“Liholiho is to share rule with Ka‘ahumanu by the authority of our lord’s late father, Kamehameha!” Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku rejoined.
“When did Kamehameha ever say this?” Kekuaokalani pressed, and feigning surprise, exclaimed, “I have never heard such a thing before!”
“Kamehameha told Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku just before he died that Ka‘ahumanu was to rule with Liholiho,” said Hoapili. “You and your brother were both there when he said this.”
“We were there, but nevertheless, neither my brother nor I heard Kamehameha say any such thing,” said Kekuaokalani, and he looked to me for confirmation.
“We saw Kamehameha speak to Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku, but our uncle’s voice was so weak that we could not hear him,” I said.
Hoapili turned to Hewahewa. “Old one,” he said, “you were also there when Kamehameha spoke to Ka‘ahumanu and Kalanimoku. What did you hear?”
Hewahewa spread his wrinkled hands open in front of him and said, “Truthfully, I regret to say that I could not hear his words either. It would have been better had he spoken loudly enough for everyone to hear.”
Now my brother turned to Liholiho. “Cousin,” he said, “do you truly believe that Kamehameha, with his dying breath, said you should share your government with your foster-mother, Ka‘ahumanu?”
“I do not know what my father said at the time, cousin,” Liholiho replied. “For as you know, I was regretfully not there.” He looked unhappily at Kekuaokalani, as if pleading with my brother not to press him further.
But Kekuaokalani would not relent. “Well, then,” he continued, “did Kamehameha ever at any time give you reason to believe this? Did he ever tell you that Ka‘ahumanu should rule with you?”
“He only told me that I would be mō‘ī and rule after him.”
“And this he proclaimed to all of the chiefs, did he not?” Kekuaokalani asked.
“Yes, cousin, that is so,” Liholiho said. Now he looked resolutely at Hoapili and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and declared, “It is true. I never heard my father say that I should share the government with Ka‘ahumanu.”
“So you see?” Kekuaokalani said to Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku and Hoapili, “Even Liholiho, our mō‘ī, is unaware that Ka‘ahumanu is to rule with him. He does not acknowledge her authority to release anyone from the kapus. Go tell this to her and Kalanimoku. Tell them that Liholiho will not set foot Kailua again until the kapus are restored for all.”
“Is this truly your will, Lord?” asked Hoapili.
Liholiho seemed relieved to let my brother speak for him. “It is my will to remain here for now,” he replied. Then, apparently hoping to appease Hoapili and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, he added, “You both have given me much to think about today. Please tell my kahu, Ka‘ahumanu, and Kalanimoku that I am considering all you have said.”
Thus thwarted, Hoapili and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku made ready to leave. Ignoring Liholiho and me, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku turned to my brother and said, “This is not finished yet.” Then he spun around and stalked off.
As Liholiho watched them go, he said to us, “Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku is very angry. I hope Ka‘ahumanu will not be angry with me.”
Later, after Liholiho had returned to his friends, my brother reflected, “Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku is right of course. We prevailed today, Nāmākēha, but Liholiho is like a feather on Lono’s wind. The wind was with us today and so was Liholiho, but tomorrow, who knows?”
The wind indeed changed direction the next day, but it was not Lono’s doing.
Ka‘ahumanu descended upon Honokōhau the next morning like a storm off the ocean, sweeping all before her. Kalanimoku, Hoapili, and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku trailed in her lee.
“Where is my foster son? Where is Liholiho?” Ka‘ahumanu demanded of the first person she encountered at the shore—a maka‘āinana fisherman who had immediately thrown himself to the ground upon seeing her approach. “I—I do not know,” the man said. He addressed his words to the dirt because he did not dare look up at the famous ali‘i chiefess who towered over him. Ka‘ahumanu was so much greater in stature than the three ali‘i men accompanying her that he hardly noticed them. “I have not seen Liholiho today.”
Failing to find Liholiho near the shore, Ka‘ahumanu continued mauka to the heiau, where she found my brother and me with Hewahewa just outside the temple.
“Liholiho—where is he?” she asked us.
“He was here earlier, Aunt,” I replied, “but we do not know where he is now.” This was the truth, although we did know that our cousin and a few of his friends had earlier gone to see some nearby fishponds that his father had built.
