The Aloha Spirit

by Linda Ulleseit

  Manolo’s older brother swept through the kitchen door with a dramatic flair and a dimpled smile.

  “I could have brought home a whole pig for you today, Grandma Jessie,” João said.

  “A whole pig?”

  João nodded. “I ran into a Hawaiian woman just outside our construction site. She liked my blue eyes and offered me the pig if I would make a blue-eyed Hawaiian baby with her.”

  Manolo laughed. “A whole pig just for that?”

  Grandma Jessie added her peeled potatoes to the pot and turned to her boys. “Who wouldn’t want such a handsome young man?”

  They all laughed. Most of the Medeiros family laughed easily, but João found joy in everything around him. Please, Lord, Dolores thought, let my baby have that easy humor.

  “I couldn’t take her up on it,” João said, “because I didn’t have a ti leaf with me.” His eyes sparkled.

  Grandma Jessie said, “Oh, good thinking. You should never carry pork without a ti leaf. It angers Pele.”

  Dolores turned to Manolo. “Angers Pele? Never heard that one.”

  Manolo said, “The goddess Pele and demigod Kamapua argued and agreed to split up. He’s a half man, half pig, so pork makes Pele angry if you bring it to her side of the island. Ti leaves protect you.”

  João got two Primos out of the icebox. He handed one of the beers to his brother and joined him at the table.

  “‘Okole maluna,” Manolo said.

  “Bottoms up!” João echoed, taking a long drink.

  Manolo’s oldest brother, Frank, came in from the harbor where he worked as a longshoreman. He wore his favorite chambray shirt, softened from decades of washing. In his large roughened hands, he held a large box of Oreo cookies. Dolores hid a smile. As usual, the box was already open and half empty. Frank always brought his mother half a box of cookies. The other half went to his mother-in-law. Dolores had heard Alberto say, “Why not bring them all to your mama?”

  Frank had replied, “Just covering all my bases.”

  Now Frank kissed his mother on the cheek and set the cookies on the counter. He, too, got a Primo and took his place at the table.

  Frank was the quiet brother. From him, Baby Medeiros would learn how to listen to others and think before speaking. Dolores wanted her child to be happy, to be folded into this loving family, and to give back. Frank would show the little one how to have patience.

  Helen looked at Dolores then back to her mother. “Shouldn’t someone fetch Vovô?” She was never rude, just distant, maybe because her son, Alberto, was twelve. At sixteen, Dolores was his aunt. This must make Helen feel old.

  Dolores wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. She knew bringing the old man to lunch was her job. Ignoring Helen’s pointed glare, she walked toward the back bedroom. “Lunch time, Vovô.”

  “Obrigado, dear,” he said, thanking her in Portuguese.

  Dolores never knew if Grandma Jessie’s father realized who she was. He was smart though. As the family grew and the generations blurred in his mind, he called all the women “dear” and all the men “son.”

  Dolores settled Vovô in his chair as Alberto’s father, Antonio, came in. He went first to give his wife, Helen, a kiss. He told his mother-in-law, “I have a friend who can repair the roof on the back lana‘i.”

  “Mahalo,” Grandma Jessie said, still focused on getting the meal ready.

  Antonio worked in the office at Lewars & Cooke lumberyard, and his round wire-rimmed glasses and thinning hair gave him a scholarly air. He knew a lot of Japanese construction workers who did side jobs for him. He joined the men at the table, and Helen brought him a beer.

  Antonio and Manolo were the smart Medieros men. They made the most money and could offer the baby good business advice. Dolores pictured Tito Antonio admonishing a child to study hard, and Papa Manolo checking over homework. She’d only completed sixth grade, but she wanted her child to be well educated.

  Dolores, Ruth, and Helen helped Grandma Jessie put steaming bowls of food on the table. João reached for a bowl of vegetables and knocked over the saltshaker. Grandma Jessie snatched a bit of the spilled salt and threw it over her left shoulder. “Into the face of the Devil,” she muttered.

  Dolores smiled. More than anything, she wanted her child to grow up with Grandma Jessie’s sense of balance. The older woman prayed to the Christian God but followed superstition, too. She reminded Dolores of Noelani. Both women led large, diverse families, and neither put up with nonsense. They followed traditions they felt deeply, traditions Dolores knew would ground her child in the little one’s heritage.

