Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  “Our uncle Kalani‘ōpu‘u and his kahu Puna had also come to visit Keoua at this time. They knew that open conflict with Alapa‘i and Keawe‘ōpala was drawing near, and they wanted to consult with our father. Keoua could barely hold his head up to speak to them. When our uncle realized that Keoua’s time was very short, he sent Puna to fetch Kameha.

  “At the end, your grandfather’s face turned the color of fire ash and he could scarcely breathe,” my father recalled. “His last thoughts were for your uncle Kameha. He said to Kalani‘ōpu‘u, ‘Keep Kamehameha away from Alapa‘i,’ and then he died. Your uncle Kameha arrived not long afterward. He did not see me at first.”

  Indeed, it was only after falling into his uncle’s embrace that Kameha saw his younger brother huddled in a dim corner, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Their eyes met across their father’s lifeless form. Kameha disengaged from his uncle and rushed to his brother. Reaching down, he grasped Keli‘imaika‘i by the elbows and gently raised him to his feet.

  “Little brother,” Kameha said, “I am grieved that I could not reach Pauka‘a sooner. It is good that you were here at the end.”

  Keli‘imaika‘i looked up into Kamehameha’s broad face. He was on the verge of tears and his mouth quivered. Then he saw that his older brother was fighting to maintain his own composure and he resolved to be strong for him. “You could not know when father’s spirit would leave this world,” he said. “It was just my fortune to be here. Keoua loved you and his last words were for you.” At this, the two brothers surrendered to their grief and wailed loudly.

  Now Kalani‘ōpu‘u came to them. Kneeling and wrapping his arms around the young men’s shoulders, he said, “Kamehameha, now that Keoua is gone, you should come away with me to Ka‘ū—and your brother, too. It was your father’s dying wish.”

  Puna agreed. “Yes,” he said. “Listen to your uncle. It is best that you return with us to Ka‘ū. Hilo is not a good place for you.”

  Remembering his father’s warning about Alapa‘i and Keawe‘ōpala, Kamehameha was inclined to agree with his uncle and his kahu. Before he could respond, however, there was a commotion outside the hale, where the last light of day was fast waning. Torchlight flared in the darkness beyond the hale’s doorway.

  Puna rushed to the door, filling it with his immense bulk. “Who comes here?” he demanded.

  Three men stood immediately outside—Alapa‘i’s son, Keawe‘ōpala, and two ali‘i chieftains, Kame‘iamoku and his half-brother, Ke‘eaumoku, who were nephews of King Alapa‘i‘nui. Keawe‘ōpala stepped forward. He was not as tall as his ali‘i contemporaries, but much broader in girth, and soft in body to the point of appearing womanish. In the gathering darkness, the flickering torchlight cast unflattering shadows across his soft chest and flaccid belly. “We have come to join you in grieving for the noble Keoua,” he said. “My father, the great Alapa‘i‘nui, is too grief-stricken to travel. Even now, he wails for Keoua at his hale in Hilo, and he bids Keoua’s eldest son, Kamehameha, to return with us to Hilo to ease his sorrow.”

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u pushed past Puna to confront Keawe‘ōpala. Kamehameha and Keli‘imaika‘i followed him. “Kamehameha is returning to Ka‘ū with us,” he said. As he spoke, Kalani‘ōpu‘u gestured toward the edge of the courtyard. Some two score warriors armed with war clubs and spears emerged from the shadows there.

  “Why deny Alapa‘i this small comfort in his old age, cousin?” Keawe‘ōpala demanded. As he put this question to Kalani‘ōpu‘u, a larger group of armed warriors, as menacing as the first group, stepped out of the darkness. The two bands glowered at each other across the courtyard.

  Now the massive Puna advanced on Keawe‘ōpala, his big fists clenched. “What kind of ‘comfort’ does Alapa‘i seek from the grandson of Kalanike‘eaumoku, whom he killed to usurp the throne of Hawai‘i?” he snarled. “Kamehameha goes to Ka‘ū with us.”

  Taking a war club from one of Alapa‘i’s warriors, Ke‘eaumoku stepped between Puna and Keawe‘ōpala. “Would you openly defy the will of your mō‘ī, Puna?” he rejoined, brandishing the weapon. “You talk treason.” Puna, though unarmed, tensed as if to spring at him.

  It was Ke‘eaumoku’s cooler-headed half-brother Kame‘iamoku who spoke next and broke the mounting tension. “I can vouch that no harm will come to Kamehameha from Alapa‘i, Puna, and I will lay my head under your war club if it does,” he said. “In any case,” he continued, addressing Keawe‘ōpala and Kalani‘ōpu‘u, “Kamehameha is no mere boy to be led here or there. He is the mover of the Naha Stone, after all. Perhaps it is for him to decide where he will go.”

