“E! E! ‘Umi!” The shout rose from a crowd of small boys on the beach, as two surfers came rushing toward land. The taller boy fell with a splash as he neared the last line of breakers, but the smaller one stood until his board reached shallow water. Then he sprang off to wade ashore. His shouting companions joined him, eagerly carrying his surfboard.
“O ‘Umi,” a friend exclaimed, “you won the race, and Lako is a bigger boy.”
“Yes, he’s a head taller than you,” another added. “But, ‘Umi, you have cut your foot on coral. It is bleeding.”
“That is nothing,” ‘Umi replied. “Someday I shall be a warrior. Does a warrior weep over a coral scratch? I am hungry. Let us find food,” and he led his companions to his home.
Outside the men’s eating house stood a branch firmly set in the ground. From it hung gourds in net containers. ‘Umi quickly untied these nets and opened the gourds. “Here is poi,” he said, offering the food to his friends, “and here are fish and some bananas cooked in the imu. Eat all you want. There is much here.”
The boys squatted in the shade and ate hungrily. For a time no one spoke. Then, as he scraped the last bit of poi from the second gourd, ‘Ōma‘o said, “We’ve eaten every bit of food, ‘Umi. Won’t your father be angry?”
“Perhaps!” ‘Umi replied. “What of it? His garden is full of plants.”
“But weeding taro is hard work,” said ‘Ōma‘o slowly, “and pounding poi! Auē! The poi pounder grows heavy! Have you ever done that work, ‘Umi? Your father will come home hungry and find no food.”
“He will bring fish,” ‘Umi said carelessly. “We’ll make a fire and cook them over coals. I’ll do that while father rests. E! I can smell those broiled fish now!”
‘Ōma‘o laughed. “You always have an answer, clever one,” he said. He looked about. The other boys, well fed, had wandered off. Suddenly ‘Ōma‘o threw his arms about his friend. “O ‘Umi,” he cried, “you are the one I love the most in all the world. I helped to eat your food. Your father will punish you, and I don’t want him to. Let him whip me instead.”
“You are more than a friend,” said ‘Umi. “I shall adopt you as my ‘son.’ Then you can live with me, and we’ll share the beatings.
“Now you are my son,” he went on, “I’ll tell you a secret, ‘Ōma‘o. My ‘father’ is only my foster father.”
‘Ōma‘o stared at his companion, then exclaimed, “Is that true, ‘Umi? You never said that before.”
“Only last night my mother told me.”
“Who is your real father?” ‘Ōma‘o asked.
“I do not know. Just as I asked my mother, someone called. She had no time to answer. I shall ask again when we are by ourselves.”
But ‘Umi did not need to ask. Next morning the mother said, before them all—foster father and the boys—“ ‘Umi is the chief’s son.”
The three stared at her, puzzled. “The chief’s?” the foster father questioned. “You mean—?”
“Līloa.”
“The ruler of Hawai‘i? That cannot be.” The man spoke wonderingly.
The mother hurried away and returned with a kapa-wrapped bundle. From it she took a long feather cloak such as worn by a chief of high rank. She took out also a feather helmet, a chiefly malo, and an ivory neck ornament. “These are the tokens,” she told the three. “Līloa left them for his son, for ‘Umi.”
They stared in unbelieving silence.
At last ‘Umi spoke in a breathless way. “Mother, when shall I go to the chief—my father?”
“The time has come,” she answered as she fastened the chiefly ornament about his neck and threw the cloak over his shoulders.
‘Ōma‘o stared sadly. “You are going away,” he said in a small voice.
“And my son is going with me,” ‘Umi answered confidently. “Tell us of the way, my mother.”
“Follow the trail that leads above the sea. The journey will be long, but at last you will reach Waipi‘o Valley. From the cliff you can look down upon its fishponds and taro patches. You will see its sparkling stream and the houses clustered near the base of the cliff. It is a lovely land. You will see the houses of the ruling chief with their kapu sticks and guards. Go into the valley, my son, and to the chief’s yard. The guardian spirits will recognize you, and you can enter without fear. Sit in your father’s lap. He will know the tokens and claim you as his son.”
Suddenly ‘Umi threw his arms about his mother and held her close. “O Mother,” he said, and in his eyes were tears of joy and sorrow. “You and my foster father have cared for me all my life. If the high chief shall, indeed, claim me as his son, I shall care for you.” The boy turned to face the trail. “Come, ‘Ōma‘o,” he said. “Let us be on our way.”
