Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  Of course, these stories soon reached the ears of old King Alapa‘i‘nui, who summoned Kamehameha shortly after his return from Hilo. News of Kameha’s arrival and Alapa‘i’s summons spread quickly through the royal compound at Kawaihae, and by the time Kameha was ushered into the mō‘ī’s presence, the king’s courtyard was packed with ali‘i. Alapa‘i was resting on a mat in his hale. He peered at Kamehameha through bleary eyes as Kameha and Kalani‘ōpu‘u approached and squatted before him. Though it was only mid-morning, Alapa‘i was already muzzy from ‘awa and his speech was slurred. “Ah, Kamehameha,” he said, “is it true that you picked up the Naha Stone and hurled it into Hilo Bay like an ihe spear?”

  “No, Lord,” Kameha replied, “that is just a kaao story for little children. I did not throw the Naha Stone into the bay, but I did move it.”

  “Ah,” said Alapa‘i, “but is it not true that in your moment of greatest exertion, Kūkā‘ilimoku himself entered your body to give you the strength you required?”

  “Lord, I do not know if Kūkā‘ilimoku gave me his own strength. But it is true that I called upon him.”

  “Well then, he must have heard you,” said Alapa‘i, “and the god would not have listened unless your spirit was pure. Your mana must be great indeed. No doubt, your father Keoua will be very proud of you.” Alapa‘i’s declaration before his courtiers served to quiet the gossip about Kameha’s real parentage.

  “Thank you, Lord,” Kameha said.

  “And I am proud to have a strong warrior such as you in my ranks,” said Alapa‘i, returning his attention to his ‘awa cup.

  As Nae‘ole had warned, Ka‘akau was not pleased to see Kamehameha when he returned from Hilo. The kahuna nui confronted Kamehameha at the doorway of Alapa‘i’s hale as he and Kalani‘ōpu‘u were departing. “So, Kamehameha, you have moved the Naha Stone. Are you a great chief now? Are you now even greater than our mō‘ī, and will you rule Hawai‘i in his place?”

  Unsure how to respond, Kamehameha hesitated. Interposing himself between his nephew and the kahuna, Kalani‘ōpu‘u answered for Kameha. “Mover of the Naha Stone or not, you can be sure that Kamehameha will become a great chief someday, priest,” growled. “But no one would presume to say that he is greater than Alapa‘i, or who will rule the island after him. Now step aside and let us pass.”

  Ka‘akau gave way, but persisted. “The succession has already been settled by your mō‘ī, Kalani‘ōpu’u, as you and your nephew well know,” he said.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Kamehameha murmured as they walked away from the glowering priest. “I feared to offend the kahuna nui.”

  “Pay Ka‘akau no mind,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u replied. “It is Alapa‘i’s regard that matters, for now at least.” Then Kalani‘ōpu‘u said, “Kamehameha, I know that there has been some ill feeling between you and Kiwala‘ō. But the two of you must make amends. The time is fast approaching when I shall need both of you at my side.”

  “I want no quarrel with Kiwala‘ō,” Kameha replied. “You have treated me like a son, and therefore he is my brother as well as my cousin.”

  “Good,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u said. “Then come with me now and make peace with your ‘brother.’”

  Kameha and Kiwala‘ō met at the men’s eating house—the mua—at Alapa‘i’s compound. There, sitting cross-legged opposite each other under Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s benevolent gaze, they made a peace of sorts.

  Kameha made the first gesture. “Cousin, for the sake of your father—who has been like a father to me—I wish to put aside any ill words of mine that have come between us,” he said.

  “Yes, for my father’s sake, I would have no quarrel with you, Kamehameha,” Kiwala‘ō replied. Though they had spoken words of peace, the chill between them was still palpable.

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u had been squatting between the cousins. Now he jumped to his feet. “Rise and embrace,” he commanded. Kameha and Kiwala‘ō rose slowly to their feet. Gingerly, they wrapped their arms around each other. Now Kamehameha, who stood two inches taller than Kiwala‘ō, tightened his hold. “I am devoted to your father,” he whispered in Kiwala‘ō’s ear, “and as long as he shall live, I will always make common cause with you.”

  Kiwala‘ō broke Kameha’s embrace, stepping away and regarding him with wary understanding.

