The Aloha Spirit

by Linda Ulleseit

  As a second grader, Dolores sat in the second row. Students in the first row had no desk at all, so the younger na hāumana sat there. Dolores’s own writing surface jutted out from the back of the first row’s bench. She ran her hands across the surface. It gave her a small thrill, at odds with the hurt inflicted by her so-called friends. Polunu sat at the far end of her row, but Makaha sat behind her. Chalkboards lined the walls of the schoolroom on all sides. Above them, open windows invited even scant breezes inside. The back wall contained pictures from Honolulu’s history—outrigger canoes, men in full native dress, thatched huts, women gathered under banyan trees.

  The teacher sat at a large koa wood desk in the front of the room. Scratched and chipped and scarred, it must have been among the first ever made in Hawai‘i. The haole teacher’s eyeglasses hung on a chain around her neck when they weren’t perched on her sharp nose. Her fuzzy brown hair stayed tightly wound in a bun.

  Dolores’s forty or so classmates included both first and second graders, most of them Japanese. Makaha should have been in the third-grade room, but the teacher had held him back. The girls wore white long-sleeved dresses, some prim and plain, some with ruffles at the hem, but all of lightweight cotton. The boys wore white shirts and coats. They, at least, were allowed short pants. None of them wore shoes. From the front of the room, the teacher glared at the students as they struggled to sew straight seams with precise stitches.

  Makaha kept up a staccato beat against the back of her bench with his feet. Rose and Kimiko rolled their eyes. It was such a superior gesture, an I’m-better-than-you attitude combined with a can-you-believe-this incredulity. Dolores wanted to scold them. Instead, she turned around and hissed, “Stop kicking me!”

  He stuck out his tongue. Dolores turned back with an exasperated sigh, but not before the teacher’s eyes caught her.

  “Dolores? Is your piecework done?”

  Of course it wasn’t done. If it had been, Dolores would have raised her hand for the teacher to frown over her efforts. “No, ma’am.” Dolores found it hard to hold a needle with sweaty hands. Sewing would never give her a valuable enough skill to join Papa in California. Neither would learning to read or do sums. School was nothing but a break from chores, and she’d rather just sleep in.

  “I’m on my second piece, ma’am,” Makaha said in the sweetest voice she’d ever heard him use. It took every effort of will for Dolores not to roll her eyes like Rose and Kimiko had.

  The other girls stitched straight seams and embroidered fancy vines and flowers that made the teacher smile. Dolores didn’t know what powers in Honolulu had decided sevenyear-old boys could learn to sew, but reality didn’t lie. Polunu fidgeted while he hemmed, and everything was puckered and sticky with cane juice. Makaha’s grubby hands dirtied the fabric, and Dolores imagined the teacher bringing all the laundry to Noelani.

  “Students, put your sewing away, please.” The room rustled as the students passed their piecework to the end of the row. The student at the end got up to put it all away on a shelf. “Take out your pencils and copy this. Use your best penmanship!” The teacher passed out passages of text.

  Dolores’s tired eyes blurred as she tried to read the words she had to copy. Sighing, she set the paper on her desk. She decided to write a letter to her father. He must have arrived in San Francisco by now, but not enough time had passed for a letter to make its way back to her. Noelani would never allow Dolores enough time at home to write. Maybe she wouldn’t even give her paper or a pencil! She’d write the letter now and save it until she had his address.

  Dear Papa,

  She scribed the letters, being careful to stay on the lines. She wanted to make sure he could read it.

  I am fine, working hard.

  Frowning, she erased the last two words.

  I am fine. I have lots to do and lots to eat.

  She must make him think she was happy, but not too happy or he might never come back for her!

  Dolores looked up at the teacher. She sat at her desk, working on something to torture them with later. The other students were copying the page of text the teacher had passed out. Dolores continued her letter, but she sometimes looked at the paper she was supposed to copy, pretending she was doing exactly that.

  I miss you and Pablo very much.

  No, it was Paul now. How did you spell Paul? She flexed fingers, sore from wrestling laundry.

  Have you found a job and a place to live? I can hardly wait to join you.

