Belonging to Heaven, page 28
Kitty put her hand on the wire and stared out at Eva. “She is a beautiful girl. Protect her.”
“We will, Mother. We promise.”
Kitty’s eyes moved from the child’s face to her daughter’s. “I love you, my Panana, and I am sorry for any grief I have caused you.”
Jonathan heard the gasp of breath and turned to see Hattie’s body sway. Kamuela held her arms and she straightened. “Mother, I . . .”
“You were just so young. I thought it would be better.” Kitty’s voice held tears. “But, I see that your love is bound with strong cords.” She looked at Hattie and then at Jonathan. “I hope there will come a time when you can forgive me.” She turned to go.
“Wait! Wait, Mother! I do forgive you,” Hattie called, desperation and sorrow coloring every word. “And you must forgive me too!”
Kitty turned and gave her a tender smile. “There was never anything to forgive, my sweet Panana.” She moved back to her hiding place.
“Mother!” Hattie called. “Mother!” She shoved Eva into Kamuela’s arms and rushed forward. “Mother!” Jonathan caught her around the waist before the guards reached her. “Auwe! Auwe!” she lamented. “He ma‘i makamaka ‘ole! He ma‘i makamaka ‘ole!” The disease that deprives one of relatives and friends. “Auwe! Auwe!”
Hattie’s anguish rippled through the crowd, and other voices began wailing. Many of the patients wept loudly.
An administrator from the board of health came from the ship onto the pier. He viewed the scene with disgust. “Guards, get these people back.” He glared at Jonathan. “And you get the patients under control. We’re ready to get them onboard.”
As the guards shoved back the families of the unfortunates, Jonathan went to the cage and spoke to the patients in a soothing voice. They stopped shouting and wailing, but many still called out words of parting and shed tears of loss. Kepola pressed his face against the wire, unaware of the damage it would do to his numb flesh. His mother kept calling out to him to be a good boy.
As the doctors came to escort the patients onto the ship, Jonathan walked to the families. He held his weeping Panana in his arms and spoke to the others. “As luna I will do my best to care for your loved ones, and I am sure the board of health will see that we have all the supplies we need at Kalawao.” A few heads nodded. He looked down at his Panana. “And now I must leave you,” he said slowly, holding back his emotion with every ounce of strength.
Her hands gripped the lapels of his suit coat and would not let go. “Auwe! Auwe!”
The man from the board of health approached. “Mr. Napela, you must come onboard.”
Jonathan stepped back, but Hattie would not release her grip. He put his hands over hers and worked gently to pry away her fingers. “Aloha. Aloha nui loa.”
“Auwe! Auwe!”
“Mr. Napela!”
“Aloha nui, Panana. Aloha nui.” The fingers came away from the cloth, and Kamuela stepped forward to take his wife’s arm. She slumped to the ground.
“Auwe! Moloka‘i aina o ka ‘eha ‘eha!” Molokai, island of distress. “Auwe!”
Jonathan stumbled back.
“Mr. Napela, now!”
***
“Mr. Napela?” It was the voice of the ship’s captain.
Jonathan opened his eyes and saw the deck of the Warwick and felt the rocking of the ship. “I . . . I’m sorry, Captain. I . . .”
“Are you well, Mr. Napela?”
Jonathan focused. “Yes. Yes, captain. I . . . I was just trying to figure how we could get them safely ashore. It is a long way for the weaker patients to swim.”
“We have had to do it a few times before, Mr. Napela, and that was without a luna to guide the people.” Jonathan stared at him. “I am sorry, but there’s no other way for it. Most times the longboats can make it all the way to the beach, but not today. We will get you as close as we can. You need to get the patients organized.” He turned abruptly. “Men! Prepare the longboats!”
Jonathan went over and sat next to Kitty. He ruffled the hair of the little boy sitting next to her. “Are you doing well, Kepola?”
“No, luna sir. My stomach has been sad on the water.”
“Well, soon we will be on the land, and the land will not move.”
“I would like that.”
