Kapu-Sacred

By Victoria Heckman

What would you do if you received information that could save the lives of strangers, but could also get you killed? Nomadic basket weaver Coconut Man faces this when he wanders into a village to sell his baskets and overhears a murder plot that brings war not only to this village, but to the entire island. How does a man with no status in the community change its destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victoria Heckman
• Release date: Jun 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458158949

Victoria Heckman

Victoria Heckman's first Hawai'i mystery series features officer Katrina Ogden, K.O., of the Honolulu Police Department. Her second series, Coconut Man mysteries of Ancient Hawai’i begins with Kapu-Sacred. Her third series starts with Burn Out, a mystery starring animal communicator Elizabeth Murphy set on California’s Central Coast and continues with Wet Work. Stand alone mystery, Pearl Harbor Blues, begins on Dec. 7, 1941 and uncovers a dynasty of corporate intrigue. Her fourth K.O.’d, K.O.’d at Banzai Pipeline sends her to the big surf contests of O’ahu’s North Shore (Jan.2016) She is VP of the SinC-Central Coast Chapter. Visit her website www.victoriaheckman.com or or friend her on Facebook &Twitter.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Coconut Man twisted the long olonā fibers around his feet and snugged against the coconut palm. The fibers kept his feet a set distance apart and allowed him to hop and scoot up the smooth trunk until he settled, comfortably squatting, at the base of the fronds. Sweat trickled down his brow. He inhaled deeply the salty ocean air and surveyed the clearing. All was quiet in the early morning. He preferred to collect his materials before the village was awake and bustling in its eagerness to start the day. The small rustlings of birds were all the accompaniment he wanted.

Although he could not see the nearby ocean through the jungle, he could see slivers of the green-brown Wai river rushing past, a hundred feet from the edge of the village.

His work-swollen hand pulled the shark-tooth knife from his malo-- loincloth--and he severed the longest and most beautiful fronds. Each lacy branch fell gracefully, with a shhhoooosh as it hit the ground. He was in no hurry. When the sun was above the trees and he felt he’d cut enough fronds to weave his customary number of baskets and hats, only then he freed a large coconut and carefully husked it, all the while clinging to the trunk with only the security of the twisted vine around his feet. He punctured one of the eyes and salivated at the sweet scent of the milk. He drank deeply, then cut out a wedge of shell and scraped at the meat with his strong teeth, made slightly jagged from years of using them as tools, or as a third hand in his daily work.

He slid to the ground and squatted by the branches, inspecting them carefully. He would spend the rest of the day weaving them into baskets of varying size and utility. Some he would weave into hats. He would trade them for food, kapa sleeping cloths, shark’s teeth and other items he needed, but would not or could not make for himself. Only women made the fine kapa cloth for sleeping and clothing. He was not a skilled fisherman, although he could fish when pressed. He could not swim well, an oddity in this coastal community, and thus refused to enter water too deep to wade. He could tickle an octopus with a cowrie lure, or catch the delicious ‘ōpae shrimp in the Wai river, but he preferred to trade for much of his food. Some foods, like bananas, poi, and anything red, the women were not allowed to handle, so he approached the elder men for those. He spent his days away from the village, unusually nomadic in this familial, but highly structured community. He traveled regularly among villages, another anomaly, but this was not widely known. He was just niu kanaka, a coconut man, who made baskets and hats, who came and went in silence and was the subject of speculation. Soon, it was his name as well as his occupation.

Voices approaching the clearing broke his concentration and he shoved the fronds back into the jungle and squatted, nearly invisible, in the foliage.

"Nuu! You are so lazy! I’m doing all the work and you’re carrying one little bundle of pili grass!"

Coconut Man recognized the voice of ‘Ehu, an ebullient, stocky man named Red, for the interesting color his skin turned when he was excited, angry, or exerting, like now.

Two men approached the clearing from the mountains to the north. Each was laden with huge bundles of long grasses, tied on, so he was nearly enveloped.

‘Ehu, if your face gets any redder, the women won’t be able to touch you! Nuu joked.

‘Ehu turned even redder at the innuendo. Lehua won’t let anyone touch me, anyway. Even though our wedding isn’t until next month, she’s already bossing me around. ‘Ehu said this with a smile.

"We’d better get this pili back and start building your marriage house. If we don’t make the stone foundation solid, and this grass roof water-proof, you two will bring down the hale on your wedding night!"

