Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  Indeed, the tiger shark was massive. It was easily two-thirds the length of the thirty-foot deck. Kekūhaupi‘o handed Kameha a sharp pahoa dagger. “Cut the belly open and give the shark’s entrails to Kanaloa in thanks,” he said.

  Reaching down, Kameha thrust the blade deep into the shark’s throat and sliced the beast open with one long sweep of his arm. The animal’s heart, liver, pancreas, and guts were exposed, along with something else. “Kekū,” Kameha shouted, “I don’t think this shark would have had any room for me in its belly after all.”

  Kekūhaupi‘o and the others gaped in wonderment. For amid the mess of guts and other organs were some twenty small forms—unborn shark pups. “Kameha,” Kekūhaupi‘o said softly, “the mana of this she-shark is powerful indeed. Now you must make it your own by offering the shark and her pups to Lono at the heiau at Kalalea.”

  “But first, Kekū, let’s not forget Kanaloa,” Kameha said, and he gathered up the tiger shark’s organs and entrails and held them out over the side of the canoe. “Oh Kanaloa, god of the deep waters,” Kameha chanted, “accept this offering and watch over this canoe and all who journey in it this day and keep them from coming to harm at sea.” He tossed the shark’s innards into the water. Then, at Kekūhaupi‘o’s order, the paddlers made for Kalalea.

  The sun was approaching its zenith when the paddlers beached the double-hulled canoe on the narrow strand of sand just below the heiau at Kalalea. As Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o disembarked, a kahuna from the heiau came forward to meet them. “Who comes here?” the priest demanded. He was an old man, stooped over a walking stick. His hair had long ago turned white.

  “This is Kamehameha, the mover of the Naha Stone,” Kekūhaupi‘o replied. “He has slain a great she-shark—a manō pa‘ele—with his own hand, and he would offer it and its pups to Lono this very night.”

  The aging priest’s eyes widened. “Truly?” he said. “This is he who picked up the stone and hurled it over the head of the high-priest of Kū?”

  “Yes, he is the one,” answered Kekūhaupi‘o.

  “The god Lono will be pleased to accept his offering,” the kahuna said to Kekūhaupi‘o. Then, looking up at Kameha, who towered over him, he added, “You do this humble heiau a great honor.”

  The temple of Lono at Kalalea was indeed humble. It was much smaller than the heiaus at Hilo and Kawaihae. The strong winds that prevailed at Ka Lae, which the haoles now call South Point, buffeted the heiau daily, and its thatching was frayed and badly in need of repair. Sited as it was in the most remote corner of the arid Ka‘ū district, the temple received few visitors and was mostly overlooked when the tributes collected during the Makahiki time were distributed. In later years, stories about Kamehameha’s offering there this day would significantly raise its status.

  The fishermen hauled the tiger shark’s gutted body from the shore to the temple’s small courtyard. There they laid it out, together with the big shark’s dead pups. Then Kekūhaupi‘o sent the fishermen and the canoe paddlers into the uplands to forage for firewood. Other than short grass and some stunted shrubs, there was little vegetation at the coast, where rainfall was sparse, and the men were gone for several hours before they returned with enough dry wood for a cooking fire. Kekūhaupi‘o sent them off to the nearby village for the night.

  After the other men had left, Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o sat down to rest in the shade of the heiau. Before them, the Kona Coast stretched away to the north, hooking northwest, and bracketing the deep blue of the ocean with the soft greens and tans of the rising landmass, which faded from sight amid the clouds and haze that gathered on the flanks of the great volcano, Mauna Loa.

  “Kekū,” Kameha asked, after they had sat in silence for some time, “why do we offer the shark and her pups to Lono? Why not the war god Kūkā‘ilimoku? Is he not more terrible and therefore more powerful than Lono?”

  “Kūkā‘ilimoku is more terrible, but not necessarily more powerful,” Kekūhaupi‘o replied. “You must never confuse harshness with superior power, Kameha.”

  “But Kūkā‘ilimoku brings victory in battle,” Kameha persisted. “What is Lono’s power?”

  “Kūkā‘ilimoku’s power is the power of blood and conquest, and therefore, destruction,” Kekūhaupi‘o replied. “Lono’s power is the power of clouds and rain and, therefore, creation. And creation is always more powerful than destruction.”

