House of Many Gods

by Kiana Davenport

  The old woman opened her eyes, pointing at Ana. “This pain wants you.”

  Then something wrenched her with such force she momentarily blacked out. They bathed her neck and face again, bringing her to consciousness, then put her head down and let her rest upon her knees. Agony was all-consuming, but still no head appeared. She was pulled back into a squatting position while the midwife implored.

  “Draw the breath! The breath!”

  “No more,” Ana whispered. “No …”

  Even Rosie was exhausted, her arms and legs visibly trembling. Then Ana felt the thing expand, engulfing her. Her scream was piercing.

  “Mamaaa!”

  Anahola lifted her head, then moved instinctively. As Rosie pushed aside, she quickly sat and took up the ko‘o kua position behind Ana, her legs surrounding her, arms wrapped round her stomach, pressing down. Ana’s head hung with exhaustion. She panted like a dog.

  The next seizure swept her with such force, her feet and buttocks left the floor. “Mamaaa!”

  “I’m here.”

  Her face distorted with effort, Anahola pressed down on Ana’s stomach, willing that child to drop, to begin to come out to the world. Her daughter shouted, she shouted back. Each time a convulsion came, Ana’s elbows bore down on her mother’s knees. Their sweating faces side by side, their cheeks seemingly attached, so Niki saw a two-headed woman giving birth.

  And yet the infant would not crown.

  Then Anahola whispered in her daughter’s ear, “The baby is close to crowning, I can feel how low she is. When I say three! we are going to make the head crown. First we rock side to side, together like one body … and when you are ready I will count to three. Then, we will press down with all our might. Remember, you are in control, only when you’re ready …”

  Speaking in a low, soft voice, Lopaka took up position behind Niki, arms tight round his waist, providing traction. Ana tightened her arms round Niki’s neck. Then she and her mother rocked side to side, so attuned they seemed one body. As they rocked, her mother hummed. And Ana’s eyes began to overflow, remembering the sensation of being rocked when she was a child, remembering this same song being hummed, the scent of this same woman rocking her.

  Finally, her mother whispered, “Ready?”

  She felt pain coming fast, it seemed to gallop. She stood up to it. “Ready. Now.”

  Her mother counted. “One … two …”

  She would not remember the wrenching push as much as the enormous pressure her mother exerted with her arms upon her stomach. “Now! Press now!”

  They threw back their heads and gasped. Then they pressed down, her mouth a gaping rictus. Ana’s eyes bulged. Veins stood out on her neck like ropes, her long, protracted groan so primal and subhuman, folks felt hair stand up on their arms.

  The midwife bent and saw the head emerging.

  The chanters sang out, “ ‘Ike ‘ia nā maka I ke ao!” The eyes are seen in the world! The child is born.

  She gently guided the body on through its narrow passage as folks leaned close, exclaiming. A strapping infant that would weigh eight pounds. Ana shuddered, then lay back against her mother’s chest. Laps and thighs tattooed with blood, they watched as the child was lifted in the air still attached to Ana by the piko, the umbilical cord. The chanters sang out one last time.

  “Ola ke kumu, I ka lālā hou!” The branches of the tree are green again.

  Now Ben stepped forward, and with the guidance of the midwife, he cut and knotted the piko, a sacred duty. Then, winding a clean piece of cloth round his finger, he gently stuck it into the baby’s mouth, gagging her just enough to disgorge the nalu, birth fluid. He rinsed his own mouth and sucked the fluid from the baby’s nose. He wiped her tiny eyes clean. She wailed, her wails were loud and healthy. The midwife gently sponged her, counting her fingers and her toes. And she was perfect, and everything was as it should be.

  Niki knelt on the floor and held his child. “At last. My goloobka. Little dove!”

  While they sponged off her hands and thighs, Ana listened to the beating of her mother’s heart against her head. And when she was ready, they handed her her child. She knew that henceforth life would be distracted and disordered, that she had lost forever a certain symmetry and focus. But here was this being, this helpless perfection of radiance, her small head covered with a tender down. Ana pressed her to her breast. Here was truth, her deepest truth. And there was no retreat from wonder.

