“Do you believe this, Nāmākēha?”
“I have not actually spoken to Ka‘ahumanu about this and I do not claim to know her mind, but that is possible,” I replied.
“Has such a thing ever happened before?” Liholiho asked.
“No,” I said, “it has not. Alapa‘i ruled alone. Kalani’opu’u ruled alone. Even though your father trusted Kalanimoku as his most important adviser, he shared power with no one. It has never been done.”
Liholiho enfolded himself tightly in his own arms and looked hesitantly at my brother for the first time. “What should I do?” he asked.
“I beseech you, Lord,” said Kekuaokalani, “do not set foot in Kailua while kāne and wāhine flout the kapus.” As difficult as it was for my brother to “beseech” his “lord,” his plea was heartfelt. “It is your own prerogative as the mō‘ī to restore the kapus. Assert your authority in this matter—now,” he said.
“Do you agree with this, Nāmākēha?” Liholiho asked.
I drew on tradition for my answer. “It is said that the gods will not sustain a king who does not uphold the kapus,” I replied. “It is said that no king who dishonors the kapus will rule for long. It is also said that the mō’ī who keeps the kapus will have long life.”
Liholiho tugged at his lip. He looked from one to the other of us.
Kekuaokalani broke the silence. “Perhaps we should go to the heiau and beg the god for guidance,” he said.
We climbed the hill to the great Pu’ukoholā Heiau Kamehameha had built to secure the rule of the islands. A score of priests met us at the temple’s base and led us up narrow stairs to the heiau’s wide stone platform. It was now midday and the sun was directly overhead in a clear sky. I longed for shade and wished for refuge in one of the thatched structures gracing the temple mount, but these were reserved for kāhuna.
The head priest, whom I recognized as a friend of my brother’s, bowed to him. “How can we serve you and our new mō‘ī?” he asked.
“Our lord seeks divine guidance on an important matter,” Kekuaokalani said. “Lord” came more easily to his lips now.
“He seeks the wisdom of Kūkā‘ilimoku then?” the priest asked. It was more of a statement than a question. It was the war god’s temple, after all.
Liholiho spoke for the first time. “No, lords,” he said, taking care to be respectful. “I seek the wisdom of all the gods.”
“Very well then,” said the priest. The kāhuna brought sedge mats to shield us from the midday heat of the platform’s smooth, dark stones, and we sat in a large circle. The assembled kāhuna began to chant:
E kini o Ke ‘kua,
E ka lehu o ‘kua,
E ka lalani o ke ‘kua,
E ka pukui akua,
E ka mano o ke ‘kua,
E kaikuaana o ke ‘kua,
E ke ‘kua muki,
E ke ‘kua hawananawana,
E ke ‘kua kiai o ka po,
E ke’kua alaalawa oke aumoe,
E ihio, e ala, e oni, e eu,
Eia ka mea ai a oukou la, he hale.
It is no simple thing to translate our language into the haoles’ rough tongue, but I will do my best:
Ye forty thousand gods,
Ye four hundred thousand gods,
Ye rows of gods,
Ye collection of gods,
Ye older brothers of the gods,
Ye gods who smack your lips,
Ye gods who whisper,
Ye gods who watch by night,
Ye gods who show your gleaming eyes by night,
Come down, awake, make a move, stir yourselves,
Here is your food, the house.
“Now,” said the chief priest, “let us sacrifice a pig to Kūkā‘ilimoku and tonight we will feast and share ‘awa together. The gods will surely answer you then, Lord.”
The priests slaughtered a pig and laid it on the altar. They commanded villagers from Kawaihae to fetch another pig, which they slaughtered, gutted, and deposited in an imu just makai of the temple. Bananas, sweet potatoes, and yams, all wrapped in ti leaves, joined the animal in the fire. The priests roasted fish and coconuts on a separate bed of coals.
The heiau boasted an ample store of pepper root and after the feast, we returned to the temple, where the priests chewed the roots for us and spit the intoxicating ‘awa juice into gourd bowls. Kekuaokalani, the kahuna nui of Kūkā‘ilimoku, himself prepared the ‘awa for Liholiho.
