“So,” Kekūhaupi‘o asked the boy as they watched Kamehameha, “you know old Holo‘ae?”
“Yes, I know him. He asked me to bring the special poi to Kamehameha.” The boy drew himself up proudly as he said this.
“I have been looking for him this morning, but I have not seen him,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “Do you know where he is?”
“But surely you have seen him, for he is over there.” The boy pointed to an old man hovering on the periphery of the spectators. It was Lilihae, who had also followed Kamehameha to the beach, expecting to see him stricken at any moment. Now he watched in consternation as Kameha stroked up and over the oncoming waves, which were growing higher every minute.
“Indeed he is,” Kekūhaupi‘o said as he marked the man. “Thank you.”
Lilihae had turned away and started back toward the village. Kekūhaupi‘o observed that the old man was moving with surprising speed and agility. He thought that he recognized him. “I must go now,” he told the boy. “When Kamehameha returns from riding the waves, tell him to look for me at our hale. And take care to guard that malo well.” Then Kekūhaupi‘o set off in pursuit of Lilihae. The boy watched him go and then returned his attention to the bay, where Kamehameha was already racing a rising swell to catch his first wave.
L ilihae’s hale was mauka of Kawaihae proper, in the uplands overlooking the bay. He preferred this separation. It added to the air of mystery he sought to cultivate among the people. As he marched up the hill to his dwelling he could not understand why the poison-laced poi hadn’t produced any ill effects yet. The young man was strong, surely, but not indestructible. If the deadly bark of the nioi tree was not lethal enough to kill Kamehameha, what other poison would work? How would he manage to administer it? Preoccupied with these thoughts, Lilihae did not notice that he had been followed nearly to the threshold of his hale.
Kekūhaupi‘o returned to the beach the way he had come, walking slowly and deep in thought. The old man was Lilihae, the much-feared kahuna ho‘onuana, of this he had no doubt. Sorcerer or not, Lilihae must die for his attempt on Kameha’s life.
But Holo‘ae counseled patience. “Lilihae does not yet know for certain that his scheme has failed, nephew,” the kahuna said, when Kekūhaupi‘o came to see him in the courtyard of Alapa‘i’s hale. “And Ka‘akau still believes it proceeds. But if something were to happen to Lilihae, Ka‘akau might have cause for doubt. Therefore, stay your hand against that old one for the time being, for if we can assuage his uncertainty, he may prove useful to us.”
As the two men spoke, they were careful to keep their voices low and their faces turned away from Maile, who was hovering nearby, making a great show of tending to the imu. Once again, he could not hear what passed between them, but he was sure it was more than idle talk.
“That one has been keeping an overly close eye on me,” Holo‘ae whispered to Kekūhaupi‘o. “Be careful what you say around him. I think he may be spying for Ka‘akau.”
Sometime after mid-morning, the boy whom Kameha had entrusted to hold his malo rushed into the courtyard of the hale shared by Kekūhaupi‘o and Kamehameha. Kekūhaupi‘o was resting on a mat in the shade of the thatched house. “Kamehameha is missing,” the boy shouted. “He was riding a huge wave when he disappeared. He is gone!”
Kekūhaupi‘o jumped to his feet. “I am going to the beach to help search for Kameha,” he said. “Someone must tell old Holo‘ae. Do you know where to find him?” The boy shook his head. “Come, I will show you,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. He led the boy to a path that climbed the hill beyond the village. “He is up there,” he said, pointing to a lone dwelling. The boy ran off, still carrying Kameha’s malo. Kekūhaupi‘o smiled as he watched him go.
Kamehameha attacked the sea with abandon that morning, as the waves continued to build, higher and higher. He was already well known among the people of the Big Island for his surf-riding prowess. While many of his contemporaries rode the waves lying flat on their boards or kneeling on them, Kameha would most often stand on his—even when riding the crests of the highest waves. This day, he rose to his feet time after time, to great cheers from the spectators on shore. Always, he would stay with the waves until just before they collapsed. Sometimes he would dive into them at the last moment and recover his board wherever it washed up on the beach, and sometimes he would turn his board seaward and slip down the backside of the waves. Kamehameha was one of the few surf riders of his time to have perfected this maneuver. Most would simply dive from their boards while the water was still deep enough for them to avoid being slammed against the sand or dashed against jagged rocks at the shore.
