Chapter XXXIII · HIIAKA ALONE WITH LOHIAU
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It has come at last, the situation to which the logic of events has for many days pointed the finger of a relentless fate. For the first time Hiiaka finds herself alone with Lohiau. The history of her life during the past two months seems but a prologue to the drama, the opening scene of which is about to be enacted in the dressing room, as we must call it. For Hiiaka, having gathered a lapful of that passion-bloom, the scarlet lehua, and having plaited three wreaths, with a smile on her face, hangs two of the wreaths about the neck of Lohiau, using the third for her own adornment.
They are sitting on the sacred terrace of Ka-hoa-lii, at the very brink of the caldera, in full view of the whole court, including the sisters of Hiiaka who gather with Pele in the Pit. “Draw nearer,” she says to Lohiau, “that I may tie the knot and make the fillet fast about your neck.” And while her fingers work with pliant art, her lips quiver with emotion in song:
O Hiiaka ka wahine,
Ke apo la i ka pua;
Ke kui la, ke uö la i ka manai.
Ehá ka lei, ka apana lehua lei
A ka wahine la, ku’u wahine,
Ku’u wahine o ka ehu makani o lalo.
Lulumi aku la ka i kai o Hilo-one:
No Hilo ke aloha—aloha wale ka lei, e!
TRANSLATION
’Twas maid Hiiaka plucked the bloom;
This wreath her very hands did weave;
Her needle ’twas that pierced each flower;
Her’s the fillet that bound them in one.
Four strands of lehua make the lei—
The wreath bound on by this maid—
Maid who once basked in the calm down there:
Her heart harks back to Hilo-one;
Wreath and heart are for Hilo-one.
The wreath is placed, the song is sung, yet Hiiaka’s arm still clasps Lohiau’s neck. Her lithesome form inclines to him. With a sudden motion, Hiiaka throws her arms about Lohiau and draws him to herself. Face to face, lip touches lip, nose presses nose.
The women of Pele’s court, chokefull of curiosity and spilling over with suspicion, watchful as a cat of every move, on the instant raise their voices in one Mother-Grundy chorus: “Oh, look! Hiiaka kisses Lohiau! She kisses your lover, Lohiau!”
From Pele’s viewpoint, the man, her lover, Lohiau was the sinner. The role played by the woman, her sister, Hiiaka—the one who had, in fact, deliberately planned this offensive exhibition of insubordination and rebellion—was either not recognized by Pele or passed by as a matter of temporary indifference. Hiiaka’s justification in motives of revenge found no place in her reasoning.
When the servants of Pele—among them the sisters of Hiiaka—found themselves under the cruel necessity of executing the edict, they put on their robes of fire and went forth, but reluctantly. In their hearts they rebelled, and, one and all, they agreed that, if, at close view, they found him to be the supremely handsome mortal that fame had reported him to be, they would use every effort to spare him. On coming to the place, their admiration passed all bounds. They could not believe their eyes. They had never seen a manly form of such beauty and grace. With one voice they exclaimed:
Mahina ke alo,
Pali ke kua.
Ke ku a ke kanáka maikai,
E ku nei i ke ahu’ a Ka-hoa-lii.
TRANSLATION
Front, bright as the moon.
Back, straight as a mountain wall:
So stands the handsome man,
This man on thy terrace, Hoa-lii.
Pele’s fire-brigade went through the form of obeying their orders. They dared not do otherwise. Acting, however, on their preconcerted plan, they contented themselves with casting a few cinders on the reclining form of Lohiau and, then, shamefaced, they ran away—an action that had the appearance of reproof rather than of punishment.
The effect on the mind of Hiiaka, whose insight into the character of Pele was deeper than that of Lohiau, was far different from that of mere admonition or reproof. She recognized in the falling cinders a threat of the direst import and at once braced herself to the task of averting the coming storm and of disarming the thundercloud that was threatening her lover. “Have you not some prayer to offer?” she said to Lohiau.
“Yes,” he answered, and at her request he uttered the following:
Ua wela Pu’u-lena i ke ahi;
Ua wela ka mauna ou, e Kahuna.
Uwé au, puni ’a i ke awa;
Kilohi aku au o ka mauna o ka Lua,
E haoa mai ana ke a;
Ka laau e ho’o-laau—
Ho’o-laau mai ana ke ki’i,
Ke moe, i o’u nei.
Ia loaa ka hala, ka lili, kaua, paio;
Paio olua, e.
TRANSLATION
Pu’u-lena breathes a furnace blast;
Your mount, Kahuna, is a-blaze;
I choke in its sulphurous reek.
I see the mountain belching flame—
A fiery tree to heaven upspringing;
Its deadly shade invades my stony couch.
Is there fault, blame, strife, or reproach;
Let the strife be between you two.
To this proposal of her chivalric companion, who would throw upon the woman the whole burden of fault, punishment, and strife, Hiiaka made answer in this address to Pele:
Puka mai ka Wahine mai loko mai o ka Lua,
Ninau a’e i kona mau kaikaina;
A lele e na hoali’i—
Ka owaka o ka lani,
Ka uwila nui, maka ehá i ka lani.
Lele mai a huli, popo’i i ka honua;
O ke kai uli, o ke kai kea;
O ke ala-kai a Pele i hele ai.
E nana ana ia luna o Hualalai;
Aloha mai ka makani o Kaú.
He palai, he lau-i, ka paú hoohepa o ka wahine, e Kini, e.
Eli-eli kapu, eli-eli noa!
I ka hakina ai, i ka hakina i’a,—
I kou hakina ai ia Kuli-pe’e i ka Lua, la.
Eli-eli, kau mai!
Ma ka holo uka, ma ka holo kai.
Eli-eli kapu, eli-eli noa!
Ua noa ka aina a ke Akua!
TRANSLATION
The Woman comes forth from the Pit,
Forth from the river with yellow tide,
From the fissured head of Kane,
Kane-apua, the cheater of death,
Presides o’er his much-thronged sandy plain:
The mountains re-echo the question,
“Gainst whom do they launch the canoe?”
Against her foes, the land-grabber’s.
To her sisters she puts a question,
Up spring the high-born, the princes—
What splendor flashes in heaven!
The fourth eye of heaven, its flaming bolt.
With swell of wave and break of surf a-land
Was her flight o’er the blue sea, the gray sea—
The voyage Pele made from Kahiki.
From his western gate fly the Sun-darts,
Their points trained up at Hualalai—
The wind from Kaú breathes a blessing.
Pray tell me, what skirts wear the women?
Their skirts are fern and leaf of the ti
Bound bias about the hips, O Kini;
One horn of the sickle moon hangs low;
My patience faints at her knife-like lips
And I fear the Goddess’s yawning mouth.
Deep, deep is the tabu, deep be the peace!
The land is fed by each hill, small or big,
Food that is ravaged by Kuli-pe’e.
Plant deep the foundations of peace,
A peace that runs through upland and lowland.
Deep, deep the tabu, deep be the peace!
Peace fall on the land of the Goddess!