  “Good, good,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u exclaimed, clapping his hands. “It is settled between you, then.”

  As the chill between Kamehameha and Kiwala‘ō abated, Keawe‘ōpala turned cool toward my uncle. Keawe‘ōpala was disturbed by Kameha’s newfound celebrity as the mover of the Naha Stone. Moreover he was reminded by the kahuna nui Ka‘akau of an ancient prediction that the person who moved the stone would one day rule over all the Hawaiian Islands. “You may be Alapa‘i’s chosen successor, but beware of Kamehameha,” the priest warned him. “One day, that one will become a slayer of chiefs. Even you will not be safe when that day comes.”

  Thus warned, Keawe‘ōpala came to see Kameha as a potential threat to his future rule. Anticipating Alapa‘i’s death, he began making his own plans for Kameha. Careful to mask his true feelings, he always spoke kindly to Kameha as if nothing had changed between them. Nae‘ole learned of Keawe‘ōpala’s real intentions and cautioned Kameha to be on guard against his intrigues.

  “No matter how much he may smile at you now, Keawe‘ōpala does not wish you well,” he warned. “He will move against you when the old king dies.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kameha replied, “I will be more than ready for him when that day arrives.”

  If Kamehameha gave short shrift to Keawe‘ōpala’s unfriendly intentions toward him, it may have been because he was preoccupied at the time with the tender attentions of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s youngest wife, Kaneikapolei. She was about eleven years older than Kamehameha. She had accompanied Kalani‘ōpu‘u to Alapa‘i’s court on one of his periodic visits there and then begged to remain behind when he returned to Ka‘ū, saying that she preferred Kawaihae’s greenery and sandy beaches to the barren landscape of the Ka‘ū District.

  Kaneikapolei had already borne Kalani‘ōpu‘u two sons, Keōua Kū‘ahu‘ula and Keōuape‘e‘ale. She had heard of Kalola’s liaison with Kameha, and after his triumphant return from Hilo, she wanted him as well. She contrived “chance” encounters with him on the footpaths near the royal compound at Kawaihae, but in these brief meetings, Kameha had been merely pleasant—and always respectful to his aunt by marriage. Finally, Kaneikapolei set out one evening to seduce Kameha while dancing the hula with the other young women of Alapa‘i’s court. Her husband, Kalani‘ōpu‘u, was not at court at the time, but it would have mattered little to Kaneikapolei if he had been. Such were our ways in those days.

  Kaneikapolei was wide in the hips from the birth of her two sons. Still, at twenty-five, her waist had not yet caught up with her hips in girth, and her breasts were still firm. Waggling her hips and shaking her shoulders, she danced provocatively close to Kameha. The seductive movements of her pelvis and bare bosom under her swaying ti-leaf skirt and flower lei aroused him.

  When the dancing had concluded, the old king repaired to his hale with his cronies to while away the night drinking ‘awa. The younger people remained in the courtyard. Amid the young men’s boisterous laughter and the women’s demure giggles, they seated themselves in a circle on the ground. It was time to play ‘ume.

  ‘Ume was a game of sexual pairing, usually played by commoners or lower-ranking chiefs and chiefesses. The game was conducted by a mau—a man who walked around the circle of seated men and women with a special wand of kauila wood trimmed with red and black feathers. As the mau circled the players, he would touch a man with his feathered wand. If the man desired a particular woman, he would give the mau something of value and the mau, in turn, would touch the woman indicated by the man. The man would then leave the ‘ume enclosure or hale with the woman of his choice. Away from the other players, they would spend the rest of the night together, provided the wom
an consented. In the game of ‘ume, the men were always careful to choose women who they knew would consent, for to return to the game rejected was profoundly embarrassing.

  A more elaborate and refined version of this game, called kilu, was played by high-ranking ali‘i. But this version of ‘ume took much longer and the only prize was a chaste nose-rub kiss. So this night, hot-blooded after the sensuous revelry of the hula, the young ali‘i opted for the simpler game, which was more directly suited to their immediate purposes.