Now Ka‘ahumanu turned to Hewahewa. “Old one, did you tell Liholiho that Kailua is kapu for him?”
“I merely reminded him of his duty to the gods—” Hewahewa replied, his voice trembling, “—of his duty to uphold the kapus.”
“And you, Kekuaokalani, did you tell Liholiho not to return to Kailua?”
Unlike the meek kahuna nui, my brother, the keeper of the war god Kūkā‘ilimoku, was resolute. “Kailua must be kapu to our new mō’ī as long as men and women eat together there and women eat foods forbidden to them by Kāne,” he declared. “Liholiho would be defiled if he returned there now. You know this to be true, Aunt.”
Ka‘ahumanu scowled at my brother. “I only know that Liholiho may return and yet keep the kapus, nephew,” she retorted. “My foster-son is nī‘aupi‘o, like his mother, and therefore his very person is kapu. Any ground on which he stands is kapu. It does not matter where he is. I sent my brother and cousin to tell him so. I have no doubt that he would have returned to Kailua with them yesterday had you not stood in his way.”
“I have no doubt you wish that were true,” Kekuaokalani snapped. “In truth, I did not stand in Liholiho’s way. He is the mō‘ī now, and like his father before him, he makes his own way!”
I felt my heart sink as this argument between my brother and Ka‘ahumanu became more heated. I feared that if it continued a moment longer, the two would trade words so regretful that neither could take them back, with awful consequences for all of us. In desperation, I tried to redirect their attention to Hewahewa. “Our high priest is here, after all,” I said. “Does he not have the final word on what is kapu?”
My brother and Ka‘ahumanu had been arguing in front of the kahuna nui as if the old man were not there. Now as I had hoped, they both turned to him. But Hewahewa, who had for two days now cautiously parsed his every word to avoid giving offense to anyone, merely fidgeted with his hands as his eyes darted from Ka‘ahumanu to Kekuaokalani and back again. Neither of them spoke, and my brother shook his head at me, willing me to keep silent. Nevertheless, I was determined to press the question with Hewahewa, if only to stop this alarming confrontation for the time being.
“Hewahewa, is it so that Liholiho can return—” I began, but I never finished my question, for at that moment, there was a flurry of movement behind Ka‘ahumanu. Kalanimoku, Hoapili, and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku abruptly stepped aside to make way for Liholiho.
Upon seeing him, Ka‘ahumanu began wailing and shedding copious tears. To me it seemed as if a powerful wind gust had passed, replaced by a drenching downpour. Ka‘ahumanu opened her arms, widening her already formidable girth, rushed to Liholiho, and enveloped him in a tight hug. For a moment, his face was almost lost to sight in her ample bosom.
“Liholiho, my foster son, why are you so angry with me?” Ka‘ahumanu cried. “Why have you refused to come to me in Kailua?”
At this, Liholiho also began to wail. “Oh, my kahu, forgive me,” he pleaded. “I have never been angry with you. My only desire was to honor my father’s wishes and uphold the kapus. Please forgive me if I hurt you.” At this, Liholiho’s remorse overcame him, and he sobbed uncontrollably.
“Oh, how could I not forgive you, my heavenly son?” said Ka‘ahumanu, still weeping. “But tell me why you have not come to me in Kailua as I begged?”
Through his continuing sobs,
Liholiho said, “I wanted to come to you, Mother, but I feared to come to Kailua. I feared I would be defiled.”
Ka‘ahumanu released Liholiho from her embrace. “You can never be defiled, my son,” she said. “You are nī‘aupi‘o. Your kapu is so strong that wherever you go, the dirt under your feet and the ground around you become kapu. Men and women will obey the kapus wherever you are, wherever you will them to obey. You are the mō‘ī now. Kailua cannot be kapu for you. Return with me. Once more, I beg you.” All through this, Ka‘ahumanu continued to sob. Liholiho could not help but embrace her and wail anew.
“Mother,” he cried, “I will return to Kailua.”
Kekuaokalani and I looked at each other. My brother slowly shook his head as if to say, “See how she bends Liholiho to her will like a thin wili-wili branch.”
