“What is the cause of all that shouting down there?” said Pi-ko-i to
his father, Ala-la the Raven. “They are playing olohu,” said Ala-la,
his father. “And how is that game played?” said Pi-ko-i. “It is played
in this way,” said his father. “There are two in the game; they roll a
disk of stone, and the crowd shouts for the one who rolls it farthest.
That is the reason of the noise down there.” “I will go down and look
at the games they are playing,” said Pi-ko-i. “You cannot go,” said his
father, “until after to-day.”
Later on there was more shouting. “What are they shouting for now?”
said Pi-ko-i to Ala-la the Raven. “They are playing a game called pahee
now,” said Ala-la. “They slide a stick down a grassy slope, and when
the stick thrown by one slides farther than the stick thrown by another
the people all shout.” “I will go and watch this game,” said Pi-ko-i.
“You cannot go until after to-day,” said his father.
The next day there was shouting again at the same place. “What is this
fresh shouting for?” said Pi-ko-i to Ala-la, his father. “They are
playing a game now called ko-ie-ie.” “How is that game played?” said
Pi-ko-i. “It is played in this way,” said his father. “A board is
smoothed and thrown into the river at a place near the rapids. It has
to float steadily in one place without going down the rapids. The one
whose board floats the steadiest without being carried over the rapids
wins. That is the game of ko-ie-ie.” “May I go down to watch that
game?” said Pi-ko-i. “You may go down and join in the game,” said his
father.
Then Ala-la smoothed a board so that it would float steadily on the
water, and he gave it to his son Pi-ko-i. Pi-ko-i then went where the
crowd was; and this was the first time he had ever been with a crowd.
He had a sharp face, and he had little bones, and he had hair that was
like a rat’s hair. When the crowd saw him they cried out, “A rat, a
rat! What is a rat doing amongst us?” Pi-ko-i did not mind what they
said; he went to where they were casting their boards on the current,
and he cast on it the board that his father had smoothed for him.
It floated the steadiest of all the boards. It floated in one place
without being carried down the rapids. The crowd shouted for Pi-ko-i.
Then the other boys got jealous of him; they took his board, and they
flung it over the rapids. Pi-ko-i jumped after his board. He was
carried over the rapids and down to the sea. “A good riddance,” said
the boys to each other. “What business has a rat coming amongst us?”
Pi-ko-i was carried out to sea. For two days and two nights he floated
on the currents of the ocean, and then he was washed up on the beach of
another Island.
Now it happened that where he was washed up was near where his older
sisters, I-ol-e and O-pea-pea, lived with their husbands. A man came
down to the beach and found Pi-ko-i, and this man was Kaua, the good
servant of I-ol-e and O-pea-pea. “Where have you come from?” said Kaua
to Pi-ko-i when he found him on the beach, all wearied out, and weak
from hunger and the buffeting of the ocean. “From the sea,” said
Pi-ko-i. “Come with me,” said the good servant, and he brought the boy
to his sisters’ house.
The servant spoke to the sisters and he said, “I found him lying on the
sand, and all he says is that he has come from the sea.” “Where are you
from? Where were you born, and who are your parents?” said the sisters
to him. Pi-ko-i answered: “I am from Wai-lua on the Island of Kau-ai;
Ala-la is my father, and Kou-kou is my mother.”
When he told them this, the women of the house knew that the boy was
their brother. They sprang upon him, and they cried over him, and they
told him that they were his sisters.
And then their husbands came home, and a great feast was prepared for
Pi-ko-i. A pig was killed, yams were made ready, and pig and yams were
put into the underground oven to cook. But while the cooking was being
done, Pi-ko-i left the house and wandered off to where there was a
crowd and where games were being played.
The King and the Queen were at these games. It was a game of shooting
that was on; a man was shooting arrows at rats, and the King and the
Queen were making wagers on his shooting.
It was a Prince who was shooting arrows at the rats—Prince
Mai-ne-le—and all thought that his aim was most wonderful. The King was
winning all her property from the Queen, for he was laying wagers all
the time on Mai-ne-le’s shooting.
