The old woman opened her eyes, pointing at Ana. “This pain wants you.”
Then something wrenched her with such force she momentarily blacked out. They bathed her neck and face again, bringing her to consciousness, then put her head down and let her rest upon her knees. Agony was all-consuming, but still no head appeared. She was pulled back into a squatting position while the midwife implored.
“Draw the breath! The breath!”
“No more,” Ana whispered. “No …”
Even Rosie was exhausted, her arms and legs visibly trembling. Then Ana felt the thing expand, engulfing her. Her scream was piercing.
“Mamaaa!”
Anahola lifted her head, then moved instinctively. As Rosie pushed aside, she quickly sat and took up the ko‘o kua position behind Ana, her legs surrounding her, arms wrapped round her stomach, pressing down. Ana’s head hung with exhaustion. She panted like a dog.
The next seizure swept her with such force, her feet and buttocks left the floor. “Mamaaa!”
“I’m here.”
Her face distorted with effort, Anahola pressed down on Ana’s stomach, willing that child to drop, to begin to come out to the world. Her daughter shouted, she shouted back. Each time a convulsion came, Ana’s elbows bore down on her mother’s knees. Their sweating faces side by side, their cheeks seemingly attached, so Niki saw a two-headed woman giving birth.
And yet the infant would not crown.
Then Anahola whispered in her daughter’s ear, “The baby is close to crowning, I can feel how low she is. When I say three! we are going to make the head crown. First we rock side to side, together like one body … and when you are ready I will count to three. Then, we will press down with all our might. Remember, you are in control, only when you’re ready …”
Speaking in a low, soft voice, Lopaka took up position behind Niki, arms tight round his waist, providing traction. Ana tightened her arms round Niki’s neck. Then she and her mother rocked side to side, so attuned they seemed one body. As they rocked, her mother hummed. And Ana’s eyes began to overflow, remembering the sensation of being rocked when she was a child, remembering this same song being hummed, the scent of this same woman rocking her.
Finally, her mother whispered, “Ready?”
She felt pain coming fast, it seemed to gallop. She stood up to it. “Ready. Now.”
Her mother counted. “One … two …”
She would not remember the wrenching push as much as the enormous pressure her mother exerted with her arms upon her stomach. “Now! Press now!”
They threw back their heads and gasped. Then they pressed down, her mouth a gaping rictus. Ana’s eyes bulged. Veins stood out on her neck like ropes, her long, protracted groan so primal and subhuman, folks felt hair stand up on their arms.
The midwife bent and saw the head emerging.
The chanters sang out, “ ‘Ike ‘ia nā maka I ke ao!” The eyes are seen in the world! The child is born.
She gently guided the body on through its narrow passage as folks leaned close, exclaiming. A strapping infant that would weigh eight pounds. Ana shuddered, then lay back against her mother’s chest. Laps and thighs tattooed with blood, they watched as the child was lifted in the air still attached to Ana by the piko, the umbilical cord. The chanters sang out one last time.
“Ola ke kumu, I ka lālā hou!” The branches of the tree are green again.
Now Ben stepped forward, and with the guidance of the midwife, he cut and knotted the piko, a sacred duty. Then, winding a clean piece of cloth round his finger, he gently stuck it into the baby’s mouth, gagging her just enough to disgorge the nalu, birth fluid. He rinsed his own mouth and sucked the fluid from the baby’s nose. He wiped her tiny eyes clean. She wailed, her wails were loud and healthy. The midwife gently sponged her, counting her fingers and her toes. And she was perfect, and everything was as it should be.
Niki knelt on the floor and held his child. “At last. My goloobka. Little dove!”
While they sponged off her hands and thighs, Ana listened to the beating of her mother’s heart against her head. And when she was ready, they handed her her child. She knew that henceforth life would be distracted and disordered, that she had lost forever a certain symmetry and focus. But here was this being, this helpless perfection of radiance, her small head covered with a tender down. Ana pressed her to her breast. Here was truth, her deepest truth. And there was no retreat from wonder.