While he delighted the onlookers on the beach with his surf-riding display, Kamehameha was in fact playing for time, and waiting for the fishermen to get into position. Holo‘ae had told him that the men would head for their usual fishing grounds that morning, so as not to arouse any notice. At first, they would be well seaward of Kameha. But when Kāne’s sun had climbed halfway to its midday position in the sky, the fishermen would turn shoreward again, angling toward the bay at Kawaihae. It was then, Holo‘ae advised, that Kamehameha should make his escape. Now it was time.
Though Kamehameha had thought to escape on his surf-riding board, too many eyes were on him now. People would see him trying to paddle away. He would have to abandon his board and swim. The waves were now towering as high as ten feet in the haole measure as they rushed toward shore. Holding his position in the rolling swells beyond the surf line, Kameha saw an oncoming upwelling of water that promised to eclipse the already powerful waves ahead of it. Suffused with sunlight, its steadily rising mound glowed blue-green. Kameha could see the shadowy forms of small fish swimming about in its interior. As the last intervening swell slipped away beneath his board, Kameha commenced paddling furiously toward the beach. The powerful wave soon overtook him and lifted him on its broad shoulders. The watchers on the beach gasped as Kamehameha gained the crest of the biggest wave of the morning, now nearly fifteen feet high. Kameha could see them gaping up at him. It was time. He had been standing, evenly balanced, in the middle of his board as he rode atop the wall of rushing water. Now he moved toward the front of the board and forced its nose into the wave crest. “I meant to flip the board and fling myself into the wave,” he told my father much later. “But this is not what happened.”
Instead of upending tail over nose and throwing him into the clutches of Kanaloa, as he had intended, Kamehameha’s surf-riding board dipped below the wave’s crest and into its massive, rolling face. Reacting instinctively to maintain his balance, Kameha moved back to the middle of the board. Now he was traversing the front of the wave without losing any height as the wave’s onrushing underbelly surged under his board and its towering crest boiled above his head. The wave’s roar filled his ears; a light spray teased his face. The people on the beach seemed to vanish. Time seemed to vanish as well. “I felt that I could stay in that place forever,” Kameha told my father later. “I wanted to stay there.” The moment passed. He took a deep breath and let the wave overtake him.
To the people on the beach, it appeared as if Kameha had been swallowed by the huge wave. They waited anxiously for him to reappear after the wave had spent itself against the shore. His surf-riding board washed up on the beach, but there was no sign of Kamehameha. Among the spectators were the two men whom Keawe‘ōpala had ordered to keep close watch on Kameha. “Do not allow him to leave Kawaihae—under any circumstances,” he had told them before he left for Kailua. But instead of taking to the waves with Kamehameha that morning, they had come late to the beach, having caroused to excess the night before. By the time they arrived, there were no more surf-riding boards to be had. They could only watch from the shore with the others.
Many minutes passed without any sign of Kameha. The spectators began murmuring among themselves. “He has not surfaced,” said one. “I can’t see him,” said another. “Kanaloa has taken him,” a third exclaimed. “No!” said another. �
��He is the mover of the Naha Stone. Kanaloa would not take him.” “Perhaps he was injured,” still another cried, as the murmurs rose to shouts. The people began gesturing wildly and calling to the surf riders still in the water. “Kamehameha has disappeared. A huge wave took him. Find him! Find him!” Some of the riders turned their boards around and started paddling toward the horizon. Others paddled parallel to the shore in opposite directions. As they searched, they called out Kamehameha’s name. There was no method or coordination in their efforts.
Keawe‘ōpala’s men watched the frenetic search until they were convinced that Kamehameha was unlikely to be found. Then they left the beach. One immediately headed south, to bring the news of Kameha’s disappearance to Keawe‘ōpala. The other man would remain in Kawaihae, to await the recovery of Kameha’s body, if he had indeed drowned. There was a small outrigger canoe pulled up on the beach near the canoe shed, but the spies saw no point in joining the search.
