If there is a location left to us with winds so correctly tempered, cool that it lulls you into a deep slumber, that would be the parking lot at Pu’iwa Park.
Historically, it was the storied site of Kamehameha’s decisive battle over the combined ‘O’ahu and Maui forces.Some sources say that the number of men and women killed in the area was so great that the Hawai’i Island forces had to create human mounds so that Kamehameha’s cannons and the rest of his army could advance on the forces of Kalanikupule. Two hundred and thirty years later, the once blood-soaked earth is a community park sitting at the back of Hanaiakamalama, Queen Emma’s summer palace.
Echoes of the great battle and the phantoms of those warriors who literally fought for life and land appear in fleeting moments, captured only by those who are spiritually receptive enough to receive the message. In the last seconds, dying for King and cause, for whom do those voices call out? For the gods, their father conqueror? Or do they call out for something much simpler? Their mothers?
~
Today, the park is known for winds so soothing that if you position your vehicle at a particular angle with the windows down, you’ll find that you have no need to turn on the a/c. The manufactured air cannot give you the maternal comfort of three winds, which may have married themselves to be one makani. Malailua, Puahiohio, and the Ka’ilikapa. Perhaps they have become so as a result of development encroaching on the Nu’uanu ahupua’a, where the winds can no longer follow their natural alignment? This is perhaps the reason why many families attend the park where they lay out blankets on the lawn and nap under the comfort of those maternal winds. For myself, my purpose in this sacred location is to sit and wait for the ho’ailona.
Years ago, another kind of battle was fought in this exact location. I was a different person back then, not the person you see now casually wearing slacks, loafers, and an undershirt with a blazer tossed on the back seat. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the car I’m driving now because its design didn’t follow that of its predecessor, the 1969 Dodge Charger. Back in the day, I drove the '95 Chevy Impala through this very same parking lot. It was half empty. There was a smattering of families in and around the play structure, while others ran around on the open lawn, swatting at floating bubbles emanating from a bubble machine. I reversed into the space facing the Boy Scouts headquarters, and all I could do was wait.
My informant told me that this is the spot where the group normally gathers, and that the subject of the investigation would be among them. They were a group of new age hippies who spoke in a high pitched saccarine tone of voice. For a person like me, that kinda thing grates on my nerves. However, my informant told me that one among them was not like the others and that it would be obvious. I just had to wait it out, because this park was their primary location where they did their new age, hippie activities. An hour passed, and nothing happened. No hippies, just families and couples who didn't technically belong to each other, met in their cars or walked to the far end of the park where they couldn’t be bothered. Suddenly, my Nextel phone came alive. Its ringtone was Strawberry Fields Forever.
“Yeah?”
“Change of location,” my informant chimed.
“Where?” I was irritable at the last-minute change. I hate last-minute changes.
“Not too far up the road. You know where Kaniakapupu is?”
“Yeah,” I sighed.
“They are there now,” he said. “Just pretend you’re a hiker or something.
“Why don’t YOU go up there and pretend that you’re a hiker? I’m dressed the way I’m dressed, and it's too damned late to be subtle,” I shot back. “Do you want this done or not?”
“Of course, I do!” Jerry, always feigning emotional wounds. “You’ll see which one she is; she’s not like the others.”
He was right. Near the water reservoir was parked a repurposed mini-school bus, except it was painted over with flowers and a face reminiscent of the Peter Max era, which most of you are too young to remember. That’s a clear indication that they were at the ruins of Kamehameha III’s summer palace. Even at the entrance to the trail right off the road, I could hear the music. Tambourines, guitars, congo drums, and the singing of All You Need Is Love. All I need at this point is a stiff whiskey with a beer chaser, but that’s another story. It’s quite the trek if you’re not sure-footed. Roots are sticking out of the mud every few steps, but the real problem is the mosquitoes. Lucky thing I sprayed myself with repellent going up. The clearing is magnificent, and it must have been quite the sight in its heyday, hosting parties, lu’au, and the like with notable society people. Of course, in attendance, there would have to be the Hawaiian royal families, most especially the Kamehameha clan. Now, what little is left of such a storied history is a group of modern-day hippies, haole and local alike, dancing naked within the confines of Kaniakapupu.
There she was, obviously not naked. Not outwardly, but definitely under the sheer material covering that passed for a dress. The sunlight hit it in a way that one could see she was naked beneath it. While everyone else jumped and danced themselves into a frenzy, she calmly walked away from the undulating mob and lent her attention to the forest surrounding the structure. Her hair was made red by a constant presence in the sunlight, and her skin was dark for similar reasons. She was in her own world, separate from the world her friends danced in. She sat on a flat stone, crossed her legs together, and began humming in a low tone. Slowly, the tumult of music died down, and every person left their musical instruments where they lay and walked to her. Still naked, they sat on the forest floor at her feet.
