On the Makaloa Mat and Island Tales

by On The Makaloa Mat

  policies of fire and life insurance, acted as treasurer for the

  local Chinese revolutionises that were for turning the Celestial

  Empire into a republic, contributed to the funds of the Hawaii-born

  Chinese baseball nine that excelled the Yankee nines at their own

  game, talked theosophy with Katso Suguri, the Japanese Buddhist and

  silk importer, fell for police graft, played and paid his insidious

  share in the democratic politics of annexed Hawaii, and was

  thinking of buying an automobile. Ah Kim never dared bare himself

  to himself and thrash out and winnow out how much of the old he had

  ceased to believe in. His mother was of the old, yet he revered

  her and was happy under her bamboo stick. Li Faa, the Silvery Moon

  Blossom, was of the new, yet he could never be quite completely

  happy without her.

  For he loved Li Faa. Moon-faced, rotund as a water-melon seed,

  canny business man, wise with half a century of living--

  nevertheless Ah Kim became an artist when he thought of her. He

  thought of her in poems of names, as woman transmuted into flower-

  terms of beauty and philosophic abstractions of achievement and

  easement. She was, to him, and alone to him of all men in the

  world, his Plum Blossom, his Tranquillity of Woman, his Flower of

  Serenity, his Moon Lily, and his Perfect Rest. And as he murmured

  these love endearments of namings, it seemed to him that in them

  were the ripplings of running waters, the tinklings of silver wind-

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  bells, and the scents of the oleander and the jasmine. She was his

  poem of woman, a lyric delight, a three-dimensions of flesh and

  spirit delicious, a fate and a good fortune written, ere the first

  man and woman were, by the gods whose whim had been to make all men

  and women for sorrow and for joy.

  But his mother put into his hand the ink-brush and placed under it,

  on the table, the writing tablet.

  "Paint," said she, "the ideograph of TO MARRY."

  He obeyed, scarcely wondering, with the deft artistry of his race

  and training painting the symbolic hieroglyphic.

  "Resolve it," commanded his mother.

  Ah Kim looked at her, curious, willing to please, unaware of the

  drift of her intent.

  "Of what is it composed?" she persisted. "What are the three

  originals, the sum of which is it: to marry, marriage, the coming

  together and wedding of a man and a woman? Paint them, paint them

  apart, the three originals, unrelated, so that we may know how the

  wise men of old wisely built up the ideograph of to marry."

  And Ah Kim, obeying and painting, saw that what he had painted were

  three picture-signs--the picture-signs of a hand, an ear, and a

  woman.

  "Name them," said his mother; and he named them.

  "It is true," said she. "It is a great tale. It is the stuff of

  the painted pictures of marriage. Such marriage was in the

  beginning; such shall it always be in my house. The hand of the

  man takes the woman's ear, and by it leads her away to his house,

  where she is to be obedient to him and to his mother. I was taken

  by the ear, so, by your long honourably dead father. I have looked

  at your hand. It is not like his hand. Also have I looked at the

  ear of Li Faa. Never will you lead her by the ear. She has not

  that kind of an ear. I shall live a long time yet, and I will be

  mistress in my son's house, after our ancient way, until I die."

  "But she is my revered ancestress," Ah Kim explained to Li Faa.

  He was timidly unhappy; for Li Faa, having ascertained that Mrs.

  Tai Fu was at the temple of the Chinese AEsculapius making a food

  offering of dried duck and prayers for her declining health, had

  taken advantage of the opportunity to call upon him in his store.

  Li Faa pursed her insolent, unpainted lips into the form of a half-

  opened rosebud, and replied:

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  "That will do for China. I do not know China. This is Hawaii, and

  in Hawaii the customs of all foreigners change."

  "She is nevertheless my ancestress," Ah Kim protested, "the mother

  who gave me birth, whether I am in China or Hawaii, O Silvery Moon

  Blossom that I want for wife."

  "I have had two husbands," Li Faa stated placidly. "One was a

  pake, one was a Portuguese. I learned much from both. Also am I

  educated. I have been to High School, and I have played the piano

  in public. And I learned from my two husbands much. The pake

  makes the best husband. Never again will I marry anything but a

  pake. But he must not take me by the ear--"

  "How do you know of that?" he broke in suspiciously.

  "Mrs. Chang Lucy," was the reply. "Mrs. Chang Lucy tells me

  everything that your mother tells her, and your mother tells her

  much. So let me tell you that mine is not that kind of an ear."

  "Which is what my honoured mother has told me," Ah Kim groaned.

  "Which is what your honoured mother told Mrs. Chang Lucy, which is

  what Mrs. Chang Lucy told me," Li Faa completed equably. "And I

  now tell you, O Third Husband To Be, that the man is not born who

  will lead me by the ear. It is not the way in Hawaii. I will go

  only hand in hand with my man, side by side, fifty-fifty as is the

  haole slang just now. My Portuguese husband thought different. He

  tried to beat me. I landed him three times in the police court and

  each time he worked out his sentence on the reef. After that he

  got drowned."