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u nodded assent. Keawe‘ōpala frowned and then grunted, “Let Kamehameha decide.”

  Now all eyes turned to Kamehameha, who hesitated. He worried that if he chose to leave with his uncle now, he would almost certainly precipitate a bloody fight. On the other hand, if he agreed to travel to Hilo with Keawe‘ōpala and his men, it might be at the peril of his own life, mover of the Naha Stone or no.

  “For now, my place is with Keoua,” he finally said. “I will stay here to await the arrival of the kāhuna and give my father’s bones a proper burial. Later, I will come to Hilo to grieve for Keoua with King Alapa‘i. If you like, Keawe‘ōpala, Kame‘iamoku can accompany me there.”

  Keawe‘ōpala furrowed his brow as he considered Kamehameha’s proposal. He was unhappy at being thwarted in his mission. Nevertheless, he could not reasonably refuse Kameha’s desire to pay proper respects to his late father. “Well enough,” he said. “I will return to Hilo and tell my father that you will come soon. Kame‘iamoku here can conduct you to court.” Keawe‘ōpala gestured to his warriors to withdraw from the courtyard.

  “I have every confidence in my good cousin, Kame‘iamoku,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u said. Then, forcing a smile at Keawe‘ōpala, he added, “and I know that your father, King Alapa‘i, will treat Kamehameha well, as he has always done—brother.” Kalani‘ōpu‘u nodded to his warriors, and they withdrew as well.

  “Then it is settled,” said Kame‘iamoku. “Come now, let us go in and grieve together for the noble Keoua.”

  Early the next morning, before first light, Kalani‘ōpu‘u and his small party stole away to the canoe landing at Pauka‘a and put to sea. Later that morning Keawe‘ōpala demanded to know why Kalani‘ōpu‘u had left so suddenly. Kamehameha shrugged and said truthfully, “I do not know.”

  A procession of priests from Hilo had arrived at Pauka‘a. Dispatched by Alapa‘i, they were led by the kahuna nui Ka‘akau and the priest of Kūkā‘ilimoku who had silently challenged Kamehameha at the Naha Stone just a year or two earlier. Ka‘akau acknowledged Kamehameha with a tight-lipped smile, but the priest of Kūkā‘ilimoku greeted him warmly.

  “E Kamehameha!” the priest said. “When you moved the Naha Stone, you brought your father, Keoua Kalanikupuapa‘ikalaninui, much honor. Only a noble warrior and chief could have sired a son such as you. We have come to help you, his first-born, safeguard his spirit.”

  “Mahalo,” Kameha replied. “Show me all the things that I must do to honor my father.”

  The priests commenced Keoua’s funeral rites with a lengthy chant over his body. They sang of Keoua’s long and illustrious royal lineage, dating back to ‘Umi, who had ruled the Big Island wisely some two hundred years earlier. They chanted of his ferocity in battle and his gentleness in peace. Kamehameha and my father stood with the priests, their heads bowed and their bodies swaying with the repetitive rhythms of the kāhuna’s dirge.

  Several kauwa-maoli—defiled ones—were called to wrap Keoua’s body in banana leaves from head to toe and to carry it to the imu they had dug in his courtyard. Since early morning, a fire had been burning in the imu, where a bed of glowing coals now overlaid white-hot stones. As Kamehameha, my father, Keoua’s wives, and his other children watched, the defiled ones laid Keoua’s corpse atop the stones and covered it with more wood, which soon i
gnited. For the next ten days, Kameha, Keli‘imaika‘i, and Keoua’s other sons shared memories of their father as they waited for the imu’s heat to sear the flesh from Keoua’s bones.

  When the imu had done its work, a kauwa-maoli retrieved Keoua’s charred internal organs and intestines—the body’s “unclean” parts—and wrapped them tightly in ti leaves. This bundle the priest of Kūkā‘ilimoku gave to Kamehameha and Keli‘imaika‘i. “Take this flesh of Keoua makai, the priest instructed them, “and give it to Kanaloa.”

  Thus it was that the night’s deepest hour found Kamehameha and my father in a small outrigger canoe in the middle of the bay, where Kamehameha cast Keoua’s remains into the water. The sky was clear and the moon was full. The sea glinted with silver light. As Keoua’s scorched remains struck the water, Kameha implored Kanaloa to send a niuhi shark to consume them. “Let the flesh of our father become one with the flesh of a powerful shark, and not food for lowly carrion eaters,” he prayed. Kameha and my father returned to the beach, where they kept a silent vigil for the rest of the night.