  Kamehameha pondered this for a moment. Then he said, “But we are warriors, Kekū. We should not offend Kūkā‘ilimoku.”

  “He will not be offended by this offering to Lono,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “Kūkā‘ilimoku requires his tributes in times of war. This is a time of peace. In any case, he would not be pleased by an offering of dead fish.”

  Kameha nodded. The appropriate offering for the war god was the body of a warrior. Kamehameha was ever mindful of the many gods’ demands. He believed, as did all our people, that the gods were everywhere and invested in everything. Throughout his life, Kameha tried to keep faith with all of them.

  In the temple courtyard, there was a small imu lined with loose a‘a lava stones, covered by a thick layer of ash. Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o brushed the ashes aside and set about laying a fire in the pit. They started their fire as our people had done for generations, setting the sharpened point of a stick of hard koa wood into a groove cut in a flat piece of softer hau wood and spinning this stick at high speed until the small wood particles and coconut fibers laid around it ignited. Today we have sulfur matches and everyone has forgotten this.

  Kekūhaupi‘o unsheathed his dagger and cut a large slab of meat from the shark’s side. “We will save some of this fish for ourselves,” he said. “Lono will not be offended, because we offer him the pups as well as the she-shark.” Kekūhaupi‘o sliced the shark meat into several pieces, which he wrapped in ti leaves that he had brought from Kawaihae. He bundled several yams with taro leaves and wrapped them in ti leaves as well.

  The sun lowered in the west, a fat ball of flame that painted the sky orange and red, tinted the clouds congregating on Mauna Loa pink, and turned the sea purple. As dusk settled on the courtyard, the old kahuna hobbled forward with a bit of kapa cloth wrapped around a stick and ignited it in the flames. This he carried into the heiau to light the oil lamps.

  When the fire had burned down to coals, Kekūhaupi‘o placed the tileaf-covered shark meat and yams atop the embers and used a stick to push more coals on top of them. “Our dinner will cook while you make your offering to Lono,” he said. Then, with some effort, he and Kamehameha carried the shark’s carcass into the heiau, where they laid it on the floor in front of the altar, along with the bodies of the aborted pups. By this time, Kamehameha’s face, chest, hands, and thighs were covered with ashes and earth. His kahu sent him to the beach to clean himself. “Lono would surely reject an offering from such filthy hands,” he said.

  “Cut out the shark’s eyeballs,” Kekūhaupi‘o said when Kamehameha returned. It was time for the ‘ailolo ceremony. Kameha had been anticipating this moment with some distaste. For while the animal’s left eye would be offered to Lono, Kameha was required to eat the shark’s raw right eyeball.

  As Kameha sliced the eyeballs from the shark’s massive head, the old kahuna stood at his side and chanted:

  Lono of the heavens,

  Lono of the thunder,

  Lono of the wind,

  Lono of the rainbow,

  Lono of the clouds,

  Lono of the rain,

  Lono, who makes the earth fertile,

  Lono, who quickens the womb,

  Lono, who makes all things grow,

  Accept this young warrior’s humble offering,

  Hear his prayer,

  Watch over him,

  Bless him,

  Lono!

  Kamehameha gave the shark’s left eyeball to the priest, who laid it on the altar. Then, as he had been instructed by Kekūhaupi‘o, he raised the other eyeball above his head in both hands. “Lono of the h
eavens,” he chanted, “Lono of the thunder, wind, rainbow, clouds, and rain. Lono, accept my humble offering. Lono, see how I consume the eyeball of the great niuhi shark. Lono, see how I make the great she-shark’s mana my own and dedicate my strengthened spirit to you. Lono!” With that, Kameha lowered the gelatinous orb to his mouth and swallowed it whole.

  When they returned to the temple courtyard, Kekūhaupi‘o handed Kameha a drinking gourd. Kameha tilted his head back, inverted the gourd, and let a stream of sweet water cascade into his open mouth, washing away the aftertaste of the shark’s eyeball.

  “If the mana of that she-shark is as strong as the taste of its eyeball, it is powerful indeed, Kekū,” Kameha said, passing the gourd back to his kahu.

  “It is powerful enough to make up for the mana you foolishly squandered on the favors of a wahine,” Kekūhaupi‘o replied. “Do not surrender this shark’s teeth so easily.”

