Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  Her canoe turned and slipped alongside ours; men in the vessels’ adjacent hulls reached out to keep the two canoes together. Now, Ka‘ahumanu stood opposite Liholiho.

  “Lord,” she cried, “you have returned to us at last! How your people have yearned for this day! Come across and join me here and we will greet them together.”

  Liholiho made to reply but his words were lost amid a thunderous salute of cannon fire. Anchored in the bay were Kamehameha’s two favorite haole ships, the old Fair American and the Pelekane, their guns’ barrels smoking.

  “Will you come with me, Lord?” Ka‘ahumanu called anew.

  Before Liholiho could reply, the guns boomed again. “I am coming to you, my kahu,” he finally shouted. Crossing the neighboring hulls of the two canoes, Liholiho joined Ka‘ahumanu on the central deck of her vessel.

  When I began to follow him, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku raised his hand, palm toward me, and called out, “Not you Nāmākēha; we have no room for you on this canoe!”

  Liholiho now looked questioningly at Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, who spoke urgently to him in a low voice. Though I could not hear most of what Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku said, the import of words was clear, for the one thing I did hear was “Kekuaokalani.”

  “Nāmākēha is not his brother!” Liholiho replied, loudly enough for all to hear. “He is my aikāne. We will always have room for him. Of course, he comes with us.” Liholiho beckoned me to join him. As I made my way across, the two haole ships’ guns roared again.

  A yellowish-gray cannon-smoke haze now obscured our view of the shore, and we momentarily lost sight of all but the hulls of our own canoe as we entered it. Now I heard water splashing all around us. The source of this splashing soon revealed itself—thousands of people had raced into the water and were swimming out to greet Liholiho. As the haze dispersed, I saw a sea of bobbing heads between us and the beach and heard the people’s ecstatic cries: “Our lord, Liholiho, has come! Our new king comes at last!” Much later I learned that Ka‘ahumanu had orchestrated this display of affection for Liholiho.

  Ka‘ahumanu turned to Liholiho. “See how your people love you!” she exclaimed. “Tomorrow we shall install you as mō‘ī of all the islands, and tomorrow night all of Kailua will celebrate you with a great luau.”

  Surprised and dazed by the booming cannons and the adulation of the multitude of swimmers, Liholiho could only smile and nod in response at first. Then he said, “I look forward to the morning, my dear foster-mother. Only tonight, please make sure there is plenty of rum.”

  The population of Kailua village had swelled many times over by the following morning. Hundreds of people came from villages up and down the coast from South Kona to northern Kohala, and as far inland as Waimea to witness the formal coronation of the great Kamehameha’s son and heir. Liholiho’s coronation procession commenced at Kalaepa‘akai Point, south of Kailua, where the waves explode in white spray against the black lava rocks. From there, my cousin and his retinue made their way along the waterline to the Ahu‘ena Heiau at the bay’s north shore.

  The crowd was so large that its fringes extended to the uplands mauka of Kailua. People crowded forward as far as they could in hopes of a better view, becoming so densely packed that anyone unfortunate enough to faint—and there were more than a few—had no room to fall.

  Liholiho led the procession, resplendent in a cloak and helmet of brilliant yellow feathers. Underneath this traditional garb, however, he dressed haole-fashion, in dark breeches, a white, ruffled shirt, and a blue vest. At his side, he wore a ceremonial haole sword. A youth in a simple malo walked a few steps behind him carrying a feathered kahili.

  Spectators close enough to see him did not find the sight of their new mō‘ī marching along in haole attire surprising, accustomed as they had become to seeing Kamehameha dressed in this fashion. What came next, however, surprised many. For walking behind Liholiho and his kahili bearer was Liholiho’s own mother, the nī‘aupi‘o ali‘i, Keopuolani, she of the burning kapu. The sight of Keopuolani walking among them drew murmurs from the many spectators who had not yet heard of her going about in broad daylight before.

  Gasps and cries displaced murmurs as people beheld the spectacle immediately following. For now came Ka‘ahumanu, seated on a mānele—our people’s equivalent of a haole sedan chair—which was borne by a dozen strapping young men. It was composed of a stool mounted on a platform similar to the central deck of a double-hulled canoe. This platform was tightly lashed to a pair of poles long enough to accommodate three bearers on each corner. Though the poles were stout, the middle of the platform sagged under Ka‘ahumanu’s great weight.