  When they returned to Pauka‘a at dawn, the priests presented Kamehameha with a kapa cloth bundle. In it were Keoua’s skull, hands, and the long bones of his arms and legs. “Hide your father’s bones well and tell no one where you have hidden them,” the war god’s priest instructed Kamehameha, “lest some foe vandalize his grave, steal his bones, and desecrate his mana.”

  The haoles who later came to our islands were horrified by these funeral rituals, scorning them as barbaric and worse. But among our people, they were regarded as a mark of great respect for the dead.

  Alapa‘i came to Pauka‘a after all. Journeying up the coast by canoe to join his son Keawe‘ōpala at Keoua’s hale, he brought more warriors with him. Kamehameha’s kahus, Kekūhaupi‘o and Nae‘ole, also accompanied the aging mō‘ī to Pauka‘a. Kameha greeted the mō‘ī in the courtyard where Keawe‘ōpala and Kalani‘ōpu‘u had confronted each other eleven days earlier. Observing the kapu a noho, Kamehameha sat on the ground with all the other people in the courtyard as the king approached.

  “E Kameha!” Alapa‘i cried when he saw Keoua’s oldest son seated before him. “Keoua was a noble warrior who served me well and loyally. I am sorely grieved by his death. Stand so that I may embrace you.”

  Kamehameha rose to his full height and then, according to custom, he and Alapa‘i hugged and wailed for the deceased. The old king, bent and diminished by his many years, was almost lost from sight in Kamehameha’s embrace. As they mourned together, Keoua’s women raised their voices anew in lamentation, augmenting their cries of grief.

  “My father was ever devoted to you, my lord,” Kameha said, bending over Alapa‘i and speaking loudly so that all within earshot could hear. “He bid me to serve you as faithfully as he did—and this I pledged to him.”

  Alapa‘i stepped back and cocked his head at the towering youth. The courtyard fell silent as the assemblage awaited the mō‘ī’s response. “Keoua was like a son to me, Kamehameha,” Alapa‘i said, “and as Keoua’s son you will always have a place of affection in my heart and honor at my court.” Alapa‘i glanced pointedly at Keawe‘ōpala as he said this. At his advanced age, he plainly had no appetite for whatever intrigues his son and his allies were plotting. Now he looked around the courtyard and pursed his thin lips. “But where is Keoua’s brother, my own son Kalani‘ōpu‘u?” he asked.

  “I believe he returned to his own domains to attend to some important matters, Lord,” Kameha replied.

  “These matters could not wait until he greeted his mō‘ī?”

  “Alas, Lord, he did not expect you to come this soon,” Kameha replied.

  “Ah, well,” Alapa‘i sighed, “the responsibilities of administering even a poor district such as Ka‘ū can often be demanding. I expect that Kalani‘ōpu‘u will come again soon enough. And of course, you will come to stay with me in Hilo again after you are done grieving for your father, isn’t that so?”

  “I shall indeed, my lord,” Kamehameha replied.

  Two days later, amid a drenching rain, Kamehameha began a lonely trek up one of the many footpaths that climbed the gentle slopes above Hilo. He was making for an area along the Wailuku River, where the mountainside was riddled with caves formed by lava which had flowed since time immemorial from the now-slumbering summit of Mauna Kea. In one of these caves, which would remain known only to him, Kameha hid the mortal remains of his father, Keoua Kalanikupuapa‘ikalaninui.

  He had left Kame‘iamoku standing with Nae‘ole, Kekūhaupi‘o, and my father, Keli‘imaika‘i, at the foot of the trail. “The remainder of this journey is yours alone, Kameha,” Nae‘ole had said. “Hide Keoua’s long bones well. We will wait here for your return.”

  “And when you return, I will accompany you to Hilo,” Kame‘iamoku had said, as if Kamehameha required reminding. Then he added pointedly, “Your mō‘ī, Alapa‘i, will be happy to see you.”

  Now Kamehameha wondered anew what awaited him at Alapa‘i’s court. “Alapa‘i and Keawe‘ōpala fear you…that is why they will try to keep you close to them,” Keoua had said. Would Alapa‘i indeed be happy to see him? And to what end? As hostage against Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s presumed ambition to rule the whole of the Big Island? And even if the old king had no such thoughts and genuinely meant him no harm, what of his son, Keawe‘ōpala? If his uncle moved against Alapa‘i, how safe would his own life be at the king’s court, despite Alapa‘i’s assurances? In his waning days, the king’s good will might not be sufficient to prevent an enemy from poisoning his food or drink or arranging for a convenient “accident” to befall him.