Coconut Man watched ‘Ehu struggle to chase Nuu out of the clearing and down the trail to the village. He smiled to think of how close the two friends were. Like brothers. And ‘Ehu and Lehua. Married soon. Coconut Man had never married. The thought made him a little wistful. He was half-way through his life, and happy enough, but lonely sometimes. ‘Ehu and Lehua were a good match. So much in love, they were the objects of much teasing in the village. Everyone was excited about the ceremony and nearly everyone had some integral part in the wedding and post-wedding plans. Like the hale. A married couple moved out of the separated men’s and women’s sleeping quarters and lived together in a hale built for them by the villagers. Stones for the foundation were brought from the mountains, a tedious job for many small boys.

The men built the foundation, dry stone--no mortar--fit together one at a time and with many prayers. Pili grass, brought in large bundles, was woven together over wood ridge poles, tied and blessed against the weather.

Coconut Man sighed. Would a marriage house ever be made for him? He would attend ‘Ehu’s ceremony. He always attended such celebrations. Although he was not specifically invited, the villages he frequented were too polite to exclude him outright. This would be no different. He would be given a place to sit and eat. He would listen and pray with them. He would make the most beautiful and elaborate basket for ‘Ehu and Lehua. He would infuse each strand of coconut fiber with his strongest and most heart-felt prayers for the couple’s happiness.

With that in mind, he again assessed the fronds. "ʻAe." Yes. He gathered the greens, his tools, and some food, and set off to the ocean, an hour’s walk away, where he would begin his day of prayer and weaving.

Chapter 2

Once on the shore, Coconut Man found a level area on the lava rock strewn beach. The sky was clear and a pale, searing blue. He spread out the fronds and selected a long branch with lime-green leaves. In about a year of curing, even the greenest baskets and hats would dry to a dusty beige, and with care, would last for many years of hard use. He was proud of his baskets, their beauty and strength. For the wedding couple, he would weave frond-blossoms and twist them into the pattern. This storage basket would be a double-weave, with a looping cross pattern. He would make a set for them, he decided with satisfaction. His hands worked quickly and surely. Once in a while, he glanced at the rolling waves, but mostly his attention was fixed on the basket. He prayed as he wove, imbuing the piece with good luck for the users.

Bless this work

Bless this work

May the strength

And bounty

Of the niu

From the root to the fruit

Stay with ‘Ehu and Lehua

With ‘Ehu and Lehua

And all their children

And na keiki

When the basket was finished, he carefully turned it in his large hands, tightening the weave here, tucking in the last edges there. He nodded, satisfied. He would begin the curing soon, but his growling stomach reminded him of the time.

He stood and stretched. His knees cracked. Eh, not so young anymore. Coconut Man felt new aches in his hands and hips that he hadn’t felt even last Makahiki-- harvest festival.

He opened a packet of poke wrapped in kī leaves. The bright green leaves spread like flower petals and juices from the raw fish and vegetables dripped onto the sand. He used his fingers to scoop out the delicious mix. Salt tang puckered his cheeks and he sucked in.

He drank deeply from his calabash, a gourd filled with fresh water. He squinted down the beach and saw some of the children from the village playing in the waves and along the shore. As he watched, their faraway voices became clearer. Their laughter and banter lifted his heart and eased his tired fingers. Kaleo, so named for his incredibly strident cries at birth, was of course, the easiest to hear. He was aptly named, for even as he grew, he could always be heard, even when he insisted he was whispering.

Kaleo was holding something at arm’s length and chasing Honu, a pretty little girl, who had been born the night the turtles hatched and made their way to the sea.

Coconut Man walked down the beach to watch. Many of the children were in the water, using an old canoe as a diving raft. Honu clearly enjoyed Kaleo’s attention; although she shrieked and ran from whatever he had, she ran slowly enough that Kaleo didn’t give up the chase.

Coconut Man moved away from the water to sit in the stand of trees lining the shore. He wasn’t hiding, but didn’t want to alarm the children. He knew he was an odd figure with his large-brimmed coconut frond hat, his hermit ways, and his nomadic life.

Kaleo held a baby octopus, or rather it held him. Honu saw Coconut Man sitting in the shade and stopped running long enough for Kaleo to thrust the baby heʻe up to her face. She reared back but didn’t run, and Kaleo turned to follow her gaze.

