white plumeria blossoms that Malia had bought for her last birthday. She buried her face in her grandmother's heavy arm. The child's dark, soulful eyes, so like her mother's, peeked out at him.
"Papa!" Kekoa squealed. "Papa, Papa, Papa!" He kicked his bare feet, squirming to climb down from his grandmother's lap. Eme gripped him around the waist. Kekoa stiffened his chubby body and screamed with all the rage a twenty-month-old toddler could muster. Eme tightened both arms and held him captive.
Hank felt triumphant. He didn't care whether others in the room looked on. His son remembered him! But his mother-in-law denied him. Somehow he had to defuse the tension. Hank also knew the rules: he had to stay on his side of the table and keep his hands in view. The guard watched him coldly, standing with his back to the wall fifteen feet away. Before sitting down, Hank had leaned forward to kiss and be kissed by his family. Neither had happened. He slumped to the hard bench.
"Papa!" Kekoa sobbed.
"Kulikuli, shut up, child!" Eme hissed. She grasped the boy still tighter. The orange and blue birds of paradise on her muumuu swallowed him up. "This," she growled, "is your no-good jailbird father. He one killer. He kill your mama, my beautiful daughter." She paused to scrutinize Hank's face to see if she had inflicted all the pain she intended. The hint of a cruel smile reflected the measure of her success.
"Hanale Kalahanohano Pualoa," she called him by his full Hawaiian name. "You take one nui look at your two innocent keiki without a mother--a big, long look at these two angels, 'cuz you're never gonna see 'em again."
Eme hefted Kekoa to her shoulder and stepped over the bench. She waited only long enough for Leilani to slide out, grabbed her by the hand, and marched them straight through the outside visitors' door. Eme's harsh voice had silenced Kekoa, but now that he was being carried away, he began sobbing again, his wails reverberating down the outer hall.
Hank had to consciously close his hanging jaw. The guard rapped him on the shoulder and led him back to his cell, where her words continued to dig deep into his gut. Could Tutu Eme be right? I don't deserve to be their father. How can I begin to change that? He couldn’t remember ever feeling lower in his life. What I wouldn't do for a drink right now.