Crossing their legs, they began to hum with her until they were one complete, deafening sound. It hurt my ears so much that my knees began to go weak, and I lost my balance. I stumbled back and forth, fighting to stay upright. The humming reached a murderous crescendo like a Stanley Kubrick movie, but suddenly it stopped. She opened her eyes and, looking right at me, she pointed in my direction. Everyone’s head snapped their head to the right. They saw me. They were on their feet in a second, all running at me.
I didn’t have to figure out what their intent was because it was obvious. I had to run, but not before I removed my 9mm from my waistband and shot off a round right above their heads. They screamed and fell to the ground. That was my cue. Run, idiot, run!
I made it to my car just in time, kicking up dirt and pavement as I went. Should I call my contact and bitch him out? No, I’ll just pay him a visit at his office on Fort Street Mall. He had a third-floor office at the old Blaisdell Hotel. Needless to say, he was very surprised to see me. So were the two potential hippie girls he was trying to recruit to become a part of that cult that just tried to kill me. I grabbed him by his hair and dragged him across his desk. A couple of punches to ring his clock worked nicely, and a few tosses up against the drywall told him that I meant business. Now, I have my gun in his mouth. Throughout the whole brief ordeal, the two potential hippie girls are still standing there in abject shock.
“Ladies, you may go,” I say calmly. “But leave your cell phones. That way, if the cops show up, I’ll know it was you, two, and I’ll find you and make your remaining days on this earth very unpleasant.”
They left quietly without a fuss.
“Why would you pay me and set me up like that?” I asked him. “Jerry, I’m asking you a question.” I removed the gun from his mouth at that point.
“A few months ago, I was up there at the falls real early in the morning, and I saw her there with some hippie-looking guy having sex, like right at the falls. She changed into some lizard thing and bit that guy's head off and consumed the rest of his body. I screamed like a girl..she saw me and chased after me because I tried to run but I didn’t get far. She told me if I wanted to live, I had to bring her hippies. I don’t know, I guessed she liked the taste of them or something. This wasn’t a setup by any means; you were supposed to kill her and ask no questions. I didn’t know she was gonna pull a burning man on you,” he shivered. “I swear I didn’t!”
Leaving him to himself and forgetting the whole thing happened, I went on with my life.
~
Yet, over time, stories surface about missing young people who joined a hippie group and were never seen again. So, here I am today, after years of nightmares, depression, and a proclivity for Tequila, waiting and watching.
I was dozing in and out of consciousness because of the soothing winds when I was suddenly awakened by the cacophony of tambourines marking out a beat for a very familiar song. All you need is love.
I awoke to see a group of young people seated around the same woman I had seen years ago at Kaniakapupu. Something in me snapped, not to the point of violence right away, but to the point of clarity. I left my car and walked directly to the small gathering. Before she could lock eyes with me, I had my gun in my hand. She finally saw me, and her group followed her gaze. Having their full attention, I raised my weapon and emptied out the clip on the potential hippies seated around her. They all got head shots. They had no chance to run or plead for their lives. They didn’t realize that I was sparing them, saving them from becoming her TV dinner. I took that away from her. The second gun I removed was for her and her alone. Not that it would have done any good, but how would I know? It was only then that I saw the rest of the park patrons running in any direction that would take them to safety. No followers for you today bitch. You keep recruiting them, and I’ll keep taking them away.
The grounds of Kamehameha’s old battle are now soaked in a different kind of blood. One that is justifiably spilled because of its twisted means. At least I think so, and unless she’s got a new recruiter, I gotta go find Jerry and put an end to this once and for all.
~
Lying there with her sacred form filled with nine millimeter bullets, she held her breath and tensed her body. The bullets pushed out from her opiate wounds and fell on the grass. She raised herself to her feet and screamed in rage at the sight of her acolytes, dead and besmirched by this interference of a lowly human. She could not sustain herself like this. There was a stream nearby where she would have to immerse her form to fully recover. Where was it now? Near the Oahu Country Club or the bottom of the rise behind the tennis courts? When she found it, it was a mere trickle yet she had to do it. The people who saw her screamed and scattered out of her way. By the time the police arrived, everyone was gone, and so was she. Gone to the falls where she lived at Lulumalu, awaiting the arrival of more food in the form of hippies.
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