Ka‘ahumanu abruptly ceased her crying. Disengaging herself from her foster son’s arms, she said, “Good. Then we shall leave at once.” Grasping Hewahewa by an elbow, she added, “The kahuna nui shall come with us.” Then without another word to my brother or me, Ka‘ahumanu marched back to the shore, with Hewahewa, Kalanimoku, Hoapili, and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku close behind her.
Liholiho lagged behind them. Realizing that he was not in step with the others, Ka‘ahumanu stopped and called out to him, “Come my foster-son, Kailua is waiting for you.”
Liholiho turned and looked at us apologetically. Then, turning back to Ka‘ahumanu, he called out, “I will be only a short distance behind you in my own canoe.” This seemed to satisfy Ka‘ahumanu, who continued to the shore without another backward glance.
As we watched them go, Kekuaokalani turned to me and said, “The ground where Liholiho stands may be kapu, brother, but wherever Ka‘ahumanu walks, it is not.”
Kailua Kona, May 1819
My brother and Hoapili nearly came to blows over which of them would hide Kamehameha’s long bones. The priests had wrapped our uncle’s sacred remains in kapa cloth and were holding them at the ‘Ahu‘ena Heiau. Soon after Liholiho left for Kailua, Kekuaokalani went to retrieve them. I went with him.
Discounting Liholiho’s claim on his father’s bones, Kekuaokalani had always presumed that as Kamehameha’s favorite nephew, the high priest of his war god, Kūkā‘ilimoku, and the future kahuna nui of the Hawaiian kingdom, the honor of hiding them was his. But when we reached the heiau, we found Hoapili had just received them from the priests.
Kekuaokalani was furious and demanded, “Why have you given my uncle’s long bones to this one?”
Before the priest could reply, Hoapili answered for him. “Do not be-rate the kahuna, Kekuaokalani,” he said. “He is only complying with Lord Kamehameha’s wishes.”
My brother ignored Hoapili and once more addressed the priest. “Did Lord Kamehameha tell you to deliver his long bones to this man?”
His eyes wide in the face of my brother’s anger, the priest shook his head, and stammered, “No, he did n-not speak t-to me of th-this.”
“Well, then,” Kekuaokalani continued, “Why have you given the bones to him?”
Again, Hoapili spoke before the priest could answer. “Kamehameha asked me as he was dying to carry away his bones,” he said. “You were there; you saw, Kekuaokalani.”
“Yes, I saw him speak to you, but I did not hear what he said,” my brother replied, advancing on Hoapili. “Moreover, I do not believe you.” He lunged for the precious kapa-cloth bundle.
As Hoapili tried to push him away, the bundle slipped from his hands and clattered to the heiau’s stone floor. The two thin strands of bark twine around the bundle snapped and the cloth came undone, spilling the long bones of Kamehameha’s legs and arms at the two men’s feet.
“Stop!” I shouted at them. “Look what you have done! This is desecration! For the sake of our beloved Kamehameha’s spirit, I beg you; leave off at once!”
My brother and Hoapili looked aghast at the floor, and backed away from each other. At once, the kahuna rushed between them, knelt, gathered up Kamehameha’s bones, and wrapped and tied them in the cloth once more. Rising to his feet, he looked from one man to the other. So ashamed were Kekuaokalani and Hoapili that neither moved to take it from him.
At length I said, “Give Hoapili my Uncle Kamehameha’s long bones.” My brother looked at me in surprise, but did not object when the priest handed the bundle to Hoapili. Hoapili thanked the priest, and without another word to either of us, left the heiau.
“Why did you do that?” Kekuaokalani asked me.
I had no ready answer, for I had surprised even myself. “Our uncle’s spirit will thank you for this,” was all I could think to say.
Some believe that Hoapili hid Kamehameha’s long bones at Kawaihae; others say he hid them farther up the Kohala Coast, near Kamehameha’s birthplace at Kokoiki. No one will ever know the truth. It died with Hoapili in 1840.
Though the period of mourning for Kamehameha was now past, Liholiho had yet to decree that all people must obey the kapus once more. Moreover, despite his promise to Ka‘ahumanu to return forthwith, he lingered for days at sea. In his absence, his subjects were left to sort out matters for themselves.
