The arrival of a god, if a god this truly was, came at an opportune moment for the mō‘ī of the Big Island. Two years previously, Kalani‘ōpu‘u had invaded Maui anew with disastrous results. Over two days of fighting, he had lost thousands of men, including eight hundred warriors in two elite divisions known as the Ālapa and Pi‘ipi‘i. These men had set off early in the morning from Mā‘alaea Bay on Maui’s south shore, boasting that they would “drink the waters of Wailuku” by nightfall, only to be slaughtered to a man by late afternoon. When next day found him hemmed in by Kahekili’s people at Mā‘alaea and cut off from his own fleet down the coast, Kalani‘ōpu‘u was forced to send Kiwala‘ō to sue his uncle, Kahekili, the ruler of Maui, for peace. Kahekili had assented, in return for Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s promise to keep to his own island in the future.
Kalani‘ōpu‘u brooded for nearly a year over this latest defeat at the hands of Kahekili and then, despite his pledge, prepared to invade Maui again. Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s decision to attack Kahekili once more had infuriated his favorite wife, Kalola. “You are breaking your promise to my own brother,” she stormed at Kalani‘ōpu‘u, when she learned of his intentions. Kalola had reluctantly accompanied Kalani‘ōpu‘u on his previous expedition to Maui, but she refused to go with him now. “Do not expect me to come with you this time. I will have nothing to do with this,” she cried, “or with you either if you persist!”
“Fine!” Kalani‘ōpu‘u had snapped. “Remain here in Hawai‘i. But our son Kiwala‘ō comes with me again! Kaneikapolei will be happy to accompany me to Maui and comfort me at night and I will surely have no need of you.” This exchange marked the beginning of a permanent estrangement between Kalola and Kalani‘ōpu‘u.
Leaving his embittered senior wife behind, Kalani‘ōpu‘u had crossed the channel to Maui again. Once more unable to defeat Kahekili, he was reduced to raiding coastal villages and visiting a yearlong reign of terror upon the people of Maui and neighboring Lanai.
Kamehameha saw no point to any of it. “Our uncle has no plan,” he complained to my father one night. “He strikes here; he strikes there, but what does he have to show for it? He has inflicted much pain and suffering on old men, women, and children, and squandered the lives of our own men, but after all this time, he has not added even one more ahupua‘a to his holdings on this island.”
Now, after another season of disappointment, Kalani‘ōpu‘u welcomed the appearance of “Lono.” “Kalani‘ōpu‘u was already looking for a reason to break off the fighting without acknowledging defeat,” said my father, “and what better justification could he have had than the coming of a ‘god?’”
Kalani‘ōpu‘u had first learned of the “god’s” previous appearance in our islands shortly after his latest landing at Hana, where he was gathering his forces for yet another assault on Kaupō. A Hawai‘ian named Moho had come to Hana from O‘ahu with news of strange happenings on Kaua‘i the previous year.
Moho, who swore he had spoken with people who had witnessed these things, told a story of a floating island with tall trees hung with billowing white clouds, of strange beings with wrinkled white skin, cornered heads, and flashing eyes who spoke in a strange, twittering tongue. They blew smoke from their mouths and had holes in their sides from which they would extract various objects. They carried long, black sticks that roared and belched streams of dirty, gray smoke that looked like Lono’s rain clouds. Moho said the Kaua‘i people called these sticks “water squirters.” These strange beings also had many shiny objects, including long, sharp daggers made of the very same pahoa that Kanaloa sometimes surrendered from the sea. They were happy to trade their pahoa for produce and hogs, but they became angry when one Kaua‘i man tried to take one of these things from their floating island; Moho said that one of the beings pointed a water squirter at this man and killed him.
The Kaua‘i people thought that these beings must be gods. They learned that what they thought was an island was in fact a wa‘a nui, a great canoe. Many of their women swam to the wa‘a nui to have congress with these gods. One of the gods was particularly unhappy about this and sent the women away. He was much taller than the others, who all paid obeisance to him, and because he had come on his great canoe, which looked like a floating island, at the Makahiki time, the people of Kaua‘i believed that the tall one must be the god Lono, returned to them as prophesied of old.
