It’s 1967. In the heights of Ka’ulula’au street, a 29-year-old Hawaiian girl sits among her kupuna strumming her late grandfather’s prized possession. It's his ukulele made from Koa, or acacia.
Everyone sits in rapt attention, enjoying the beautiful lilt of her voice because it is that of an older woman with a lifetime of experience. No one would think that Hawaiian music was transcendent, but if it were, this would be it. As well, no one worried about their jobs and the bills that needed to be paid, so they could feed their large family. Some ‘ohana who lived on Ka’ulula’au street had 13 mouths to feed, which is why food never went to waste, and neither did rare moments like this, where a good Hawaiian mele could make the world go away, if only for a few precious moments.Her name was Ke‘alaloa‘opi’ilani, otherwise simply referred to as ‘Ala. She finished with None’ Hula and transcended to Kaulana Nā Pua. Many of the kupuna who were well into their dotage took a deep breath when they recognized the strumming because some of them had lived the words of that mele.
Ua lawa mākou i ka pohaku
I ka ‘ai kamaha’o o ka ‘āina
We are satisfied to eat stones
astonishing food of the land
In their younger days, they were present at the overthrow of the Hawaiian kingdom, a day when they became third-class citizens in their own land. It was something they carried with them for the remainder of their days. One old Hawaiian man cautioned that they shouldn’t sing that mele too loud because some of the neighbors were Kahu at their churches, and who knows if the authorities find out, what they might do?
That old Hawaiian man was summarily ignored, and the music went on, and the rest of the kupuna wept quietly. ‘Ala noticed the hour was past 8:30 pm. Tomorrow was a work day, and most everyone had a city or state job, so it was time for a shower and bed.
“Break ranks,” ‘Ala chuckled. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
Everyone agreed and applauded ‘Ala for her music that evening. Hugs were exchanged before all went their separate ways. Lingering about was Richard Ho’opi’i, who had a bouquet of flowers lying on the front seat of his work truck. With deft skill, he’d already managed to retrieve the flowers just as ‘Ala finished singing the last medley.
“For you ‘Ala,” he said as he held out the boquet for her to take.
“What is this?” She was taken aback.
“You play good music, you should make a record,” Richard chuckled because of his shy nature.
“Richard,” ‘Ala began. “This is only kanikapila, like a get-together kine. I don’t need flowers for that.”
Zipping up her ‘ukulele into its case, ‘Ala walked away, bewildered as to why Richard would do such a thing. Dejected, Richard tossed the flowers into the garbage can and walked back to his house across the street. ‘Ala didn’t know what to say and found Richard’s actions to be very strange.
“You can play good music and you can sing like no one can,” ‘Ala’s sister Mele chided her. “But you’re really stupid when it comes to other things.”
“What do you mean?” ‘Ala asked.
“Richard bought you flowers, he likes you!” Mele was exhausted at her sister's lack of understanding when it came to affairs of the heart. “Men don’t give women flowers for no reason.”
“Oh,” ‘Ala answered a bit confused. “He should have said something then.”
“He did say something,” Mele said. “He told you you were special, and you shit on him.”
“I dunno what you like me do, Mele,” ‘Ala returned.
“Never mind, ‘Ala,” Mele shook her head and walked into the house, disappearing into her room.
Later in the evening, Mele retrieved the bouquet from the garbage can and placed the flowers in a vase of water. The following morning, as Richard was leaving for work, he saw the flowers he had thrown away now sitting in a glass vase. At that moment, Mele walked up to Richard’s vehicle.
“No sesne pohō the flowers,” she smiled. “They’re too nice, so I gave them some water in a nice place. You like it?”
“Yeah,” Richard gulped because Mele was just as beautiful as ‘Ala. “Nice the way you made ‘um.”
In a year, Richard and Mele were married, and during the ceremony and wedding lū’au, ‘Ala sang the Hawaiian wedding song for Mele’s hula to Richard. Richard, in turn, sang Ku’u Ipo by Elvis Presley. It was a beautiful evening, and after all the festivities died down and people were leaving, Richard and Mele drove to the airport for their honeymoon in Kona, which is where most of the Hawaiians who lived on Ka’ulu’lā’au were from.
After riding home from the airport, having said their goodbyes and well wishes to Richard and Mele, ‘Ala leaned forward from her backseat chair and asked, “Papa, Mama, did I miss out?”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“Well, with Richard. He gave me flowers one night, but I told him there was no need because we were just playing music. However, Mele ended up marrying him now. Did I miss something?” She asked.
“The thing is, you really ‘akamai but you no catch the clue,” ‘Ala’s father smiled. “You're going to know when that person is for you, whoever it is.”
“Geeze, Daddy, I’m 29 already. I'm going to be 30 next year,” ‘Ala blustered. “I hope it's soon!”
When Richard and Mele returned from their honeymoon, a letter was waiting in the mail. It was a draft notice from the United States Marine Corps. Richard had been drafted into the Vietnam War. Luckily, he had a month before he had to ship out, so he and Mele did everything they could to spend time together. Especially with Richard’s parents. The day eventually came when tearful goodbyes were exchanged at the airport. Richard walked off alone, boarding the plane with Mele in tears.