All day the boys tramped, stopping only twice to rest and eat food the foster father had provided. As they finished the cold broiled fish ‘Ōma‘o asked, “Where shall we get more food?”
‘Umi drew himself up as he replied, “I am a chief. People will give us food.”
The boys had journeyed far. The sun was in the western sky, and the trees cast long shadows. Suddenly they heard shouts. “Games!” ‘Umi exclaimed. “Let us watch.” The two rounded a turn in the trail and looked down onto a level course below. Boys about their own age were rolling maika stones. It was fun to watch them, unobserved.
After a time the game ended, and the two saw the boys preparing for a race, on the cliff trail. “They are coming this way,” ‘Umi whispered, and he and ‘Ōma‘o drew back into the bushes. They heard a shout to start the racers. Then there were cheers for one ahead. Now panting breath and quick footfalls drew near. ‘Umi stepped forward to watch, just as a tall boy darted past, followed by another.
As they passed a certain tree the runners slowed. They stopped, and the second turned to call, “Pi‘imai has won!”
“E! E! Pi‘imai!” came the shout from the crowd hurrying along the trail.
Now Pi‘imai, the winner, saw ‘Umi. He stared at this boy even smaller than himself, yet wearing a feather cloak and helmet. “Are you a chief?” he asked in awe, and his eyes were large with wonder.
“Yes, I am ‘Umi.”
“Where are you going?” the runner spoke once more. His voice was still hushed in wonder.
“To Waipi‘o.”
Suddenly Pi‘imai fell on his knees. “O heavenly one,” he exclaimed, “let me go with you. I long to serve a chief. I will be your loyal follower.”
“You shall be my ‘son,’” ‘Umi replied.
“Oh yes,” laughed Pi‘imai, “I’m the baby son grown up in one day! Come, heavenly one, to my home for food and rest. Then I shall ask my parents to let me go with you.” Pi‘imai rose from his knees to show the way.
‘Umi was received with honor and kindness. The boys ate and slept. Next morning they were three companions as they took the trail, for Pi‘imai’s parents had said, “Our son is yours, heavenly one. Let him live in your service.”
Once more on their journey, the boys met still another who asked to be ‘Umi’s follower. This boy was named Ko‘i. He too invited the three companions to his home, and his parents also consented to his becoming ‘Umi’s foster son.
At last the four boys stood on the cliff overlooking Waipi‘o Valley. “It is as my mother said,” ‘Umi whispered, “a land of beauty.”
For some time the three “sons” gazed silently on the lovely, narrow valley with steep cliffs rising on either side, a sparkling stream winding among its gardens, and the deep blue of ocean at its foot. But ‘Umi’s eyes were on a certain group of houses. “There is the home of my father,” he was thinking as he saw the crossed sticks at the entrance. Aloud he said, “Let us go down.”
No one spoke as the four made their way down the steep trail. All were excited. ‘Umi felt himself trembling, and his mouth was dry. Near the chief’s home he stopped his companions. “Wait here,” he whispered, “while I go on alone. After a time you may hear the sound of drums. That will tell you I am safe, and you will be sent for. If you hear no welcoming sound you will know that I am dead. My father has failed to recognize me. Return quickly to your homes.”
‘Umi went toward the kapu entrance of Līloa’s yard. He walked boldly with head held high, but his heart was pounding, and he panted as if from a hard run.
The entrance was barred by sacred crossed sticks. No guard recognized the young chief and removed the sticks, but the guardian spirits knew him, and the sticks fell to let him pass.
Fearlessly, yet tense with excitement, ‘Umi entered the house where a chief sat on a platform, resting on fine mats. On either side stood a kāhili bearer. This chief was Līloa, ruler of Hawai‘i, and—his father. ‘Umi sprang forward and into the chief’s lap.
Līloa gazed at the boy in amazement. “Whose child are you?” he asked, and his voice was low and gentle as if he already knew the answer.
“Yours! I am ‘Umialīloa.”
The ruler recognized the tokens which the boy wore, his arms went close about his son, and he wept with joy. After a moment he called a servant. “Let the drums sound,” he commanded. “Let them welcome ‘Umi.”
Then the chief asked, “Had you no traveling companions?”
“I had three. They are my adopted sons.”
“Send for them,” the father commanded and chuckled softly. To himself he said, “He is only a boy, yet already he has foster sons. Someday he will be father to the people of Hawai‘i.”
From Mo‘olelo o Hawai‘i by S. M. Kamakau, published in a Hawaiian newspaper and translated by Mary Kawena Pūku‘i