Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
In waters deep, her soul finds peace,
Yet dreams she holds, they must cease.
Lonely she dives, her heart kept small,
A fisher with spears, but she dreams of it all.
As I played with words in my head, a light wind blew around Kalae, the jumping point. Riddles always helped pass the time faster. My small canoe bobbed on the waves while the sun beat down on my back. The black cliffs rose high above me on one side, and the blue water sparkled on the other.
I chewed some kukui nuts, then spat them into the water. The oil from the nuts did not mix with the seawater, providing a clear view into the ocean below. Colorful motions signified that there certainly were fish down there.
My favorite spot never let me down.
I held the ‘ō, a fire-hardened spear, in my right hand. In my left hand I held the hempen loop of the pōhaku kōi, a smooth basalt stone as big as my head.
Here we go. I took three deep, purging breaths, packing my lungs until they hurt.
Then I stepped off the canoe.
The ocean swallowed me as the weight of the stone dragged me down. Down to the depths. Down to the place where the rainbow fish–the best fish–swam.
I didn’t kick, only keeping my body rigid and straight to sink below the underwater cliffs of South Point. The sun filtered down in dramatic rays of light, illuminating the drop-off where the island ended.
My ears throbbed, and I swallowed to clear the pressure.
Deeper and deeper I sank until the light grew dim. And that’s when I saw them: a school of massive, blue-green uhu. The fish had a parrot-like beak, and it grazed on the coral blooming at the mouth of a dark underwater lava tube.
I slipped my wrist out of the stone’s loop, letting the pōhaku kōi sink. I’d pull it up later. For now, I was weightless, hanging in the deep.
My lungs screamed for air but it was a familiar fire I had trained myself, since childhood, to ignore. Kicking once, I glided towards the cave mouth, where some of the uhu swam away.
Seawater burned my eyes, but I focused on one flashing fish in the dim light.
With a thrust of my torso, I drove my ‘ō straight through the scales behind the uhu’s gill. The fish thrashed wildly, kicking up a cloud of sand and blood, a scent that would bring predators in minutes.
Minutes were all I had though.
I grabbed the recovery line tied to my waist and slowly pulled myself up. The dimness turned into brilliant golden light until I broke the surface, inhaling a large gulp of air.
The fish continued to thrash lightly, but I threw him onto the canoe and pulled myself up.
A good day, I thought, looking at all I’d caught, a rainbow of scales and colors that would earn a good fortune if I sold all of it at the market.
And it will pay for mother’s medicine.
Since I got the medicine a few nights ago, mother’s health improved. Only when she could get up and walk about did I return to fishing. I didn’t trust Kiki coming with me, afraid that if either of us left mother’s side for too long, mother would wear herself to the bone again.
Usually Kiki pulled me back up from the depths, or we’d lift the canoe up the sea cliffs together, but… I’d be doing it all alone today.
I’m strong enough, I told myself as I hauled up the pōhaku kōi.
We weren’t sure what sickness came over mother, but we knew it came from the foreigners.
In our little, quaint village, only missionaries came once or twice a year.
Sometimes whalers or merchants would stop through, but those brief visits were enough to introduce sicknesses our people weren’t used to.
Including my mother.
She caught the cough from a neighbor… and that neighbor had died from it. For a time, mother coughed blood, had constant night sweats, and fatigue that left her bedridden. Kiki and I watched as she disappeared before us, her already thin body morphing into a skeleton of who she was.
We thought we’d lose her, but she miraculously healed. For a time.
The cough and exhaustion returned.
Then it left.
And returned.
It came and went like waves. One moment she’d be healthy and fine, and the next moment she’d be pale as ash and unable to rise from her bed.
Kiki and I prepared ourselves for the moment it would finally take her.
The thought of losing her, however, was unbearable.
But I couldn’t stay by her side forever; failure to pay the land tax on our home would cause its confiscation.
With foreign governments coming in and teaching us their ways, dress, and manners, we now had money systems, paid taxes, wore corsets and dresses, and our homes were transforming from lonely shacks to homes made of wood, stone, and cement.
And since I wanted to help mother and Kiki live comfortably in one of the sturdy homes inspired by the foreigners, I had work to do.