  “I will not be so foolish again, Kekū,” Kameha said, “but you must take one tooth now, for I would share this shark’s strong mana with you.” Grunting appreciatively, Kekūhaupi‘o accepted the shark tooth, one of several Kameha had knocked out earlier.

  The old priest joined them. “Lono will be pleased by your offering,” he said. As he spoke, he eyed the fire pit, and his nostrils widened visibly as he savored the aroma of the roasting shark meat.

  “And we will be pleased if Lono’s kahuna offers to share this shark flesh with us,” said Kameha.

  Later, as they reclined on sleeping mats in the heiau, where the priest had invited them to spend the night, Kekūhaupi‘o said, “You did well to invite the kahuna to eat with us.”

  “We are guests here—guests of Lono and his priest. It only seemed right. And besides, Kekū, even though it was no more than a simple meal for us, the old kahuna will make it a feast for the entire district.”

  “Ah, Kameha,” Kekūhaupi‘o said, “You are thinking like a chief.”

  Kameha was still thinking like a lusty youth when he returned to Kawaihae, where he and Kaneikapolei resumed their lovemaking. The pair’s carefree love sport produced the usual result. Kameha was no more than three or four months beyond his fifteenth birthday.

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u was in Kawaihae on one of his periodic visits to pay his respects to Alapa‘i and take the measure of his own standing at the royal court. His visits to the court were becoming increasingly rare as Alapa‘i aged and Keawe‘ōpala prepared to succeed him. Kalani‘ōpu‘u sensed that the time of open conflict was nearing and could well erupt even while Alapa‘i still lived, despite his uncle’s repeated avowals of affection for him.

  Even removed from court in Ka‘ū, Kalani‘ōpu‘u had heard how Kameha had given his shark tooth for the chance to sport with Kaneikapolei. He had chuckled when he heard the story. In Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s eyes, the value Kameha placed on Kaneikapolei’s favors reflected well on him. After all, she was his own wife. Now he was proud that the baby in Kaneikapolei’s belly was the child of Kamehameha, the mover of the Naha Stone. He hugged Kaneikapolei, patted her stomach, and exclaimed, “E Kameha! This child’s mana will be very strong!”

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u signaled Kaneikapolei to leave them. She smiled coyly at her husband and his nephew. Her smile was demure, but her manner was bold. She swayed her hips provocatively as she turned away. Kalani‘ōpu‘u and Kameha watched her departing figure with equal appreciation.

  In the mua, Kameha and Kalani‘ōpu‘u shared a wooden bowl of sweet-potato poi that Kalani‘ōpu‘u had himself prepared. When he and Kameha had eaten their fill, Kalani‘ōpu‘u said, “Kamehameha, you are still too young to concern yourself with raising a child. Perhaps I should take this child in hanai and raise it as my own.”

  “You are right, Uncle,” Kameha replied. “I am not ready for this responsibility. I would be pleased if you would raise this child.”

  “Then it is settled,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u said.

  At about this time, Alapa‘i decided to move his court to Hilo. In his old age, the mō‘ī of Hawai‘i found the heat of Kawaihae oppressive and longed for the soothing daily rains of the island’s wet side. Kamehameha traveled to Hilo with the king. It was there, after years of separation, that he was reunited with his father, who was then living at Pauka‘a, a few miles north of the village of Hilo, with several of his many wives.

  Keoua greeted Kameha in the courtyard in front of his hale, where he was reclining on a mat in the shade of a soapbey tree. Kamehameha’s father had always been trim, but now he was thin and appeared frail. He did not get up.

  “Come, my son, sit here beside me,” Keoua said, “and tell me, is it true that you killed a manō pa‘ele with your bare hands and hurled the Naha Stone into Hilo Bay?”

  “I used a short spear to kill the tiger shark, father,” Kameha replied. “And I moved the stone; although not nearly as far as many people now believe.”

  Keoua smiled. “What people believe is often more important than what really happens,” he said. “Did you know, Kameha, that many people believe the mover of the Naha Stone is destined to rule over all of our islands?”

  Kameha nodded. “I know some have said as much.”

  “And did you know that because of your exploits, Alapa‘i believes your mana is exceptionally powerful?”

  “He has always treated me kindly and with respect,” Kameha replied.

  “Ah, but did you know that Alapa‘i and his son Keawe‘ōpala fear you?” Keoua asked.

