Excerpt from "Not too late for Paradise." – I apologize for the poor formatting.

"I know much, about many things, Richard. Whether I will share my knowing is another question altogether," he said. "Sit down. Enjoy the freshness of the air after last night's heavy rain."
That sounded like an invitation and a challenge. Being the know-it-all adolescent that I was, I gladly accepted both.
The first thing that I noticed about the old man, besides his very dark skin, was his frizzy black hair. It stood up and out around his head, springing uncontrolled in all directions. It reminded me of a black man's Afro, but supercharged with electricity as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket. I doubted if a hair on his head had ever seen a razor or scissor. "You know my name, what's yours?"
"Ri'iki."
"Are you a relative of Mariko or her husband?"
"Yes." I was expecting a little more detail, especially after he had gone on and on about fruit. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw that he really was quite old. At least the wrinkles on his face, arms and torso, told the tale of many years of tropical sunshine and island toil. He wore several necklaces made of Cowrie shells, shark's teeth, and other bones I could not identify. A longer, looser, leather necklace with a small brown banana leaf pouch at the end, hung below his belly. His teeth were black, and I could see that he was chewing a Betel leaf concoction—popular in the islands. Red juice dripped from the sides of his mouth. His eyes were darker than his skin, but piercing and alive. On the table next to him were a couple of animal skulls, and a beautiful conch trumpet shell. I decided I needed to ask a more open-ended question in order to get more of a response. "Can you tell me anything about the storyboard in the boys' room? I thought it was quite well crafted and would like to know more about the story."
"I see you have some intelligence and taste," he said, looking me over. "That is a fine storyboard. It is carved mahogany brought to the island of Kosrae from New Zealand nearly six hundred years ago. A master carver and storyteller made it for me in payment for a wild boar and enough Yellowfin tuna to feed his family for a month.
A good trade, I thought." "Yes," I quickly agreed. "Did you say six hundred years ago?"
"Do you want to know what happened?"
"Yes, please," I said, he had my attention.
"Okay then, listen." He shifted in the wicker chair. The aged bamboo adjusted to his weight without making a sound. "The huge mahogany log traveled over three thousand miles on a canoe a lot like the one hanging over there." He pointed a gnarled finger at a beautifully made wooden canoe near the front entrance of the porch. I had a similar one at home that had been given to me on my seventh birthday. Mine was much smaller. It didn't have a variety of fruit—fresh and rotten—arranged along the hull, rigging and sails. This one also had a variety of colorful silk ribbons tied to it in strategic places.
"Bigger and more seaworthy, I imagine," I said with confidence.
"Bananas, bananas, bananas," he said, his eyes looking straight through me. "I don't talk that often, no need too. Interruptions irritate me. Listen quietly, or I'll lose my patience and be gone."
I wanted to laugh, but I didn't. Who was this cranky old man? I decided my best plan of action was to refrain from asking too many questions and let the old fellow tell his story. He seemed to want to talk. I imagined that he was probably left alone most of the day—he was undoubtedly lonely. I nodded for him to continue.
"When the mahogany log reached Kosrae, it was blessed by the King's highest priest and then turned over to the master carver. The log was straight, fat, and round. About half as tall as a mature coconut tree. The King took most of the mahogany and had it carved and fashioned into a center beam for his favorite meetinghouse. The rest he gave to the master carver in payment for his labors. That's how I was able to obtain such a fine piece of work."
A million questions flashed through my brain, but I stayed silent.
"The Saudeleur King of Pohnpei, Saudemwohl he was named, had been treating his people cruelly for many years. They were sad, hungry and tired of his tyranny. Saudemwohl's administrators taxed the people relentlessly, and beat them severely when they could not pay. Firstborn sons were sacrificed to the gods, and Saudemwohl routinely had the most beautiful women kidnapped and turned into sex slaves for himself and his priests."
He continued as if he had told the story many times before. "The King's wife was fat and ugly, and required human livers for dinner most nights. Over time, the King demanded more and more from the people of the Pohnpei. They were desperate to be free of their horrible ruler. Finally, they sent word to the King of Kosrae, Isokelekel, and asked him to lead the battle to save Pohnpei from the Saudeleur dynasty."
The old man looked me straight in the eyes, as if trying to impress upon me the horror in which the Pohnpei people had lived. His fermented breath, smelling of tobacco and lime, pushed me back in my chair. I took his stare with all the gumption I could muster. This was my kind of story—warriors, battles, evil kings and queens, sex, slaves and sacrifice. Go on, I nodded.
"The Kosraean King was a good man and preferred peace over war, so he sent a delegation to Saudemwohl to see if he could reason with the King and get him to care for his people with more compassion and humanity. Saudemwohl welcomed the delegation and gladly accepted their treasures and tributes. Secretly, however, Saudemwohl was enraged that the King of the smaller island would dare to tell him how to rule his people. After three days of festivities, the King had the members of the delegation beheaded and their livers cooked for his hungry wife. Only one warrior was spared, he was sent home on a dilapidated raft with a message for King Isokelekel."
He glanced at me to make sure I was listening. I was. "Do you want to know what the message was?" "Yes," I nodded. "Mind your own business!" The old man laughed loud and boisterously. His black teeth flashed in the dim light of the shaded porch. I thought I saw blue shards of electricity running through his frizzy hair. His eyes, once jet-black, seemed to glow a slight shade of red. His laugh was infectious, and soon I was laughing so hard that my belly ached and tears begin to roll down my eyes. "You really had me going," I said, still laughing.
"What do you mean?" "I mean, that's really a great story, and I love the punchline." "Punchline? Story?" He said with a hint of anger. "What I tell you is true. I may be ancient and forgetful. And, some call me cantankerous and grouchy, but there's one thing I can tell you for sure, and that is... I always tell the truth."
"I'm sorry, please forgive me," I said with all honesty. "Tell me more." "What's my name?" My mind went blank. He had just told me, but it was nowhere near my tongue. "Speak my name, and I will tell you more," he said.
Just then, Tolenna called from inside the house. "Richard, it's time to go!" I turned towards the inner part of the house and hollered through the thin walls. "Okay, I'll be there in a minute!"
When I turned back to face the old man, he was gone. A chill flashed down my spine. The hair on the back of my neck tried to make a run for it. Goosebumps, the size of mosquito bites, rose all up and down my arms and thighs. I felt the blood rush from my confused brain and my cheeks go white. Where did he go? He was sitting just three feet away from me a few seconds ago. I touched the cushion on the wicker chair. It was cold. The animal skulls on the table next to the chair looked at me accusingly.