If only father didn’t waste whatever fortune he’d mysteriously won, I thought, reflecting on how father had somehow become overwhelmingly wealthy just a month before his death. He wasted all his wealth on drinks, and that angered me. He should’ve used it to buy Kiki and mother a new home.
I shook my head.
Today’s catch will help earn funds to afford a pleasant home for them, I thought, trying to be positive, though I knew it would take a miracle to create a better living situation for them before my impending marriage.
I rowed closer to the looming black cliffs of Ka‘u, our hometown, where I attached my canoe to some ropes hanging off the side.
Father had taught me how to spearfish when I was younger, and I was a natural.
Although… perhaps my “natural” ability came because I truly wanted to help my family afford the luxuries and goods that the foreigners brought.
Father always spent our money on alcohol, but with him gone, it was encouraging to see our savings build up.
Water hit the sea cliffs ahead of me.
I held the fishing spear in one hand and a line of impressively colorful fish in my other hand. My legs felt like jelly after a long morning of diving. But I caught hold of a rusted old ladder and began my climb up the sea cliff.
Unlike other islands and locations throughout the Hawaiian Islands, the terrain here, in my hometown of Ka‘u, was rough. Lava rock covered everything. We had one green sand beach and a few black sand beaches, but the rest of the terrain was sea cliffs. The sea cliffs didn’t bother me though, because they made it faster and easier for me to go deep-sea diving and fishing.
All I had to do was dive off a cliff, instead of swimming forever to find the deep waters where the best-tasting and biggest fish swam around.
One fish, a pink-colored thing, flapped in my face, and I shook it.
“I know, I know,” I told him, as if we were old friends. “It’s high, but you get used to it.” I finally reached the top of the ladder, and to my dismay, saw a group of fishermen approaching.
I was modest, of course, wearing a one-piece swimming suit with a tank-like top and leg pants that almost reached my knees. But it wasn’t my modesty that concerned me.
Among the group of approaching fishermen was my betrothed, Pulu. Hoping he would ignore me as much as I ignored him, I avoided eye contact. I hurried to lift my small canoe out of the water and onto the cliff’s edge. I had barely finished when I heard my name.
“Oliana!”
I looked up and didn’t even try to fake a smile.
“Well, you look grumpy as usual,” Pulu said.
He was old, with a toothy smile, and his breath reeked of alcohol.
I don’t know why I thought father would betroth me to someone young, handsome, and healthy.
Perhaps it was my fantasy that made me dream of a happily ever after—I mean, what young woman didn’t desire an attractive husband and a happy home life?
I should’ve known better.
This man, Pulu, was my betrothed. He had already been married twice and had a daughter who was not much older than me. Open gossip in town claimed my father lost a bet when drunk, which led him to betroth me to this man.
It was sickening, really. And infuriating.
When my father died, I went to the chief of our little community and asked if he could cancel the betrothal.
My father was dead anyway, so shouldn’t I have my freedom to choose who to marry?
However, to my dismay and embarrassment, he denied my request. Even though the local chief had a distaste for father, he still respected his wishes.
Or his horrible luck. Father’s luck that lost him a bet and got me betrothed.
“And you look drunk, as usual.” I folded my arms, and the man’s eyebrows drew together.
“When we’re married, you’ll be watching that tongue of yours.” He spat on the ground.
A million words sat on the tip of my tongue, waiting to rain down on him like the spewing lava from Kilauea volcano.
But I knew better. There was nothing I could do except accept my fate and hope that, by the wedding in a few weeks’ time, I could make enough funds to provide a comfortable home for my sister and mother.
Who knew? Perhaps I could secure their passage to a different island, somewhere they could start fresh and Kiki would have more promising prospects for marriage.
I did not want her to end up in the same situation as I had.
Marrying a drunk fisherman would be like trying to catch fish with a net full of holes—nothing but frustration and emptiness. But this was the life ahead of me, whether I wanted it to be or not. I might as well accept it.
Pulu smiled, as if we’d had a pleasant interaction, then nodded his head and trudged off, his legs swinging like the pendulum of a clock. He was so drunk, it was a wonder he could still walk.
“Oli!” A familiar voice rang out, one that was fresh and full of sweet life.
I turned to see Kiki approach. She didn’t hesitate to help gather the fish I caught that day, her brown eyes wide with wonder, her dark hair falling over her shoulder like a lovely waterfall.