  As the mau circled the gathering, Kaneikapolei met Kamehameha’s gaze across the circle and smiled at him, her eyes spoke of passionate desire. The mau neared. Kameha grasped the shark’s tooth that Kekūhaupi‘o had given him and lifted the cord over his head. He caught the mau’s eye and nodded at him. The mau stopped in front of Kamehameha and tapped his shoulder with the feathered wand. Silently, Kameha handed the shark tooth to the mau and gestured at Kaneikapolei. The mau smiled. He knew that Kameha had worn the tooth at Hilo. It was something of value indeed. Now the mau circled around to the other side of the ring of seated ali‘i and touched Kaneikapolei with his wand. Simultaneously and without a word, Kamehameha and Kaneikapolei rose and left the brightness of the ‘ume circle for the darkness of the night. As they departed, murmurs and soft laughter trailed after them. The ali‘i remaining in the circle knew that they would not see Kameha and Kaneikapolei again before morning.

  Kamehameha led Kaneikapolei up the footpath to the games field where he had bested Kiwala‘ō in spear throwing. The night was clear and a full moon bathed the deserted field in silver light. Tearing hungrily at each other’s garments, Kameha and Kaneikapolei sank to the soft grass at the field’s edge. They were both naked by the time their knees touched the earth.

  “Come, Kamehameha,” said Kaneikapolei, “move me the way you did the Naha Stone.” Kameha, who had enjoyed other sexual liaisons since his first intimate encounter with Kalola, did not disappoint her.

  “Foolish kāne!” snapped Kekūhaupi‘o. “You were thinking with your worm instead of your head.”

  Kamehameha hung his head. “I am sorry Kekū. You are right; it was very foolish of me.”

  Kekūhaupi‘o was aghast when he learned Kameha had surrendered his shark tooth to the mau. “That tooth was strong with mana, Kameha. No wahine’s favors could match its worth,” he scolded. “You have weakened your own mana by this rash act.”

  Kameha could not meet his kahu’s eyes. He stared at the ground and said nothing.

  “You must restore your mana,” Kekūhaupi‘o said.

  “How shall I do that, Kekū?” Kameha asked.

  “There is only one way,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “You must kill a shark.”

  Thus it was that as dawn broke off the Ka‘ū coast several weeks later, Kamehameha found himself in a double-hulled canoe preparing to do battle. Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o had put to sea from Kawaihae two days earlier. Thanks to favorable winds and currents, their canoe made good time down the leeward coast and was now rolling in gentle swells in the lee of Ka Lae, at the Big Island’s southernmost extremity. It was here, according to the two fishermen who had accompanied Kameha, Kekūhaupi‘o, and a half-dozen paddlers on this voyage, that the fierce niuhi were most plentiful at this time of year.

  The canoe stank with the rancid smell of rotting pig’s flesh. Before departing Kawaihae, Kekūhaupi‘o had directed a kanaka to kill an old sow, butcher the carcass, wrap the raw meat in ti-leaf bundles, and load them onto the canoe. The meat had ripened rapidly under the hot sun as the canoe made its way south. “By the time we get to Ka‘ū, the sharks will be jumping out of the water to eat this pig meat,” Kekūhaupi‘o had joked.

  “By the time we get to Ka‘ū, I will be jumping into the water to get away from it,” Kameha had responded.

  In fact, the ripened pig flesh preceded Kamehameha into the sea. The fishermen tied the bundles of meat to a long piece of wood and lowered them into the water between the canoe’s double hulls. Then they pierced the ti-leaf wrappings with sharp sticks. Soon, the canoe was surrounded by a slick of smelly grease.

  “Are you in a hurry to jump into the water now?” Kekūhaupi‘o asked Kameha.

  “I can wait for the shark, Kekū.”

  A shark was not long in coming. They saw its dorsal fin first, slicing through the water as the big predator arrowed toward them. Then its broad gray back broke the surface. It was a tiger shark. As it approached the slow-moving canoe from the stern, the fishermen and the two paddlers raised the long piece of wood again so that the bundled meat was now several feet above the water’s surface.

  “E Kameha!” exclaimed Kekūhaupi‘o. “Here is a big manō pa‘ele, come to test your mana.”