Free to choose, people at Kailua and elsewhere on the Big Island now divided. Led by Kekuaokalani, a number of chiefs and their adherents contended that it was time to restore all the kapus, most especially the strictures forbidding men and women from eating together and barring women from eating certain foods—kapu eating. A substantially larger group persisted in ignoring these restrictions, a practice that came to be called “free eating.” The free eaters were leaderless at this time, though it was widely believed that Ka‘ahumanu, Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, and Kalanimoku sympathized with them. Hewahewa kept his thoughts on the controversy to himself.
Kekuaokalani railed against free eating. “The gods will surely strike down all who defy the kapus,” he warned. The free eaters ignored him, and the gods refrained from striking them down.
It was in the midst of this turmoil that Liholiho finally returned to Kailua—where the conflict between the free eaters and the kapu eaters raged the hottest—to be formally invested as mō‘ī. Kekuaokalani stayed away from the ceremonies. It was just as well that he did.
Still hesitant to return to Kailua while free eating continued, Liholiho had remained offshore, his double-hulled canoe aimlessly sailing this way and that at the outer edge of Kailua Bay. A dozen or more young chiefesses joined them, paddling out from shore in small outrigger canoes. Liholiho and his comrades had brought an ample supply of rum from Honokōhau and they consumed it freely along the way. Now the young king sent word to shore for more of the haole liquor. Liholiho and his friends became ever more boisterous as they continued drinking. They were close enough to shore that we in the village could hear the royal party’s rhythmic drumming, rattling calabashes, and wild chanting, which continued at all hours.
Liholiho’s brazen display of debauchery offended my brother. “Our cousin may profess respect for the kapus and the gods,” he said, “but he does not practice it.” Moreover, Kekuaokalani worried that Liholiho might be wavering in his resolve to restore the kapus. And so, he dispatched me once again to remind our cousin of his duty to his father and his father’s gods.
Liholiho greeted me effusively when I boarded his large, double-hulled canoe later that same day. Pulling me close to him, he hugged me and wailed, “Nāmākēha, my cousin and dear companion of my childhood! Welcome, welcome!” Liholiho’s words were slurred, he smelled of rum, and he was unsteady on his feet. If not for the fact that he was hugging me, he might have fallen over. When Liholiho released me, he straightened with effort and called out to his friends, “See who has come to join us! It is my aikāne, Nāmākēha!” Then he staggered away.
Liholiho and his companions did not remain long at Kailua Bay. Soon after I joined them, they resumed sailing slowly in the direction of Keauhou. They took more than a day to complete a journey that should have taken no more than an afternoon. During this time, I tr
ied to remind my cousin of his promise.
“Yes, yes, of course, Nāmākēha,” he said, still slurring his words. “When I am invested as mō‘ī, I will decree that free eating must end wherever I am and I will restore all the other kapus.”
I could not help but notice Liholiho’s stipulation. “Do you mean to say that you will not end free eating everywhere?” I asked him. Liholiho ignored my question and I was unable to gain any further assurances from him.
The rum had run low, as had the food, by the time we reached Keauhou. When Liholiho sent word ashore for more food and liquor, he was dismayed to learn that while food was available aplenty, no rum was to be had there. For as soon as Ka‘ahumanu had learned that her foster son was sailing toward Keauhou, she sent people ahead to confiscate whatever supplies of rum remained at the royal retreat. His hunger appeased, but his thirst for haole liquor unslaked, Liholiho ordered his people to return him to Kailua.
If Ka‘ahumanu was angry with Liholiho for loitering at sea for days instead of immediately returning to Kailua as he had promised, she did not show it. Instead, she greeted her errant foster son with a welcome befitting a king.
We had just rounded Kalaepa‘akai Point at the southernmost reaches of Kailua when a great double-hulled canoe raced out to meet us. It was Ka‘ahumanu’s own. She stood at the front of the platform, wearing a bright yellow bosom-to-ankle gown of fine haole linen that shimmered in the bright sun and billowed about her as the vessel surged forward, propelled by some forty paddlers. Behind her were Kalanimoku and Kahekili Ke‘eaumoku, and ranks of chiefs and chiefesses, filling the length of the platform, wearing their finest cloaks of brilliant red and yellow feathers, which fluttered in the gentle breeze and flashed in the sunlight. Ka‘ahumanu’s flowing gown contrasted with the fluttering of the many feathered cloaks behind her and drew our eyes back to her.
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.
Once There Was Fire Page 50