  “Now, will you tell us?” Rosie asked. “What is the name the gods have chosen?”

  She looked down at her child, and spoke out clearly. “She is … Anahola. Anahola Kapakahi Volenko.”

  Ē NĀ HANAUNA, Ē!

  O, Generations, O!

  THE BOMBS ARE SILENT AT MAKUA. FOR SEVERAL YEARS THERE HAS been peace. Nature slowly begins to heal itself. In the soil, roots take hold, seeds swell and lengthen. Folks say they are the seeds of freedom, and that in time winds will blow those seeds and germinate the land.

  Up and down this red, parched coast, crops still grow, sap still flows. Sounds fill the valleys. The sounds of children growing like plants, rooting and seeding, learning to take care of each other, learning how caring is a holy deed …

  Some days a girl runs down Keola Road. At her mother’s clinic she will witness a water birth. On such days she watches midwives gather, and chanters, the solemn errands of women in an eternal dance of birthing and rebirthing. She watches a newborn slide down that ancient seaway to greet life. She hears its cries. Each birth brings new requests for the placenta. It will be blessed and buried, so the child will not be a wanderer who loses sight of home.

  And, some days the girl, Anahola, sits with her elders, even her grandmother, and great-grandfather, spinning tales. For, like those before her, she will be a “talking-story” woman. And even when her elders doze, she continues talking, for the sheer love of it. Small-kid stories of her valley and her coast whose people, from ancient times, have given themselves to dreaming, and to fabulating. She never quite finishes her stories, for she is a knowing child who vaguely understands that stories have no endings, that they go on and on.

  Sometimes she stands impatiently in the road, with the tremor of fire in a sunstruck leaf. She is waiting for her father. When he arrives she watches the important way he walks with his briefcase. He is a teacher now, a man who finds quietude in numbers. Often, he tells her of a city called Peter where nights are pink, and where winged lions fly over rivers that are pink. And he tells her how he was born in ice, how his first words were visible. On nights when her father’s dreams turn bad, her mother curls herself around him, her warmth correcting the soft ellipses of his nightmares.

  And, often she sees her mother take her father’s hand. His hands are so massive they seem to hold all of their lives within them. She sees what happens between her mother and her father when their eyes meet. The look they share suffuses her body with such warmth she runs out to the fields, letting her shadow dance across the land. Leaving her footprints there among the ancients.

  One night she sits with her parents in a crowd. They have gathered to watch her father’s film. A film about sickness and chaos. And even as they gather, chaos is exciting itself again in the world. Near the end of the film, folks grow silent, watching children in a place called Hope. Many of them are bald like monks, some so pale and transparent it seems God has already touched them. And because they are children, each face is beautiful.

  Later, as they walk up Keola Road, Anahola’s parents discuss the rumors that, “of necessity,” they will soon resume bombing in Mākua Valley. Her parents grow tense, hearing the Wup! Wup! of military choppers overhead, the crackle of satellite receivers in the distance.

  The child hears nothing. She skips through dappled light from shimmering leaves, loving how moonlight seeks her out, as if choosing her, selecting her. She scoops her hand into the dark and combs the moonlight through her hair.

  “Will those kids get well?” she asks.

&n
bsp; “Some will,” her mother says.

  “And … why do they call that clinic, ‘Hope’?”

  Her father struggles with his answer.

  “It is a good word, Ana. A big word. It means that, after all, we still love life. That living is a sacred act.”

  She walks on, pondering his answer, holding tight to her parents’ hands.

  HAWAIIAN-ENGLISH GLOSSARY

  ‘A‘AMA (ah-ah-ma) … Black, edible crab

  AHI (ah-hee) … Fire, matches

  ĀINA (eye-nah) … Land, earth

  AKAMAI (ah-kah-my) … Smart, clever

  AKU (ah-koo) … Bonito. Skipjack fish

  ĀKUA (ah-koo-ah) … Gods

  ALAWELA (ah-la-vel-ah) … Dark lines meeting at navel in pregnancy

  ALI‘I (ah-lee-ee) … Chief, ruler

  ANAHOLA (ahn-ah-ho-lah) … Hourglass

  ‘A‘OLE LOA (ah-oh-lay-lo-ah) … Absolutely not!

