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Takes Molokai3/26/2021
I hate you Go way You go way Rachels brothers, Benjamin and James Kimo to everyone but Mama, who disapproved of all but Christian names roughhoused their way up the front steps and into the house.Use up arrow (for mozilla firefox browser altup arrow) and down arrow (for mozilla firefox browser altdown arrow) to review and enter to select.Enabling JavaScript in your browser will allow you to experience all the features of our site.
Rachel Kalama, a spirited seven-year-old Hawaiian girl, dreams of visiting far-off lands like her father, a merchant seaman. Then one day a rose-colored mark appears on her skin, and those dreams are stolen from her. Taken from her home and family, Rachel is sent to Kalaupapa, the quarantined leprosy settlement on the island of Molokai. Here her life is supposed to end-but instead she discovers it is only just beginning. With a vibrant cast of vividly realized characters, Molokai is the true-to-life chronicle of a people who embraced life in the face of death. Such is the warmth, humor, and compassion of this novel that few readers will remain unchanged by Rachels story (mostlyfiction.com). Martins Press Copyright 2003 Alan Brennert All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4299-0228-1 CHAPTER 1 1891 Later, when memory was all she had to sustain her, she would come to cherish it: Old Honolulu as it was then, as it would never be again. To a visitor it must have seemed a lush garden of fanciful hybrids: a Florentine-style palace shaded by banyan and monkeypod trees; wooden storefronts flourishing on dusty streets, cuttings from Americas Old West; tall New England church steeples blooming above the palm and coconut groves. To a visitor it must have seemed at once exotic and familiar; to five-year-old Rachel it was a playground, and it was home. Certain things stood out in memory, she couldnt say why: the weight and feel of a five-cent hapaumi coin in her pocket; the taste of cold Tahiti lemonade on a hot day; palm fronds rustling like locusts high above, as she and her brothers played among the rice paddies and fishponds of Waikiki. She remembered taking a swim, much to her mothers dismay, in the broad canals of Kapiolani Park; she could still feel the mossy bottom, the slippery stones beneath her feet. She remembered riding the trolley cars with her sister up King Street the two of them squeezed in amidst passengers carrying everything from squid to pigs, chickens to Chinese laundry mules and horses exuberantly defecating as they dragged the tram along in their wake. Rachels eyes popped at the size of the turds, longer than her arm, and she giggled when the trolleys wheels squished them underneath. But most of all, most clearly of all, she remembered Steamer Day because that was when her father came home. Rachels mother handed her a freshly cooked taro root. Here. Peel. Rachel nimbly stripped off the soft purple skin, taking care not to bruise the stem itself, and looked hopefully at her mother. Is tomorrow Steamer Day Dorothy Kalama, stern-faced at the best of times, shot her daughter an exasperated look. How do I know Im standing lookout on Koko Head, thats where you think I am With a stone pestle she pounded a slice of peeled taro into a smooth hard paste, then shrugged. Oh, no, Mama. Theyd received a letter from Papa exactly five weeks ago, mailed in Samoa, informing them hed be leaving for home in a month; and Rachel knew for a fact that the crossing took no more than a week. ![]() You know how big is a mile Rachel thought a moment, her round chubby face sober in reflection, then stretched her arms as wide as she could.
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