  Dolores snuck another glance at the teacher. She was scanning the room to find someone who wasn’t working. Dolores pretended to peer at the text.

  I can make beds now and do laundry by myself. Soon I will learn to cook and sew.

  The final bell rang, and Dolores shoved the paper in her pocket. She left the room in a hurry so the teacher wouldn’t notice she hadn’t handed in the assignment.

  Rose and Kimiko waited for Dolores, who smiled and greeted them as if all was forgiven. Neither of her friends smiled. Rose said, “So do you like living with those boys?”

  “It’s temporary,” Dolores said. “Only until my father sends for me from the mainland.”

  “You’ll travel on a ship all by yourself?” Rose was skeptical.

  “Or he’ll come to get me.”

  “Dolores, what have you done to your hands?” Kimiko asked.

  Dolores shoved her reddened hands in her pockets. “I’m helping with the laundry for a big family. That’s all.”

  “Oh, so you’ve become a servant.” Kimiko’s knowing tone made Rose laugh.

  Dolores turned and ran from the school in a most unladylike way, ran from Rose and Kimiko, and from Polunu and Makaha. She tried not to care what Rose and Kimiko thought of her. She only wanted to be free of her self-styled brothers. The palm trees lining the road waved their fronds to urge her on. She ran until the neighborhood flowers blurred to an orangey pink. The boys sensed a challenge and sped after her, slapping their feet in the dirt to raise great clouds of dust. Instead of passing her, they ran circles around her and hollered loud enough to wake the goddess Pele on the highest volcano.

  At Noelani’s, which she refused to call home, the usual chaos greeted her. Polunu and Makaha dropped their books in the dirt and shouted at each other as they ran to the back yard. Noelani was singing a Hawaiian song accompanied by the clashing of pots and pans in the kitchen. Dolores sighed as the relative freedom of the morning evaporated. A strange haole man sat in the main room with his hat in his hand.

  “Keiki you back, ya? Wikiwiki, you work,” Noelani called to her as she brought in a tray of pūpū to set before the visitor.

  Dolores nodded at the man and hurried to her room to change into her working dress. As it turned out, the new customer ran a small hotel for the tourists who were beginning to overrun Honolulu. He would bring the hotel linen to Noelani once a week on Monday. That meant Dolores would have fifteen sets of sheets and towels to wash after school every Monday. Her shoulders slumped as Noelani explained this to her.

  “Stand up straight! You rather live on handouts on the mainland? You know it take your Papa some time to find work. Ha! What kine haole you? He work harder dan you, so hard he have no time think of you, safe on the island with big Hawaiian ‘ohana fo’ look after you.”

  “A Hawaiian family to look after me? More like work me to death!” Dolores straightened her shoulders and gritted her teeth.

  “Watch your tongue, keiki.” Noelani glared at her and left, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe Dolores’s ingratitude.

  The pile of dirty laundry towered higher than her head.

  FOR the rest of the week, Dolores sat quietly in class because she was too tired to talk. While she had done well in math the year before, now she scored low on assignments because Noelani’s laundry triumphed over homework. Rose and Kimiko continued to ignore her because she could no longer go with them on excursions to Kapi‘olani Park after school. Day followed day, and Dolores plodded through wi
th no enthusiasm. Chores, school, chores, bed, repeat. School, at least, gave her body a chance to recover from its labors.

  She continued adding to the letter to Papa, but no letter arrived from him. It was hard to add perky, upbeat tidbits without revealing to him how miserable she was.

  One breezy Sunday morning, Maria frowned at Dolores as they climbed aboard the streetcar to head back to Noelani’s after Mass. “Dolores, are you all right? You were falling asleep in Mass.”

  All right? Dolores didn’t even know how to answer. She had fallen asleep during math twice this week. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d jumped rope with Kimiko at recess. When she closed her eyes, she saw stacks of dirty sheets that seemed to grow as she worked instead of getting smaller, and she hadn’t received a letter from Papa or Paul.

  “Are you all right?” Maria repeated.