The patients were drawing near, and Jonathan evaluated their fitness. Two young male patients seemed strong—barely showing signs of the disease—while several others had kokua with them. Jonathan took Kitty’s hand. “Because of the waves, the longboats cannot take us all the way to the shore.” He spoke on, not giving them time for a response. “How many can swim?” Seven of the fifteen raised their hands. Jonathan looked at a middle-aged man who was more than two hundred pounds. “And you, Makana? Can you swim?”
“Oh, luna, before the sickness I was a great swimmer and rider of the surf, but now my hands and feet do not work so well. I will pray to the Lord Jesus that I can be like Peter walking on the water.”
Jonathan smiled at the big man, grateful for his calm faith. “We will certainly need the Lord to watch over us, Makana. He turned to look at each patient. “So eight will need help.”
A hapa haole woman spoke in a panic, as if finally grasping what Jonathan was telling them. “We have to swim in the rough water? I . . . I cannot swim in the rough water. I will not make it to the shore!” She tried to push herself away from the railing, but the inability of her legs and hands to function normally testified of the damage of the leprosy. “I cannot swim! I cannot! I will stay on the boat!”
The ship hit into a trough, and the woman tumbled sideways, knocking her head on a crate. Several people lost their balance and toppled into each other, crying out in pain and fear. Jonathan said a mighty silent prayer, and lunged for the panicked woman, attempting to keep her from any more harm. She had a cut on her forehead, but she was conscious.
The ship steadied, and Jonathan spoke loudly. “There are barrels here of pa‘i. These barrels are not overly large, but they will float. Those of us who are strong and can swim will help those who cannot.” He looked at the worst cases. “We will help you hold on to the barrels.” The cries quieted. “I will make sure the boatmen get us as close to the beach as possible, and I promise you that we will all make it to shore.”
A somber resignation engulfed the company. Jonathan stood, and the two young men came to his side. “We can swim. We will help.” The kokuas also came forward.
The wife of one of the patients looked compassionately at Kepola. “I am here with my husband as kokua, but he can swim, so I will help the boy.”
Jonathan set his jaw against the swelling of emotion that threatened to overtake him. He needed every bit of strength to get through this ordeal. He tried not to doubt himself, but he was a man of sixty and his body had seen too many sunrises and sunsets. He made the assignments, matching size and strength, and went to tell the captain of their plan.
As the ship drew along the eastern side of the peninsula, two small islands rose up out of the churning surf. Jonathan found the plant-covered hillocks singular: one looked like the rounded top of a head, as though a giant were walking in the deep water, while the other seemed to be his pointed hat that had been snatched off his head by a mischievous wave.
The booming voice of the first mate jerked Jonathan away from his momentary escape. “Mokapu! Okala! Look to the land!”
“Prepare to weigh anchor!” the captain commanded.
Please Lord, help us, Jonathan prayed in his heart.
The longboats were lowered, and the ladder let down. Jonathan saw many patients studying the ladder with apprehension. He gave Kitty a reassuring hug. “Shall we be the first? Then I can help the others from below.” To his relief, Kitty nodded and started for the ladder. Jonathan went in front, careful with his footing as he descended. Kitty followed, methodically grasping one rung and then the next, making sure that her hands had purchase before she moved her feet. She made it the twenty feet into the longboat without incident. One by one the fifteen patients and five kokuas made it into the two boats, despite the sprays of water and the pitching of the ship. Even Makana made it safely, although when he settled himself in the second boat, it tipped dangerously, causing several women to scream. The third longboat was filled with barrels of pa‘i and other miscellaneous crates and burlap bags. The four sailors in each boat took up the oars and began the crossing toward the beach.
Jonathan watched the captain on the deck of the ship, and, although he stood unmoving and did not call commands, Jonathan could tell he was scrutinizing every action of his crew. When the drag of the waves began to pull at the hull of the longboats, the crew members put up their oars.
“Time to disembark,” the senior oarsman said to Jonathan.