Pi-ko-i stood and watched the game for a while. After the Prince had
shot several arrows he said: “How simple all this is! Why, any one
could shoot as this man shoots.” When the Queen heard the stranger boy
say this, she said, “Could you shoot as well as the Prince?” “Yes,
ma’am,” said Pi-ko-i. “Then I will wager my property on your shooting,”
said the Queen.
The King kept on staking his property on the Prince’s shooting, while
the Queen now staked hers on Pi-ko-i’s. Whoever should strike ten rats
with one arrow would win, and whoever should strike less than ten would
lose the match. Prince Mai-ne-le shot first. His arrow went through ten
rats, and all the people shouted, “Mai-ne-le has won, Mai-ne-le has
won! The stranger boy cannot do better than that!” But Pi-ko-i only
said, “How left-handed that man must be! I thought that he was going to
shoot the rats through their whiskers!”
Prince Mai-ne-le heard what Pi-ko-i said, and he answered angrily: “You
are a deceiving boy. From the first day I began shooting rats until
this day, I have never seen a man who could shoot rats through their
whiskers.” “You will see one now,” said Pi-ko-i.
Then bets were made as to whether one could shoot through rats’
whiskers. These were new bets, and when they were all made, Pi-ko-i
made ready to shoot. But now the rats were all gone; not one was in
sight. Thereupon Pi-ko-i said a charm to bring the rats near:
“I, Pi-ko-i,
The offspring of Ala-la the Raven,
The offspring of Kou-kou:
Where are you, my brothers?
Where are you, O Rats?
There they are,
There they are!
The rats are in the pili grass:
They sleep, the rats are asleep:
Let them awaken;
Let them return!”
And when he said this charm the rats all came back. Pi-ko-i then let
his arrow fly. It struck ten rats, and the point of it held a bat. The
rats were all made fast by their whiskers.
When Mai-ne-le saw this he said: “It is a draw. The boy shot ten rats,
and I shot ten rats.” The people all agreed with Mai-ne-le—it was a
draw, they said. But Pi-ko-i would not have it so. “The bat must count
as a rat,” he said. “I have killed, not ten, but eleven rats.” The
crowd would not agree. Pi-ko-i kept saying, “It counts as a rat
according to the old words:
“‘The bat is in the stormless season—
He is your younger brother, O Rat:
Squeak to him.’”
And when he said that, every one had to agree that the bat counted as a
rat and that Pi-ko-i had killed eleven rats with his single arrow. And
so he won the match against Prince Mai-ne-le.
While the wagers were being handed over, Pi-ko-i slipped away. He went
back to his sisters’ house; he was there as the food was being taken
out of the oven. He sat down to the food; he would not let any one
speak to him while he ate. He ate nearly the whole oven-full. And when
he had finished that meal he was a changed boy: he was no longer
sharp-faced and small-boned; he still had hair like rat’s hair, but for
all that he was now a fine-looking youth.
Shortly after this the King and Queen wanted to have a canoe built in
which they could sail far out on the ocean. The King went with his
canoe-builders into the forest, so that they might mark for
cutting-down a large koa tree. They came to a great tree. But before
they could put the axe to it two birds flew up to the very top of the
tree and then cried out in a loud voice, “Say, Ke-awe, you cannot make
a canoe out of this tree; it is hollow.” And then they cried out, “A
worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a canoe that will never sail the
ocean.”
When the King heard this he turned from the tree, and he and his
canoe-builders sought out another. They found another fine-looking
tree, but before they put an axe to it, the same two birds flew up to
the very top of it and cried out, “A worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a
canoe that will never sail the ocean.” And to the top of every tree
that the King and his canoe-builders thought was a good-timbered tree,
the birds flew and made their unlucky cry, “A worthless canoe, a hollow
canoe, a canoe that will never sail the ocean.”