  “I guess,” Dolores said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “You look tired,” Maria said. She put her arm around the younger girl. “Love those around you. The aloha spirit will keep you strong even if you don’t love what people do.”

  For a moment, Dolores lost herself in the illusion that she had a sister who cared for her. Then she noticed a new addition to Maria’s left hand.

  “What’s that?”

  Maria’s smile glowed as bright as the diamond on her finger. “Peter and I are engaged.”

  “Congratulations! But when…?” Dolores thought about the morning. When had Peter proposed? She’d been with them.

  “At Benson-Smith’s. When you excused yourself to use the bathroom. I thought you and he had conspired!”

  Dolores laughed. “Just a lucky coincidence. I know you and Peter will be very happy. He’s a wonderful man.”

  “He is, isn’t he? Peter’s bought a dairy farm out by Maunalua Bay. He’ll still be in the army but come home at night. I’m sure his saxophone will encourage the cows to give the best milk on O‘ahu!” Her eyes glowed with plans.

  She chattered on about the dairy as realization settled over Dolores. Maria would leave Noelani’s. Her only friend and ally—except for an occasional encouraging word from Nui—would be gone.

  Maria hugged her. “I wish I had the power to spirit you away from there.”

  Curse her transparent face. “I do, too.” Dolores tried for a light tone and failed. Maria kept her arm around Dolores until they had to leave the streetcar.

  “Keep aloha in your heart,” she told Dolores again.

  Dolores nodded. She couldn’t keep aloha, though, until she found it. Aloha required family, and she had no family right now.

  The riotous flowers that scrambled over Noelani’s house projected a peaceful beauty at odds with what Dolores knew waited for them inside. Or maybe sooner. Noelani sat in her chair on the lana‘i, her thick dark hair twisted into a rope down her ample chest. “Come on, girls, wikiwiki,” she said, waving them toward her. “You too long getting home today.”

  Dolores trudged up the three steps to the lana‘i, not hurrying as Noelani had asked. Should she stay for Maria’s announcement or let Maria deal with Noelani alone?

  Noelani held out an envelope. “Letter from California for you.”

  Dolores’s eyes fastened on the envelope, hope filling her heart. All thoughts of Maria and Peter vanished. She took the envelope and turned it between her hands, not looking at it, her fingertips trailing across the envelope, feeling every wrinkle. She wanted to read Papa’s words more than she wanted to breathe, but she must do so in private.

  Noelani leaned her bulky body toward Dolores, her rope of hair swinging free. She examined the girl critically. Dolores lifted her chin and met the woman’s gaze. She refused to suffer when she had done nothing wrong. The big Hawaiian woman’s dark eyes softened. “Go read your letter, keiki. All else will wait.”

  This show of aloha shocked Dolores. Somewhere deep inside, Noelani cared for her. Dolores didn’t question it. Kicking off her shoes as she entered the house, Dolores considered where to read her letter, as she heard Maria say, “Noelani, I have something to tell you.”

  Too many bodies lived in this small house, allowing no privacy. Dolores hurried straight through to the back porch, ignoring the baskets of dirty laundry that awaited her. Sliding her feet into a pair of flip flops, she ran into the yard. Coarse grass covered the tiny space behind the house. She pushed her way behind a huge bird of paradise, tucking herself between it and the large rough trunk of a palm tree. Peering between the orange and purple flowers on the long stalks, Dolores made sure she was alone.

  A letter from Papa. The first to arrive in the two months since he had left. To Dolores, those two months had been years of torture. To him, they’d probably flown by. This letter would tell her about his job and Paul’s job and their house, and when they wanted her to join them. This letter would be full of how much he missed her and how incomplete his life was without her. Dolores smoothed her hand across the envelope, tracing her name with a finger. Not able to stand it any longer, she ripped the letter open.

  Dear Dolores,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  She smiled to see that Papa had carefully printed the words so she’d be able to read them. She tracked the words with her finger as she mouthed them to herself.

  A shrill undulating scream pierced her calm. Dolores clutched the letter and spied on Kaipo as he chased Makaha in circles around the yard. Please, Lord, take them away, Dolores prayed.