Coconut Man was surprised to see the boy immediately walk toward him, Honu following somewhat reluctantly. Patiently, he waited while the two approached. He smiled at them as they boldly studied him. He supposed he didn’t fit the category of adults they were taught to address with respect and ritual. To his recollection, he had never spoken directly to any of the children in this village. Kaleo, arms dangling, still held the now limp octopus.

Are you going to eat that? Coconut Man asked.

What?

This clearly was not what Kaleo expected to hear. Coconut Man pointed to the heʻe.

That. Are you going to eat that? It’s a little small. Better if you let it get big, get babies, before you eat it.

Kaleo lifted his hand and examined his prize. Honu’s big brown eyes never left Coconut Man’s face.

I guess not. He dropped his hand once more. What’s your name?

I’m called Coconut Man.

I know. Everybody calls you that. But what’s your name?

An interesting question. He had a name once. A real name. He truly didn’t remember what it was.

I’m just. . . Coconut Man.

Kaleo raised his eyebrows in the way that meant yes, as if he, at the tender age of ten seasons, understood how that could be. I’m Kaleo.

I know. Coconut Man smiled.

Kaleo grinned. Everybody knows me, he said with some pride. This is Honu.

Honu ducked her head, her long hair hiding her eyes, but her wide smile shone through the strands. Did you make that hat?

Yes. Do you like it?

Yes. I’ve never seen a hat like that. Honu stepped closer.

Me, neither, said Coconut Man. That’s why I make them like this. I’m the only one who does. Maybe I’ll make you one someday.

"Mahalo."

You’re welcome. What about you? he asked Kaleo.

I never wear hats. But, I might. If you made it. They smiled at each other, some agreement and kinship forming.

"Let’s put your heʻe back into the sea so he, or she, Coconut Man added to Honu, can get big and strong and make more heʻe for us to eat!"

As the threesome headed to the shallow reef, the children in the surf stopped their play to watch. One by one, they trailed until Coconut Man, Kaleo and Honu had a small band of followers.

Coconut Man left the children playing in the surf and headed back to his basket. He set it, weighted with a rock to begin the curing process. He said a brief prayer and returned to the pile of fronds. He fingered a few, but somehow, after creating the special basket for the wedding couple and spending time with the children, he was not in the mood to weave. He did not want to spoil this part of the curing process, which was time consuming. After the basket had absorbed salt water from the pool, he set it, still weighted, on the sun-warmed rocks to dry. When it had nearly dried, he set it back in the tide pool. He repeated this process, soaking and drying three times.

He pulled the palm branches into the shade of the milo trees and took the basket with him. He wasn’t sure why he was restless, but decided he wanted to be near the bustle of the village. Walking back through the jungle with its scent of sweet-rotting foliage, through gulches between the hillsides, he surprised another man who also worked alone. Io, the net maker, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, stood at the base of a smooth-trunked kukui tree.

Slightly startled, Coconut Man called, "Aloha."

Io, working with his back to the trail, turned with a jerk, hands balled into fists. "Oh, you. Aloha," he said uncertainly.

I’m sorry to disturb you. I would have called out sooner to let you know I was here, but I was thinking of the coming wedding.

Oh, yes. Everyone is thinking of that! Io laughed. My Honu talks of nothing else. I think she has already picked out a groom for herself.

I met Honu and her ‘betrothed’ today, I believe. What are you doing?

"I am collecting kukui nuts for my nets."

What do you do with them? Coconut Man knew of many uses for kukui nuts. But, nets? Everyone used them for light, from small glows to large torches. The oil burned brightly. Also, eating too many of the raw nuts gave one diarrhea, as Coconut Man had experienced.

I use the dye to darken my nets. Since Coconut Man did not go out to sea, this failed to impress him. If the nets are dark, they are harder for the fish to see. Catch more fish that way.

Aah. Now he understood. Hmmm. Perhaps he could stain his baskets different colors, too. "Is that what is used to color kapa cloth?"

Io eyed him strangely. That is women’s work. Coconut Man waited. "Yes. They use kukui for that."

Can you show me?

Io looked startled. Now?

No. But sometime?

Io weighed this question. I suppose. After the wedding. I am busy making nets for a wedding present. Also, everyone’s nets seem to need mending. I am very busy, he repeated. Again, Coconut Man waited. Io sighed. Yes.

