Moloka'i (18 page)

Rachel’s hands found the crater’s lip. She pulled herself up and over, then tumbled down the outside slope.

She quickly got to her feet and ran through the prickly, smelly lantana scrub, finally locating the trail she had ascended two days ago. She glanced back to see if she was being pursued, but there was only sunlight behind her. The trail was no longer so muddy and she covered its length in half the time it had taken during the rainstorm.

When she reached the main road she had no idea which direction to take, and didn’t care. She stopped for only a moment to catch her breath, then ran down the road.

When it became apparent Moko was not following her, Rachel slowed to a fast walk. She was thirsty, tired, and achy, but she did not stop.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably only half that, Rachel was startled to hear a sound behind her. She turned, prepared to run again.

It wasn’t Moko but a man on a horse, moving at a leisurely gait up the road. When he saw Rachel his eyes widened and he brought the horse to a stop.

Rachel took a step backwards, uncertain what to make of this. The man was a leper, not as old as Moko, and he was smiling puzzledly at her.

“Aloha,”
he said cheerfully.

Rachel just stared silently at him.

“You lost?” the rider asked.

Rachel nodded hesitantly.

“Where you tryin’ to get to?”

Rachel told him, “Kalawao.” She added, “I’m looking for my Uncle Pono.”

“Kalawao’s where I’m headed, too. You want a ride?”

Unsure whether she could trust him, Rachel shook her head. “No thanks.”

She turned and started off down the road again, at least confident now she was heading in the right direction. The rider seemed amused and paced her on his horse. “Well, how ’bout I tag along? That okay with you?”

Rachel shrugged. “If you want.”

“How’d you get all the way out here, anyway?”

“I walked.”

“From where? Kalaupapa?”

She nodded. He made a low whistle. “That’s some walk,” he said admiringly. “And you still got a ways to go. Sure you don’t want that ride?”

After five minutes Rachel finally relented and allowed the man, whose name was Nohi, to lift her up onto the saddle in front of him. She grabbed hold of the saddle horn, and they went galloping up the road—like real cowboys!

By noon they had arrived in Kalawao, where their presence was made known to Brother Dutton. Dutton rounded up Sister Catherine, now searching farther down the coast, and whose joy on seeing the child was considerable. “Rachel!” she cried, running in a most indecorous manner to meet her. Rachel fell into Catherine’s arms and wept with exhaustion and relief, her anger at the sister not forgotten but insignificant. Catherine held her, stroked her hair, and thanked God for bringing her back safely.

Brother Dutton rewarded Nohi with a bountiful lunch at Baldwin Home. Catherine replaced the rag on Rachel’s leg with a clean bandage, then took her to Pono’s house.

When Rachel saw her uncle she knew that despite everything she had been through, she had been right to come to Kalawao. Though his drawn face brightened on seeing her, for once he didn’t make a joke upon seeing her; he seemed unable to collect his thoughts to think of one.

Haleola and Catherine watched from the doorway as Pono tried to tickle Rachel in a weak mimicry of his old self. “It’s like he wants to be Pono,” Haleola said, “but he’s forgotten how.”

“He hasn’t forgotten. He just doesn’t have the strength.” Catherine added gently, “It’s a hard thing, to love someone and not be able to show it.”

The tenderness, the womanliness, in the sister’s voice surprised and touched Haleola.

Rachel lay with her arms around Pono until, fatigued by the attention, he drifted off to sleep. Rachel wanted to stay there, to keep holding him so he couldn’t slip away, but Haleola gently took her in her arms and carried her outside. Feeling more grown-up than she wanted to be, Rachel asked her, “Is Uncle Pono going to die?”

“Yes, Aouli, I think so.”

“Can I stay?”

Catherine made a special trip to Kalaupapa and back to ask that very question of Mother, who agreed that she could—for a few days, at least. Over the course of those days Rachel rarely left Pono’s side; and in the middle of her third night in Kalawao, as she slept on a pallet between Pono and Haleola, Rachel woke to familiar laughter. Pono was sitting up in bed, awake and alert—and laughing that old cackling laugh Rachel recalled from so many a family feast. Haleola woke now and watched in amazement as Pono reached out and took Rachel in his arms. “ ’Ey, there’s my favorite niece!” he said in a clear, strong voice, tickling her with all the zest of Pono in his prime. “My special girl!” He held and tickled her for nearly five full minutes, continuing to laugh long after he finally let go of her and leaned back onto the bed, his eyes drooping slowly shut. He even seemed to be chuckling in his sleep.

He never shared the joke with them, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty funny.

B

rother Dutton had Pono’s grave dug in the little cemetery bordering Siloama Church. Its pastor, Reverend Waiwaiole, officiated at his funeral. Sisters Catherine and Leopoldina attended along with Haleola and Rachel, as did Ambrose Hutchison, who gave a brief eulogy for “President” Pono.

Rachel kept a brave face throughout the funeral, but afterward, alone with Haleola, she allowed herself to cry, mourning not just Pono but everyone she had lost so suddenly. Haleola cradled her in her arms and said, “You still have me, Aouli. Can I be your
h
nai
aunt—your adopted auntie?” Strictly speaking, only blood relatives could
h
nai
a child, but Rachel nodded gratefully. Yet even as she held onto Haleola’s comforting warmth she was afraid it too would be taken from her.

Rachel said hopefully, “Sister Catherine says that when people die, they go to Heaven.”

Haleola considered that. “Sister Catherine’s Heaven is not mine,” she told Rachel, “but certain things are true for both of us. In the old days it was said that the world beyond was made up of two realms: one of eternal sleep and darkness, and another in which the dead were reunited with the spirits of their ancestors—their '
aum
kua
. There were forests and streams in this place, and newcomers enjoyed life there as they do here—dancing, playing games, cherishing family. If that is Heaven, then yes, some of us go there.”

Disappointed, Rachel asked, “So you have to die before you see your family again?”

“No,” Haleola said, “not always. Our '
aum
kua
often look after us here on earth. Some take the form of sharks, and if a descendant is drowning in the sea, the shark may offer up its fin to pull them to shore. Other spirits become owls, fish, lizards, whatever permits them to watch over their family.

“There is an old prayer: ‘'
Aum
kua
of the night, watch over your offspring, enfold them in the belt of light.’ ”

Rachel smiled a little at this; for the moment, at least, her soul seemed lighter. And as the
pali
carried away the afternoon sun, it took with it the remainder of Rachel’s time at Kalawao. She got into the wagon beside Catherine, waved goodbye to her new aunt, and was back at Bishop Home by sunset. Emily and the other girls had already heard rumors of Rachel’s journeys and they stayed up late listening to Rachel tell her tale again and again, especially the part about the wild pig. Rachel skipped over her time with Moko, but that night it came back to her, unbidden. She dreamt she was back at Kauhak
, washing Moko’s clothes, feeling the flat of his hand against her cheek, and she woke sobbing from the nightmare. As she wept she heard someone suddenly ask,
“Who?”
—but when she looked around, saw there was no one else awake in the room. She heard the query again and realized it was coming from outside. She went to the window, peered into the darkness . . . and saw, sitting on the branch of a small sapling, an owl. There was a momentary flash of moonlight in its great round eyes—then swiftly, silently, it took to the air, and Rachel watched its noiseless flight over the building and out of sight. Rachel smiled, somehow no longer afraid, and went back to bed: surrounded by darkness yet enfolded in light.