At about the same time that Keawe‘ōpala’s spy set off for Kailua, the boy bearing Kameha’s malo reached Lilihae’s hale. “Holo‘ae! Holo‘ae!” he shouted as he neared the threshold. “Kamehameha has gone missing in the bay. The other surf riders are looking for him even now, but they fear he has drowned!”
Emerging from the dark interior of his dwelling into bright sunlight, Lilihae squinted at the boy. “Kameha? Drowned? But he is a powerful swimmer. How could this happen?” the old man demanded.
“He was riding a huge wave when he suddenly fell from his board. No one has seen him since.”
“This is terrible! I must go to Kailua to bring Keawe‘ōpala this awful news. He will be sorely grieved.”
There was one in Kawaihae who suspected that Kamehameha was not truly missing. Maile could now begin to make sense of what he had observed—Holo‘ae’s hushed consultations with Kekūhaupi‘o and his late-afternoon visit to the fishermen. Perhaps Kameha did not drown, he thought. What if he had been trying to leave Kawaihae undetected? He could have used the big waves to mask his escape. He might have sent Kekūhaupi‘o to Holo‘ae for help. That would explain Holo‘ae’s business with the fishermen. Maile was pleased with himself. Now he would have some important intelligence to share with Ka‘akau when he returned from Kailua. He was sure that he would be well rewarded for his efforts.
Upon reaching the beach, Kekūhaupi‘o made a great show of agitation and grief. “Kamehameha!” he wailed. “What has become of him?” Kekūhaupi‘o saw the beached outrigger canoe, ran to it, and pushed it into the water. “I will help you look for him,” Kekūhaupi‘o called to the other surf riders, who were still frantically paddling here and there. Jumping into the canoe, he set out to confuse the search.
Holding his breath for as long as he could, Kamehameha stroked and kicked hard under the water to distance himself from the other surf riders. When he could no longer bear the burning in his lungs, he rose to the surface for air. Too close by, he could hear the other surfers’ first notes of alarm. “Where is Kamehameha? Have you seen him?” called one. “His surf-riding board washed up on the beach,” cried another. “I never saw him come up,” called a third man. “Surely, he is about somewhere,” said a fourth. “He must be!” Kameha took a deep breath and dove again.
He kept on in this fashion for a long time, always making for the horizon. Each time he broke the surface to breathe, the searchers’ calls were weaker. At last, when he was beyond the bay’s southern point, he surfaced for good and began swimming down the coast. “Head toward the beach at Ōhai‘ula,” Holo‘ae had said. “The fishermen will look for you in the waters there.” But they would be watching for someone on a surf-riding board, not a swimmer. Kamehameha hoped that he would be able to find them and attract their attention, for surely they would not see him first.
Kameha had never attempted a swim of this duration before. He did not know how long or how far he would have to swim to find the fishermen. He could not swim to shore this close to Kawaihae, lest he be discovered by any searchers who might be ranging along the coastline looking for him. All he could do was to continue swimming south, parallel to the shoreline, until he spotted the canoe. To conserve his strength, he kicked and stroked slowly, keeping his arms always in the water. He kept on this way for a long time. Kāne’s sun was more than halfway through its daily course across the sky when he finally saw a lone canoe.
At first, he was not sure that it was the one he sought. But then he heard voices calling his name. “Kamehameha! Is that you? Answer us!” The two fishermen had been about to abandon their search when they saw something in the water. They were not sure if it was a person, a dolphin, or a bit of flotsam, but they had called out just the same. “Yes, yes! Over here!” Kameha called. He kicked hard to elevate himself in the water and waved his arms at them. The canoe’s prow turned toward him.
The fishermen put Kamehameha ashore at the sandy beach at Hāpuna. He stank of fish. His rescuers had spent the hours before the time appointed for their rendezvous productively, filling their small craft with an abundant catch. When he hauled himself up and over the side of the canoe, Kameha had landed in a slick bed of scales and fins. Now he hurriedly rinsed himself in the surf and tied on a plain kapa cloth malo that one of the fishermen had given him. There was no one else about. “You must not stay near the coast,” Kekūhaupi‘o had told him. “There is a stream that empties into the bay at Hāpuna. Follow it into the uplands. Find a secure place of concealment and wait for me there. I will come to you.” His muscles aching from hours of swimming and treading water, Kamehameha set out.