  ‘A‘OLE PILIKIA (ah-oh-lay-pee-lee-kee-ah) … No problem!

  ‘AU‘AU KAI (ow-ow-ki) … Sea bath

  ‘AUMĀKUA (ow-mah-koo-ah) … Family gods. Deified ancestors

  AUWĒ (ow-way) … Alas!

  ‘AWA (ah-va) … Slightly narcotic tea

  CHOP SUEY (chop-soo-ee) … Pidgin for mixed ancestry

  DA KINE (dah-kine) … Pidgin shorthand for anything; you know what I mean

  Ē HAMAU (ey-ha-mau) … Be silent.

  Ē KŪ (ey-koo) … Stand tall!

  Ē MAU (ey-mow) … We must strive!

  Ē I NEI (ay-nay) … Dear one, beloved

  Ē ‘OLU‘OLU (ey-oh-loo-oh-loo) … Please

  ‘EWE’EWE-IKI (ey-vey-ey-vey-ee-kee) … Ghost mother GEEV ‘UM … Pidgin. Show your stuff!

  Hō (hah) … Breath

  HA‘A (ha-ah) … Ancient dance with bent knees. After mid—nineteenth century called “the Hula”

  HĀNAU (ha-now) … Birth

  HANOHANO NUI (ha-no-ha-no-noo-ee) … Great dignity

  HAPA (ha-pa) … Person of mixed blood

  HAOLE (how-lee) … Caucasian, white

  HĀPAI (ha-pie) … Pregnant, to conceive

  HAUMEA (how-mey-ah) … Fertility goddess

  HE HIAPO (hey-he-ah-po) … Firstborn

  HEIAU (hey-yow) … Temple site, shrine

  HILA HILA (hee-la-hee-la) … For shame!

  HO‘OKALAKU (ho-oh-kala-koo) … Undo evil by prayer

  HO‘OLOHE (ho-oh-lo-hey) … Listen

  HO‘OMANAWANUI (ho-oh-ma-na-va-noo-ee) … Patience

  HO‘OPAHUHU (ho-oh-pah-hoo-hoo) … Ooze forth

  HO‘OPONOPONO (ho-oh-po-no-po-no) … To bring balance, put right

  HULA KAHIKO (hoo-la ka-hee-ko) … Old, ancient form of hula

  HULI (hoo-lee) … To turn, to reverse. Also to overthrow

  HULIHULI (hoo-lee-hoo-lee) … Chicken or meat on spit

  HULU KUPUNA (hoo-loo-koo-poo-na) … Precious elder

  HUMUHUMU (hoo-moo-hoo-moo) … Trigger fish

  IKAIKA (ee-ky-kah) … Strong, powerful

  ‘ĪEWE (ey-ee-vee) … Afterbirth, placenta

  ‘INA‘INA (een-ah-een-ah) … Bloodstains preceding childbirth

  ‘INIKI (ee-nee-kee) … Sharp, piercing, as wind

  INOA PŌ (ee-no-ah-po) … Name, title given in darkness

  ‘IWA (ee-vah) … Frigate, man-o’-war bird

  IWI (ee-vee) … Bone

  KAHILI (kah-hee-lee) … Feather standard, symbol of royalty

  KAHUNA (ka-hoo-nah) … Priest

  KAHUNA PALE KEIKI (kah-hoo-nah-pa-lay-kay-kee) … Midwife

  KAHUNA PULE (ka-hoo-nah-poo-lay) … Prayer expert, priest

  KAI (ky) … The sea, seawater KALAMAI (ka-la-my) … Forgive

  KĀLUA (kah-loo-ah) … To bake in underground oven (imu)