“Now, will you tell us?” Rosie asked. “What is the name the gods have chosen?”
She looked down at her child, and spoke out clearly. “She is … Anahola. Anahola Kapakahi Volenko.”
Ē NĀ HANAUNA, Ē!
O, Generations, O!
THE BOMBS ARE SILENT AT MAKUA. FOR SEVERAL YEARS THERE HAS been peace. Nature slowly begins to heal itself. In the soil, roots take hold, seeds swell and lengthen. Folks say they are the seeds of freedom, and that in time winds will blow those seeds and germinate the land.
Up and down this red, parched coast, crops still grow, sap still flows. Sounds fill the valleys. The sounds of children growing like plants, rooting and seeding, learning to take care of each other, learning how caring is a holy deed …
Some days a girl runs down Keola Road. At her mother’s clinic she will witness a water birth. On such days she watches midwives gather, and chanters, the solemn errands of women in an eternal dance of birthing and rebirthing. She watches a newborn slide down that ancient seaway to greet life. She hears its cries. Each birth brings new requests for the placenta. It will be blessed and buried, so the child will not be a wanderer who loses sight of home.
And, some days the girl, Anahola, sits with her elders, even her grandmother, and great-grandfather, spinning tales. For, like those before her, she will be a “talking-story” woman. And even when her elders doze, she continues talking, for the sheer love of it. Small-kid stories of her valley and her coast whose people, from ancient times, have given themselves to dreaming, and to fabulating. She never quite finishes her stories, for she is a knowing child who vaguely understands that stories have no endings, that they go on and on.
Sometimes she stands impatiently in the road, with the tremor of fire in a sunstruck leaf. She is waiting for her father. When he arrives she watches the important way he walks with his briefcase. He is a teacher now, a man who finds quietude in numbers. Often, he tells her of a city called Peter where nights are pink, and where winged lions fly over rivers that are pink. And he tells her how he was born in ice, how his first words were visible. On nights when her father’s dreams turn bad, her mother curls herself around him, her warmth correcting the soft ellipses of his nightmares.
And, often she sees her mother take her father’s hand. His hands are so massive they seem to hold all of their lives within them. She sees what happens between her mother and her father when their eyes meet. The look they share suffuses her body with such warmth she runs out to the fields, letting her shadow dance across the land. Leaving her footprints there among the ancients.
One night she sits with her parents in a crowd. They have gathered to watch her father’s film. A film about sickness and chaos. And even as they gather, chaos is exciting itself again in the world. Near the end of the film, folks grow silent, watching children in a place called Hope. Many of them are bald like monks, some so pale and transparent it seems God has already touched them. And because they are children, each face is beautiful.
Later, as they walk up Keola Road, Anahola’s parents discuss the rumors that, “of necessity,” they will soon resume bombing in Mākua Valley. Her parents grow tense, hearing the Wup! Wup! of military choppers overhead, the crackle of satellite receivers in the distance.
The child hears nothing. She skips through dappled light from shimmering leaves, loving how moonlight seeks her out, as if choosing her, selecting her. She scoops her hand into the dark and combs the moonlight through her hair.
“Will those kids get well?” she asks.
&n
bsp; “Some will,” her mother says.
“And … why do they call that clinic, ‘Hope’?”
Her father struggles with his answer.
“It is a good word, Ana. A big word. It means that, after all, we still love life. That living is a sacred act.”
She walks on, pondering his answer, holding tight to her parents’ hands.