  Ruth’s husband rarely came to lunch, and her children were at school. Frank and João’s wives and their children were missing, and Dolores didn’t know where Alberto was, either. Still, it was a noble representation of family. It felt like Dolores’s family, too, unlike Noelani’s gatherings. If Dolores were to show up tomorrow with ten strangers, Grandma Jessie would throw a few more potatoes in the stew and welcome them inside with a smile.

  Dolores looked around the table. These people would be the most important influences on her baby’s life. They would be family. It was what she’d always wanted for herself, and what she wanted for her children. Peter had been wrong. There was nothing wild, and therefore unacceptable, about the Medeiros family. They were a large loving family who liked to have fun.

  In contrast, Noelani’s family, also large, had no fun. Noelani found aloha in hard work, but Grandma Jessie found it in family. Dolores preferred the Medeiros way.

  The doorbell rang while they were eating, and as Dolores looked around, her confusion echoed in the other faces. No one ever rang the bell.

  Frank, the oldest son present, put his napkin on the table and went to investigate. The rest of the family heard a low conversation at the front door. None of them spoke, but none of them admitted to listening, either. Frank returned with resignation painted on his face, his nephew Alberto following. “The police picked up Alberto and Noa again.”

  Alberto grinned. “Noa’s faddah get us out.”

  Conversation started at once, some about Alberto’s wildness and his association with Noa, the lawyer’s son. It was business as usual for the Medeiros family, but it was something Dolores still had to get used to.

  Grandma Jessie waved her ladle at her grandson. “Why you always raise hell? Your uncles are a bad influence on you. Those boys of mine!” She shook her head.

  “Ah, Grandma,” Alberto protested. “Me and Noa celebrate, ya? He goin’ to school on the mainland.”

  “What about you? What you gonna do?” Grandma Jessie’s dark brown eyes bored holes in Alberto. “If you not in school, you should be working.”

  “Time was,” Vovô put in, “that family looked after family. Someone here must have something the young ’un can do.” His lined face and stooped shoulders showed his age, but his eyes were clear and his tone firm.

  “I can keep him busy for a while.” João pointed a finger at Alberto. “You better keep your nose clean when you’re working with me.”

  “I help, Tito,” Alberto told him.

  Antonio looked at his son dubiously, but everyone else seemed to think it was a great idea. Dolores remembered how eager she’d been to leave school at twelve. She also knew Alberto preferred surfing to working. He often skipped school to surf Waikiki, climb the palm trees for coconuts so he could drink the juice, and buy pipikaula, a kind of Hawaiian beef jerky, in paper cones from vendors on the beach. He was the epitome of carefree youth. Dolores was only four years older, but some days it felt like a hundred. She didn’t know what a carefree day was, and she wasn’t likely to find out with a baby on the way. Dolores didn’t want to trade places with Alberto, but sometimes she envied him.

  João nodded at him. “Change your clothes. We’re due on the job in half an hour.”

  Alberto sauntered from the room, taking his time. Dolores hid her smile.

  A few weeks later, her first Christmas season as a Medeiros arrived
in a swirl of love and bustle. Manolo’s brothers knew how to celebrate the birth of the Lord, and the beer flowed. Prohibition was still the law, though, and Dolores asked Manolo, “Where does the drink come from?” She didn’t want the family to think she was a prude, but she remembered Maria warning her about the Medeiros boys and their drinking.

  Manolo laughed. “It’s available if you know where to go.”

  It made her uneasy, but Dolores liked seeing him have fun with his brothers. They sang “Silent Night” in Hawaiian, trading volume for hitting the correct notes. Dolores winced and anticipated hearing it sung well at church on Sunday.

  Dolores and Manolo’s sisters added festivity to Grandma Jessie’s house. Ruth held one end of a decorated garland that Helen climbed on a chair to hang. Dolores held the other end of the garland. She put one hand on the chair back near her, preparing to climb up to hang it.

  “What are you doing?” Helen’s tone was sharp. “No pregnant sister-in-law of mine is going to climb on a chair!”

