Belonging to Heaven, page 29
Ahele smiled broadly. “I too believe in the Lord Jesus! Many years ago, missionaries came to our village from topside.”
“Topside?”
Ahele turned his body and pointed to the top of the cliff. “That is what the haoles call the land that sits above us.”
Jonathan studied the height. “Is there a way to topside, Ahele?”
“There is a trail in the Waihanau Valley, luna, but it is very difficult. Sometimes the sick peoples try to go topside, but they fall. They do not walk on steady legs, and the trail is narrow.”
Jonathan was sickened at the desperation that would compel such an attempt. “And who buries the dead?”
Instead of answering right away, Ahele held out his hand with the palm down. “Here is our land, Luna Napela.” With his other hand he indicated the space surrounding his hand. “This is the great water. On this side of the land is Kalawao. On this side is Kalaupapa. You understand?” Jonathan nodded. Ahele now pointed at the center knuckle of his hand. “This is the crater Kauhako, the ancient mouth through which Pele’s fire came. It is the creator of our leaf of land. At the bottom of the wide hole that opens to the sky is a great pool of water. Some say there is no bottom to the pool. Sometimes the bodies are put there. Sometimes the sick who have strength dig shallow graves and the kama‘aina help them. But, often the wild pigs find these places.”
Jonathan felt overwhelmed. There was so much to do. How could he possibly make a difference? “And what of the superintendent?” Ahele gave him a confused look. “The luna from topside.”
“Ah! Luna Meyer from Kalae. He comes sometimes. He and his sons bring cattle down the steep pali trail for the sick peoples. But he is here only a short time, and after he goes those na‘u ‘ino, evil-hearted, call out ‘A ‘ole kanawai ma keia wahi!’ In this place there is no law!”
A breeze came down through the valley, rustling the leaves of the kukui trees. Jonathan closed his eyes and felt the motion of the cool air on his skin. He needed to pray for helpers. There were now over eight hundred patients living at Kalawao and scattered throughout the peninsula. Even with the kokuas, there were not enough healthy hands for the work. There needed to be doctors, carpenters, gardeners, men to keep the peace, and religious shepherds. “Auwe,” Jonathan said softly.
“Do not worry, Luna Napela. The Lord Jesus will help you.”
Though Ahele’s words brought him some comfort, Jonathan was tired; he felt it in his arms that were tired from paddling his canoe through rough seas; he felt it in his heart that was tired of suffering. He nodded at the old man. “Mahalo, Ahele.”
“And tomorrow when the tide is low, my grandson and I will guide you along the shore to your home in Kalawao.” Ahele stood. “We will go now and find you food, and you must rest, luna. The wind and the waves have drawn away your mana.”
As Jonathan lay back against one of the kukui trees, he felt the truth of Ahele’s words. His soul was tired, perhaps more tired than his body. He closed his eyes and felt the dappled sunlight playing through the leaves of the kukui trees. To the sound of the rushing stream, he fell asleep.
Note
Rudolph Meyer was born April 2, 1826, in Hamburg, Germany. He arrived in Hawaii in January 1850. He settled on Moloka‘i where he met high chiefess Kalama Waha, who later became his wife. Meyer was a man of intelligence and industry and began many profitable endeavors such as cattle ranching, coffee and sugar growing, and running a sugar mill. He became a steward for the Kamehameha royal family and oversaw much of their land and properties on Moloka‘i. Rudolph Meyer was named the first superintendent of Kalaupapa in 1867 and served in that capacity for thirty years until his death in 1897.
Chapter 44
Kalawao, Moloka‘i
May 11, 1873
Kepola was in the lead, anxiously tugging on Jonathan’s jacket. “Come on! Come on, luna! You need to see the little haole man in the dress. He is sleeping under the hala tree.”
“Kepola, stop pulling at my jacket,” Jonathan barked. He did not mean to sound so gruff, but to be woken before the rising of the sun by an impulsive menehune did not make for an agreeable temperament. He was tired. But, as he thought about it, he was perpetually tired. The past two days had been especially trying as Kitty had experienced a great deal of pain, and Jonathan had stayed vigilant by her side. The toe of his shoe caught a rock, and he stumbled.