Day after day the King and his canoe-makers went into the forest, and
day after day the birds flew to the top of every tree that they would
cut down. At last the King saw that he could get no canoe-making tree
out of the forest until he had killed the birds that made the unlucky
cry.
So he sent for Prince Mai-ne-le to have him kill the birds while they
were crying on the tree-top. And he promised him, or any one else who
would kill the birds, his daughter in marriage and a part of the land
of his kingdom.
Now when Kaua, the good servant, heard of the King’s offer he made up
his mind that the boy whom he had found on the sand should win the
King’s daughter and a portion of the land of the Island. So he went to
where Pi-ko-i was, and he told him all that he had heard. “And if you
are able to shoot birds as you are able to shoot rats,” he said, “you
will become son-in-law to the King and one of the great men of the
Island. But Prince Mai-ne-le is going to let fly his arrow at the
birds, and perhaps you will not want to match yourself with him,” said
he.
When the servant said that, Pi-ko-i rose up from where he was sitting,
and he said: “I am going to shoot at the birds that make the unlucky
cry, and you must do this for me.” Thereupon he told Kaua that he
should make a large basket, and that he should tell every one that this
basket was for the safe-keeping of his idol. Into this basket he,
Pi-ko-i, would go and remain hidden there. And Kaua was to go with
Prince Mai-ne-le’s party, and he was to bring the basket with him,
being careful, though, to let no one find out that there was a man in
the basket. Kaua made the basket out of i-e vines, and Pi-ko-i went and
hid in it. Then Kaua took the great basket, and went and joined
Mai-ne-le’s party.
The canoes made swift passage, for the evening breeze behind them sent
them flying, and by the dawn of the next morning they were able to make
out the waterfalls on the steep cliffs of the land where the forest was
that the King walked in. They landed. Kaua was able to get men to carry
the basket that had, as all supposed, his idol in it. They entered the
forest, and they came to where the King and his canoe-makers were.
They were under a great koa tree. To mark it the men raised their axes.
As they did so the birds flew to the top of it and cried out their
unlucky cry: “Say, Ke-awe, you cannot make a canoe out of this tree. A
worthless canoe, a hollow canoe, a canoe that will never sail the
ocean!”
As soon as the cry was heard Prince Mai-ne-le shot at them. His arrow
did not go anywhere near the birds, so high was the tree-top, so far
above were they. Then the King’s men built a platform that was half the
height of the tree. From the platform Mai-ne-le shot at the birds
again, and again his arrow failed to reach them. Then Pi-ko-i from the
basket whispered to Kaua. “Ask Mai-ne-le and ask the King why the birds
still cry out and why they have not been hit. Is it because Mai-ne-le
is not really shooting at them?” Kaua said all this to the King. Prince
Mai-ne-le, when he heard what was said, replied, “Why do you not shoot
at the birds yourself?” And then he said: “There are the birds, and
here is the weapon. Now see if you can hit them.” “Well,” said Kaua, “I
will ask my idol.” He opened the basket then, and Pi-ko-i appeared. He
had changed so much since he had eaten the feast in his sisters’ house
that no one there knew him for the stranger boy who had beaten
Mai-ne-le in the shooting-match before.
And what he said made all of them amazed. He asked the King to have a
basin of water brought to the tree. It was brought. Pi-ko-i then stood
looking into the water. He saw the reflection of the birds that were on
the tree-top far, far above. He held his arms above his head; his arrow
was aimed at the birds whose reflection he saw in the water. He brought
the arrow into line with them; he let it fly. It struck both of them;
they fell; they came tumbling down. Into the basin of water they fell,
and the people, on seeing the great skill shown by Pi-ko-i, raised a
great shout.
Then the canoe-makers got to work, and after many days’ labor they
hewed down the great tree. The canoe was built for the King and the
Queen, and they went in it and sailed on the ocean. Pi-ko-i was with
them when they made the voyage. But before that, they had given him
their daughter in marriage, and together with the girl they had given
him a portion of the land of Hawaii. Out of the portion that was given
him Pi-ko-i gave land to Kaua, and the good servant became a rich man.