  It was Ka‘ahumanu’s manner of dress, not her means of conveyance, that elicited the onlookers’ cries and shouts. For over a red, ankle-length gown of haole cloth, Ka‘ahumanu wore Kamehameha’s own yellow feather cloak, and on her head, his yellow feathered helmet with its high crest. She carried his great spear. “Look!” people shouted. “See how Ka‘ahumanu comes like the great Kamehameha himself!”

  A young man followed Ka‘ahumanu’s mānele, carrying a kāhili that was grander than Liholiho’s and towered above her atop an exceptionally long pole. There was nothing unusual about the kāhili itself, but the sight of a man carrying a woman’s kāhili, when it should have been borne by another woman, drew still more cries of amazement.

  Moving through the crowd like waves, the murmurs and exclamations marked the royal procession’s progress from Kalaepa‘akai to the Ahu‘ena Heiau. There, on the raised platform of the modest temple favored by Kamehameha in his later years, Hewahewa waited with some two dozen priests of the orders of Lono and Kāne. I waited with them, representing my brother and the priests of Kūkā‘ilimoku, who were conspicuously absent.

  The royal party wound around the cove, coming to a halt at the base of the heiau platform, where Liholiho was met by Hewahewa and the other priests. Ka‘ahumanu alighted from her chair, stepped past Keopuolani, and took her place next to Liholiho. Now Keopuolani was entirely lost to sight amid the other members of the procession, who crowded in behind her, giving no thought to her kapu now. Save for the kahili that wavered on its standard behind her, no one would have known that such an important ali‘i personage was present.

  Two assistants flanked Hewahewa, holding leis of brilliant yellow flowers. When all members of Liholiho’s investiture procession had assembled at heiau, Hewahewa commenced a prayer calling on Kū to preserve the new king and his people.

  E Kū i ka lana mai nu‘u!

  O god Kū of the sacred altar!

  E Kū i ka ohia lele!

  O Kū of the scaffolding of ohia timber!

  E Kū i ohia-lehua!

  O Kū carved of the ohia-lehua!

  E Kū i ka ohia-ha uli!

  O Kū of the flourishing ohia-ha!

  E Kū i ka ohia moewai!

  O Kū of the water-seasoned ohia timber!

  E Kū mai ka lani!

  O Ku, come down from heaven!

  E Kū i ke ao!

  O Ku, god of light!

  E Kū i ka honua!

  O Ku, ruler of the world!

  A noa ia Ku.

  The kapu is removed by Ku.

  Hewahewa paused. Ka‘ahumanu took two steps forward and began to raise her hands as if to receive something. As she did so, the old kahuna began praying again, this time to Kāne, asking the god to make the ‘awa flow. Ka‘ahumanu stepped back.

  Ka wi laahia, e Kāne-i-ka-wai.

  The sacred water, o Kāne-of-the-water.

  Ka wai la ia, e Kāne.

  It is the water of Kāne.

  Ka wai i ka hikina, e Kāne.

  The water in the east, o Kāne.

  Nou Ka Wai Koo-lihilihi.

  Yours is the water that supports the petals.

  Ka wai I ka olo la hua‘ina

  The water in the long gourd gushing forth.

  After continuing in this fashion at some length, the priest paused again. Now Ka‘ahumanu stepped f
orward once more, raising her hands more quickly this time. But at this, Hewahewa commenced a third prayer, this time to Lono, calling upon the god to make the land fertile.

  E Loni-i-a-po,

  O Lono in the night,

  E Lono-i-ke-ao.

  O Lono in the day.

  E Lono-i-ke ka‘ina o mua

  O Lono of the leading forward

  E Lono-nui-a-Hina

  O great Lono given birth by Hina

  Mai ‘aniha mai ‘oe ia, e Lono.

  Do not be unfriendly to me, o Lono.

  This prayer-chant was longer than the last, and when Hewahewa’s old lungs forced him to pause several beats for breath, Ka‘ahumanu stepped forward and took the leis from the kahuna’s assistants. The priest and Liholiho looked at her with surprise; the multitude of onlookers, quiet until now, began to murmur, as if to protest. Before the crowd’s murmuring could grow to something more consequential, Ka‘ahumanu whirled around and brandished the leis at them. The assemblage quieted at once.