“Wake up, luna!” Kepola called out to him. “It is not good to sleep and walk at the same time.”
Oh, how Jonathan wished that were possible. The days had melded into one another since their arrival on Kalawao. The kama‘aina, Ahele, and his grandson had led the new arrivals from the valley of Waikolu to the plains of Kalawao and had helped settle the patients at the receiving station and in newly deserted hales and houses. He had then taken Jonathan and Kitty to the wooden house set aside for the resident superintendent of the settlement. It was a simple but suitable dwelling with a front living area, a bedroom, and a kitchen. The furnishings were sparse but acceptable. The home sat on a rising slope of land, and faced the road that ran from Kalawao to Kalaupapa. To the back of house rose the towering, forbidding cliffs. At the front of the house there was a lanai where one could sit and look out to the distant shoreline and the ocean. On a clear day it was likely that one could see the beckoning spectral that was Oahu. On the east side of the house was a shed where the stores sent by the board of health were kept, along with a wagon that sat abandoned for want of a horse. On the west side of their dwelling, at a distance, was a larger unoccupied house. At the time of their settling in, Jonathan thought it strange that no one had claimed the structure—perhaps it was saved for the doctors or clergy who made periodic visits to the settlement. Down the road a quarter mile to the east was the hospital compound and receiving station, and a quarter mile beyond that were the two churches. Houses for the patients were scattered nearby these structures on the opposite side of the road. The hales and houses were inadequate in number and function, and many patients had no choice but to sleep out in the open, or by the side of a lava rock wall against which they leaned a pandanas mat for scant protection.
Day after day, Jonathan became aware of these inadequacies as he assessed the needs of the settlement, knowing he must first attend to the most critical situations. The only problem was that every situation was critical. The bug-filled hales were putrid with rotting thatch. There was a scarcity of good food and clean water. In the dilapidated hospital, the terminally ill lay on thin dirty mats with no doctor to attend or comfort them in their dying, and there was little medicine or bandages to cover the ulcerous sores of the suffering patients. Added to this were the thuggish attacks and thievery by the brutes of the settlement. Luckily there were only a handful of these wretches, and they tended to be wary of Jonathan’s size and authority.
“There is my hale,” Kepola announced as they dropped down into the area of the settlement by the two churches.
Jonathan chided him “Yes, and that is where you should be—still sleeping.”
“I do not like to sleep that much,” Kepola replied.
Jonathan grunted, but grinned at the same time. Kepola was indeed the busy one of the settlement. The leprosy that scarred his face had not as yet attacked his youthful limbs, so he took every opportunity to use them. In the two weeks since their arrival, Kepola had investigated the settlement of Kalawao, met most of the people, ventured into the valleys of Waialeia and Waihanau, and been to the top of the crater to look down into the brackish pool of water at its bottom. This last bit of adventure he had accomplished with his kokua mother, Malia. Malia and Kono had taken the boy into their care from the moment the kokua woman had hauled the boy safely from the churning surf and onto the rocky beach. Jonathan was glad. The image of Kepola’s face as he was torn from his parents on the wharf in Honolulu frequently haunted his dreams.
“And did Malia scold you for getting up so early?”
“Of course not, I went out as quiet as a mouse. I did not wake them.”
“Ah, but you woke me.”
“You are the luna,” he said nonchalantly as if that were explanation enough. He stopped abruptly and pointed. “See! There under the hala tree,” he whispered. “The man in a dress.”
Jonathan squinted to make out the distant form. With his old eyes it was difficult to see in the murky predawn light. It seemed to be just a bundle of black cloth. “Are you sure it’s a person?”
Kepola gave him an impatient look. “Yes, I am sure. He came yesterday on the boat.”
“I did not see the boat.”
The impatient look deepened. “I know, luna. You were inside your house with your sick wife. But he came yesterday. There was another haole man with him. He was old and he wore a dress too, but he went away on the boat and left the other one.”