  "My mother has been my mother for fifty years," Ah Kim declared

  stoutly.

  "And for fifty years has she beaten you," Li Faa giggled. "How my

  father used to laugh at Yap Ten Shin! Like you, Yap Ten Shin had

  been born in China, and had brought the China customs with him.

  His old father was for ever beating him with a stick. He loved his

  father. But his father beat him harder than ever when he became a

  missionary pake. Every time he went to the missionary services,

  his father beat him. And every time the missionary heard of it he

  was harsh in his language to Yap Ten Shin for allowing his father

  to beat him. And my father laughed and laughed, for my father was

  a very liberal pake, who had changed his customs quicker than most

  foreigners. And all the trouble was because Yap Ten Shin had a

  loving heart. He loved his honourable father. He loved the God of

  Love of the Christian missionary. But in the end, in me, he found

  the greatest love of all, which is the love of woman. In me he

  forgot his love for his father and his love for the loving Christ.

  "And he offered my father six hundred gold, for me--the price was

  small because my feet were not small. But I was half kanaka. I

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  said that I was not a slave-woman, and that I would be sold to no

  man. My high-school teacher was a haole old maid who said love of

  woman was so beyond
price that it must never be sold. Perhaps that

  is why she was an old maid. She was not beautiful. She could not

  give herself away. My kanaka mother said it was not the kanaka way

  to sell their daughters for a money price. They gave their

  daughters for love, and she would listen to reason if Yap Ten Shin

  provided luaus in quantity and quality. My pake father, as I have

  told you, was liberal. He asked me if I wanted Yap Ten Shin for my

  husband. And I said yes; and freely, of myself, I went to him. He

  it was who was kicked by a horse; but he was a very good husband

  before he was kicked by the horse.

  "As for you, Ah Kim, you shall always be honourable and lovable for

  me, and some day, when it is not necessary for you to take me by

  the ear, I shall marry you and come here and be with you always,

  and you will be the happiest pake in all Hawaii; for I have had two

  husbands, and gone to high school, and am most wise in making a

  husband happy. But that will be when your mother has ceased to

  beat you. Mrs. Chang Lucy tells me that she beats you very hard."

  "She does," Ah Kim affirmed. "Behold! He thrust back his loose

  sleeves, exposing to the elbow his smooth and cherubic forearms.

  They were mantled with black and blue marks that advertised the

  weight and number of blows so shielded from his head and face.

  "But she has never made me cry," Ah Kim disclaimed hastily.

  "Never, from the time I was a little boy, has she made me cry."

  "So Mrs. Chang Lucy says," Li Faa observed. "She says that your

  honourable mother often complains to her that she has never made

  you cry."

  A sibilant warning from one of his clerks was too late. Having

  regained the house by way of the back alley, Mrs. Tai Fu emerged

  right upon them from out of the living apartments. Never had Ah

  Kim seen his mother's eyes so blazing furious. She ignored Li Faa,

  as she screamed at him:

  "Now will I make you cry. As never before shall I beat you until

  you do cry."

  "Then let us go into the back rooms, honourable mother," Ah Kim

  suggested. "We will close the windows and the doors, and there may

  you beat me."

  "No. Here shall you be beaten before all the world and this

  shameless woman who would, with her own hand, take you by the ear

  and call such sacrilege marriage! Stay, shameless woman."

  "I am going to stay anyway," said Li Faa. She favoured the clerks

  with a truculent stare. "And I'd like to see anything less than

  the police put me out of here."

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  "You will never be my daughter-in-law," Mrs. Tai Fu snapped.

  Li Faa nodded her head in agreement.

  "But just the same," she added, "shall your son be my third

  husband."

  "You mean when I am dead?" the old mother screamed.

  "The sun rises each morning," Li Faa said enigmatically. "All my

  life have I seen it rise--"

  "You are forty, and you wear corsets."

  "But I do not dye my hair--that will come later," Li Faa calmly

  retorted. "As to my age, you are right. I shall be forty-one next

  Kamehameha Day. For forty years I have seen the sun rise. My

  father was an old man. Before he died he told me that he had

  observed no difference in the rising of the sun since when he was a

  little boy. The world is round. Confucius did not know that, but

  you will find it in all the geography books. The world is round.

  Ever it turns over on itself, over and over and around and around.

  And the times and seasons of weather and life turn with it. What

  is, has been before. What has been, will be again. The time of

  the breadfruit and the mango ever recurs, and man and woman repeat

  themselves. The robins nest, and in the springtime the plovers

  come from the north. Every spring is followed by another spring.

  The coconut palm rises into the air, ripens its fruit, and departs.

  But always are there more coconut palms. This is not all my own

  smart talk. Much of it my father told me. Proceed, honourable

  Mrs. Tai Fu, and beat your son who is my Third Husband To Be. But

  I shall laugh. I warn you I shall laugh."

