by Mary Deal
“It's public. But someone want people no come stay.”
Through it all, Sara was beginning to decipher local jargon. A few words were understandable but lost overall meaning because grammar was jumbled and tenses switched. She wondered if locals spoke that way all the time or purposely refused to appreciate perfect grammar that had been introduced to them. In any case, the guys shared information, albeit in a curious lingo.
The young men turned abruptly and left. One paused to look back at her and Sara couldn't interpret his strange expression. He raised a finger in the air and waved it back and forth like a warning. The weird look in his eyes gave her a chill. She had already experienced the bad attitude some islanders held toward outsiders. Many Hawaiians wished non-locals would simply leave. The young man rejoined his friends, jostling and playfully karate kicking at one another as they made their way down the hill. They evidently chose to honor an unknown person's wishes of going no farther up the trail.
Sara looked again at the pelt hanging over the tree branch and stepped farther away from the stench, worsening in the heat of the strong afternoon sun. She wondered if those guys hung the skin, and why. It certainly hadn't been there an hour earlier when she entered the area.
Too, the guys hadn't had any blood on their clothing and didn't carry any sacks to conceal the pelt or keep it from leaking fresh blood onto the trail.
She stepped close to the shrubs and peered into the thickets to see if they might have thrown anything away but saw nothing.
Ka'imi climbed up through the jumble of weeds and over a few rocks on the hilly side of the trail, sniffed around, but soon came back down. Sara always asked the why of everything. The single purpose of her next excursion would be to learn more about Kauai's number one mystery spot and why someone wanted people to stay away.
As she headed down the trail, she turned to look back. The pelt was hung in the area prior to reaching the clearing where dogs howled. Was it to keep dogs off the trail? They certainly wouldn't know the meaning of the pelt being hung. No, that kapu message was meant for humans and the young man waving a finger in the air with a questionable look in his eyes seemed like a warning.
Chapter 18
In a few days one of the largest hula dance competitions would take place at Kekaha Beach Park, across from the miles-long Kekaha Beach on the west side of the island.
“Aloha!” Hien hugged Sara as was the local custom when meeting, but he hugged as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other for eons. “Thanks for letting me crash at your ha'le.” Like many locals, his straight jet-black hair hung down below his shoulders. He brought with him that aura of being on a high. Zest poured from every cell.
“Make yourself at home.” Sara felt strange being around Hien. Certainly their friendship hadn't developed to the point where such an overly enveloping hug could be mutual. A feeling she had when first meeting him returned. He seemed too familiar, much too alert to her responses. She didn't think she was being standoffish, just reading her gut that said his actions were exaggerated and unnatural.
She led him around the side of the main house to the back yard. Fronting the one-bedroom cottage, clumps of Mondo grass struggled among decorative lava rocks on both sides of the entrance. The stand of crab claw Heliconia had withered blooms hanging and more laying scattered on the ground among some fallen stalks and leaves. At least that bit of greenery stood outside the bedroom window blocking view of the main house and offering a bit of privacy for both.
The cottage must have looked quaint and inviting when the previous owners kept the florals manicured. Embarrassed, Sara wished she had already hired someone to clear away the dead leavings and to nourish the plants. She offered that Hien step inside.
“Maika'i!” Hien was elated as he stood looking around.
Sara had furnished the tiny place with bamboo style furniture purchased from Hawaii Island Liquidators in the industrial section of Lihue. The company reclaimed hotel furnishings when resorts chose to refurbish. The pictures on her walls were of island scenes and the various sea shell lamps she found once adorned the lobby of the prestigious former Princeville Hotel.
Kauai's remoteness necessitated recycling items to save high import costs. She wanted an island-style retreat for people to unwind and relax. She did purchase new mattresses, but determined to support the island economy, purchased second-hand furnishings which would suit her purposes just as well, especially since it was all refurbished and looked new again. Estate sales were also popular with locals. She had scoured through several and found it an immensely rewarding past-time.
