Nostalgia I eased myself behind the counter of my bar, the Harbor, sipping iced tea. It was about 8 p.m. Jim Cannon, the bartender, wasn’t due for another couple of hours. Until then I could handle the slack business myself. The air conditioning purred quietly, banishing the humidity outside. Embroidered tapestries, depicting Oriental myths, covered…

Watching Fire                     by Mary Wakayama            Must have been '52. On New Year's Eve when Sparky Takahashi was maybe twelve, and I was nine, he set the canefield on fire at the H.S.P.A. That means the Hawaii Sugar Planters Association which is all gone from Makiki now. Finally.           Spark had a lot of impetigo over…