Jonathan heard the crash of cargo hitting the water and turned to see the men of the third boat tossing barrels and boxes overboard. There was no time to delay. “Swimmers, bring over the barrels.” Without hesitation the two young men and the four kokuas slid out of the boats into the treacherous water.
The hapa haole woman began to wail, her small reserve of fortitude used up. Jonathan moved to her, caught her around the waist, and took her over the side with him into the dark water. Luckily, when they surfaced, the kokua assigned to the woman was there. He helped his now mute charge onto her barrel, and began pushing her to shore.
“Kitty! It’s time!” Jonathan called. She slid into the water, and he was beside her. He secured a barrel and she steadied herself on it. “Are you all right?” She gave him a slight nod. Jonathan tried to check that all his people were making their way toward the rocky beach, but the rolling of the waves, and the drag of the current made it impossible. Once he caught a glimpse of Makana, his barrel submerged under his weight, being pushed along by one of the young men.
As he struggled through the surf, Jonathan wondered if this might be his jail cell in Carthage, his crucible of the cross. Images of Brother George came into his mind: the two of them hiking in the Iao Valley, sitting together translating the Book of Mormon, his friend singing to Hattie in the garden. Jonathan wrenched his thoughts back to the sea and the shoreline. He could not calculate how long they’d been in the water; he only knew that his legs were beginning to cramp, and it was hard to catch his breath.
Kitty began to slide off the barrel, and he tried to push her up, but he had no strength.
“Kitty, hold on,” he gasped.
“Just let me go,” came the weak reply. “Please, let me go. It will be better.”
Jonathan did not answer her; he only pushed harder against the barrel. Suddenly he felt the drag of a wave rolling back from the beach and heard the roar and the crash of the incoming surf on the smooth rocks. He looked up and saw the white spray of the cresting wave, which caught them in its power and flung them forward toward the treacherous shoreline. Kitty was ripped out of his arms.
No!
Jonathan frantically reached out for her, but his hands and arms were assaulted by hard stones as the wave dragged him up onto the beach. He tried to find purchase to crawl, and to call out her name, but his strength was spent, and bitter water filled his mouth. He wept with exhaustion and failure. Just as another cruel wave came to claim him, Jonathan felt strong hands grab his arms. He was pulled up the beach and set on dry stones. He rubbed the salt water from his eyes and tried to focus on his rescuers. They were moving back into the surf to pluck another victim from the arms of the sea. Jonathan opened and closed his eyes several times, sure that they were playing tricks on him. One of the rescuers was a young kama‘aina, naked except for the traditional malo, and the second man was his own grandfather—his grandfather who had walked the rainbow fifty years before. His grandfather with his long, white hair and beard, dressed only in his malo, his brown skin wrinkled, his hands strong.
“Kupuna kane,” Jonathan whispered. Dazedly he looked around and saw other survivors scattered along the curve of the beach. Kitty! Jonathan staggered to his feet. He tried to call out her name, but his voice was only a harsh croak. He turned this way and that searching for her—her familiar form—her blue holoku. Someone pointed, and he looked behind him. Kitty sat propped against the hulking form of Makana. Jonathan stumbled over to them, sitting down and taking his wife into his arms. While they were silent, Makana spoke.
“The kama‘aina have saved us, luna, and now many more of the children of the land, as well as patients, come down to look at us.”
Jonathan looked slowly around. “How many have survived, Makana?”
The big man smiled. “I think all of us, luna. I think all of us. We walked like Peter on the water!”
Jonathan wept. He knew that many hardships would come, but at least he had kept his first promise to patients. They were alive on the shores of Kalawao.
Notes
When the leper colony at Kalawao was first established in 1866, there was no dock or landing for the ships that arrived to drop off patients. In the 1870s a dock was established on the west side of the peninsula at Kalaupapa where the shoreline was less treacherous.
Most patients were rowed to shore, but occasionally when the sea was rough, patients had to swim.