“The bedroom has a queen. Kona coffee and island snacks are in the cupboard.”
Hien dropped his bag when she gestured toward the open kitchen. He was pleased and his expression showed it. Appearing curious, he peeked through the window above the sink. “Wha… No got deck?”
“Can only have five hundred square feet in ohana houses.” Sara quoted what Birdie reminded about Kauai's building codes. “No deck, but did you notice the size of the yard? C'mon, I'll show you the view from the cliff.”
At cliffside, Sara was cut short in what she was explaining, disturbed by Maleko in his yard, hacking away shrubs and buffalo weed and cursing the overgrowth of heli-heli. She visualized him trying to make a trail of his own to the river below. He mumbled loudly and flung his machete like a madman and cuttings flew in all directions.
“Got one huhu next door?”
Sara raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. Thanh had said that Hien used to know Maleko's family. Maybe too many years had passed because he didn't seem to recognize Maleko now as a grown man. Sara motioned to her patio. “Pull one of the chaises off my lanai if you want to sit in the sun.” She left him to settle into the cottage on his own.
Hien was no stranger to Kauai. He had rented a car at the airport to get around. The purpose of his visit was to practice with other musicians and then perform in the hula show in Kekaha.
He had an expensive and beautiful vintage curly koa wood ukulele and babied the thing like it was an infant. In the evening, Sara heard his ukulele and voice drift in as he rehearsed. It reminded her of a Hawaiian named Beni Noa, a carpenter, who worked on the refurbishing of her huge old River Delta Victorian. He also boarded for a while as a security guard when a serial killer was on the loose.
Birdie declined making the trip to the west side. “Already seen all the shows. Even learned to dance Tahitian hula when I was younger.”
Sara laughed. “I can just see you in a grass shirt and coconut bra.”
“Yeah, sure.” She glanced down at her chest. “If the coconuts were cut before they matured, I could find little ones that fit.”
Saturday morning arrived and Sara left early, jumping into her little hybrid, which she loved. It was, by far, the best car she had owned. She upgraded to have a pearlescent tone added to the pale sky blue color, the only car on the island that shade of azure. She was quietly having fun learning what toys money could buy, but was not the type to gloat or brag about such luxury. Several times she had seen locals struggling to restart their cars that had stalled. She thought of buying them a new one.
While many of the island guys, and girls too, bought monster trucks and elevated them with super hydraulics, and large families went deep into debt buying huge vans and SUVs, she hoped she didn't appear to flaunt her luxuries. Many hard-working locals, forced to be penny-wise, could only afford beat-out vehicles known as Island Specials.
She turned on the A/C full blast to clear old air from the car, and scanned the radio stations to find the right music for the fun day ahead. Part of the fun, she named the car The Blue Pearl and thought about shipping it to the mainland when she returned to California. It was just too valuable and too nice a car to leave sitting and covered in the garage waiting to rust when she was not on Kauai.
Maybe it would have been more conservative to buy a dependable used car for use on Kauai. A good used van or large sedan could be used b
y the veterans who stayed in the house.
The day promised to be a fun experience of getting to better know local culture. The drive to Kekaha on the west side would be long. The whole day was planned, her start to becoming involved in island activities. Surely, this festival would be her indoctrination.
When first arriving on the island, she had befriended Eden, owner of the Kauai Family Cafe at Kinipopo, and one of several cooks for the hula event. Sara asked if she could help. It sounded like a good way to participate since Sara was more of a doer than a spectator. Why not help and be a part of it all?
Chapter 19
Pre-dawn traffic was nearly nonexistent. Few clouds drifted about. Sprinkles landed on her windshield, but the clouds soon cleared. Fading stars twinkled in the lightening morning sky. Volcanic ash and fog, known as vog, blown over all the islands by the trades from the Kilauea caldera at Halema'uma'u Crater on the Big Island painted the clouds intense shades of pink and coral.