“Drink this, Lord,” he said, passing a half-full bowl to Liholiho, who sipped from it. The taste was not quite to his liking and he made a face. Kekuaokalani chuckled. “It is not like the haole rum, is it, Lord? But it is better still,” he continued, “for it is the drink of Hawaiian kings. Drink, Lord, drink. The ‘awa will help you receive the gods’ wisdom.” Eager for this counsel, Liholiho drank it down. Kekuaokalani served our cousin many bowls of ‘awa that night.
Inever much cared for ‘awa and I drank little of it that night—just enough to show my respect for the kahuna who chewed the plant root for me. Thus, my head was still clear hours later when Liholiho and Kekuaokalani fell into each other’s arms, hugged, and wailed. All around us lay the inert, shadowy forms of the great temple’s kāhuna, deep in their ‘awa-induced slumber. None of them so much as stirred, despite the loud cries of my brother and our royal cousin.
“Have the gods spoken to you yet, cousin?” Kekuaokalani asked at last.
“Cousin, the gods say I have slighted you,” Liholiho cried. “They remind me that my father, Kamehameha, entrusted our people’s well-being to both of us: you through the keeping of the god and me through the keeping of the kingdom. One is just as important as the other. But I forgot this in my grief for my father and I did not give you proper respect. Please forgive me.”
“Cousin, there is nothing to forgive,” my brother cried in return. His grip on Liholiho tightened. “If anything, it is I who have slighted you by failing to respect you as my beloved uncle’s heir and my mō‘ī. It is I who must be forgiven.” I could not fail to notice that even as he pled for Liholiho’s forgiveness, Kekuaokalani claimed Kamehameha for himself.
Lubricated by ‘awa though he was, Liholiho’s cries were heartfelt. My brother’s wails were calculated. He had not consumed nearly as much of the intoxicant as Liholiho, and even as he offered his own tearful apology, he looked at me over Liholiho’s shoulder as if to say, “See, brother, how I have wound our cousin the mō‘ī around my finger.”
Kekuaokalani released Liholiho from his tight embrace, and still gripping his cousin’s shoulders, he said, “Lord, we two are the pillars of the kingdom. We must always support one another. I will always support you and your government as Kamehameha wished me to do. You have my word as the kahuna nui of your father’s god, Kūkā‘ilimoku.”
“And I will uphold our gods and the kapus, as my father always wished me to do,” said Liholiho. “The kapus are the peoples’ life and the kingdom cannot live without them. There can be no Hawaii nei without the kapus.”
“They have been the life of our people for generations immemorial,” agreed Kekuaokalani.
“I promise you I will restore the kapus before I set foot in Kailua again,” Liholiho said.
“Then you will assuredly rule well and have long life,” said my brother. He hugged Liholiho once more. “Cousin, some people may still wish to abandon the kapus now and you may require more help than I can give you to uphold them. I know how you love your foster mother and look to her for so many things, but in this matter of the kapus, look to your kahuna nui, Hewahewa, and Kalanimoku first. They were long your father’s most important spiritual and worldly counselors and they will be your strong left and right hands.”
Even after the unpleasantness that had transpired between Kekuaokalani and Kalanimoku over the matter of the muskets, and my brother’s long-standing complaints about Ka‘ahumanu’s apparent influence over him, my brother still believed that Kalanimoku would never consent to abandon the laws of his ali
‘i forebears. I believed this too, at the time. And of course, we were confident the high priest Hewahewa would insist that Liholiho restore the kapus.
“I promise, cousin—I will always look to Hewahewa and Kalanimoku first,” Liholiho said.
The night was retreating before Kāne’s light and the temple’s priests were at last stirring when Kekuaokalani and I hugged Liholiho and said our goodbyes. Kekuaokalani and I watched from the temple as Liholiho, still unsteady from the ‘awa, slowly picked his way down the Hill of the Whale to rejoin his comrades near the beach. Then I turned to my brother.
“We have been here a day and a night and we have not yet seen ‘Olohana,” I said. “I want to visit him before we return to Kailua. I would like to tell him what has happened here.”
“So would I, brother, so would I.”
As we climbed the hill to ‘Olohana’s compound above the heiau, I felt the world brightening around us.