  KĀNE (kah-nee) … Male, husband

  KĀNE, KŪ, LONO, KANALOA (kah-ney-koo-lo-no-kah-nah-lo-ah) … Four major Hawaiian gods

  KANAKA MAOLI (ka-nah-ka-mah-oh-lee) … true, indigenous Hawaiian Plural, KĀNAKA

  KAPAKAHI (kah-pah-ky) … Crooked, lopsided, askew

  KAPU (ka-poo) … Taboo

  KA PU‘UWAI (ka-poo-oo-vy) … The heart

  KEOLA (kay-ola) … Life

  KIMCHEE (kim-chee) … Spicy Korean cabbage

  KOKE, KOKE (ko-kee-ko-kee) … Soon, soon

  KŌKUA (ko-koo-ah) … Help, aid, assist

  KO‘O KUA (ko-oh-koo-ah) … One who gives back support in childbirth

  KUKUI (koo-koo-ee) … Candlenut. Oil used for lights

  KULIKULI! (koo-lee-koo-lee) … Be still, be still.

  KUMU (koo-moo) … Foundation, source

  KUMU HULA (koo-moo-hoo-lah) … Hula master

  KUPUNA (koo-po-nah) … Elder, wise one (Plural, KŪPUNA)

  LA‘AU HAOLE (lah-ow-how-lee) … White man’s medicine

  LA‘AU LAPA’AU (lah-ow-la-pa-ow) … Herbal medicine

  LAKA (lah-kah) … Patron god of the hula

  LĀNAI (lah-nigh) … Porch, balcony

  LAULAU (lau-lau) … Steamed ti-leaf-covered fish or pork

  LIMU (lee-moo) … Algae, seaweed

  LO‘I (lo-ee) … Irrigated taro terrace

  LOKO‘INO (lo-ko-ee-no) … Evil, malevolent

  LOKULOKU (lo-koo-lo-koo) … Downpouring rain

  LŌLŌ (lo-lo) … Feebleminded, stupid

  LOMI (lo-mee) … To massage

  LONO MĀKUA (lo-no-mah-koo-ah) … Fire god

  LOPAKA (lo-pah-kah) … Robert

  LŪ‘AU (loo-ow) … Hawaiian feast, also wide taro leaves used therein

  MAHEALANI HOKU (mah-hey-ah-la-nee-ho-koo) … Full moon

  MAKE (mah-kay) … Death

  MAKAI (mah-kigh) … Seaward, in direction of the sea

  MAKANI (mah-kah-nee) … Wind, breeze

  MAKALI‘I (mah-kah-lee-ee) … Seven major stars of the Pleiades

  MAKUA (mah-koo-ah) … Mother, parent

  MALIHINI (mah-lee-hee-nee) … Newcomer

  MĀLAMA (mah-lah-mah) … To preserve, take care of

  MALO‘O (ma-lo-oh) … Dry season

  MANONG (mah-nong) … Pidgin slang for Filipino

  MAUKA (mow-kah) … Toward the mountains

  MAULILOA (mow-lee-lo-ah) … Sacred essence of life

  MOKES (mokes) … Pidgin. Brothers of the ‘hood

  MO‘OPUNA (mo-oh-poo-nah) … Grandchild

  MU‘UMU‘U (moo-moo) … Mother Hubbard dress, loose gown

  NA‘AU (Nah-ow) … Gut, gut feelings

  NANAKULI (na-na-koo-li) … To appear deaf. In hunger years when there was no food to offer strangers, folks pretended not to see or hear them.

  ‘OHANA (oh-hana-ah) … Family, kin group

  ‘OKI (oh-kee) … Cut, sever

  ‘OKOLE (oh-ko-lay) … Buttocks, anus

  ‘OLELO MAKUAHINE (oh-lay-lo-mah-koo-ah-hee-nee) … Mother tongue

  ‘ONO (oh-no) … Good, delicious

  ‘ŌPAE (oh-pay) … Shrimp

  OPIHI (oh-pee-hee) … Limpet, a delicacy

  PA‘A KE WAHA (pa-ah-kay-wah-ha) … Close the mouth

  PAHŪ (pah-hoo) … Push

  PAKALŌLŌ (pah-kah-lo-lo) … Local marijuana

  PAKE (pah-kay) … Chinese

  PANIOLO (pah-nee-oh-lo) … Hawaiian cowboy

  PAU (pow) … Finished, ended

  PAU HANA (pow-ha-nah) … Finished work

  PEHEA ‘OE (pe-hey-ah-oy) … How are you?