After the wedding. I will come to you. Coconut Man smiled. "Mahalo. I am an apt pupil. I will not take much of your time. Weaving nets is not unlike weaving baskets?"

It is very different! Io turned back to the tree. Coconut Man continued his walk toward the village, but not before he heard Io grumble, Well, perhaps, a little.

Approaching the village, Coconut Man heard the ringing tones of kapa beaters hitting hollow logs. Some rang high, some rang low, and the rhythmic sound amid the talk and laughter of the women cheered him. He knew the drumming would announce the wedding as that day drew near, just as the drums announced his return to the village when he had gone afar to trade. At present, it was a merry accompaniment to the intermittent mele the women sang as they worked.

He paused by Lele who knelt before her log. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head and pinned with a stick. Muscles in her arms, made sinewy by years of kapa beating, rippled as she worked. She pounded the pale wauke bark thin as cobweb, sprinkled it with water, folded it onto itself, then began again. She prayed softly to herself as she beat. Coconut Man understood the necessity to pray to the gods when performing some important task. Otherwise, how could one be sure the chore would turn out the best way it could? Lele folded the thin bark lengthwise and continued. When it was finished to her satisfaction, she squinted up at him.

"Aloha, Coconut Man."

"Aloha, Kapa Woman. He smiled at her. That is beautiful. Is it for the wedding couple?"

Yes. I must make it as soft and beautiful as I can to bless their union.

"ʻAe," Coconut Man agreed. It was important to do things properly. To start married life and create harmony, everything must be done correctly.

What do you do next? asked Coconut Man.

What do you mean? Lele looked at him strangely, her straight brows angled down.

"With the kapa. When do you dye it? What do you use?"

Ah. Lele looked as if this was not so odd a question from someone who was odd to begin with.

Coconut Man had felt a change in himself when Kaleo and Honu approached him so openly earlier at the beach. Ordinarily, he did not much care what others thought of him. He knew he was something of an outcast in the villages he visited, but that had never bothered him. Perhaps, he thought, he had never truly allowed himself to think about it before. A new feeling entered his heart, and he wished to explore it. At the moment, he wished to learn about kapa. Although it was women’s work, he saw that he could use the knowledge for his work as well.

Lele fingered the thin cloth. I must pound these strips into one big piece for the wedding bed. When that is finished, I must do a final beating with a beater carved with our family’s designs, handed down by my mother and the mothers before. It will leave a beautiful design in the cloth. I must pray and rest before I do that. If it is not done correctly, the design will not be even and could bring bad luck to the marriage bed.

I understand. Coconut Man nodded gravely. Although he had a sleeping kapa, it was not beautiful with designs made especially for him. His was plain, a castoff piece from some village; a section deemed not perfect enough to complete with designs and dyes. It kept him warm, kept away the wet, but that was all. Then do you dye it?

Yes. Lele smiled indulgently, as if to a child. Then I dye it.

What do you use? Can I watch?

We use many things. I will have to pray on what design and dye is best. I must think on it before I know if you can watch.

Coconut Man understood. Would a man watching change the luck of the users, if only women created kapa? Much to think about. Much to learn. Perhaps he could add color to his baskets. Or hats? Something he had never considered before. Perhaps he could add shells? He was filled with excitement at this new concept. People wore shells. Feathers. Necklaces made of hair. Why not his baskets?

"Mahalo, Lele. Many thanks. You have given me a great gift."

Lele looked surprised at his exuberance. You are welcome. But I have done nothing.

No, you have been kind. You shared with me. Coconut Man decided to make Lele a hat. A special hat, to shade her while she pounded kapa. Beating kapa was hard work and must be done in order, at the right time, whether or not the woman felt like doing it! That much he knew. So, he would make Lele the first of his special hats.

He wandered farther into the village, cradling ‘Ehu and Lehua’s basket protectively. He needed a safe place to let it dry until the wedding. Perhaps he would move his sleeping mats closer to the village. He rarely slept in the men’s sleeping house of any village he visited--only in times of the great storms that swirled and swept in from the sea, taking hales, uprooting trees, and some times, pulling people away, never to be seen again.

Chapter 3

Coconut Man found a place to lay his sleeping mat close behind the men’s sleeping hale. He tucked the wedding basket into a tree, where it would continue to dry in the sun.

He heard the children returning from the beach and poked his head around the hale to see. Along with the usual treasures keiki tended to collect, they had brought seaweed to have