W e found ‘Olohana at his breakfast, an ample repast of bananas, mangos, coconut, and pulled pork. “Kekuaokalani, Nāmākēha—welcome,” he said. “Will ye sup with me? There is still plenty of food.” As always, when I came to see ‘Olohana with my brother, he addressed us in English.
‘Olohana preferred to eat haole-style, sitting on a bench at a table, rather than on a mat on the ground. Kekuaokalani understood English well enough by now that he needed no translation. In any case, we were both famished after our long night at the temple and ‘Olohana’s sweeping gesture at the several wooden bowls and platters heaped with fruit and meat made his meaning plain.
“We’ll gladly join ye,” I said, though Kekuaokalani had already nodded his thanks, seated himself, and commenced to eat.
Between mouthfuls, I recounted the preceding night’s events, concluding with Liholiho’s promise to restore the kapus and to rely on Kalanimoku and Hewahewa for counsel.
“All will be as it was before our uncle died,” my brother added with satisfaction.
‘Olohana cocked his head and looked at us quizzically. “Have you not heard?” he asked, this time in Hawaiian.
“Heard what?” my brother said.
“Kalanimoku was here to visit with Liholiho a few days ago. There was a ship, a Frenchman, at anchor in the bay. Before Kalanimoku went to see Liholiho, he paid the ship a visit. There was a Papist priest on this ship and while Kalanimoku was there, he allowed this priest to anoint him with holy water.”
Kekuaokalani and I looked at each other in confusion.
“Don’t you understand?” ‘Olohana continued. “This priest baptized him. Kalanimoku is a Christian now.”
Kekuaokalani rose so abruptly that he nearly knocked the bench out from under me. “Brother,” he exclaimed, “we must return to Kailua at once! We must tell Hewahewa of this.”
As we made to leave, ‘Olohana grasped my arm and held me back even as Kekuaokalani hurried makai. “Nāmākēha, I know how much you love your brother and want to help him,” he said. “But keep a clear head and take care you don’t sacrifice yourself for a lost cause.”
Honokōhau, Kona May 1819
Kekuaokalani’s lieutenants, Kauiwa and Holo‘ialena, were waiting for us at the shore when we reached Kailua. They greeted us warmly and pulled us aside, well away from anyone who might overhear us.
“Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku have ordered the chiefs to surrender all pū po‘ohiwi to them,” Kauiwa said.
“Are they complying?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Holo‘ialena.
“What of our pū po‘ohiwi?” asked Kekuaokalani. “Have they also demanded that we return them?”
“Yes, and we could not ignore their order,” Kauiwa said, “but we still held back many, and we hid them.”
“Where?”
“We wrapped each one in kapa cloth and buried them at Ka‘awaloa,” Holo’ialena said.
“How many do we still have?” Kekuaokalani asked.
“About one hundred and fifty,” Kauiwa replied. “I do not think Kalanimoku and Ka‘ahumanu will look for them because they do not know how many pū po‘ohiwi we had to begin with.”
“I hope you are right,” I said. I did not ask Kekuaokalani why he and his lieutenants wanted the muskets. I thought I knew the answer and did not want it confirmed.
The kahuna nui Hewahewa was not at Kailua when we arrived there.
We learned from Kauiwa and Holo‘ialena that he was at the Heiau o Lono at Honokōhau, a short distance up the coast. We set out by canoe once again and found him later that day at the heiau.
Now well advanced in years, Hewahewa was frail, his sight was dimming, and he was hard of hearing. My brother looked forward to the day, soon he hoped, when he would succeed the old man as kahuna nui.
Hewahewa and a young assistant were sacrificing a goat to the god as we entered the heiau. As the high priest chanted, the two men bowed and swayed before an altar that in late afternoon was deep in shadows. The goat, just recently slain, lay atop the altar; its blood still ran freely, collecting at the two men’s feet in a dark, congealing pool that spread slowly across the heiau’s lava-stone floor.
Kekuaokalani and I waited patiently while the two priests chanted their prayer to Lono:
E Lono-i-ka-po,
O Lono in the night,
E Lono-i-ke-ao.
O Lono in the day.
