Chapter 5 #3
The petroglyph wall ran the full width of the chamber’s rear face: human figures, their arms raised, their legs in the wide stance of warriors or dancers.
‘Iwa wings at the four corners, each one the size of my forearm.
Family groupings arranged in clusters, some of the clusters nearly identical to others, like a notation repeating across a page.
And at the lower part of the wall, six rectangular depressions cut into the stone—neat as pulled teeth, each one was roughly the size of a cookie tray. The edges showed fresh tool marks, the pale inner rock not yet weathered to match the surrounding floor.
“I’ve been charting these with my archeology mentor, Dr. Nainoa Emerson,” Pali said. “Thank God we took photos and made impressions of the petroglyphs that were here before.”
“It’s awful,” I murmured; my words seemed so inadequate to express the desecration we were staring at. Returning the small carving I’d brought in Tiki’s carrier seemed like a bad idea in this moment.
Uncle Kalani had not moved from inside the entrance. He stood with his hands at his sides, his ti leaf lei motionless against his chest. His eyes were closed, his lips moving slightly in a pule.
He was praying; what a kahu did when he walked into a place that had been violated and the spiritual realms needed to know he was there, trying to make things right.
Tiki, in her carrier on my back, had gone very quiet. I felt her weight shift forward—she was pressed against the mesh, staring. I unslung the carrier and let her out. She immediately trotted over to the cavern’s stone wall and began sniffing along the ruined edge.
“There are more carvings to the left,” Pali said. He moved his headlamp slowly so we could track where he was looking.
Beyond the main composition, deeper into the chamber where the ceiling dropped and the shadows thickened, another section of wall showed more scarification from removed carvings.
Beside them, wedged into a crack at waist height, something bright and wrong: a yellow plastic survey flag on a wire stake.
I photographed it without touching it. “They’ve been marking sections,” I said. “Choosing what to take next.”
“They haven’t finished,” Keone’s voice was flat.
We investigated through the chamber for the next twenty minutes. Keone took over photographing the damage and survey flags. There were four of the flags, marking panels along the lower section of the wall.
Pali moved through the space in a careful grid, documenting the depressions in the floor, the tool marks, the areas that remained intact.
I found a scrap of printed paper near the cave entrance, squashed against the rock by what might be a boot heel: the corner of a topographical printout, annotated in blue ink. I bagged it with a gloved hand and photographed the print.
From deeper in the cave, I could hear water trickling. I walked forward carefully.
The cave went further back than the chamber we were in; the ceiling dropped, and a passage continued, narrow and dark, into a second section I couldn’t see the end of. The sound of water was steady, unhurried, the sound of an underground stream going about its business.
“Don’t go further in,” Uncle Kalani said quietly. He had moved to the center of the second chamber now and was facing the passage. “Not today. The deeper chambers require proper protocols for respect and permission. We haven’t brought what’s needed.”
We already knew this way was how the vandals had accessed the artwork and carried it out. Clearly, their disrespect didn’t justify ours. We took down the survey flags, doing our little part to slow the destruction.
I gazed once more at the main petroglyph wall before I turned to go: the warrior figures, the ‘Iwa wings holding their four positions, the geometric landmarks between the family glyphs. Much was intact in this section.
But all of the relics were vulnerable, and that made my heart hurt.
“Isn’t there a way we can guard these treasures?” I spoke. “Maybe a community watch taking shifts?”
Pali made a gesture with one muscular arm.
“Who in our area could come all the way down here and take the time for guard duty like that? People have to work, make a living. I’m in grad school with University of Hawaii, living on a stipend—that’s the only reason I’ve had time to do what I have been doing down here. ”
“But from what we know the vandals only steal the art at night,” I said. “Surely there’s something the community could do.”
“I welcome you to figure out a way,” Pali said.
I was not deterred by his tone as my mind went into overdrive. “Cameras? Alarms? Remote trigger video recordings that call the police department when they’re tripped?”
“And who’s going to pay for and install something like that?” Uncle Kalani said. “And how can the police respond in time?”
“I can think of plenty of people who’d want to get involved,” I said, frustrated by the men’s negativity. “We need to send a message that the petroglyphs are protected to get these guys to back off.”
“Good luck with that,” Pali said morosely. “These corporations always win.”
I set my jaw, deciding not to argue. I had the feeling I was up against some cultural or sensitivity issue I didn’t understand. Instead, I’d focus on finding solutions once we were back at the shack.
“It can’t hurt for Kat to try to organize something,” Keone spoke up. “She’s been able to rally those Red Hats and the community before.”
Elle touched my shoulder and gave a nod, her eyes shining; she was on Team Get ‘Er Done with me—and so was Keone, who patted my back in encouragement.
But Pali shook his head, gaze averted. “As I said before, good luck.”
Tiki approached from her explorations, giving a soft mew; she was ready to get back in her carrier. I knelt and opened the mesh top of the backpack.
A sudden, loud CRACK came from above. Instinctively I brought my arms up to shield my head as Tiki dove into her carrier.
A sharp thud, then a rumble, then the hard concussive thunder of rocks hitting stones echoed around the cave.
Dust sifted down from the ceiling in a thin pale curtain, peppering us with pebbles, and then settled.