HAWAIIAN-ENGLISH GLOSSARY
‘A‘AMA (ah-ah-ma) … Black, edible crab
AHI (ah-hee) … Fire, matches
ĀINA (eye-nah) … Land, earth
AKAMAI (ah-kah-my) … Smart, clever
AKU (ah-koo) … Bonito. Skipjack fish
ĀKUA (ah-koo-ah) … Gods
ALAWELA (ah-la-vel-ah) … Dark lines meeting at navel in pregnancy
ALI‘I (ah-lee-ee) … Chief, ruler
ANAHOLA (ahn-ah-ho-lah) … Hourglass
‘A‘OLE LOA (ah-oh-lay-lo-ah) … Absolutely not!
‘A‘OLE PILIKIA (ah-oh-lay-pee-lee-kee-ah) … No problem!
‘AU‘AU KAI (ow-ow-ki) … Sea bath
‘AUMĀKUA (ow-mah-koo-ah) … Family gods. Deified ancestors
AUWĒ (ow-way) … Alas!
‘AWA (ah-va) … Slightly narcotic tea
CHOP SUEY (chop-soo-ee) … Pidgin for mixed ancestry
DA KINE (dah-kine) … Pidgin shorthand for anything; you know what I mean
Ē HAMAU (ey-ha-mau) … Be silent.
Ē KŪ (ey-koo) … Stand tall!
Ē MAU (ey-mow) … We must strive!
Ē I NEI (ay-nay) … Dear one, beloved
Ē ‘OLU‘OLU (ey-oh-loo-oh-loo) … Please
‘EWE’EWE-IKI (ey-vey-ey-vey-ee-kee) … Ghost mother GEEV ‘UM … Pidgin. Show your stuff!
Hō (hah) … Breath
HA‘A (ha-ah) … Ancient dance with bent knees. After mid—nineteenth century called “the Hula”
HĀNAU (ha-now) … Birth
HANOHANO NUI (ha-no-ha-no-noo-ee) … Great dignity
HAPA (ha-pa) … Person of mixed blood
HAOLE (how-lee) … Caucasian, white
HĀPAI (ha-pie) … Pregnant, to conceive
HAUMEA (how-mey-ah) … Fertility goddess
HE HIAPO (hey-he-ah-po) … Firstborn
HEIAU (hey-yow) … Temple site, shrine
HILA HILA (hee-la-hee-la) … For shame!
HO‘OKALAKU (ho-oh-kala-koo) … Undo evil by prayer
HO‘OLOHE (ho-oh-lo-hey) … Listen
HO‘OMANAWANUI (ho-oh-ma-na-va-noo-ee) … Patience
HO‘OPAHUHU (ho-oh-pah-hoo-hoo) … Ooze forth
HO‘OPONOPONO (ho-oh-po-no-po-no) … To bring balance, put right
HULA KAHIKO (hoo-la ka-hee-ko) … Old, ancient form of hula
HULI (hoo-lee) … To turn, to reverse. Also to overthrow
HULIHULI (hoo-lee-hoo-lee) … Chicken or meat on spit
HULU KUPUNA (hoo-loo-koo-poo-na) … Precious elder
HUMUHUMU (hoo-moo-hoo-moo) … Trigger fish
IKAIKA (ee-ky-kah) … Strong, powerful
‘ĪEWE (ey-ee-vee) … Afterbirth, placenta
‘INA‘INA (een-ah-een-ah) … Bloodstains preceding childbirth
‘INIKI (ee-nee-kee) … Sharp, piercing, as wind
INOA PŌ (ee-no-ah-po) … Name, title given in darkness
‘IWA (ee-vah) … Frigate, man-o’-war bird
IWI (ee-vee) … Bone
KAHILI (kah-hee-lee) … Feather standard, symbol of royalty
KAHUNA (ka-hoo-nah) … Priest
KAHUNA PALE KEIKI (kah-hoo-nah-pa-lay-kay-kee) … Midwife
KAHUNA PULE (ka-hoo-nah-poo-lay) … Prayer expert, priest
KAI (ky) … The sea, seawater KALAMAI (ka-la-my) … Forgive
KĀLUA (kah-loo-ah) … To bake in underground oven (imu)
KĀNE (kah-nee) … Male, husband
KĀNE, KŪ, LONO, KANALOA (kah-ney-koo-lo-no-kah-nah-lo-ah) … Four major Hawaiian gods
KANAKA MAOLI (ka-nah-ka-mah-oh-lee) … true, indigenous Hawaiian Plural, KĀNAKA
KAPAKAHI (kah-pah-ky) … Crooked, lopsided, askew
KAPU (ka-poo) … Taboo
KA PU‘UWAI (ka-poo-oo-vy) … The heart
KEOLA (kay-ola) … Life
KIMCHEE (kim-chee) … Spicy Korean cabbage
KOKE, KOKE (ko-kee-ko-kee) … Soon, soon
KŌKUA (ko-koo-ah) … Help, aid, assist
KO‘O KUA (ko-oh-koo-ah) … One who gives back support in childbirth
KUKUI (koo-koo-ee) … Candlenut. Oil used for lights
KULIKULI! (koo-lee-koo-lee) … Be still, be still.
