Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Ho'omana

Manā & Nualolo Kai

The days slipped into weeks, then months, and finally nearly a year had passed since Lilina's passing. Chief Ho'omana busied himself with his work, rarely spending time at home. His duties as konohiki had drawn him back to his hometown of Manā, where he once again found himself surrounded by the same battles and rivalries of his brothers—conflicts he had sworn his daughter would never witness.

Nualolo Kai

Left in the cove, Alohi passed her days with the sea and her ocean friends. She helped Kaulana and Kapua with chores around the hale, and on bright, sunny mornings they ventured into the mountains toward Kalalau. There, the girls swam in streams and waterfalls while Kapua gathered medicinal la'au.

Alohi always thought of her mother when she saw hibiscus blossoms. Lilina had loved their color and beauty, always plucking them during their nature walks. One afternoon, Alohi stared at one such flower, sadness written across her face.

Kapua noticed. "Alohi? Makemake 'oe e ho'i?"

"A'ole hiki mākou i hele auau wai mamua 'o ka ho'i ana," Alohi replied softly, assuring that it was fine for them to swim in the freshwater pond before heading back.

They agreed, walking along the stream until Alohi sighed and looked up at her caretaker. "Anakē Kapua?"

"'Ae," Kapua answered.

"Hiki au i hele e ike i ku'u papa?" she asked quietly. If she could go and visit her father?

"A'ole au maopopo," Kapua admitted. She did not know if it was allowed. Chief Ho'omana had been clear—Alohi was not to leave the cove until his return.

Manā

Life in Manā was bustling. The floating lo'i beds demanded constant care, the uala fields and kahakai were alive with mahi'ai and lawai'a, and women wove kapa and lauhala mats in the shade of the hala groves.

Ho'omana worked hard during the day and found quiet corners at night to rest, but his grief always returned. Though his brothers sometimes pressed him to join their daily 'awa ceremonies, he rarely did. His thoughts wandered to Nualolo Kai, where his daughter lived without her mother—and him.

At night, guilt smothered him. She needs me. But she needs her mother more. How can I face her without her mum?

The previous evening, a canoe had brought him a letter from Kapua, requesting permission for Alohi to visit Manā. Ho'omana left it unanswered. He feared the noisy distractions of the village would tear her from the quiet, sheltered life he had planned for her. Instead, he walked the shores of Nohili, searching for a solution.

Nualolo Kai

"Lo'aa ka leka?" Alohi shouted as she raced toward Kuha'o's canoe, hope lighting her eyes.

"A'ole," Kuha'o sighed, delivering the painful news.

Tears pooled in Alohi's eyes. Does my father not wish to see me? Does he no longer love me?

Kapua gathered her in her arms while Kaulana rubbed her back.

"Does my father not love me anymore?" Alohi sobbed.

"Of course he does," Kaulana reassured her gently.

"Then why does he not wish to see me? It has been so many months since I last saw him."

No one had an answer. The guards and ladies, all of whom had moved to Nualolo with the Chief, wondered the same. Why did they remain in the cove when their chief no longer lived there?

Manā

"Palala, e hele mai he inu me mākou!" Chief Hulali called, urging his younger brother to join the night's celebration.

"A'ole. Mahalo nui. E ho'i ana wau ma Nualolo i ka lā pōpō," Ho'omana replied, informing him that he would depart for Nualolo the next morning.

His brothers let him be, sending him off with well wishes.

Nualolo Kai

By midday, the cove was alive with games. The guards tested their skill with spear throwing, aiming at a solid board wedged in a keawe branch, while the women combed the shoreline for shells to string into leis. Alohi laughed and joined both groups, her spirit momentarily light.

Then—"Wa'a!" Makani's voice rang from the beach. A canoe approached.

Everyone ran to greet their visitor. But when Alohi recognized her father, she froze, her chest tightening with confusion.

Does he even want to see me? Why didn't he answer?

Ho'omana greeted his guards and attendants warmly, but his eyes searched for only one face.

"Alohi?" he called, opening his arms.

"Papa?" she gasped, tears spilling as she ran to him.

"Why are you sad?" he asked, lifting her into his embrace.

"I thought...maybe you didn't love me anymore."

His brow furrowed. "Now why would you think such a thing?"

"Because you would not let me visit you in Manā. I thought you did not want to see me."

Ho'omana drew her close, steadying her trembling shoulders. "Oh, Alohi. How could I not love you? You are my child—the only one I have in this world. If there is no you, then there is no me. Do you understand?"

She nodded, sniffling. "Yes. Father."

"I love you, Kealohilani, the same way I loved your mother. Looking at you reminds me of her. As long as I breathe, I will always love you. You hear me?"

"'Ae, Papa," she whispered.

That night, after the canoe was unloaded, father and daughter sat together on the porch beneath the stars, singing songs and laughing as they once had, their voices weaving into the night.

"Papa?" Alohi asked softly.

"Hmmm?" he smiled.

"Will you be returning to the village soon?"

"In a month's time. Why?"

"Are you taking me with you?"

He turned to her, his eyes serious. "If that is what you want, then yes. But only to visit. You will not live there."

Alohi accepted his answer quietly, her heart caught between hope and longing.

⸻

The days that followed returned to their rhythm. Preparations for the new moon kept everyone busy. The women mended baskets, strung gourds for household use, and swept the hale clean. Alohi followed her father and the guards, picking 'opihi and spearfishing, her laughter echoing along the shore.

One afternoon, as they cracked open coconuts, she sighed. "I wish Mum were here."

"So do I," Ho'omana replied, his smile tinged with sorrow. They ate in silence, both holding close the memory of the woman they had lost, thankful for the moment they still shared.