“Are you sure that they wore dresses?”
“Yes, long black dresses.”
Jonathan’s heart lifted. “Perhaps it wasn’t a dress, Kepola, but a cassock.”
“What is a cassock?”
The s’s were hard for him to say and Jonathan smiled at his attempt. “It is like a long coat. The priests of the Catholic Church wear them.” Jonathan squinted again at the bundle of clothes. Perhaps it is a Catholic priest, he thought. Perhaps he is a priest and a doctor. He was well aware of the caring and capable priests and nuns of the faith who were sent out to minister to the world. It was just what Kalawao needed. Had the Lord sent this man to be a worker and a helper? Jonathan stepped forward quickly.
“Hey!” Kepola yelled, hurrying to catch up. “Wait for me!”
The crunch of their footfalls on the lava pebbles awoke the sleeping man long before the two visitors reached him, and Jonathan felt a twinge of regret at having disturbed his rest. He knew what that was like. The young man stood, placing his cap on his head and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was indeed a priest, and Jonathan sent a prayer of gratitude to God.
“Good morning,” Jonathan said in English.
“Aloha maika‘i ‘oe,” a fine greeting to you, the priest said, the Hawaiian words coming easily.
Jonathan’s face lit with pleasure. “You speak the language!” he said in Hawaiian.
The priest smiled. “I have been in the islands a while now. I thought it best to know the language.”
As Jonathan looked at the young face of the priest, his heart went back to his friend George Cannon, and he remembered conversations and sermons where the soft Hawaiian words flowed from his lips to the ear of the listener like the mist in the Iao Valley. Jonathan stepped forward and extended his hand. “I am Jonathan Hawaii Napela. I am the assistant superintendent of the settlement.”
The priest gave a little bow, but did not take his hand. “I am Father Damien de Veuster of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts.”
Jonathan lowered his arm and smiled. He was not offended that the young man did not take his hand. He had probably been given orders by his superiors not to touch or mingle directly with persons who had the disease, and he was unknowing of Jonathan’s status. “Have you come to minister to your flock, Father?”
“I have. I have also come to care for the other poor sufferers.”
“Are you a doctor?” Jonathan asked hopefully.
“No, but I have been trained how to care for their basic needs. The Catholic Church will also send stores of medicine, ointment, and bandages to supplement those sent by the board of health.” He stood a little taller. “I also have building skills, and I know a little about horticulture. I will do what I can to help the afflicted who must live here.”
“Then we are brothers in this work,” Jonathan said. “I have come as kokua to my wife but also to take care of the needs of the patients.” His voice grew husky with emotion. “Mahalo. Mahalo, dear Father Damien for answering God’s call.”
“You are a man of faith, Mr. Napela?”
“I am.”
“Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
“I am an elder in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“You are a Mormon?”
“I am. I have been a member just over twenty years, and, like you, I have a little flock of followers to shepherd here at Kalawao.”
Father Damien looked back at the small building that was to serve as his church. “Do you have a building in which to meet?”
Jonathan smiled and shook his head. “No, for now we meet in nature.” A look of shock came to Father Damien’s face as he surveyed the bleak and barren landscape. Jonathan laughed. “There is a beautiful grove of trees on the mauka side of the crater.” Father Damien did not look convinced. “I will show you sometime.” Jonathan’s heart lifted. “In fact, I will show you everything!” He felt a tug on his coat sleeve and looked down to see Kepola’s frowning face. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Kepola. I forgot your introduction. Father Damien de Veuster, this is my friend, Kepola.”
Jonathan watched as the father gave the boy a tender smile. “Aloha maika‘i ‘oe, Kepola.”
Kepola beamed. “Aloha, Makua. I will also be glad to show you around. I know places that even the luna does not know.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jonathan laughed.
“I would be honored to have you as a guide, Kepola.”
The sky blushed a pale rose as the morning came on, and Jonathan figured it was time for him and Kepola to get to their homes for their scanty breakfast. “We will leave you to your morning preparations, Father Damien. Do you have food?”