And as for Mai-ne-le, he was made so ashamed by his second defeat by
young Pi-ko-i that he went straight back to his own land and never
afterwards did he shoot an arrow.
PAKA: THE BOY WHO WAS REARED IN THE LAND THAT THE GODS HAVE SINCE
HIDDEN.
Paka was reared in Pali-uli, the land that the gods have since hidden
from men. That land he did not leave until he went forth to wed the
fair woman whom one of his foster-fathers had found for him—the
Princess Mako-lea.
But first I have to tell you about Pali-uli and the two men who found
it in the old days and brought the child Paka there.
These two men were the brothers of Paka’s mother; they were both named
Ki-i, and one was called Ki-i the Stayer and the other was called Ki-i
the Goer. One night Ki-i the Stayer had a dream: in that dream a spirit
told him: “You must go to Pali-uli and live there, you and your
brother; it is a land in which you can live without labor and without
discontent.” He dreamed this dream for three nights, and, each morning
after, he told his dream to Ki-i the Goer. But Ki-i the Goer paid no
attention to the dream that was told him. And then the dream came to
Ki-i the Goer, and the same words were said to him by the spirit in the
dream: “You must go to Pali-uli and live there, you and your brother,
Ki-i the Stayer; it is a land in which you can live without labor and
without discontent.”
Then Ki-i the Goer was all for going to the land of Pali-uli. Soon the
two brothers made preparations for going there. One night they went to
bed early; they woke up at the second crowing of the cock; then, in the
early dawn while it was still dark, they started off to seek Pali-uli,
the restful land.
Guided by a spirit, they found Pali-uli. (No one will ever find it
again; it has since been hidden from men by the gods.) It was a level
land; it was filled with all things that men might desire: the mountain
apple there grew to be as large as the bread-fruit; the sugar-cane grew
until it doubled over, and then it shot up again; the bananas fell
scattering on the ground, ripe always; the pigs grew until their tusks
were as long as a pig is with us; the chickens grew until their spurs
were as big as eggs; the dogs grew until their backs could be made into
seats and cushions; there were fish ponds there, and they were stocked
with all the fish of the ocean except whales and sharks. Such was
Pali-uli when Ki-i the Stayer and Ki-i the Goer came into it.
They lived there in great plenty and in much content for a while. Then
one day Ki-i the Goer said, “How strange it is that we have all these
things growing, and we have no one to leave them to!” Then Ki-i the
Stayer said: “We will take a young child and rear him up here, and let
him have some of the things that are growing in such plenty. Let us go
back to our sister’s now, and whatever young child she has, we will
take him back with us.”
So they went back to their sister’s; they found Paka, the child who was
just born, and they took him back with them. Paka had no form at all
when he was born; indeed, he was just like an egg. Ki-i the Goer
wrapped him in a feather cape as they went travelling back to Pali-uli.
After ten days they unwrapped the feather cape, and they saw that the
child was becoming formed. When they looked at him again they saw that
he had become most beautiful, a child with a straight back and an open
face. Then he grew up, and his beauty was such that it lighted Pali-uli
day and night.
And so he grew to be a youth. One day when they were looking on him,
Ki-i the Goer said to Ki-i the Stayer, “There is one thing wanting
now.” “And what is that?” asked Ki-i the Stayer. “A beautiful wife for
Paka.” Then Ki-i the Stayer said, “You must go search for a wife for
him.”
Ki-i the Goer consented, and he started off to search for a wife who
would be beautiful enough to wed with Paka. He found one girl who was
very much admired. But when he looked her over he saw that her eyes
bulged like the nuts of the ku-kui. He passed her by. And then in the
land of Kau he heard of another admired girl. But when he looked her
over he saw that her lips were deformed. Her, too, he passed by, and he
went on in his search. And then, in the beautiful land of Kona, he
found Mako-lea, a Princess who was as faultless as the full moon.