  “Whatcha got there, little sis?” Kaipo’s hands separated the bird of paradise flower stalks.

  “Nothing.” Dolores tried to crumple the precious letter so she could hide it in her hand, but the movement alerted him.

  “A letter? Who would write to you? Maybe it’s a love note from a snotty brat at school? I could take care of him for you. I could pound his tiny arms and legs to a pulp.” He punched a fist into his left hand to demonstrate.

  Dolores sat still, praying he would leave, closing her eyes for extra concentration.

  “Hiki nō. All right. I’ll let you read your precious letter. Don’t care, anyway.” He whistled as he went in search of someone smaller than himself to terrorize.

  She smoothed out Papa’s letter and resumed reading.

  Your brother Paul and I are living in a tiny place in Mountain View, California. We have been working at small jobs to pay the rent. In the spring, we should have plenty of work in the fruit orchards, but winter is a difficult time for farmers to hire anyone new. It is a great relief to know that you are safe and well cared for at Kanoa’s house. Are you behaving yourself? Paul and I will miss you this Christmas, but we will pray for you.

  Love,

  Papa

  A hundred thoughts crashed into her head. He wasn’t planning to write again before Christmas. He didn’t want her to join him. He believed she was well cared for and safe. He would pray for her instead of making her a present like he usually did. As a good Catholic girl, Dolores should appreciate that. She did.

  A traitorous tear dropped onto the letter.

  No, she wouldn’t cry. Dolores wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, crumpling Papa’s letter in the other. Papa had given up on her being useful to him. Ironic, since every day she learned useful tasks. In the short time since he had left, Dolores had learned to do more laundry than he and Paul could generate. She helped Noelani in the kitchen with Hawaiian, Portuguese, and Japanese food. Maria spent so much time at the hotels making leis for tourists that Dolores cleaned the house almost alone. She’d be doing even more of it now that Maria was getting married. Dolores’s thoughts tumbled around the people of Noelani’s house, focusing on how best to maintain the peace to get through each day. She must make her own way. Somehow, she must find her own way free of Noelani. In the meantime, she’d finish her letter to Papa and make it clear she wanted to come to California sooner rather than later.

  She tucked Papa’s letter into her pocket and walked over to the lana‘i. Laundry awaited her. From the front of the house
, Dolores heard Noelani exclaim with surprise and congratulate Maria. Dolores picked up a shirt and tossed it into the rinse water.

  FIVE

  Spring 1923

  One Saturday in late spring, morning sun lit the kitchen, more light than heat at that hour. Birds sang from their perches high in the still palm trees. Kanoa sat at the kitchen table, hidden behind the Honolulu Bulletin as usual, a fork appearing now and again to spear his breakfast of sausage and eggs. Noelani brought a platter of bacon and sat next to her husband. The rest of the family surrounded the table.

  Maria glowed, as she’d done all winter. Noelani ignored Maria’s imminent departure to a life of wedded bliss with Peter. No doubt she was looking for another girl to hānai.

  Breakfast continued in the usual jarring manner as children grabbed food and talked over each other.

  Conversations broke into generational groups, which left Dolores with either Maria or Polunu and Makaha. She spent plenty of time with Makaha and Polunu at school, and Maria was in the habit of talking to the older brothers, so Dolores usually chose to eat without speaking. Today, though, she had other plans. With a deep breath to gather her courage, she said, “Noelani, I finished most of today’s work yesterday.”

  “You been workin’ hard, Dolores,” she agreed, but sounded wary.

  Maria nodded encouragement.

  “I got up early to finish the rest this morning.” Noelani waited. “Maria and Peter are going to the beach and have invited me. May I have the rest of the day off?”

  A snort of laughter erupted from Kaipo. Dolores refused to look in his direction. Nui smiled at her. Makaha’s feet drummed against the table leg. Maria smiled her encouragement. No one else reacted to her bold request.

  “Day off?” Noelani’s eyes widened, her voice incredulous.

  Dolores sat up straighter. “I’ve worked every day since I came here, including Sundays after church, doing my chores after school instead of studying, and I never complain.”