KUMU (koo-moo) … Foundation, source
KUMU HULA (koo-moo-hoo-lah) … Hula master
KUPUNA (koo-po-nah) … Elder, wise one (Plural, KŪPUNA)
LA‘AU HAOLE (lah-ow-how-lee) … White man’s medicine
LA‘AU LAPA’AU (lah-ow-la-pa-ow) … Herbal medicine
LAKA (lah-kah) … Patron god of the hula
LĀNAI (lah-nigh) … Porch, balcony
LAULAU (lau-lau) … Steamed ti-leaf-covered fish or pork
LIMU (lee-moo) … Algae, seaweed
LO‘I (lo-ee) … Irrigated taro terrace
LOKO‘INO (lo-ko-ee-no) … Evil, malevolent
LOKULOKU (lo-koo-lo-koo) … Downpouring rain
LŌLŌ (lo-lo) … Feebleminded, stupid
LOMI (lo-mee) … To massage
LONO MĀKUA (lo-no-mah-koo-ah) … Fire god
LOPAKA (lo-pah-kah) … Robert
LŪ‘AU (loo-ow) … Hawaiian feast, also wide taro leaves used therein
MAHEALANI HOKU (mah-hey-ah-la-nee-ho-koo) … Full moon
MAKE (mah-kay) … Death
MAKAI (mah-kigh) … Seaward, in direction of the sea
MAKANI (mah-kah-nee) … Wind, breeze
MAKALI‘I (mah-kah-lee-ee) … Seven major stars of the Pleiades
MAKUA (mah-koo-ah) … Mother, parent
MALIHINI (mah-lee-hee-nee) … Newcomer
MĀLAMA (mah-lah-mah) … To preserve, take care of
MALO‘O (ma-lo-oh) … Dry season
MANONG (mah-nong) … Pidgin slang for Filipino
MAUKA (mow-kah) … Toward the mountains
MAULILOA (mow-lee-lo-ah) … Sacred essence of life
MOKES (mokes) … Pidgin. Brothers of the ‘hood
MO‘OPUNA (mo-oh-poo-nah) … Grandchild
MU‘UMU‘U (moo-moo) … Mother Hubbard dress, loose gown
NA‘AU (Nah-ow) … Gut, gut feelings
NANAKULI (na-na-koo-li) … To appear deaf. In hunger years when there was no food to offer strangers, folks pretended not to see or hear them.