Once he had cleared the surf line, Kekūhaupi‘o pointed the prow of the small canoe north, opposite the way he knew Kameha must be heading. After paddling hard in this direction for several minutes, he pointed and cried out, “There! I see something there!” All the surf riders began paddling toward him. Before they got too close, Kekūhaupi‘o pointed seaward and cried, “No, over there! I think I see Kamehameha over there!” And stroking furiously, he set off in a new direction. Again, the surf riders followed. Kekūhaupi‘o continued this for some time. Each time he changed direction, the surf riders followed, but they could not catch up with him. At last, when he was sure that Kamehameha had put too much distance between himself and the searchers to be spotted, Kekūhaupi‘o stopped paddling and slumped over in his seat as the now-exhausted surf riders collected around his canoe. “Forgive me,” he wailed. “My eyes have been playing tricks on me. He is truly lost!” He began paddling desultorily toward the beach, the picture of complete dejection.
Late that night, under cover of darkness, Kekūhaupi‘o stole away from Kawaihae. No one saw him go, save one. All that afternoon and evening, Maile had kept watch on the hale that Kekūhaupi‘o and Kamehameha shared. He had seen Kekūhaupi‘o return from the beach. Now he saw a shadowy form emerge from the dwelling’s doorway and pause momentarily before disappearing among the gray shapes of the surrounding palm and breadfruit trees. Maile thought for a moment to follow, but immediately checked himself. Kekūhaupi‘o, the renowned warrior, would surely detect his presence in a moment, and under the circumstances, that could well spell his own end. It was enough that he had seen him abruptly quit the village in the dead of night. Clearly, he was up to something. Precisely what it might be was for others to discover.
Kamehameha was hungry. The fishermen had given him some roasted sweet potato and breadfruit to eat, and he had eagerly consumed it. As he ascended into the uplands, he had gathered as many ripe bananas as he could carry from the trees that grew wild along the narrow gulch. These too he had voraciously devoured. Now, crouched in a thicket of grass and shrubs where he was confident he could not be seen, he felt new pangs of hunger. The light was fading as the sun set; a light drizzle was falling from the low clouds that had blown in from the sea late in the day and fetched up against the mountainside, and he was chilled. Kameha drew his knees up against his chest and hugged them close against the cooling air. Trying to ignore the growling in his stomach, he shivered
and waited. Kekūhaupi‘o had promised he would come.
After slipping out of Kawaihae, Kekūhaupi‘o had climbed the hillside above the bay and then turned south. He made sure that he was well clear of any outlying dwellings before he descended again to the rocky beach. The need for stealth slowed his progress and he did not reach the bay at Hāpuna until late that night. Turning his face mauka, he followed the stream into the uplands. Kekūhaupi‘o expected that Kamehameha would be well hidden. He knew he would not be able to find him easily in the darkness. But he expected Kameha to see or hear him.
The dark of night was giving way to the gray of the last hour before dawn when the sounds of rustling foliage and splashing water awakened Kamehameha from a fitful doze. “Kekū,” he called softly, “is that you?”
“Yes, it is me!” Kekūhaupi‘o, who could steal through any terrain without making a sound or leaving a trace if he chose, had made a steady commotion as he ascended the stream bed. He was counting on Kameha to be the sole audience for his performance.
Kamehameha surged from his hiding place and embraced his tutor. “Kekū,” he exclaimed, “have you brought anything to eat?”
Much later, after Kameha had taken the edge off of his appetite with some dried fish his kahu had brought, the pair set off for Ke‘ei, Kekūhaupi‘o’s own village just below the bay at Kealakekua. Kamehameha would be safe there—for a time, at least.
Traveling on foot and by canoe, Lilihae reached Kailua soon after the news of Kamehameha’s apparent drowning. By this time, Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o had ascended well into the south Kohala highlands. Lilihae found Ka‘akau in the courtyard of Keawe‘ōpala’s hale.
“Kamehameha is no more,” Lilihae announced with a grim smile.
“You are certain he is dead then?” Ka‘akau demanded.
Once There Was Fire Page 12