Now, in the new Makahiki season, “Lono” was back. Surveying the two ships from his vantage point on the cliff above the bay, Kalani‘ōpu‘u turned to his people and said, “Come, let us go out to these great canoes and see if Moho spoke the truth.”
Moho told the truth as best he knew it at the time. Our people would learn soon enough that these unusual beings were not gods but men—haoles from a faraway island—and that “Lono’s” true name was Captain James Cook. Cook and his people kept their own accounts of Cook’s visits to our islands, reports that have recently reached our shores. In truth, their own telling of their encounters with the people of Kaua‘i is at some variance with Moho’s as my father remembered it. Similarly, their accounts of Cook’s visit to the Big Island—his own account and others’—are in disagreement here and there with our own stories. While I will from time to time refer to these haoles’ reports, I will not muddle this narrative overmuch with theirs, for this, after all, is our people’s mo‘olelo.
The “floating heiau” was much bigger up close than it had seemed from the top of the cliff. Kalani‘ōpu‘u had ridden out to the nearest vessel in his grand double-hulled war canoe, with a full complement of warrior-paddlers and more than a dozen ali‘i attendants who stood with their mō‘ī on the long deck between the hulls, among them Kamehameha and my father.
Remembering Moho’s account of the vigorous bartering between the strange beings and the Kaua‘i people, Kalani‘ōpu‘u had brought several small pigs with him and ordered a second canoe to follow, loaded with taro, sweet potatoes, bananas, breadfruit, and more pigs.
“Kalani‘ōpu‘u was garbed in his best chiefly finery, to alert the strange beings of his high status,” my father said. “He wore his full-length cloak of bright red and yellow feathers, his high, feathered helmet, and a feathered malo that covered his loins and draped over his left shoulder. And he carried two pieces of pahoa.” These were elongated bits of iron, long ago extracted from flotsam. They were among Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s most prized possessions and rarely displayed by the mō‘ī. The members of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s retinue were all appropriately attired for the occasion. “All of his companions had donned colorful feather cloaks and helmets. Even the warriors paddling his canoe were arrayed in fresh loin cloths of the best quality,” my father said.
Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s canoe flew across the placid bay as the warriors dug their paddles deep into the water in rhythmic unison. Manned by fewer paddlers and weighed down with goods, the second canoe soon fell behind.
My father said that as they drew nearer to Lono’s great canoe, they could see that it was oddly shaped. Whereas our people’s canoes were pointed at both ends, he said, Lono’s was pointed at one end and broad and flat at the other. The canoe’s broad end was intercut with many square openings that glistened in Kāne’s light. “We remarked among ourselves that the canoe’s pointed end must be its front, since no canoe with a flat nose could make much progress through the water,” he said. “But we wondered why this canoe of ‘Lono’ would have eyes in the back of its head.” The great canoe of “Lono” loomed ever larger as they drew closer. “When we reached ‘Lono’s’ canoe, it was as if we had come alongside a wall rising out of the water,” my father said. “We had to stretch our necks to see to the top of it.”
At close quarters, Kameha, my father, and the others could see that the “floating heiau” was fashioned of many long, flat pieces of wood. The paddlers seated in the hull closest to the great canoe reached out and stroked its side in wonder. Its construction was strange and yet familiar. Our people of course knew nothing of milled l
umber or wooden planking in those days, but they had seen similar odd-looking pieces of wood that the sea god Kanaloa had sometimes delivered to our shores—wood pieces embedded with the much-prized pahoa. No doubt, they had come from great canoes like this one.
The great canoe’s masts transfixed my father. “There were three of them,” he said. “They were taller than many of our trees. They were strung with many stout cords, much thicker than any of the ropes we used to lash the outriggers and decks of our canoes. Each of these tall masts had two or three cross pieces from which sails—much larger than any of ours—were hung, at this time partially furled. And as I looked up, I could see a number of the strangers climbing the masts and sitting on these cross pieces.”
Kamehameha was not looking up at the masts. He was looking at several openings in the side of the great canoe, through which he could see round objects with deep, dark holes at their centers. “See those things there, brother,” he said to my father, drawing his attention away from the masts’ towering spectacle. “I think they are made of pahoa. I wonder what their purpose is.”