Ki-i the Goer went before the Princess and spoke to her of Paka. “Is he
as handsome as so-and-so?” said she to him. “So-and-so,” said he, “is
as the skin of Paka’s feet.” “Oh, bring him to me,” said the Princess.
“Bring me the youth you want to be my husband, and do not be slow.”
Then back to Pali-uli went Ki-i the Goer.
They knew that they would have to leave the beautiful land with the
youth whom they had brought up there; Ki-i the Goer and Ki-i the Stayer
knew that, and they knew that they could never come back to it. They
wailed because of their great love for that land and for everything
that was in it. They kissed and they wept over everything in their
beautiful house. Then they committed Pali-uli to the charge of the gods
who had shown that land to them. And never since that day has Pali-uli
been seen by men.
When they were ready for the journey to Kona, Ki-i the Goer stood up;
taking Paka by the hand, he left the house. But Ki-i the Stayer did not
move. His brother turned to him and said, “How strange of you to want
to remain when the youth whom we reared has to leave this place!” Upon
hearing his brother say this, Ki-i the Stayer stood up and left the
house. Then, with the youth whom they had reared, Ki-i the Goer and
Ki-i the Stayer left Pali-uli, the easeful land.
Now the King of Kau-ai had long wanted to steal Mako-lea. He sent his
servants Ke-au-miki and Ke-au-ka to carry her off and bring her to him.
On the very day that Paka was to reach Kona, Mako-lea and her
attendants went down to the beach to join in the surf-riding. Standing
on her surf-board the Princess was carried with wonderful speed across
the reef and back to the beach. She brought her surf-board out again.
But this time Ke-au-miki and Ke-au-ka overturned her surf-board and
took her and carried her off to Kau-ai.
When Paka came to Kona and found that Mako-lea had been taken away, he
took leave of Ki-i the Stayer and Ki-i the Goer. He asked Mako-lea’s
father for a small canoe, and a small canoe was given him. In it he
went over the sea until he came to the Island of Kau-ai.
When he reached the Island he broke his canoe into small pieces, and he
left the pieces on the shore. Then he went into the land. Now the King
who had taken Mako-lea was a great thrower of the spear, a great boxer,
and a great man for asking and answering riddles. Paka had heard all
about him, and he was prepared to meet him.
Down to the beach came the King with a great spear in his hand. “Who
shall have the first chance with the spear?” he cried out when he saw
Paka, “the stranger or the son of the soil?” “The son of the soil,”
answered Paka.
When that answer was made the King threw his spear in the full belief
that it would go through the stranger, for he had never missed his
throw. As the spear neared him Paka moved; he moved aside ever so
slightly. He made a quick motion of his elbow outward, and he allowed
the spear to enter between his arm and his body. He closed his arm on
the spear as the wind whistled by, and the point of the spear quivered
where he held it. The spear was held for a moment; then Paka let it
fall down.
The King was sure he had struck the stranger, and he uttered his
triumph in a chant.
“How could he stand against my spear?
It never misses what it is flung at!
Not the blade of grass,
Not the ant, not the flea!
How then could it miss the stranger, a man?”
But when he had uttered all this he saw Paka let the spear drop from
under his arm. The King looked on him with amazement, and he chanted
this:
“How did my spear miss the mark?
Was it pushed from its course by the southern storm?
Did a wind ward it off from him?”
He waited for the stranger to throw the spear back at him, but Paka did
not throw it. Then the King turned and went to his house.
When Paka came before it he heard shouts within. “What is going on?”
Paka asked. “It is for a game,” said a by-stander. “Our King is engaged
in a boxing-match; he is winning, for no one can beat him.” Paka then
went within, and he found the place filled with people. The King,
seeing him, said, “Will the stranger join in a boxing-match?” “I know
something of that game,” said Paka, “but not much. I am willing to try
a bout with the son of the soil.”
Thereupon they took up their positions. The King struck, and his blow
stunned Paka. Then Paka pulled himself together, and he struck. His
blow knocked the King down; he lay on the ground for a time long enough
to bake an oven of food. Then he rose up. He said, “That was a good
stroke; the stranger makes a real opponent.”