  Ah Kim dropped down on his knees so as to give his mother every

  advantage. And while she rained blows upon him with the bamboo

  stick, Li Faa smiled and giggled, and finally burst into laughter.

  "Harder, O honourable Mrs. Tai Fu!" Li Faa urged between paroxysms

  of mirth.

  Mrs. Tai Fu did her best, which was notably weak, until she

  observed what made her drop the stick by her side in amazement. Ah

  Kim was crying. Down both cheeks great round tears were coursing.

  Li Faa was amazed. So were the gaping clerks. Most amazed of all

  was Ah Kim, yet he could not help himself; and, although no further

  blows fell, he cried steadily on.

  "But why did you cry?" Li Faa demanded often of Ah Kim. "It was so

  perfectly foolish a thing to do. She was not even hurting you."

  "Wait until we are married," was Ah Kim's invariable reply, "and

  then, O Moon Lily, will I tell you."

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  Two years later, one afternoon, more like a water-melon seed in

  configuration than ever, Ah Kim returned home from a meeting of the

  Chinese Protective Association, to find his mother dead on her

  couch. Narrower and more unrelenting than ever were the forehead

  and the brushed-back hair. But on her face was a withered smile.

  The gods had been kind. She had passed without pain.

  He telephoned first of all to Li Faa's number but did not find her

  until he called up Mrs. Chang Lucy. The news given, the marriage

  was dated ahead with ten times the brevity of the old-line Chinese

  custom. And if there be anything analogous to a bridesmaid in a

  Chinese wedding, Mrs. Chang Lucy was just that.

  "Why," Li Faa asked Ah Kim when alone with him on their wedding

  night, "why did you cry when your mother beat you that day in the

  store? You were so foolish. She was not even hurting you."

  "That is why I cried," answered Ah Kim.

  Li Faa looked up at him without understanding.

  "I cried," he explained, "because I suddenly knew that my mother

  was nearing her end. There was no weight, no hurt, in her blows.

  I cried because I knew SHE NO LONGER HAD STRENGTH ENOUGH TO HURT

  ME. That is why I cried, my Flower of Serenity, my Perfect Rest.

  That is the only reason why I cried."

  WAIKIKI, HONOLULU.

  June 16, 1916.

  THE KANAKA SURF

  The tourist women, under the hau tree arbour that lines the Moana

  hotel beach, gasped when Lee Barton and his wife Ida emerged from

  the bath-house. And as the pair walked past them and down to the

  sand, they continued to gasp. Not that there was anything about

  Lee Barton provocative of gasps. The tourist women were not of the

  sort to gasp at sight of a mere man's swimming-suited body, no

  matter with what swelling splendour of line and muscle such body

  was inves
ted. Nevertheless, trainers and conditioners of men would

  have drawn deep breaths of satisfaction at contemplation of the

  physical spectacle of him. But they would not have gasped in the

  way the women did, whose gasps were indicative of moral shock.

  Ida Barton was the cause of their perturbation and disapproval.

  They disapproved, seriously so, at the first instant's glimpse of

  her. They thought--such ardent self-deceivers were they--that they

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  were shocked by her swimming suit. But Freud has pointed out how

  persons, where sex is involved, are prone sincerely to substitute

  one thing for another thing, and to agonize over the substituted

  thing as strenuously as if it were the real thing.

  Ida Barton's swimming suit was a very nice one, as women's suits

  go. Of thinnest of firm-woven black wool, with white trimmings and

  a white belt-line, it was high-throated, short-sleeved, and brief-

  skirted. Brief as was the skirt, the leg-tights were no less

  brief. Yet on the beach in front of the adjacent Outrigger Club,

  and entering and leaving the water, a score of women, not provoking

  gasping notice, were more daringly garbed. Their men's suits, as

  brief of leg-tights and skirts, fitted them as snugly, but were

  sleeveless after the way of men's suits, the arm-holes deeply low-

  cut and in-cut, and, by the exposed armpits, advertiseful that the

  wearers were accustomed to 1916 decollete.

  So it was not Ida Barton's suit, although the women deceived

  themselves into thinking it was. It was, first of all, say her

  legs; or, first of all, say the totality of her, the sweet and

  brilliant jewel of her femininity bursting upon them. Dowager,

  matron, and maid, conserving their soft-fat muscles or protecting

  their hot-house complexions in the shade of the hau-tree arbour,

  felt the immediate challenge of her. She was menace as well, an

  affront of superiority in their own chosen and variously successful

  game of life.

  But they did not say it. They did not permit themselves to think

  it. They thought it was the suit, and said so to one another,

  ignoring the twenty women more daringly clad but less perilously

  beautiful. Could one have winnowed out of the souls of these

  disapproving ones what lay at bottom of their condemnation of her

  suit, it would have been found to be the sex-jealous thought: THAT