My invitation to the luau came after I’d spent some time with “Tutu woman” and her husband “Tutu man..” They arrived on one of my days off and we drove around in their vintage WWII Army surplus jeep while Tutu (that’s what everyone called her) would point out various landmarks and their histories. On the way back from Lahaina one day the tourists were queued up behind the slow moving jeep when Tutu waved her hand dismissively and said, “Silly haoles. Always in a hurry. Don’t they know they’re on an island and all they’ll do is go around in circles faster?” It was almost as if I was no longer classified as a haole.
The so-called invitation was more of a summons. Tutu Man arrived one evening in the jeep after dinner to inform me that one of Helen’s grandsons and I were to accompany him “down Makena” to Makena Beach, which was part of Helen’s ancestral lands.
We were to bring something to sleep on because we were to be spending the night on the beach.
Tutu Woman was short but “well provisioned.” Tutu Man was short and wiry without an ounce of spare flesh. It looked like he’d been carved out of aged teak, but his legs were bent by age. He moved slowly on bowed legs, but with purpose.
We got to Makena and carried his fishing gear down to a spot he decided was ours. We put our blankets down while he baited some hooks. He explained that he’d be swimming out beyond a reef (I didn’t eve know there was one), dropping his multi baited hooks and leaving them until morning. It was getting dark so it was time to sleep.
Something woke me in the night. I no longer wore a watch so hadn’t a clue what time it was. The night sky was bright with blurred stars and not another person but us in miles. Van Gogh could have painted it. Ore Monet. We were both myopic.
I became aware of a sort of rhythmic humming that seemed to be coursing through and all around me. My glasses were close so I put them on. There, pulsing slowly along the skyline was the biggest “thing” I’ve ever seen. I’ve compare it to a jellyfish but the shape would be wrong. It was like a gigantic, oblong bubble full of pulsating lights. It looked like a city could fit into it, but it seemed like a living thing. Pulsing and changing colors as it moved. In a way it was like I was looking a plankton or a living cell through a microscope. Only I was at the wrong end.
I tried to wake up my companions but no. They either wouldn’t or couldn’t wake. So I just sat there on the beach watching this amazing spectacle as it pulsed slowly across the sky until it disappeared from view and I went back to sleep.
Next morning we were woken up by Tutu Man. He’d already retrieved the night’s catch and gave us the job of hauling them back to the jeep. Then we drove back to Tutu’s house up from the Keawala’i Congregational Church near Makena Landing. The church is where Helen took me on Sunday to meet (or rather be checked out by) one Rev Kukahiko. I’d heard of him long before I’d met him. Legend had it that when the corporates started developing Ka’anapali Rev Kukahiko warned them that they were going to digging up the ground on which the final battles were fought to determine if King Kamehameha I would rule all of the islands. The area was sacred or “kapu.”
According the legend he warned them that the land was cursed and needed someone like Rev Kukahiko to lift curse before work was commenced. Of course the developers were dismissive and ignored the warnings until their heavy equipment started sinking into the earth that would one day become golf courses. Work had to be halted and Rev Kukahiko was brought in. He arranged for the proper rituals and work resumed. Helen told me that his ancestors were ‘kahunas’ or Hawaiian shamans.
Part of my initiation to the family was attending a service at the Keawala’i Congregational Church and spending some time with this powerful, charismatic man afterwards.
After carrying the fish to the tables set up for cleaning and preparing the fish I was introduced to the growing assembly. All of them were Hawai’ian except me. Lots of mixed race, but even though I was quite tan, I was the only white person. A lot of Hawai’ian was being spoken and, thanks to Helen, I could understand and speak a bit myself.
Everything that I was involved with took place outside. Tables, chairs and food trestles were all outside under pergolas, some covered with bamboo blinds to provide shade. The house itself was more of a cottage and the women and girls were constantly going in and out with plates of food. And the food was delicious. While everyone was dressed casually a couple of the men were dressed more formally in slacks and open neck short sleeve business shirts. Me, I was wearing shorts, t-shirt and flip-flops.
Not being a meat eater I skirted the various pork dishes (no doubt from the upcountry family). I was told the tomatoes also came from upcountry where it was cooler. Macaroni salad was one of my favorites and the lomi-lomi salmon was superb. Lots of fish dishes and some tasty seaweed dishes I’d never tasted before. Beer flowed like wine and the ubiquitous Kool-Aid. Stacks of white bread and margarine. Lobster. Shellfish, both raw and cooked. It was a feast.
At one point everyone’s attention shifted from food, drink and conversation to the arrival of one of the most amazing women I’ve ever seen. I’m 6’3″ and she was taller. Statuesque doesn’t even come close. She was stunning, but not just for her physical appearance, but for her demeanor and presence. It was like I was in the presence of royalty. And I was.
My Hānai Mother © Robert R. Feigel 2022 – All Rights Reserved
Pieces from a Puzzling Life 