Paniolo Pete

by RJ Krause

Chapter 26

  Cowboy Hula

  It was around that time that Paniolo Pete took a fancy to spear fishing. Now it probably seems a might strange to most of you folks to think of a cowboy who likes to swim in the ocean and spear fish, but most cowboys don’t live in Hawai‘i. It was Keala who first taught Pete how to dive. Whenever they went diving, all of the Kahiona boys would take Pete with them. I reckon, even while he was in New Zealand and Australia Pete found time to do some diving. He just took a shine to it and it stuck with him. He just loved diving under the surface of the ocean and coming back up with some kind of fish that he’d caught. Although he tried many times, he never could convince me to give it a try. It seemed to me kind of unnatural for a man to act like a fish. Besides that, it was a might dangerous.

  Shoot, I remember one time we rode down to the shore near the Double ‘P’ and Pete said he had the urge to do some diving. He had these rubber goggles that he always carried in his saddle bag, but he hadn’t brought his spear. I figured he was just gonna do some underwater sightseeing, so I hunkered down in the sand under a palm tree, took out my old harp and started entertaining myself as I watched Pete swim out to the reef. It was a beautiful afternoon. The tradewinds were blowing, the sun was shining off the ocean and it was darn peaceful on that beach. If it hadn’t been for Pete’s horse, I might have taken me a nap. Kokoro did not take kindly to being left out when Pete went out diving. Many times I witnessed that stallion follow right after Pete when he headed into the ocean. I imagine it might be rather hard to spear fish with a horse swimming next to you. Pete always solved the problem by formally asking Kokoro to please wait on the beach and keep an eye on things. Although the horse wasn’t very happy about it, he always did what Pete asked.

  As I was saying, it was one of those peaceful afternoons that we often take for granted here in the islands. It must have been about ten minutes or so after Pete first dove into the ocean that I saw him return to the beach. He walked over to one of the smaller kiawe trees growing out of the sand and cut off a branch. He then cleaned it and sharpened it with the knife he always had strapped to his leg. After he had a sharpened stick about three feet long, he grabbed an empty coffee bag and headed back into the surf.

  He didn’t say a word, so I just leaned back and kept playing my harp. As usually happens on the beach, when someone starts playing music, folks start to mosey over to listen. At first it was just a few young keiki, but pretty soon I had some folks stop by with a guitar and a ukulele. At first we just played a few chords to kind of get a feel for each other. In no time we were harmonizing and playing music.

  Hawaiian country is a might different that other country music I’ve heard. It’s not so much about broken hearts and lost loves and such. But country is country, and although I couldn’t understand most of the words, that old foot of mine just got to stompin’. We had just finished a song when that horse Kokoro screamed and started pulling on his tied off reins.

  “He brah, I think that haole you came here with got plenty trouble. Try look,” one of the bystanders said after hearing the scream from Pete’s horse.

  Sure enough, Pete was out there thrashing about in the water and I could see blood beginning to surround him. He was wrestling with what I figured was a shark, and if that was the case, he didn’t stand a chance.

  We all dropped our instruments and ran into the shallow water as Pete struggled about a hundred yards off shore. A couple of the older boys dove in and started swimming out to help. Now I’m as brave as the next man I reckon, but it never entered my mind to swim willingly into what looked like a shark attack. Even the two fellas who were swimming out must have realized just how dangerous it was because they stopped a safe distance away from Pete. They just treaded water with a look of complete helplessness.

  Nobody likes to watch a man struggle for his life and the Hawaiians probably more than most. They grow up facing the dangers of the ocean and the land and are always first to help. But there are limits to what any man can do. Meanwhile, Paniolo Pete was still out there fighting for all he was worth. One minute we’d see him, the next we’d see a large silver streak. Then they would both disappear under the surface.

  I doubted I could be of much help, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. I ran to my horse and pulled my rifle out of its scabbard. Kokoro was chompin’ at the bit and trying to break free of his rope. So far it was holding, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before that stallion would be running into the ocean to help his master. He kept looking at me to release him, but it wasn’t in my heart to send a horse into the ocean if sharks were about.

  When I turned back around there was no sign of Paniolo Pete. The whole area was dark from blood and the surface was once again calm. It broke my heart to think it, but I figured there was nothing more any of us could do for Pete. We stood there on the beach and in the surf staring out into the ocean where we’d last seen Pete. It must have been a good two or three minutes before anyone moved.

  The people in the surf started drifting back on the beach, the two boys out in the ocean started to swim slowly toward shore, and I turned to put my rifle back. Even Kokoro had calmed some, but I swear there was fire burning in that horse’s eyes. I was sure there would be a debt to pay, but at that moment I was too stunned to even move. As I looked out toward the ocean I felt a thick fog surround me.