  “My beloved people,” Ka‘ahumanu cried, “see how we are blessed with a great mō‘ī! This is a new day for our Hawaii nei!” At this, she turned to Liholiho and held out the leis. He stepped toward her and she placed one of them around his neck, handed him the other one, bent close, and whispered to him. Not even those standing closest to Ka‘ahumanu could hear what she said. Liholiho nodded. Now Ka‘ahumanu bent before her king, and Liholiho placed the other lei around her neck, though not easily, for it briefly caught on the high crest of Kamehameha’s great feathered helmet. Ka‘ahumanu stood straight again and swept Liholiho into her arms. Save for his own feathered cloak and helmet, my cousin all but disappeared in Ka‘ahumanu’s embrace as the two wailed together.

  When she released him at last, Liholiho faced the onlookers again and cried, “Hear me! As our lord, my father, Kamehameha the Great, willed, I proclaim that my foster-mother and kahu, Ka‘ahumanu, shall be your kuhina nui! Together, she and I will bring peace and prosperity to all the islands!”

  The crowd cheered. The dual reign of Ka‘ahumanu and Liholiho had begun.

  Contrary to his promise to Kekuaokalani that he would restore the kapus and end free eating upon his formal installation as king—a pledge he had just recently confirmed to me—Liholiho issued no such decree before the assemblage at Kailua. I questioned him about this when he greeted me immediately after the ceremony. “My lord, you said nothing of the kapus. Why?” I asked, as we hugged each other.

  Releasing me abruptly and frowning, Liholiho replied, “It seemed untimely to me, Nāmākēha.” I did not need to ask him why, for I knew the reason. Liholiho was reluctant to make such a decree while standing next to Ka‘ahumanu.

  “Kekuaokalani will surely ask me about this,” I pressed, ever my brother’s intermediary. “What shall I tell him? Will you restore the kapus at the luau this evening, then?”

  “That would be a more appropriate time,” he answered. His reply was noncommittal, but I was reluctant to press him further, especially when he suddenly embraced me again and joyously exclaimed, “Come celebrate with my friends and me, Nāmākēha! We have more rum.”

  Kekuaokalani was incensed, but not surprised when I told him later that day how Ka‘ahumanu had taken it upon herself to proclaim Liholiho mō‘ī, and how our cousin had acknowledged Ka‘ahumanu as his kuhina nui. He was taken aback, however, when I described Ka‘ahumanu’s attire.

  “She wore our uncle’s feather cloak and helmet? She carried his spear?” he exclaimed. “Ka‘ahumanu presumes too much. By rights, the honor belonged to Liholiho. He is Kamehameha’s rightful heir; he is nī‘aupi‘o. Ka‘ahumanu does not respect him as mō‘ī.”

  Of course, my brother’s regard for Liholiho was no greater than Ka‘ahumanu’s, but he saw her assumption of Kamehameha’s physical mantle as a portent of worse things to come. “She means to make him a figurehead,” he said. “She does not heed the kapus, and I fear she does not even believe in the gods. She will surely lead our cousin and our people astray.”

  Kekuaokalani would not have to wait long to find out how far astray she would lead them.

  The great luau celebrating the dual installation of Liholiho and Ka‘ahumanu commenced at sunset, in a grassy field behind the royal compound opposite the Ahu‘ena Heiau. Encouraged by Kalanimoku and his subalterns, several thousand people who had attended the ceremony earlier in the day—ali‘i and commoners alike—filled the luau site to overflowing, though the two groups did not mix. Dozens of imus to one side of the grounds, each with its large pig wrapped in ti and banana leaves, had just been uncovered, filling the air with the tantalizing aroma of the kalua pork soon to come.

  Kekuaokalani had decided to attend—I told him that Liholiho had said that the luau would occasion a “more appropriate” time to restore the kapus. “We must see if he truly means it,” my brother said. Surveying the seating arrangements now, he was encouraged by what he saw.

  Eating mats of woven pandanus leaves were laid out end to end in two dozen rows, the length of the field. They were divided into two groups, separated from each other by a wide swath of empty ground. Perpendicular to these rows was a single row, likewise divided, for Liholiho and his retinue.

  The divided eating areas were distinguishable from each other by the different foods already laid upon them. Poi, yams, sweet potatoes, and breadfruit were of course common to both sides. But to one side of the divide were foods reserved for men: roasted bananas and coconut, turtle meat, and niuhi shark. To the other side, roasted dog meat, exclusively for women. As kāne and wāhine entered the field, they sorted themselves out accordingly. Maka‘āinana also took care to sit separately from ali‘i.