  Be ready when the time comes. Keoua’s words echoed in Kameha’s mind as he followed the river into the uplands.

  Keli‘imaika‘i rushed to Kameha upon his return. They fell into each other’s arms and wailed for Keoua one last time. He did not ask where Keoua’s bones were hidden, either then or later. The secret belonged to Kameha alone.

  Kame‘iamoku stepped forward and gently clasped Kameha by the arm. “We should return to Hilo now,” he said. “King Alapa‘i is expecting you.”

  “I will come with you to Hilo, Kameha,” said Kekūhaupi‘o, stepping to Kamehameha’s side. He had no intention of leaving Kameha to fend for himself amid the intrigues that undoubtedly awaited him at Alapa‘i’s court.

  “And what of your brother?” Kame‘iamoku asked, gesturing at Keli‘imaika‘i. “Will he also come to Hilo?”

  “No,” Kamehameha replied, without hesitation. “He should go to our uncle in Ka‘ū.” At this, Kame‘iamoku frowned. Kameha continued, “My brother is still undergoing his military training and his kahu is with Kalani‘ōpu‘u. He must return to Ka‘ū to continue his instruction. Nae‘ole will accompany him there.”

  “Alapa‘i will no doubt be disappointed,” said Kame‘iamoku. “But he will understand that your brother must improve his skills as a warrior. It is sufficient that you are coming to Hilo with me.”

  The small traveling party separated, with Kamehameha, Kekūhaupi‘o, and Kame‘iamoku heading almost due east for Hilo and Nae‘ole and my father making their way south toward the Puna District by a different trail. When they reached the coast at Kapoho, Nae‘ole told my father, they would continue to Ka‘ū by canoe. In this way, he explained, they would avoid the hazards of walking in the lava shadow of the great caldera at Kilauea. “The goddess Pele can be fickle,” Nae‘ole said. “We will not tempt her anger by traveling overland to Ka‘ū.”

  As they set off on their trek to the Puna Coast, Nae‘ole told my father that Kamehameha had done well to send him away. “Your brother may have to break with Alapa‘i or Keawe‘ōpala one day,” he said. “And when that day comes, it will be best that Kameha need only look after himself.” Then Nae‘ole chuckled. “Kameha has ever been a good kōnane player. He has always thought several moves ahead. He played well today.” Nae‘ole grew somber again. “But of course,” he reminded my father, “the game your broth
er plays now is much more serious than checkers.”

  My father’s name was not always Keli‘imaika‘i. The people of Maui gave him that name when he was well into adulthood. At his birth, my father’s parents named him Kalanimālokulokuikapo‘okalani. Until he took the Maui people’s name for him as his own, everyone called my father Kalanimālokuloku, or just Kalani.

  Throughout his life, my father lived in the big shadow of my Uncle Kamehameha, who eclipsed him both physically and by force of personality. Where my uncle was forceful, my father was mild. Where my uncle was unyielding, my father was accommodating. When my uncle and my father were together, even when they stood side by side, my father often receded into the background. Other men were drawn to Kameha like iron filings to a haole magnet. My father rarely attracted attention.

  Though he was skilled in the arts of war, as were most ali‘i, my father was nowhere near as adept as Kameha. He was well-coordinated, but he was not an exceptional performer in sporting contests. My uncle, on the other hand, excelled in every contest he entered. In wrestling and spear throwing he was nearly always the best. He was perhaps the most formidable surf rider of his time. His all-around athletic prowess was legendary among our people. And of course, Kamehameha was famous throughout our islands as the mover of the Naha Stone.

  My father never bridled at Kamehameha’s primacy. As Kameha’s younger brother, my father was his lifelong subordinate, and happy to serve him. My uncle never had a lieutenant more faithful than he. Once I asked my father if my uncle’s preeminence upset him. “He is my own brother,” he said, with a look of puzzlement. And when my expression revealed that I had failed to comprehend, my father said, “Why should I resent your uncle’s many triumphs? How could I? Kameha’s achievements have always reflected well on me because I am his brother, and everyone knows it.”

  Kamehameha loved my father. He loved him for his even disposition, easygoing ways, good humor, and most of all, for his gentle candor. Though my father stood in Kameha’s shadow, he did not stand in awe of him. If he believed that Kameha was wrong, he would not hesitate to tell him, even with regard to personal matters. Once, when Kamehameha lusted for a particularly beautiful woman he had spied in a small fishing village on the Kohala Coast, my father warned him to avoid the liaison. “Brother,” he said, “that wahine is truly beautiful, but she is not ali‘i. You will abase yourself if you lie with her.”