Because Paka had not been defeated in the boxing-bout, he was given a
house and food and clothes. Soon afterwards the King sent a crier
through the country telling the people that they must all come to the
King’s house on the fourth day after to hear the riddles that the King
proposed. Now this crier had never been given any food except what
dropped from the King’s eating place; he had never been given any
clothes, either, and he looked fearful in his naked, unwashed, and
wasted form. No one would go near the man, or speak to him, or give him
anything. Such was the King’s crier. He had a loud voice, however, and
the people all heard what he cried out.
He came along crying: “Every one is commanded to be in the King’s
presence on the fourth day from this to hear the riddles that the King
will propose. No man, woman, or child may stay at home except those who
are not able to walk.”
As the crier came along, Paka looked out and saw him, and he said to
those who were with him, “Call that man in and give him something to
eat.” Those who were with him said, “No, we cannot do that; he is a
disgusting-looking man; no one can bear to be near where he is.” But
Paka still said, “Call him to us.” The crier was called over; he came,
but he was ashamed to stand before the people who had called him.
Paka had the man wash himself. He gave him new clothes, and he bade him
sit down and eat. He ate until he was satisfied. Then said the King’s
crier: “I have travelled all around the Island, and no one has ever
given me food before. Now at last I have found out that pork and yams
and bananas are pleasant to the taste. How can I pay you for this?”
And then the King’s crier said: “I will pay you by telling you the
answers to the riddles that the King will propose. He will ask you to
join in the game, and if you join and are not able to answer the
riddles, he will have you slain. But if you are able to answer them, he
will have to give you whatever possession of his you ask for. This is
the first riddle that he will ask:
“‘Put it all around from top to bottom,
Leave, and leave a place with nothing around.’
The answer is a house, for the thatch goes around from top to bottom,
with a place not thatched for the doorway. And this is the second
riddle that he will ask:
“‘The men that stand up,
The men that lie down,
The men that are folded.’
The answer to that, too, is a house, for the timbers stand up, the
beams lie down, the thatch is folded. If you have an answer for these
two riddles, you may join in the game, and the King cannot have you
slain.”
The fourth day after this Paka went with the rest of the people to the
King’s house. The King saw him, and he called out, “Let the stranger be
seated here.” Paka went and sat near him. And then after a while the
King said, “Will the stranger join in the game?”
“I will,” Paka said, “but you must tell me the conditions of the game.”
“These are the conditions,” said the King. “I have two riddles to give
out: if you enter the game and cannot answer them correctly, you will
be slain; if you can answer them correctly, you are free to leave my
land and to take with you any possession of mine that you choose.” “I
will enter the game,” said Paka.
Then said the King: “This is the first riddle:
“‘Put it all around from top to bottom,
Leave, and leave a place with nothing around.’”
Paka waited. He waited, watching an oven that was being heated. If he
did not give the correct answer, he would be flung into that oven. When
the oven was all heated, he said:
“It is a house. A house is thatched all around, with a place for the
doorway left open.”
“Then answer my second riddle,” said the King, and he gave it out:
“The men that stand up,
The men that lie down,
The men that are folded.”
“The answer to that, too,” said Paka, “is a house. For the timbers of a
house stand up, the beams lie down, the thatch is folded.”
“That is the answer, but who has told you?” cried the King.
He was not able to have Paka killed, and he had to give him whatever
Paka chose to ask for. And Paka asked for the Princess Mako-lea who had
been stolen away from him. He asked for her, and he was brought into
another house. And there he beheld the Princess. And when he looked on
her he knew that when his foster-father had said that she was faultless
as the full moon he had spoken the truth. He took her back to Kona, to
the house of her father and her mother, and in Kona they were wed, Paka
and Mako-kea. And his two foster-fathers, Ki-i the Goer and Ki-i the
Stayer, married Mako-lea’s two attendants; and thereafter the two
elders lived so well that they almost came to forget Pali-uli, the
easeful land.