Then the rising sun shone on some near-ramshackle homes along the route reminding of her childhood rented dwellings. Many Kauai homes, especially the older ones, weren't built with space enough for modern conveniences. Clothes washers, dryers and water heaters were later installed on the sidewalk beside the house. Locals eked out a living as the price of paradise continued to sky rocket.
Being her first participation, preparing for the festivities hinted that the show would be bigger than Sara had imagined. She helped Eden and her sisters set up the large three-foot woks in preparation for cooking.
Eden approached from her van pulling a large Coleman chest which she positioned beside the serving table that held paper plates and other necessities for a meal. “My Puerto Rican friend made lots of pasteles.”
“Real Puerto Rican pasteles? With banana paste?” Sara loved Puerto Rican pasteles and hadn't had any since leaving the Caribbean. She never dreamed the authentic delicacies would be popular in Hawaii. Lunch for her today would be a continuous trip through memory lane.
Eden had pre-cooked a monstrous pot of gandule rice with Portuguese sausage, tomato sauce and numerous spices. Also precooked by her sisters were Filipino foods.
Sara was learning a lot. Eden said that Filipino Lumpia was similar to Chinese spring rolls. Pork adobo, a meat stew, would be kept heated and served from another huge pot. Sara intended to at least sample all the foods, but with so much food available from their own woks, she doubted she would be able to taste foods from other ethnicities across the park.
One of two of the woks, sitting atop hot charcoal on brick encased barbeque grills, would be used for frying meat and the other for stir-fry vegetables. With all that food, plus what other cooks around the festival might prepare, people would be eating well.
Young Hawaiian girls, wearing sarongs and plumeria and ginger leis appeared, scattering loose plumeria blossoms and sea shells on the ground in front of the stage.
A holy man, a Kahuna, keeper of ancient knowledge, keeper of wisdom and understanding, appeared. He was ushered by two of the young girls to a spot on the elevated center stage where the hula music and dance contests would take place.
The Kahuna was wrapped in a white toga-like garment. A double strand of fragrant maile leaves hung around his neck and shoulders, down to knee-length. He wore a kukui nut lei around his neck. His wrists were adorned with bands of small white cowry shells and more maile. As the Kahuna started the event's blessing, activity came to a standstill.
Without any accompaniment, his chant resonated on the wind as he walked back and forth across the stage gesturing rhythmically with his hands and sending his powerful falsetto voice into the air. He sprinkled water from a coconut shell with a long green Ti leaf as he paced and chanted. His eyes, his face, told of one totally entranced in mysticism of the ancients. Sara closed her eyes and absorbed the sounds and linguistics of the beautiful old Hawaiian language deep into her being.
After the county representative and a couple others made speeches, the music began and the noise level throughout the park rose many decibels. As the day wore on, hula halaus, dance troupes, in full native costume from various Pacific islands took turns at competing on the center stage. The sole photographer for the small island newspaper seemed to be everywhere.
Lady musicians in full costume, wore haku leis of plumeria flowers entwined with Ti leaf strands on their heads, with more around their necks, wrists and ankles.
Some took their places, sitting on a lauhala mat on the stage floor in preparation for Hien and his group's performances. The ladies' contribution to be accompaniment with polished ipus and ipu heke gourds. They slapped them in a loud finger rhythm and pounded them on the floor. Their sometimes sweet, sometimes lusty voices held the crowd in awe. Sara's love of a strong beat left her swaying, enthralled with the rhythm.
When it was announced that Hien's group would perform next, Hien was nowhere in sight. Sara peered through the crowd, looking in different directions. Hien and a couple of guys stood talking in the parking lot in the shade made between two tall dark pickups in an area reserved for tour busses and larger vehicles. He must have heard his name being announced and then came running.