  Suddenly Kokoro lifted up his head. He reared and the cords stood out in his neck. The rope holding him snapped as he raced down the beach toward the water. As I stood there and watched the horse, I saw Pete’s head break the surface of the ocean. He coughed a few times and took a couple of deep breaths. Next thing I heard was Pete yelling at the top of his lungs. It wasn’t quite as eerie as his horse’s scream, but it was close.

  Everyone turned to look and the boys out in the ocean turned around and headed toward Paniolo Pete. I just stood there on the beach with a big grin on my face. We watched as Pete and his two helpers headed toward shore dragging something behind them. We all rushed into the shallows to help and as they got closer, Pete looked over at me and said in his usual calm voice, “Bill, I guess we’re going to have fish for dinner.” As he gave me a wink, he missed his step and fell face down into the water.

  Kokoro, of course, was right there at Pete’s side, and although everyone was a little scared of the huge horse, no one backed off from the task at hand. We got our shoulders under Pete’s arms and helped him to shore while the rest of the people finished bringing in what Pete had been fighting with.

  Paniolo Pete had some nasty gashes on his back, legs and stomach and he had lost quite a bit of blood. I asked one of the boys to please take my horse and go get Noelani. He jumped in the saddle and was headed for the Double ‘P’ Ranch before I even finished the sentence. Although Pete had some pretty nasty wounds, they were clean from the sea water. As long as we got the bleeding stopped, I figured he would be good as new in a few weeks.

  Lying on the sand a few yards away was the cause of all this trouble. It was a big old dogfish, more commonly known as a barracuda. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a bigger one. It was every bit a fighting fish, and even lying there on the beach it was a frightful sight. One of the stronger boys slipped his hand into its gills, lifted it up and announced with a wide grin, “Over hundred pounds dis buggah!”

  Paniolo Pete was laying there looking mighty proud as a crowd began to gather around to admire the monster fish. One of the onlookers was Auntie Pukilani who immediately took charge of the situation.

  “Kimo, Nakana! You boys go get Auntie some ti leaves. Bring da center part cause I like stop this bleeding all over our beautiful white sand!”

  The boys returned shortly with exactly what Auntie had requested. The center stalk of the ti leaf plant was removed, the top bitten off, and Auntie put the remaining part in her mouth and began chewing it.

  Noelani and Keala soon arrived with their whole family and after quite a fuss and a lot of scolding, Noelani and Auntie Pukilani b
egan working on Pete. The look on poor old Pete’s face changed quickly from one of pride to sheepish humility as the two women chided him for his recklessness as they treated his wounds. The only explanation Pete could offer in his own defense was to say that when he coaxed that octopus out of its hole, the dogfish stole it.

  We all laughed until Noelani silenced us with one of her looks. “Dis crazy buggah almost die and you think it’s funny? How you like scrap with that fish over one octopus? No just stand there, go clean da fish!”

  Keala was the first to react and while the two women put the chewed up ti leaf stalks on Pete’s wounds to stop the bleeding, Keala began organizing the cleaning and preparation for cooking the fish. When Pete’s wounds were all dressed with the ti leaf pulp, Auntie announced, “Now no need sew.” Sure enough, the bleeding had stopped and Pete’s skin was tightening around the edges as it began to heal.

  Some folks might not take to the thought of a chewed up plant being used to heal a wound, but I’ll tell you, there are few injuries the Hawaiians don’t know how to cure. For generations they have done fine without hospitals and modern medicine. The only doctor they needed was their Kahuna. I’ve seen more than my share of injuries treated in the traditional Hawaiian way, and as sure as I’m writing this, it always works.

  “Okay, now you all patch up,” Auntie said to Pete in her sternest voice. “Time to get ready for one lū‘au! No sense we go waste dis ugly buggah after Paniolo work so hard to catch him.”

  A lū‘au is a Hawaiian feast at which the main course consists of a pig cooked in an underground pit called an imu. The pit is filled with kiawe wood and then rocks are placed along the top and sides. The wood is burned down to hot coals which heat the rocks. When the rocks are hot enough, you begin cooking. The pig is wrapped in wire, placed on top of the rocks, covered with banana stumps and ti leaves and covered with wet burlap bags. The whole imu is then covered with dirt or sand and the meat is just left in the earth like that until it’s cooked. All the steam, juices, everything, are contained in this manner. I tell you, there ain’t much I like more than Kalua pig.

  This time though we were cooking a big fish instead of a pig, but as the afternoon wore on, people brought many other traditional favorites for the feast. Breadfruit was placed in the imu to cook with the fish as were about two dozen lobsters. While the pit was being prepared, a group of young Hawaiians grabbed spears and headed into the reef to try their luck. They returned with some good sized octopus’ and a considerable number of reef fish. The octopus was put on the table to cut up for poke, and the fish was placed in the imu with the lobster and barracuda.