  “All right, thank you.” Dolores smiled instead of letting her anger rise at Helen’s tone.

  Soon Grandma Jessie’s house smelled of jasmine and plumeria. The women decorated a small pine tree with coconut frond ornaments, red angels made from kukui nuts, and Santas in red canoes. Grandma Jessie always insisted on a traditional pine tree from the mainland rather than the local cedars. It was her Christmas indulgence. They hung a string of new electric lights on the tree, and everyone exclaimed how pretty they were. Dolores was a traditional soul, though, so she put candles on the tiny cedar tree in her own house.

  “Electric is the new rage,” Helen said.

  “Let her have her own ideas,” Ruth said to Dolores.

  “Ruth, you still use candles,” Dolores said. She could tolerate doing tasks like decorating with Helen, but she preferred Ruth’s company. She was tiny and vivacious. Like her nephew Alberto, Ruth sparkled. Her eyes and hands always smiled with her face.

  “Of course, I do.” Ruth lifted her nose into the air and flashed a wave of disdainful dismissal. “No newfangled decorations in my house.” Helen harrumphed and turned back to the garland. “Can’t afford them anyway,” Ruth whispered to Dolores. They giggled until they drew matching glares from the older sister.

  Ruth had two small children under two years old, and it delighted Dolores to help her with them. Ruth didn’t put much stock in what was proper and often wore her dark hair loose like a girl, even though she was twenty years old. She reminded Dolores of Maria. Best of all, though, she and Dolores were so happy to share their pregnancies with each other that they were often giddy, much to Helen’s dismay.

  Dolores left her sisters-in-law at Grandma Jessie’s and returned home. She and Manolo had moved in to one of four small houses owned by his mother in the Portuguese section of Honolulu called Punch Bowl. Dolores couldn’t decide whether her favorite thing about the house was the multitude of family that surrounded them or the sweeping view down the hill to Honolulu Harbor far below.

  As she crossed the street, the mailman waved. “Letter for you, Mrs. Medeiros!”

  “Thank you, and Merry Christmas, Kai.” Dolores took the envelope. It was a rare letter from her brother, Paul, on the mainland. He was eighteen, Manolo’s age. How odd that the two men had never met. Even though he was far away, Dolores thought of her brother making his way alone in California and prayed for him. She let herself into the house and tore open his letter.

  Dear Dolores,

  Merry Christmas! Or do you prefer Mele Kalikimaka now? Did I spell that right? I am still living in Fremont with the Dominguez family, but I am sharing this Christmas with a special girl. I’d love you to meet Sofia. You’d get on well, I’m sure.

  Dolores’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t spoken to her since she was seven. Hopefully, her adult self would like Sofia, too!

  We are ready for the holiday. All the stockings are hung by the chimney with care, as the poem says. A fire is blazing in the fireplace—you can’t imagine how comforting and romantic that is. I think of you walking the beach at Waikiki for Christmas, and it seems a lifetime ago since I was there. Have a very happy Christmas, dear sister, and think of me often.

  Love,

  Paul James

  Dolores held the letter in her hand as if absorbing the essence of her brother as she looked out the window that faced ewa, seaward past downtown Honolulu. The lush green of the hillside, the deep blue of the harbor, the vibrant color of the city—these were real to her. Paul’s California seemed strange, as did he.

  Dolores remembered quiet Christmases on Kaua‘i with Papa and Paul. At Noelani’s, Christmas had been a brief bright spot in the drudgery of daily chores. Maria and Peter’s house filled with noise and love at Christmas. Watching their boys’ faces glow with excitement always made Dolores happy. This was her first Christmas as a married woman. Next year she’d be a mother! Would she be a mother like Noelani, who worked her children hard? Or a loving mother like Maria? She’d have to make sure the baby found its way in a large family. Dolores shook her head. As welcoming as Manolo’s family had been, the family still felt new. Only a long shared history would take that away. Baby Medeiros would no doubt feel an integral part of this family before Dolores did.

  She tucked the letter into the pocket of her dress and tied on an apron to begin dinner. Before she could reach the kitchen, the front door opened. It was Manolo. He hung his hat on the rack by the door.

  “Manolo, you’re home early.”