“I do, Mr. Napela.” He grinned. “I have no shelter and no extra clothing, but I do have a little food.”
“We will need to build you a house by your church,” Jonathan said.
“And, we will need to build you a church,” Father Damien answered.
“Ah, but first we will have to pray for lumber,” Jonathan quipped.
The two men laughed. Kepola joined in, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was laughing about.
***
When Jonathan returned home from the predawn outing, he found Kitty still asleep, and many patients and kokua waiting with their calabash pots for their daily ration of food. Jonathan opened the barrels of pa‘i and handed out the hard, beaten kalo, wrapped in ti leaves. He also had salted salmon, rice, and a bit of poi. Many of the patients refused the rice and took only poi. Jonathan understood. When the stomach becomes accustomed to one food as a staple, it is hard to get it to agree to anything else. He also handed out the buckets to the kokua and stronger patients who would make the trek into the Waialeia Valley for water for the settlement. When he returned to the house, Kitty was awake, but not feeling well. He brought her to the lanai and set her in her rocking chair. It had come on the last steamer to Kalaupapa, and it proved to be a great comfort to her. Also arriving were books, their parlor table, and some clean white linens from Sister Winston—the dear Winston family of Kaneohe with their old dog.
Jonathan had fixed Kitty some poi, put a shawl around her shoulders, and sat by her side on a creaky chair. They passed the time talking, resting, and saying aloha to people passing by on the road from Kalaupapa to Kalawao—most of the people walked, but some went on horses, and Jonathan wondered what kind of prominent position they had left behind. Of course, here on Kalawao, the regard for status that might have separated the people in other communities was nonexistent. Kitty had reminded him that the board of health had promised him a horse to help him get from place to place, yet it had not arrived on the last two boats. He told her he didn’t mind walking. He also told her about the arrival of Father Damien de Veuster, and how he had the feeling the young man was going to be a dedicated kokua. They sat silently, watching the waves crash on the rocky coastline. When they looked farther out to sea, they could see the hazy outline of Oahu, and Jonathan was positive he had located the bay at Hanauma. Kitty told him he was dreaming—that his old eyes could not clearly see the house next door let alone Hanauma Bay.
As the sun drew high into the sky, Kitty complained that her headache was worsening, so Jonathan took her back to her bed, put water and dry biscuits on her side table, and went off to find Father Damien. He found him standing hunched over outside the hospital.
Jonathan went quietly to stand beside him. “Can I do anything for you?”
The father slowly shook his head. He did not stand up or look at Jonathan. Finally after several minutes, he straightened. He stepped away from the side of the building. His skin had a chalky pallor and he blew out puffs of air. “I went in to see if I could give last rites to any of the dying. I . . . I was not prepared for what I saw, or smelled.”
Jonathan nodded. “I wear a strip of cloth around my neck that is soaked in camphor. That helps. I’ve also been told that if you smoke strong tobacco from a pipe it blunts the smell.”
“I have heard that too. I brought a pipe with me, but I did not want to offend them by smoking it.”
Jonathan was touched by the father’s compassion. “Oh, Father Damien, they are so grateful to have someone care for them. They will not be offended.”
Father Damien nodded and took a deep cleansing breath. “It deepens my love for the Savior.” Tears filled his eyes. “He actually put his hands on them to cleanse their putrid flesh.”
“Yes. ‘We love Him because He first loved us,’” Jonathan quoted. “Nui ke aloha mamua o ka maka ‘u.” Great love over fear.
“Great love over fear.”
Jonathan looked down the roadway toward Kalaupapa. “Do you feel up to a walk?”
“Yes. I would like a healthy walk,” Father Damien answered.
“Good. I say we walk to Kalaupapa. It is only three or four miles, and I can point out things along the way.”
“Perfect.”
Jonathan began walking, and Father Damien moved with him. “There are not many patients at Kalaupapa, but the kama‘aina villagers keep some in their hales.”
Father Damien looked surprised. “The healthy villagers take in the sick? Don’t they realize they can catch the sickness?”