Richard came back whole, with a few scars to show for his time in Vietnam, but it was the mental and emotional scars that wrecked the young man from Ka’ululā’au. He’d have terrible nightmares, and when he wasn’t short-tempered with Mele, he was off in the mountains somewhere above Papakolea. He wouldn’t come out for days, except to perhaps bathe, have a hot meal, and he was off again. One day, Richard never came back, and after a while, he was finally declared missing.
At 35 years old, ‘Ala had a suitor she met while dispatching for the Honolulu Police Department. He was the overnight janitor who also worked a part-time job in refuse, on the garbage truck. He was frugal because he saved money, but he was fun, and he could play guitar really well. ‘Ala didn’t know this until a Christmas party was held for the dispatch department. Someone invited the janitor, whose name was Kaumakani, a Kaua’i boy. ‘Ala’s supervisor took the microphone and announced, “Anybody can play Hawaiian music? If you get your ‘ukulele, your pakini, or your guitar, come play. The band we were supposed to have tonight has been cancelled at the last minute! Unreal, yeah?”
There were only two who brought their instruments. One was an ‘ukulele, and the other was a guitar. That’s how ‘Ala and Kaumakani met. They started off with Ho’i Mai Liza and Blue Darling. Their final song was Nani Kaua’i. By the end, without words spoken, the two were in love.
It was a Sunday evening, and Monday was a holiday. Everyone gathered in the open-air lounge next to the house. Songs and hula permeated the festive atmosphere, and everyone drank to their heart's content without worry of having to wake up the next morning. Mele sat on the side, still brokenhearted and still bearing those mental and physical scars from Richard’s abuse. ‘Ala and Kaumakani harmonized Sam Cooke’s version of Summertime. It raised the hackles on the backs of everyone’s necks. Before they knew it, people found themselves rocking back and forth. Mele kept her head down as her little boy walked past her and went to sit in the lap of her own mother. Mele wasn’t mentally stable enough to raise the child that she and Richard had together, that Kuleana was left to her mother and ‘Ala. Kaumakani started off with the rolling strum. When ‘Ala came in, they sang The Air That I Breathe, which they smoothly transitioned into the last song. I’ll Remember You by Kui Lee.
The lyrics came, and everyone sat back and relaxed. Couples held hands while others got up to dance. No one seemed to take notice of the empty vase sitting in the middle of the table. Without water, and filled with peeled cigarette buts, a bouquet of flowers bloomed from within the vase. Not right away, but slowly one by one, until their bright colors could not be ignored. The music stopped suddenly, and all in attendance directed their attention to the vase. The flowers changed colors, from a bright red to a blue. Purple, orange, then yellow. Finally, it went white and stayed that way for the rest of the evening.
“It’s you he loved,” Mele spoke up. “He told me the whole time we were married, especially after he beat me up. He’d throw it in my face, and here he is now, bringing flowers back to life that aren’t even sitting in that vase! How the fuck is that? I ignored it because I thought my love could make him forget you, but he never did. Not even in death. Why couldn’t you have just accepted the flowers back then? I wouldn’t be fucked up now, the way I am. It’s your fault for being so clueless and so selfish.”
Mele got up and left, walking past her son, who sat on his tutu’s lap, not even knowing that his mother had just walked past him.
“Never mind her, everybody,” Ala's mother said. “Play, keep playing. I’ll go talk to her. ‘Ala watch Likeke, I’ll be right back.”
Likeke, the Hawaiianized name for Richard walked to his aunt and sat next to her on the bench with Kaumakani on the other side. In a few years, ‘Ala’s mother passed, and by that time, Mele had taken off somewhere, and no one would see her after that. ‘Ala’s father died shortly after his wife passed; one could not survive without the other. That was certain. The kuleana of raising Likeke fell on ‘Ala, and she accepted the task as naturally as breathing. She loved her nephew, and he grew up never wanting for anything. He would graduate from Richardson School of Law at the University of Hawaii and go on to join a law firm in Santa Barbara. Word would later surface that his aunt Mele was found dead in a back room at the old Union Bar on Hotel Street. Likeke would never learn that Mele was his real mother. With the bereft of her parents, Kaumakani and ‘Ala became married in the living room of their home. Their honeymoon was spent in Kona, where Likeke would accompany them. Soon, the house would be filled with their own children and grandchildren. All of them learned to play ‘ukulele, guitar, stand-up bass, and piano. They were quite the group, but every Christmas when the entire ‘ohana gathered at the lounge, the night would surely end with blooming flowers everywhere. Not only from some old empty jar, but from between the cracks of the concrete walls and flooring. ‘Ala and Kaumakani never explained to anyone about the wonderous occurrence of the profusion of various colored flowers decorating such a humble location. Maybe it was Richard’s spirit, happy to see his son grow up and become very successful. It may have been Mele, too, for all we know. However, life on Ka’ulula’au never ceased and even until today, the family and extended family sing into the late hours of the night. Do you have a request?
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