Chapter 7 - Solomon
Spring Break 1994 arrived, and Jack O’Connor touched down in Fiji accompanied by his parents, Thomas and Leslie. Nobody but Jack knew about the diamond in his carry-on, but everyone knew that a new baby was due, a baby that had waited until its daddy and grandparents were there to witness the birth.
Karalaini had remained active, surfing up until the last few weeks, and she took Jack’s breath away when they met at the airport. Her glow was unmistakable, even just seeing her face. Her hair was thicker than ever, black waves pouring down her back. Any discomfort she felt was buried deep within the joy of seeing Jack again and meeting his parents. Her uncle, Peter, had brought her over to the big island, and he embraced Jack’s family warmly.
Hugs, kisses, and greetings were exchanged, and once baggage was retrieved, the quintet made for the docks to get home. A squall made the water choppy, but Peter assured the group that the storm would get no worse. He offered to wait it out for a bit, but Karalaini was too excited to have the O’Connors home, and she trusted Peter’s experience and judgement.
What a pregnant woman wants, she gets.
They boarded the small craft and got underway.
Within ten minutes, all aboard realized their mistake. The water swirled and churned wildly about them, and although they attempted to remain brave, panic spread throughout the small group. As the first waves swamped the small vessel, Peter instructed Karalaini to get vests for the passengers as he tried to navigate the tempest, and break through into calmer waters and get to land, any land.
As she made for the life jackets, the first contraction hit, sending her back to her seat, breathing hard.
“I just felt something weird… that was really strong. Oh my God.” Karalaini suddenly panicked. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.
Jack knelt beside her, trying to comfort her, as his father began pulling out the life vests, attempting to secure one on Jack’s mother, when disaster struck.
Off the port bow, a monster wave ripped through, out of nowhere, and suddenly chaos erupted as Peter’s boat rolled onto its side, then seemed ready to right itself, but then was hopelessly flipped as its hull was battered by another angry blow from the storm.
Water poured into the cabin, rain from above and ocean below, or vice versa, it was impossible to determine up, down, left or right. Jack caught a glimpse of his father being flung backward away from his mother, and he saw a shoe, which he thought must be Peter’s, whip past him. He heard Karalaini scream and then their world went topsy-turvy again as the boat was tossed above the waves and began to come apart.
Thomas and Leslie, Jack’s beloved parents, were past their physical primes and unaccustomed to the power of the ocean’s open water. They succumbed first, putting up very little struggle. Their bodies were never found.
A search vessel fished Peter’s remains from the water hours later. He’d managed to locate a life jacket, but he swallowed too much water and drowned.
Jack and Karalaini somehow wound up within arm’s length of each other and struggled to hang onto a chunk of the hull together. Jack was in a bad way, having suffered a head wound as the boat was hastily disassembled by the storm, but enough of his faculties remained to finish what he’d set out to do in Fiji, storm or no storm, ring or no ring.
“Laini, hold on! Hold on and don’t let go!”
“Your head! Jack, your parents! We have to do something we have to…” Karalaini was losing her strength.
“I haven’t seen anyone. I don’t know what to do… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Jack struggled to get the words out, both of them screaming to be heard over the pounding rain and wind, despite being close enough to touch.
“The baby! Our baby, Jack!”
“Look in my eyes,” Jack implored. “You don’t let go, no matter what. Do you understand me? You hold on! I love you, Laini. I came here to marry you. I…” Jack’s voice trembled and he pressed a hand to his head, feeling faint as their handhold in a world of angry water was buffeted to and fro.
“Jack! Jack!” Karalaini heard the father of her unborn child groan in anguish before he put both hands on his head and disappeared from sight.
As her contractions grew in intensity and the duration between them shrank, Karalaini tried to find a place to go in her head, a peaceful beach, a place of refuge. Jack’s arms enveloped her, and she heard the soft cooing of a baby in her mind.
She battled gallantly, timing breaths between waves, praying every prayer she knew, searching for a glimpse of land, somewhere, anywhere, something solid. She’d get her baby to safety or die trying. No matter how long it took, no matter how exhausted she was, how cold, or how scared.
* * *
As the storm began to wane, a fishing vessel came upon the wreckage of Peter’s boat as it floated in the general direction of Vanuatu. As they searched for something by which to identify the craft, someone spotted Karalaini’s desperate form bobbing in the water, still clinging, but unmoving.
“Holy shit, there’s somebody out there!”
Solomon Sharma dove headfirst into the water, awaiting no command from his captain. He swam furiously for the lifeless girl, reaching her as a rowboat was lowered into the water behind him. He found her unresponsive, but thought he felt a pulse in her neck. Weak, but he’d felt it. She was somehow, against all odds and reason, still alive. He waved his arm furiously in the air, summoning his fellow fishermen to make haste. It wasn’t until they pulled her up and into the boat that they realized that not only was she pregnant, she was very pregnant. There was no telling how long she’d been in the water or if the baby stood a chance, but they meant to pour everything they had into saving mother and child.
They radioed for help, a desperate plea as no man aboard had the experience or knowledge to deliver a baby, regardless of the mother’s well-being. As they lay Karalaini on a table, she managed to sputter a plea of her own, regaining consciousness briefly –
“Save my baby. That’s all that matters. Do what it takes.”
With that desperate request, she coughed, a choking that sounded as though she were underwater, and she was gone.
Six fishermen stood around the table, each looking to the next man for guidance, a brave word, a plan.
Again, it was Solomon Sharma who sprang into action. “Get me a knife. The sharpest we have. We’ve got to get this baby out if it’s to have a chance. Now!”
One man fainted as the blade entered Karalaini’s lower abdomen. Solomon’s wife had undergone a C-section, so he knew the approximate location and direction of her scar, and he attempted to duplicate it. He feared most of all injuring the baby, if by some miracle it had survived the mother’s ordeal, but he also knew he need make no allowance for vanity. His incision didn’t need to be perfect, it just had to allow for the removal of… a baby boy.
Solomon cut and tentatively reached a hand inside, where sure enough, he felt movement. As carefully as he could, he explored with his fingers until he felt he had enough to grab onto, and he pulled.
Gray and slippery, covered in placenta and blood, crying a pitiful little cry, Karalaini and Jack’s baby entered the world. On a fishing trawler in the Koro Sea, weighing seven pounds and four ounces, although no one had the presence of mind to weigh him at the moment of his birth, Solomon (named for the man who delivered him) Jack Kano, who’d use the Fijian version of his surname, O’Connor, was born.