  “Home for good. They let me go.”

  “Oh, Manolo!” Was that alcohol she smelled on his breath? Anxiety nibbled at her smile.

  “Just before Christmas, too. What a bunch of Scrooges.” He sounded relaxed rather than upset. He waved a hand in the air. “It’s no problem. I have brothers with connections all over Honolulu.”

  She nodded. He was the smartest of his siblings. Dolores hoped he was right about connections. They’d need the money with Christmas and the baby coming.

  Later she called Maria to offer holiday greetings. In her friend’s warm wishes, Dolores longed to find reassurance. “Mele Kalikimaka, Maria!”

  “Feliz Navidad, Dolores!”

  “Are you ready for Christmas?”

  “It’s a little different at the base,” Maria said. “The military surroundings don’t really scream holiday, you know? I mean, it’s decorated and all, but it’s not home. How’s the horde at your place? You and Ruth feeling all right?”

  “We feel great. It’s crazy around here, full of love and drama. That’s family, I guess.”

  As she always had, Maria zeroed in on the word that had taken the exuberance out of Dolores’s voice. “Drama?”

  “Manolo lost his job.”

  “Oh, querida, I’m so sorry. Must be awful with the holidays so close and the baby coming.”

  It was, but Dolores felt the need to make it seem fine. “A large family always helps, right? We’ll be fine. So will you. How’s Peter?”

  But she couldn’t distract Maria. “There’s always a lot of drinking around the holidays. Combined with losing his job, this might be too much for Manolo.”

  “Maria, Manolo doesn’t drink any more than his brothers. He’s not a drunk.”

  Maria diplomatically answered the previous question. “Peter works hard and enjoys his boys. We miss you, but we’re glad you have your own family now.”

  “Mahalo, Maria. Give all your boys a kiss for me.”

  They rang off, but Dolores kept her hand on the phone for another long minute, as if trying to prolong the connection to what was familiar and safe.

  THIRTEEN

  Carmen 1932

  Manolo took Dolores to dinner in January, when she turned seventeen, to celebrate his new job. Alberto’s father, Antonio, had helped Manolo land a position as a power plant engineer at Hawaiian Electric. They went to the Alexander Young hotel. The restaurant inside was fancy with its white tablecloths and linen napkins, but then the hotel was one of
Hawai‘i’s most luxurious. Honolulu’s high society gathered here in the Rose Garden, but not during a tropical storm that drenched Honolulu with warm rain. The wind roared through the palm trees as loud as the crashing surf.

  Dolores held her skirt to her knees with one hand, and with the other tried to keep her cloche hat from sailing down Bishop Street. Thank God she could wear this hat pulled down over her forehead since her lauhala straw hat would be halfway to Diamond Head by now. Inside the restaurant, she excused herself to the ladies’ room. She removed the hat and repinned her damp brown curls. Before replacing the hat, Dolores shook off the raindrops. She brushed her dress with her hand and turned sideways to inspect her baby bump. Elegant again, she joined Manolo at the table.

  “I’ll be chief engineer soon,” he said. He looked very handsome in his new suit. His smile revealed how happy he was.

  “I’m proud of you,” she told him.

  Manolo poured them each a glass of mango juice from the pitcher on the table. At least Prohibition prevented him from ordering alcohol. Dolores was sure they’d have a nice dinner. She spread the napkin across her lap then rested a hand on her stomach with a smile.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, nodding to her stomach.

  “I’m not sick anymore. I can hardly wait to feel the baby move! Ruth says I’ll feel it around four months.”

  “Her baby is due next month,” Manolo observed. “She’s huge!”

  “That’s no way to talk about your sister!” Dolores scolded him.

  They laughed and held hands. Dolores felt a part of the aloha surrounding her.

  RUTH’S baby girl arrived in February, and the Medeiros family embraced her. Dolores noted the absence of Ruth’s Chinese husband, Charles Chong. They had three children now, but he never seemed to be at the Medeiros house. Ruth made vague excuses for him, and Dolores let her.

  Grandma Jessie’s next-door neighbor, Yoshiko, came over one afternoon when the women were in the kitchen, but the men had returned to work. She brought her son, Hiro, a good friend of Alberto’s.