One day Māui came to Hina, his mother, with tears running down his cheeks. “Why do you weep?” she asked him.
“For my wife. That wicked chief, Pe‘ape‘a-the-eight-eyed, has stolen her.”
“You are Māui, the Quick One. Could you not catch that evil chief?”
“I followed as swiftly as I could,” Māui replied, “but Pe‘ape‘a flew with her to his own island. I cannot follow through the air. O, Mother, what shall I do?”
“Go to your grandfather. He is very wise.”
Māui found his grandfather. “Pe‘ape‘a-the-eight-eyed has stolen my dear wife,” he said.
“You are Māui, the Quick One?” the old man asked.
“Yes.”
“Then go at once and bring these things I ask for: ‘ie‘ie rootlets, such as are used in making baskets, ti leaves, and feathers like those in cloaks and helmets. Bring enough to fill my house and bring them quickly.”
Māui did as the old man commanded. “Good!” his grandfather exclaimed. “Come back in three days’ time. I shall be ready.”
On the third day Māui returned. His grandfather had made a big bird. He had made it of ‘ie‘ie rootlets and covered it with leaves and feathers. “It is ready,” the old man said. “Inside the bird you will find cords. With them you can flap its wings and make it fly. Also there is a bundle of food.
“Now listen carefully to all my words. Fly to the island of Pe‘ape‘a. You will see its people gathered on the beach. Pe‘ape‘a will be there and your wife. Fly out over the ocean. When you return people will see you. Listen to their shouts. If you hear Pe‘ape‘a say that you are his bird, all will be well. He will have you taken into his sleeping house, and you can save your wife.”
Māui thanked his grandfather, got into the bird, pulled the cords to flap the wings, and flew. For two days and two nights he flew, then reached the island of Pe‘ape‘a. He saw people on the beach as his grandfather had foretold. He flew past them out over the ocean. He flew far dipping close to the waves, then soaring high. As he returned he heard shouts, “See that great bird!”
“Perhaps it is my bird,” said Pe‘ape‘a. “If it lights on my sacred box the bird is mine.” So Māui lighted on the sacred box, and Pe‘ape‘a told his servants to carry the box, with the bird on it, into the sleeping house. There Māui waited.
Through the eyes of the bird he watched as people came in and stretched out on piles of mats. They pulled kapa covers over them and closed their eyes in sleep. But Pe‘ape‘a had eight eyes! One of them closed, and after a time four more. But three eyes were open all night long.
Would they never close? Māui dared not get out of the bird while that wicked chief was watching. Morning would come. Everyone would waken. He might be found and killed! Māui sent a secret call to Hina, his powerful mother,
“O Hina,
Hold back the night.
Let darkness rest upon the eyes of Pe‘ape‘a
That I may save my wife.”
Hina heard and left the darkness resting on that island. Slowly two more of the chief’s eyes closed. Still Māui waited. Would the eighth eye never sleep?
At last it closed. Māui slipped out of the great bird, and cut off the head of Pe‘ape‘a, for Māui knew he was a very wicked chief. Then the hero roused his wife and helped her into the bird. Now the bird must fly away, so Māui tore a great hole in the roof before he too got in.
Away they flew through the opening. Winds beat upon the bird and rain fell, but Māui and his wife were safe inside.
The grandfather was watching as Māui stepped out of the bird. “Where is your wife?” he asked. “Did you not save her?”
“Yes. She is safe inside.” And Māui lifted her out.
They thanked the grandfather, and then returned to Hina. There was great joy because Māui’s wife was saved.
From More Hawaiian Folk Tales by T. G. Thrum