E Lono-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 iau e Lono
Do not be unfriendly to me, o Lono.
The two men continued chanting in this manner for some time before concluding:
Eia ka ‘ai,
Here is the food
E Ku, e Lono, e Kāne.
O Ku, o Lono, o Kāne.
E Lono I ke ao uli e,
O Lono in the firmament
Eia ka ‘ai.
Here is the food.
Hewahewa turned from the altar at last to acknowledge us with a slight nod of his head and said to my brother, “Kekuaokalani, welcome. Do you come to greet your cousin Liholiho when he passes this way?”
“Liholiho is coming here now?” My brother and I were both surprised by this news. After all, Liholiho had only just pledged to restore the kapus before returning, and to our knowledge, had yet to do so.
“Oh yes,” the old priest replied. “Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku have sent for him now that Kamehameha’s long bones have been purified.”
“But Kailua is still a place of defilement for him,” Kekuaokalani protested. “Liholiho has promised me that he will not set foot in Kailua before the kapus are restored—before he restores them.”
“I cannot say what Liholiho will do, only that he is coming this way,” said Hewahewa. “It is already late in the day; perhaps he means to rest here for a bit.”
“Hewahewa, you must help me persuade Liholiho to stay on here until the kapus are restored in Kailua.”
“I will speak to him if you wish, Kekuaokalani,” Hewahewa replied.
“Tell Liholiho you agree with me that he must restore the kapus.”
“Is this truly necessary?” Hewahewa asked. “Surely, Kalanimoku will tell him?”
“Kalanimoku will be of no help to us,” said my brother. “He has abandoned Kāne, Kū, and Lono, and no doubt their kapus; he worships the haoles’ god now.”
“Truly? Oh this is very troublesome,” Hewahewa said, wringing his hands, “very troublesome indeed. To be sure, when Liholiho comes, I will tell him to be mindful of his duty.”
L iholiho reached Honokōhau near sunset. Ka‘ahumanu expected him in Kailua the same evening, and he meant to continue to the village after a brief respite ashore. When Hewahewa reminded him, albeit humbly, of his duty to the gods, and my brother warned him once more not to return to Kailua while the people there flouted the kapus, Liholiho decided to stop at Honokōhau. He sent one of his friends ahead to tell Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku that he would n
ot come to Kailua until men and women no longer ate together there. Having thus resolved matters for the moment, Liholiho settled in for the night at a hale near the beach. My brother made sure that he and his friends had ample food and plenty of rum.
The next day, Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku dispatched Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and Hoapili to Honokōhau to conduct Liholiho to Kailua forthwith. They found us at the heiau, but they were soon frustrated in their mission because no amount of pleading on their part would persuade Liholiho to return with them.
“Kekuaokalani says Kailua is kapu to me; he says the kapus must be restored before I can return,” he said.
“Who is Kekuaokalani to say what is kapu for the mō‘ī?” demanded Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku. My brother tensed at this but held his tongue.
“Kalanimoku does not say Kailua is kapu for you,” said Hoapili. “Your foster mother Ka‘ahumanu does not say it is kapu for you. In any case,” he continued, “they have said that the kapus will be observed and obeyed wherever you reside.”
“And they have said that anyone at Kailua or elsewhere who wishes to continue observing the kapus may do so,” added Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku.
Kekuaokalani could no longer hold his tongue. “In other words, Kahekili,” he said, “any others who wish to disregard the kapus may do so now?” Turning to Liholiho, he said, “Lord, your father charged you to uphold the kapus; he would tell you that it is not for anyone to choose whether they will obey them. All must obey the kapus or surely, none will.” Kekuaokalani now turned to the high priest for confirmation. “Is this not so, Hewahewa?” he asked.
“One would most assuredly say that,” Hewahewa replied.
The kahuna nui’s response was hardly the definitive answer my brother had expected, but he tried to make the best of it. “You see, Lord?” he said to Liholiho. “Your own kahuna nui agrees.”
“Ka‘ahumanu has said otherwise,” Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku snapped, “and she is Liholiho’s co-ruler.”
“So Ka‘ahumanu is now to rule with Liholiho?” asked my brother. “By whose authority?”
Once There Was Fire Page 49