Chapter 43
Kalawao, Moloka‘i
April 27, 1873
The old kama‘aina who had saved the lepers on the beach was not Jonathan’s grandfather—that had been a vision of exhaustion and longing. The man, Ahele, was a child of Moloka‘i, and for generations his family had fished the ocean in their outrigger canoes, raised pigs, grown sweet potatoes, and built fences of black lava rocks that crisscrossed the peninsula from Kalawao in the east to Kalaupapa in the west. Before the coming of the lepers, the people of Ahele’s village spent the summers in the great valley of Waikolu, growing their precious kalo in terraces built by a people who lived long before the great uniting of Kamehameha I.
For 1,200 years the ancients had walked the land of the Makanalua Peninsula, worshipping at the sacred heiaus their gods Kane, Ku, Kanaloa, and Lono, as well as the forty, and the four thousand. They honored Laka, the goddess who gave birth to the hula at Ka‘ana Moloka‘i, and they listened carefully to the visions of their revered kahunas. Moloka‘i pule O‘o. Moloka‘i of the powerful prayers.
With the coming of the lepers, the healthy kama‘aina of the peninsula had been mandated to leave—forced to abandon their thatched hales, their kalo patches, and their pigs. Many had followed the order, but many had refused, relocating to the Kalaupapa side of the peninsula and leaving Kalawao to the sick. They left their fishing area of Kalawao Bay and their kalo patches and summer hales in the valley of Waikolu.
The first lepers cast ashore sought refuge in this valley, but winters in Waikolu were cold and inundated with nearly constant rain. This inclement weather brought colds, sore throats, tuberculosis, and pneumonia, and many weakened sufferers walked the rainbow from these illnesses. The refugees able enough left the valley and braved the rocky shoreline for the flat plain of Kalawao, but here there was little food and no water. Water could be ported from the valleys of the Waialeia or Waihanau, but without enough kokua to help, the supply was limited.
The board of health had built a few houses and thatched huts, along with a small hospital compound and storehouse. They also sent limited food, seed, and supplies, confident that the patients would fend for themselves. But with hands and fingers swollen to uselessness, no bucket could be carried, no garden could be planted, no home could be built, and no fishing net could be thrown out to gather the bounty of the sea. Kalawao became a settlement of survival, where the strong preyed on the weak.
With the help of the young kama‘aina and Ahele, the newly arrived sufferers made their way into the valley Waikolu, where they found a few of the old thatched huts. These dwellings were broken and dilapidated from years of neglect, but still offered meager shelter to the exhausted newcomers. While some found a place on the hard-packed floors, others simply lay down under the protection of the kukui trees and dropped into sleep.
Jonathan made sure Kitty was sleeping and then went to the stream to drink and wash the salt from his head and face. He sat down on a rock ledge, and Ahele came to join him.
Jonathan did not try to stop the tears that ran down his cheeks as he addressed the venerable old man. “Mahalo, Ahele. Mahalo. Your mana saved many of us today.” He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders and scrutinized his face. It was deeply lined and weathered, but the eyes were clear and held a deep wisdom. “I am Jonathan Hawaii Napela, and I have come to Kalawao to serve the people as luna.”
Ahele nodded several times. “It is good to meet you Luna Napela. The sick peoples here need a strong leader to help them.”
Jonathan sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Will you tell me what you know, Ahele?”
“In the beginning there were only a few sick peoples.” He held out his ten fingers to indicate the few. “Then more boats come with more people. They died pretty soon. Then some men come and build houses like the haoles build and houses like the kama‘aina build. The church men come and build a church. Two churches. But these church men do not stay. They too afraid they will catch the sickness.”
“I have been told of these churches. One is for the Protestant believers and one is for the Catholic believers.”
Ahele looked over at Jonathan. “Is the luna a church man?”
“I am, Ahele. I am a Mormon.”
Ahele frowned. “I never hear this word.”
Jonathan smiled at him. “I am not surprised.” He looked out at the ocean and the little pointed-hat island of Okala. “I believe in the Lord Jesus and in following His ways.”