‘OHANA (oh-hana-ah) … Family, kin group
‘OKI (oh-kee) … Cut, sever
‘OKOLE (oh-ko-lay) … Buttocks, anus
‘OLELO MAKUAHINE (oh-lay-lo-mah-koo-ah-hee-nee) … Mother tongue
‘ONO (oh-no) … Good, delicious
‘ŌPAE (oh-pay) … Shrimp
OPIHI (oh-pee-hee) … Limpet, a delicacy
PA‘A KE WAHA (pa-ah-kay-wah-ha) … Close the mouth
PAHŪ (pah-hoo) … Push
PAKALŌLŌ (pah-kah-lo-lo) … Local marijuana
PAKE (pah-kay) … Chinese
PANIOLO (pah-nee-oh-lo) … Hawaiian cowboy
PAU (pow) … Finished, ended
PAU HANA (pow-ha-nah) … Finished work
PEHEA ‘OE (pe-hey-ah-oy) … How are you?
PIKO (pee-ko) … Umbilical cord
PŌ … The night
POHĀ KA NALU (po-ha-ka-na-loo) … Amniotic sac
PĀHAKU (po-hah-koo) … Stone, rock
POI (poy) … Paste made of cooked, pounded taro corms
POI DOG (poy dog) … Pidgin for mutt, mixed-blood dog POLIHALE (po-lee-ha-lay) … Home of the spirits
PRIMO … Local beer
PULUPULU AHI (poo-loo-poo-loo-ah-hee) … Fire-starters; hot-tempered
PUNAHELE (poo-nah-hey-ley) … Favorite one
PU‘UHONUA (poo-oo-ho-noo-ah) … Sanctuar
y, place of refuge
PU‘UWAI (poo-oo-vy) … The heart
SHAKA SIGN … Fist presented with thumb and little finger extended meaning righteous! Right on!
TŪTŪ (too-too) … Grandma, grandpa
ULUA (oo-loo-ah) … Gamefish. Pompano, or jack
‘ULI‘ULI (oo-lee-oo-lee) … Gourd rattle used in hula dance
‘UPEPE (oo-pay-pay) … Wide, flat nose
WAHI PANA (wah-hee-pah-nah) … Sacred, or legendary place
WAI (vy) … Water other than seawater
WAI‘ANAE (why-a-ny) … Waters of the ‘ama ‘ama mullet fish
WAIWAI (vy-vy) … Wealth, double water
RUSSIAN-ENGLISH GLOSSARY
BABUSHKA (ba-bush-ka) … Grandmother. Scarf worn by such Plural, BABUSHKI
BAYAN (by-yon) … Zitherlike musical instrument
BEDNEY (bed-nee) … Unfortunate, poor you!
BRATLICH (brot-lik) … Brother
CHASHKA CHAYA (chash-ka-chy-ah) … Cup of tea
DA (da) … Yes
DA SVIDANYA (dah-svee-don-yah) … Good-bye
DOBRAYE UTRA (do-bray-oo-tra) … Hello, good day
FORTUSHKA (for-toosh-ka) … Tiny breathing space in windowpane
GLASNOSTIC (glas-nos-tik) … Openly, freely
GOLOOBKA (go-loob-ka) … Little dove
GOSPODI (gos-pod-ee) … My lord!
GULAG (goo-lahg) … Slave labor camp system under Stalin
KAK DILA (kak-dee-lah) … How are you?
KOPECK (ko-pek) … Russian currency, coin
KULAKS (koo-loks) … Farmers, forced into collectivization by Stalin
LAG (lahg) … Slang for gulag
MOLODETS (mo-lo-detz) … Good for you!
MUDAK (moo-dok) … Fool!
NYET (nee-yet) … No
OPASNO (oh-pos-no) … Help! Aid me
PAMYAT (pam-ee-yot) … Memory
PAZHALSTA (pah-shol-sta) … Please, you’re welcome
PRIVYET (pree-vee-et) … Hi!
RUBLE (roo-bul) … Russian currency, usually paper
SHASHLIK (shash-lik) … Shish kebab
SKOLZKO (skol-zko) … Slippery, difficult
SPASIBO (spa-see-boh) … Thank you
TAIGA (ty-gah) … Subarctic forest terrain, south of the tundra
TUNDRA (ton-drah) … Frozen terrain between arctic and forest region
House of Many Gods Page 37