  By sunset, the imu was uncovered to the sounds of good Hawaiian music. We had haupia, lomi lomi salmon, squid in coconut milk, tako poke, taro bread, and dried manini. This was all to accompany the feast that had been cooking all afternoon. Just as we were sitting down to eat, another group of friends showed up with four large jars of opihi they had just picked off the jagged rocks further down the beach. There was so much food on that table, I swear we could have fed a small army. We ate, danced, sang songs, and enjoyed the music until well into the night. It was indeed a mighty fine evening—good food, a cool tropical breeze, a little slack key guitar and ukulele, and friends and family.

  Someone even got Auntie Pukilani to dance for us. Now, she’s a large woman, but I swear when she dances the hula, she’s as graceful as any woman I’ve ever seen. It took some coaxing, but we finally got a sore and battered Paniolo Pete up there to dance with Auntie. Now, I’m not one to laugh at another man’s misfortune, but I will say that old Pete was surely out of his element. In the saddle he is as graceful and talented as any man I’ve ever seen. But on the beach that night, trying to match Auntie Pukilani’s moves, Pete was downright hysterical. Those cowboy boots of his with those big old spurs just aren’t cut out for dancing the hula. But typical of Pete, he was having a great time and laughed at himself as much as the rest of us.

  Not to be outdone, Keala got up to help his friend learn some moves. It seemed that Pete just wasn’t cut out to dance hula, and he sat down after a few more failed attempts. We then had the good fortune of watching Keala and Auntie Pukilani dance together. When the song was over, Auntie walked over to Noelani and helped her to her feet. Watching Keala and Noelani dance to some of the ancient chants by the fire was by far, the highlight of the evening. When they finished everyone applauded and they seemed a might embarrassed over all the attention.

  After the dance had finished and the attention had somewhat died down, Paniolo Pete got up and walked over to a pile of dried kiawe wood and selected a piece about three feet long and maybe an inch thick. We sat there watching him as he took out his knife and cut a couple of burlap strips to tie on each end. Next he walked over to the musicians and quietly talked to them for a few minutes, then proceeded over to where Keala and Noelani were seated.

  I ain’t exactly sure what happened next, but before I knew it all the guitars were turned upside down. A steady beat was being drummed out on the backs of the guitars by the musicians’ hands. Keala began to alter the beat with a stick he was rapping on the side of a coconut. It was definitely Polynesian but a beat like I’d never heard before. It sounded warlike in its rhythm and spoke of wild and exotic places. Those of us seated around the fire weren’t sure what was going on until Paniolo Pete himself jumped into the middle, lit his stick on both ends and started spinning the flaming torch. He was naked except for a piece of burlap tied around his middle like a skirt. His body glistened with sweat as he danced, and all the cuts and bruises he’d received earlier in the day glowed in the firelight. Old scars and new were visible on his strong body as he moved to the hypnotic beat.

  He danced like a man possessed. He threw the twirling fire stick, spun around and caught it behind his back. Then he threw it again, caught it in mid-air and dragged the flames across his chest and through his legs. He didn’t even wince as the flames touched his skin. I’ve seen a lot of dancing in my life, but I gotta tell you, never before had I seen a more violent and at the same time, more beautiful display than we witnessed that night.

  It seemed so out of character for the man we all knew and loved as Paniolo Pete with his easy smile and mischievous wink. Before us stood a hardened warrior from another time and place, performing a dance to prepare for battle. I didn’t know the meaning of the dance, but everyone who witnessed it was awestruck. Frightening but mesmerizing, the dance continued for a good long time. Then suddenly, the drumming and spinning reached a climax and all was silent. Pete caught the flaming stick in his teeth, and in the eerie silence that followed, he slowly pulled one end into his mouth and extinguished the flame. The drums started again and Pete threw the fire stick into the air and caught it as the beat stopped, then snuffed out the other end of the stick in his mouth. He gave a shrill scream and stuck out his tongue, stomped his feet, and all was silent.

  No one spoke as we all stared at the almost naked, cut up warrior who stood before us. One minute we were laughing at his foolish attempt at hula, and the next minute we were struck speechless at his unparalleled ability to master the Tongan style of fire dancing.

  Keala was the first to recover from the spell, and in his good natured way, he took it all in stride. “Braddah, I guess when you went New Zealand you went learn how to dance. I always knew you get the heart of one Hawaiian. Better you give up being one paniolo and go Waikiki. Can make plenty of money dancing for tourists!”

  Keala gave his friend a smile and a big hug and announced to all, “This one my braddah.” We could clearly see the love that these two men shared.

  “No thanks, Hawaiian. I cannot leave Kokoro alone, and I don’t think I could ever find a lava-lava big enough for him. Besides, who’s going to keep you out of trouble if I go off and become a famous fire dancer?”

  The two of them just stood there and smiled at each other for a few seconds. Like I’ve said all along, those two always had a special relationship. Now, Pete an
d I have always been close, and I reckon he’s about the best friend I’ve ever had. I guess the only way to explain it is that Pete and Keala were brothers, and Pete and I were partners.