  PIKO (pee-ko) … Umbilical cord

  PŌ … The night

  POHĀ KA NALU (po-ha-ka-na-loo) … Amniotic sac

  PĀHAKU (po-hah-koo) … Stone, rock

  POI (poy) … Paste made of cooked, pounded taro corms

  POI DOG (poy dog) … Pidgin for mutt, mixed-blood dog POLIHALE (po-lee-ha-lay) … Home of the spirits

  PRIMO … Local beer

  PULUPULU AHI (poo-loo-poo-loo-ah-hee) … Fire-starters; hot-tempered

  PUNAHELE (poo-nah-hey-ley) … Favorite one

  PU‘UHONUA (poo-oo-ho-noo-ah) … Sanctuar
y, place of refuge

  PU‘UWAI (poo-oo-vy) … The heart

  SHAKA SIGN … Fist presented with thumb and little finger extended meaning righteous! Right on!

  TŪTŪ (too-too) … Grandma, grandpa

  ULUA (oo-loo-ah) … Gamefish. Pompano, or jack

  ‘ULI‘ULI (oo-lee-oo-lee) … Gourd rattle used in hula dance

  ‘UPEPE (oo-pay-pay) … Wide, flat nose

  WAHI PANA (wah-hee-pah-nah) … Sacred, or legendary place

  WAI (vy) … Water other than seawater

  WAI‘ANAE (why-a-ny) … Waters of the ‘ama ‘ama mullet fish

  WAIWAI (vy-vy) … Wealth, double water

  RUSSIAN-ENGLISH GLOSSARY

  BABUSHKA (ba-bush-ka) … Grandmother. Scarf worn by such Plural, BABUSHKI

  BAYAN (by-yon) … Zitherlike musical instrument

  BEDNEY (bed-nee) … Unfortunate, poor you!

  BRATLICH (brot-lik) … Brother

  CHASHKA CHAYA (chash-ka-chy-ah) … Cup of tea

  DA (da) … Yes

  DA SVIDANYA (dah-svee-don-yah) … Good-bye

  DOBRAYE UTRA (do-bray-oo-tra) … Hello, good day

  FORTUSHKA (for-toosh-ka) … Tiny breathing space in windowpane

  GLASNOSTIC (glas-nos-tik) … Openly, freely

  GOLOOBKA (go-loob-ka) … Little dove

  GOSPODI (gos-pod-ee) … My lord!

  GULAG (goo-lahg) … Slave labor camp system under Stalin

  KAK DILA (kak-dee-lah) … How are you?

  KOPECK (ko-pek) … Russian currency, coin

  KULAKS (koo-loks) … Farmers, forced into collectivization by Stalin

  LAG (lahg) … Slang for gulag

  MOLODETS (mo-lo-detz) … Good for you!

  MUDAK (moo-dok) … Fool!

  NYET (nee-yet) … No

  OPASNO (oh-pos-no) … Help! Aid me

  PAMYAT (pam-ee-yot) … Memory

  PAZHALSTA (pah-shol-sta) … Please, you’re welcome

  PRIVYET (pree-vee-et) … Hi!

  RUBLE (roo-bul) … Russian currency, usually paper

  SHASHLIK (shash-lik) … Shish kebab

  SKOLZKO (skol-zko) … Slippery, difficult

  SPASIBO (spa-see-boh) … Thank you

  TAIGA (ty-gah) … Subarctic forest terrain, south of the tundra

  TUNDRA (ton-drah) … Frozen terrain between arctic and forest region