  My brother noted the divisions and approved, but he was not entirely reassured—the commoners were neither kneeling nor prostrating themselves before their betters as the kapus also demanded. “To merely restore kapu eating is not enough,” he declared. “Kapu eating cannot stand alone; all kapus must be restored.”

  “Kekua, if a nī‘aupi‘o chiefess like Keopuolani shows no respect for her own burning kapu,” I asked, “how could one expect a kanaka to prostrate himself for any ali‘i now?”

  “Liholiho is also nī‘aupi‘o, Nāmākēha,” Kekuaokalani rejoined. “If he is to live long as a true kapu chief, he must not tolerate such behavior. He must make an end to it this very night.”

  Kekuaokalani, his lieutenants, and I had arrived at the luau ahead of Liholiho. Now our cousin came, Ka‘ahumanu at his side and their kahili bearers behind them. The throng of guests cheered lustily at the approach of their new mō‘ī and his co-regent: Liholiho in his brilliant yellow feather cloak over his haole breeches, shirt, and vest; and Ka‘ahumanu, still wearing Kamehameha’s robe and helmet of yellow feathers. Liholiho led his people to the row of eating mats set aside for the royal party. As convention dictated, the chiefs and chiefesses sat separately. Kauikeaouli, who had graduated to the men’s eating house, sat with the chiefs. Kekuaokalani and I stood apart, watching our cousin and his company take their places. Now reassured that Liholiho fully intended to restore kapu eating, my brother said, “Come, Nāmākēha, let us join our mō‘ī at the feast.”

  We sat down opposite Liholiho, who greeted us with a cheerful smile and exclaimed, “Welcome, cousins, welcome!” Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and Hoapili tensed as Kekuaokalani took his place; Kalanimoku greeted him with no more than a curt nod. Liholiho took no notice of this. “I trust that everything here meets with your approval, Kekua,” he said to my brother.

  I was encouraged by our cousin’s easy familiarity and hopeful that he would indeed restore the kapus, avoiding a conflict with Kekuaokalani, which I very much dreaded. Kekuaokalani was likewise encouraged. “It is indeed an auspicious setting for a new beginning, cousin,” he said.

  “Then by all means, let us begin,” said Liholiho. He clapped his hands and his kahili bearer, standing behind him, waved the standard back and forth several times. Now youths wearing simple malos brough
t bowls heaped with steaming kalua pork to the men’s side of the luau as women on the other side of the field watched.

  To this day, I believe that what next transpired took Liholiho by surprise. For no sooner had a bowl of pork been set on the mat in front of him than Keopuolani rose to her feet, crossed to the men’s side of the luau, extended her hand to Kauikeaouli, and led him back across the divide to the women’s eating mat, where she sat him next to her and proceeded to feed him dog meat from her own bowl.

  Until this moment, the happy babble of hundreds of people talking at once had filled the air. Now the entire assemblage fell silent. The unthinkable had just happened; a wahine had shared food with a kāne in the presence of the mō‘ī—food reserved for women, no less. I felt my brother tense beside me and I tensed with him as we waited with everyone else for whatever was to happen next.

  Now, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku rose from his place at the men’s eating mat, picked up a bowl of pulled pork, and crossed the grassy divide to Keopuolani, Ka‘ahumanu, and the other chiefesses. He seated himself next to his sister and served her a large portion of the kapu pig flesh.

  Throughout, Liholiho sat unmoving and unspeaking. He looked stricken. Having relied on seating arrangements to signal the restoration of kapu eating, he had not yet made a formal declaration. Should he do so now, Liholiho would be forced to punish Ka‘ahumanu, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, his mother, and his brother. Without exception, the punishment for violating the eating kapu had always been death.

  Kekuaokalani stared intently at Liholiho. He said nothing—his eyes spoke for him.

  Liholiho looked to me and silently mouthed my name. I had no words for him either. I could not give voice to my dread and despair.

  Now Liholiho looked to Kalanimoku, who nodded at him. He looked to me once more, this time shaking his head as if in regret. Then, Liholiho rose to his feet and crossed to the women’s side of the feast. Kalanimoku and Hoapili rose at once to follow.

  Still seated, the old priest Hewahewa looked about in confusion. His eyes came to rest on Kekuaokalani, who sat rigidly in his place. Hewahewa could not meet my brother’s hard stare and looked away. Trembling and gaining his feet with difficulty, he followed his mō‘ī and the others. I remained by my brother’s side, as I had always done.