“Look there,” exclaimed Kiwala‘ō, pointing at a large banner that fluttered gently from a much shorter mast at what they surmised was the great canoe’s rear. “That must be ‘Lono’s’ standard.” The banner was bright red, except where it was inset with a strange symbol in red, dark blue, and white. Our people had heretofore only seen such a vivid red in the feathers of birds, and nowhere had they seen such a bright blue except in Lono’s sky, but this banner was not crafted of feathers, nor was it a piece of the sky.
Now, Kalani‘ōpu‘u and his people saw that Moho’s “strange beings” were regarding them from the great canoe’s heights. At the canoe’s broad rear, where the banner of “Lono” waved, they could see beings with “cornered heads” and “wrinkled white skin” looking at them. They could see others whose “skins” were white below the waist and improbably pink from the waist up leaning over the canoe’s side, waving at them and shouting unintelligibly. It was mostly the “strange twittering speech” Moho had spoken of. But then, through the gabble, they heard distinctly, “Welcome. Come up, come up. See you there, the steps; come up.”
The one who had thus spoken pointed to the side of the great canoe. They now noticed the wooden steps that were affixed to the canoe’s side. These were shaped so that a man’s hand could fit in and around them and his feet could still gain purchase on them. Without hesitation, Kamehameha jumped from the central platform of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s war canoe to the hull closest to the side of the strangers’ great canoe, grasped the first of these steps and began to climb.
K iwala‘ō was furious with Kamehameha for preceding Kalani‘ōpu‘u on board. “You should have waited for your mō‘ī, Pai‘ea,” he chastised his cousin, upon gaining the deck. But Kiwala‘ō had not waited upon Kalani‘ōpu‘u either. Slowed by his own infirmities, his father was not quick enough for him and he too was impatient to board.
Kalani‘ōpu‘u scaled the steps on the great canoe’s side with some difficulty, steadied from above by my father and supported from below by his trusted lieutenant Puna. Holo‘ae followed them, handing up Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s treasured pieces of pahoa before himself ascending. Last were the paddlers, who were charged with bringing the pigs up the steps, a task that proved impossible. After some shouting and gesturing, the strange beings above lowered a large basket to the paddlers, who deposited the pigs in it and then followed the others up the steps.
The mō‘ī of all Hawai‘i was in some disarray by the time he reached the deck. He was breathing hard, shaking, and leaning heavily against Puna. His cloak had shed some of its bright feathers and his feathered helmet was askew. In the eyes of his own people, he was still a potent figure, imbued with the power of the prostrating kapu. The great canoe’s strange beings saw him quite differently, however. One of them later recorded that the mō‘ī’s eyes were red, his skin “encrusted with scabs,” and that he was shaking all over “as if from palsy.” In fact, it was not palsy, but excessive ‘awa consumption that troubled Kalani‘ōpu‘u.
Clustered behind their mō‘ī, the Hawai‘ians now stood facing “Lono,” who was surrounded by others of his kind. The contrast between the shambling figure of their king and “Lono” as he stepped forward to welcome the Hawai‘ians could not have been more striking, even to the Hawai‘ians themselves. Six feet tall in the haole measure and ramrod straight in bearing, “Lono” seemed to tower over Kalani‘ōpu‘u, who now slowly backed away, along with his entire entourage, wide-eyed at the sight of the “god.”
“Imagine,” my father told me, “there before us were the very beings of whom Moho had spoken. We could now see for ourselves their cornered heads and their wrinkled white ‘skin.’ And some of them were indeed breathing smoke from their mouths.” The Hawai‘ians were not surprised by the smoke-breathing, which they had been led to expect. But their eyes were now drawn to a startling aspect of these beings that Moho had not mentioned. “First, we saw that what the Kaua‘i people and Moho had taken for these strange beings’ ‘skin’ was in places dark blue like Lono’s sky in the early morning or evening, as well as white. Then we saw that their blue ‘skin’ was edged in bright yellow. And finally, we saw that from their necks to their waists, these beings’ white ‘skin’ was punctuated by flat, round things that gleamed in the sunlight and could only be pahoa.”
Some of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s company took these objects for the beings’ own navels and sank to their knees. Kalani‘ōpu‘u himself trembled with fear. It was Kamehameha who broke the spell. Gesturing at the gleaming round objects and speaking loudly enough for all to hear, he proclaimed, “I do not know what those things are, Uncle, but they are not ‘skin.’”