  “E Kekū!” Kamehameha replied. “Here is a big sea slug come to die by my spear.” Kameha was kneeling at the rear of the platform between the canoe’s twin hulls. Now he leaned over the edge to get a better look at the shark, which was swimming just behind the double hulls and lunging at the bundles of pig meat, just out of its reach. The shark was twice Kameha’s height in length. Its mouth was several feet across, wide enough to swallow a man whole—even a man as large as Kameha. As the shark lunged at the bundle, its razor-sharp teeth glinted in the morning sun.

  “I looked directly into that manō pa‘ele’s eyes,” Kamehameha later told my father. “They were as dark as night. The shark was very angry because it couldn’t reach the pig meat, and as our eyes met, I was sure that it blamed me.”

  Kamehameha’s bravado was shaken. Speaking softly to the shark so that no one else on the canoe would hear, he said, “My apologies. I was wrong to call you a ‘slug.’ Kanaloa has sent you and your mana is strong.”

  The fishermen continued to poke at the bundles with their sticks, spilling more grease and bits of meat into the water. A light breeze filled the canoe’s sail and kept the vessel slightly ahead of the shark. Kameha slowly untied his malo, letting it fall to the deck. Now he stood naked and ready for battle with the man-eater. He was breathing quickly and his hands and legs were shaking. He hoped that none of the others would notice.

  “Remember, Kameha, do not rush into this fight,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “Let the manō pa‘ele fill its belly with greasy water first.”

  “You can be sure that I am in no hurry,” Kameha replied.

  In its furious efforts to reach the pig meat and its ravenous hunger for the small morsels of flesh that had fallen into the sea, the tiger shark was steadily gulping greasy salt water. Eventually, the big animal would become sluggish from all its inadvertent drinking. Kamehameha would wait for his moment.

  At last, the shark’s thrusts at the suspended meat slowed. Kekūhaupi‘o signaled to the paddlers, who lowered the sail, allowing the shark to overtake the canoe. Now the big tiger shark was swimming directly between the double hulls, still snapping lethargically at the ti-leaf bundles just above its snout. Careful to keep one of the canoe’s hulls between himself and the shark, Kameha slipped into the water with a short spear tied to his wrist. Before the animal became aware of his presence, he filled his lungs, doubled over, and slid beneath the water’s surface. When he was several feet below the underside of the shallow hull, Kameha kicked hard and angled upward toward the shark, which was now a dark, blurry shadow against the water’s bright surface.

  Suddenly, the great predator sensed Kameha’s approach and turned toward him. Ignoring the painful knot in his stomach, Kamehameha kicked hard again, driving himself against the animal’s flank and grasping it across its back, just behind its head, before the shark could turn on him. Now the shark dove, trying to shake Kameha off. But bloated and enfeebled, the beast could not break his iron grip. Pain stabbed at Kamehameha’s ears as he sank deeper with the descending animal. His lungs burned. Still maintaining his grip on the shark with his left arm, Kameha jammed his spear deep into the shark’s gill, as Kekūhaupi‘o had taught him. “Drive your spear through its gill and into its liver,” his kahu advised. “That is the surest
killing blow.”

  The big shark shuddered with pain, shock, and fury. It jerked back and forth in frenzy as it tried to shake its tormentor. Kamehameha clung to the shark and the spear shaft and pressed the weapon home with all his might. A dark red cloud now surrounded him, and Kameha could see nothing in the murk.

  Kekūhaupi‘o and the others on the canoe could not see what was happening. Kamehameha and the shark had disappeared from sight. But now they saw the water around the vessel turn red. Moments later, Kameha’s head and shoulders broke the surface several yards behind the canoe. Greasy, bloodstained water streamed from his hair and into his face. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, and gasped for air.

  “Where is the shark, Kameha?” Kekūhaupi‘o cried.

  “Here it is, Kekū,” Kameha answered. He pulled on the spear, still stuck deep in the tiger shark’s gills, and the big fish’s snout and gaping maw rose with it. The monster’s eyes were empty. Kameha let go of the spear and the tiger shark rolled onto its back.

  Regaining the canoe’s deck, Kamehameha helped the fishermen and paddlers lash the predator’s carcass between the vessel’s double hulls. “E Kameha!” Kekūhaupi‘o exclaimed when this task was completed, “it is a good thing you waited for that manō pa‘ele to fill its belly with greasy sea water, because otherwise it would have had plenty of room in there for you.”