Hien had changed into a customary lava-lava, an above the knee tapa cloth wrapped skirt made from pounded tree bark emulating a custom of the ancient Pacific Islanders. Hien wore nothing else except a dark brown kukui nut lei around his neck, and hopefully undershorts. His group played and danced just before the noon break. Hien wowed the crowd with his band. These were musicians he knew from childhood on Oahu who had moved to Kauai. Surprisingly, Hien was a superb entertainer. He wrung sounds out of his koa ukulele that made the audience sway or dance hula on the grass in front of the stage. His hands were a blur across the strings and frets. His voice was magnificent, deep and full of Hawaiian dialect as he chanted and sang through several songs. Hien led his group through a series of frenzied hulas, his hair swinging wildly with his choreographed movements. He seemed taller and self-assured up there on the stage, not the over-zealous persona he usually projected.
One of the last functions of the day's activities was to announce the winners of the hula and music competitions. Hien won first place in the male singers contest. His group took second place in the music and dance competition and accepted the trophies. After his performance, Sara couldn't remember seeing him with his friends. Considering he wasn't so shy he couldn't accept an award, what else could be more important than being with his group to receive the accolades?
Chapter 20
Past four o'clock, the crowd thinned fast. Sara stayed to help Eden and her sisters with the big job of cleaning and packing. Afterward, she carried a bottle of cool water across the highway to sit among the monstrous lava boulders adjacent to the shoreline. The boulders kept the highway from washing away from the scouring wave action of high winter seas. She was mesmerized by the pink, coral and red hued vog of sunset. The shades deepened with each passing moment; the colors of the sunset as spectacular as the sunrises. The smell of the sea wafted on the trades. She closed her eyes as reverie took over. The sea or living near water would always be a vital part of her existence. The roar of the ocean pounded in her ears. She breathed in and slowly exhaled, deeply at peace.
Finally, Sara climbed into her minivan that had been sitting in direct sunlight. She cranked up the air conditioning to cool down the interior. Feeling tired, she adjusted the seatback straight up, while mentally preparing herself for the long ride home.
The parking lot was nearly empty as she flipped on her headlights, and waved to a couple of locals who waved back with a shaka, the thumb and pinkie wave common in The Islands. Traffic was thin as she passed through Waimea Town. Anyone leaving the festival and heading north had already departed, most likely before sunset. A couple of small restaurants remained open after the rest of Waimea's retail businesses sat dark along the highway. Few street lights lit the way through town and darkness enveloped the road after passing through.
Southeast of Waimea,
she screamed, having to suddenly swerve to pass a large darkened truck parked on the narrow shoulder. “What in the name of…?” Some drivers had no sense at all.
Sitting where it was with no lights on, it could be struck by an unwary driver. Having to swerve gave her an adrenaline rush. She sat straighter, more alert, and expelled a huge breath of air.
A minute later, glaring high-riding headlights appeared behind her. With headlights that high, it could only be a truck. The light reflected back through all three rear view mirrors and was blinding. From where had that truck appeared? She had not noticed any traffic entering the highway from behind. The lights seemed to have been turned on right behind her. The high beams lit up the interior of her car.
Instead of moving into the oncoming lane and passing, the vehicle stayed on her bumper. It sped up as Sara sped up. Sara swerved into the empty on-coming lane to allow the truck to pass on her right. Instead, it swerved and stayed behind her. Maybe she should have stayed in her lane. She swerved back into the right lane and it swerved directly behind. As much as she could tell from glimpses, it was a large pickup or truck elevated with hydraulics and the driver was playing road tag!
The truck pulled alongside in the on-coming lane. The sound of its engine was loud, rumbling, as if it had a hole in the muffler. It held beside her, nearly close enough to take off her side view mirror. The truck was so tall, she couldn't look into the cab. It moved closer!
She swerved to the shoulder and the truck moved over with her. She couldn't move any farther off the road.
The truck kept inching closer as both sped around a bend. Sara applied her brakes, hoping the truck would speed past. It didn't. It slowed and stayed beside her. She had no choice but to try to outrun the idiot. She pressed the accelerator to the floor to get ahead. She was a good enough driver that she might be able to outrun him. That big truck would have to slow way down on the curves, but it was a road her minivan could more easily handle.