  Kamehameha looked at his father and frowned. “Nae‘ole has warned me that Keawe‘ōpala may wish me ill, father,” he said, “but I had not heard that he and Alapa‘i fear me.”

  “You may be aware that there is no love lost between Alapa‘i and his son and your uncle, Kalani‘ōpu‘u,” Keoua continued. “I have never desired any land or authority beyond the Kohala District, but my brother Kalani’s ambition acknowledges no boundaries, and certainly will not be confined to Ka‘ū. Alapa‘i and Keawe‘ōpala understand this. You are like a son to Kalani, and they worry that if the other chiefs see you with him, it will strengthen his hand against them, because the other chiefs believe that as the mover of the Naha Stone, your mana is strong. That is why Alapa‘i and Keawe‘ōpala fear you. And that is why they will try to keep you close to them, to deny your mana to your uncle.”

  “What should I do?” Kameha asked.

  Keoua was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Remember that you are a true descendant of the great Keawe, and be ready when the time comes.”

  The time was not long in coming.

  Pauka‘a, 1763

  “Kameha! Come away quickly. Your father is very sick.”

  Startled, Kamehameha looked up at the big warrior who had burst into the hale of Keawema‘uhili, the high chief of Hilo, whom Kameha had been visiting. The man was Puna, Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s kahu and war counselor. Kameha scrambled to his feet.

  “I fear he is dying,” Puna said. “Your uncle is already at his side. You must come to Pauka‘a at once.”

  “You must hurry to your father before his spirit leaves his body,” said Keawema‘uhili. He was fond of Keoua, and had invited him to live at Pauka‘a after Kamehameha moved the Naha Stone. Rising from his sedge mat, he embraced Kameha, who stood taller by at least six inches. As soon as Kamehameha and Puna had departed, Keawema‘uhili dispatched a messenger to the nearby hale of his mō‘ī, old Alapa‘i, to inform him of the news.

  The sun was sinking behind Mauna Kea by the time Kamehameha and Puna reached Pauka‘a. As they hurried north along the footpath, Puna told Kameha about the growing rift between Kalani‘ōpu‘u and Alapa‘i.

  “Old Alapa‘i invited Kalani‘ōpu‘u to live at his court in Hilo, but your uncle would not go.” Puna said. “Now the mō‘ī is angry with him.”

  “Why does my uncle refuse?” Kameha asked.

  “He fears a plot against his life. He believes that if he comes to court, Alapa‘i will try to kill him to make the throne safe for Keawe‘ōpala. So your uncle keeps
to Ka‘ū.”

  “Is he not then at risk by coming to Pauka‘a?”

  “Kalani‘ōpu‘u brought warriors with him to Pauka‘a,” Puna replied. “His canoes are close by. If needs be, he could be well out to sea before Alapa‘i could spring a trap. But that is not the old mō‘ī’s way. He does not want Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s blood on his hands for all the other chiefs to see. He would prefer to arrange a bloodless end for your uncle, by poisoning, perhaps. So Kalani‘ōpu‘u will not go to Alapa‘i’s court.”

  Though Kamehameha and Puna made all haste to reach Pauka‘a, Keoua’s spirit was swifter still in departing. Loud lamentations reached their ears as they neared Keoua’s hale.

  Kamehameha and Puna rushed inside. Kameha found his uncle swaying unsteadily on his knees next to Keoua’s body. Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s face was buried in his cupped hands. His shoulders convulsed in anguish. Keoua’s head was thrown back, his lips still parted from his final struggle for breath. His empty eyes stared at the feeble light that filtered through small gaps in the hale’s thatched roof. Keoua had not been a big man in life, but he was vigorous, and his vitality lent him stature. Now, in death, he looked like a diminished parody of himself. This was Keoua’s body, but it was not his father. Truly, his spirit had fled.

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u struggled to his feet. He and Kameha fell into each other’s arms and wailed—Kalani‘ōpu‘u for the brother who had fought at his side in so many bygone battles, and Kameha for the father he had hardly known.

  All this was described to me many years later by my father, Keli‘imaika‘i, who was there. By chance, my father had been visiting with Keoua when he fell deathly ill. “I had come to live with Kameha at old King Alapa‘i’s court in Hilo,” he said. “Kameha and I did not see our father very often, and I decided to spend some time with him. I had been staying with him at Pauka‘a for just a few days when he became very sick.