Now Kameha did something so bold that it took his comrades’ breath away. He stepped forward and lightly brushed his hand across “Lono’s” arm. “See,” he said, “it is their own kapa cloth. They wear it. That is their skin.” At this, Kamehameha pointed at “Lono’s” face, with its strangely thin lips, sharp nose, and pink hue. “And,” he said, with a sweeping gesture at “Lono’s” company, “those cornered things are not the beings’ heads; they are helmets, like ours—but not of feathers.” With this, Kameha fell silent, though to my father he whispered, “Do not fear these beings, brother, for I think they are men, not gods.”
“Lono” had remained impassive throughout this display. Ignoring Kamehameha, he addressed Kalani‘ōpu‘u. “What your name?” he asked.
Heartened by his nephew’s boldness, the mō‘ī of Hawai‘i drew himself up to his full height, looked directly at “Lono,” and replied. “I am Kalani‘ōpu‘u.”
“Lono” looked at Kalani‘ōpu‘u quizzically and pursed his thin lips. “Teereeeohbooo,” he repeated, speaking the syllables slowly as if experimenting with them. “Welcome, Terrioboo.”
If Kalani‘ōpu‘u was puzzled by this response, he gave no indication of it. Turning to Puna, he said, “Tell our people to bring the pigs here.” Puna gestured at the paddlers, who had retrieved the squealing creatures from the net basket, to come forward with them. They gave one to Puna, who passed it on to Kalani‘ōpu‘u, who took two unsteady steps toward “Lono” and held the animal out to him in trembling hands. “Welcome to our beloved land,” he said. “Please accept this gift of pigs from my people, who have longed for your foretold return, divine Lono.”
“Lono” again regarded Kalani‘ōpu‘u with puzzlement. “‘Orono?’ Orono?’” he said, looking now at the pig the mō‘ī of Hawai‘i had extended to him. A younger man hurried to his side. He was attired much like “Lono,” although not so finely, and wore a cornered helmet. This was the man who had called to them from the deck of the great canoe, beckoning them to come aboard. “Lono” bent toward him and the man whispered into his ear. “Ah, yes,” he said, straightening. Smiling now, he thanked Kalani‘ōpu‘u in Hawaiian. “I, Orono, accept pig from you, Terrioboo. Maururu.”
Now it was the Hawai‘i
ans who were puzzled. “‘Maururu, maururu?’” they murmured among themselves. What could this mean?
“Lono” signaled to his people and several stepped forward. They laid a number of gifts on the deck at Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s feet: a roll of their unusual kapa cloth, bright red; a tool resembling our people’s stone adzes, but fashioned instead with a blade of shining pahoa; a dagger similarly made; and a pouch containing more pieces of pahoa, these being thin, round, and pointed at one end and flattened at the other, like the pahoa our people had sometimes retrieved from the odd-looking pieces of wood that washed up on our beaches. As the kapu mō‘ī of all Hawai‘i, Kalani‘ōpu‘u declined to bend low to examine these offerings. Instead, he gestured to Puna to retrieve the pouch for him. Kalani‘ōpu‘u fingered the pouch curiously, its texture unfamiliar to him. This was very strange kapa cloth, indeed. The Hawai‘ians had never seen leather before.
Now Kalani‘ōpu‘u addressed “Lono.” “Mahalo for these gifts,” he said.
“‘Mahalo? Mahalo?’” “Lono” queried. “Ah,” he said, glancing at the younger man who had lately whispered to him, “Understand.” Then, smiling as broadly as his thin lips would allow and baring his yellowed teeth, he said, “Mahalo, maururu—same thing. Mahalo, Terrioboo!” At this, “Lono” laughed, and his company joined in.
Now Kalani‘ōpu‘u smiled. “Yes,” he said, “Maururu, mahalo, maururu. Maururu to you as well, Lono.” And then he too began to laugh, and all of his people with him. They did not know then that this strange word for thank you, maururu, had come from their own faraway ancestral islands.
After the laughter subsided, “Lono” spoke once more to the younger man, who then addressed Kalani‘ōpu‘u. “Orono wishes to trade for more pigs, fruit, and other foods. He invites you to bring whatever you can spare. For this he will pay generously in cloth and iron.”
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 19