Just inside that black ellipse stood Security Chief Dillon, Hiroshe Sato’s good friend Tsuneo “Sunny” Takahashi, and a hog the size of a small Shetland pony. Dillon and Sunny were naked. Their bodies glowed from a pale green light, as if they had been dipped in phosphorescent paint. Their eyes were open but they stared straight ahead, blindly, as if in a trance. The boar stood between them. Its back was higher than Dillon’s shoulder. The porcine apparition had a cluster of black orbs where each eye should be—Trumbo counted eight eyes in all. They glowed brightly, reminding Trumbo of Maya’s orange swimsuit catching the evening light. The hog opened its mouth and grinned at them. Its teeth looked human—large, but human.
Trumbo turned and looked at Fredrickson. The security man shrugged helplessly. “He told me not to call anyone but you, boss.”
“He?” said Trumbo. “Who the hell…”
“Me,” said the hog.
Trumbo wheeled around and pulled the 9mm Browning from beneath his Hawaiian shirt. The hog smiled more broadly. Its eight eyes looked moist and happy.
“What’s…” began Trumbo. He noticed that his voice was shaking ever so slightly, as was his pistol. He braced the Browning with his other hand.
“No, no, Byron,” said the boar. “There’s no need for that. We have too much in common to ruin the relationship that way.” The voice was as deep as one would expect coming from a thousand-pound hog.
Byron Trumbo felt the sweat trickling down his rib cage under his loose shirt. He turned to look for Jimmy Kahekili, but the Hawaiian was gone. He had dropped his axe in his eagerness to leave.
“Pssst,” said the hog. “Down here.”
Trumbo turned back to the pit. The smiling hog and the two naked men were still there.
“Dillon!” shouted Trumbo. The ex-security chief did not twitch. The eyes remained open and glassy above the dark beard.
“No, no,” said the hog again. “It’s me you want to talk to, Byron.”
Trumbo licked his lips. “All right. What do you want?”
“What do you want, Byron?” said the hog smoothly.
“I want Sunny Takahashi,” said Trumbo. “You can keep Dillon.”
The giant hog chuckled. The sound was like giant bellows being pumped while rocks rattled in a stone bowl. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said the creature. “It’s not quite that simple. We have to talk.”
“Fuck talk,” said Trumbo, and aimed the Browning between the creature’s two clusters of eyes.
“If you pull the trigger,” the hog said in conversational tones, “I will come up there, chew your intestines out, and munch on your testicles as if they were candy apples.”
“You’ll have to get in line,” said Trumbo, holding the pistol steady.
The hog chuckled more deeply. “You want this one,” it said, poking the mesmerized Japanese next to him with its snout.
Trumbo nodded and waited.
“He’s yours when you want him badly enough,” said the hog. The eight eyes blinked and the two glowing men turned and walked deeper into the lava tube, disappearing from sight. “All you have to do is come down and talk to me about it.” The monstrous creature turned gracefully, almost daintily, and trotted a few paces into the darkness. It looked over its bristled shoulder and the eyes no longer looked playful. “But don’t wait too long, Byron. Things are going to get interesting around here in a few hours.” The hog trotted into the darkness.
Trumbo listened to the rattle of its trotters on basalt echo for a moment until there was silence. He lowered the pistol.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck,” said Fredrickson, and sat down heavily on the lava. His face was more ash-colored than black at the moment.
“Don’t faint on me, goddammit,” said Trumbo. “Put your head between your knees. That’s right.”
Fredrickson looked up with wide eyes. “I thought I’d flipped out. Acid flashback…but I never took acid. He…it…that thing told me to call you on the radio…”
“OK,” interrupted Trumbo, sliding the pistol back in his belt. “Did you tell anyone else?”
Fredrickson dangled his wrists on his knees and panted for breath. “Uh-uh. The pig said it would have my guts for garters if I called anyone else…that was its phrase…have my guts for garters.”
Trumbo pondered that image for a moment. “OK,” he said again.
Fredrickson looked up. Color seemed to be returning. “You aren’t going down there, are you, Mr. Trumbo?”
Trumbo gave him a look.
“I didn’t think so,” the security man said hurriedly. “But if we got all of our guys and Sato’s guys and some night goggles and Uzis and Mac-tens and some shit like that…”
“Shut up,” said Trumbo. He looked at his watch. “Shit, I’m late for drinks with Hiroshe.” He pointed at Fredrickson. “Stay here. Keep the channel open. I’ll…”
The other man leapt to his feet. “No fucking way that I’m fucking staying out here by my fucking self in the fucking dark with some fucking talking slab of bacon down there in the fucking…”
Trumbo stepped forward quickly and slapped the man hard, twice. “You stay here. Do it and there’s ten thousand dollars in it for you. Ten grand just for tonight. You can run like Stepin Fetchit if that thing comes out of its hole, but let me know on the radio. Got it? If you wuss out on me, Fredrickson, I’ll spend whatever it takes to have you and your entire family…down to your fifth cousins…whacked. Do we understand one another?”
The security man stared, his gaze overwhelmed eerily reminiscent of Sunny’s and Dillon’s.
“Good,” said Trumbo. “I’ll send somebody out with food sometime before midnight.” He patted the frozen man’s shoulder and began walking quickly back toward the path and the Mauna Pele.
The wind had shifted out of the south again. It brought a hot, sticky feel to it, and Trumbo remembered that the wind was called a kona and was the namesake for this entire section of coast. The ash cloud from the eruptions were not a problem, but the smoke from the lava flows to the south were coming over the coast again in a heavy, gray cloud that felt like a low overcast.
It felt suddenly cooler, as if the sun had already set. Shadows disappeared as the smoke cloud thickened overhead, and a pall of twilight deepened over everything. The palm trees rustled and whispered to each other and a hot wind whistled through the a’a.
Trumbo glanced at his watch a final time and hurried back toward the darker oasis of trees.
“Where should I start?” said Eleanor as their second Pele’s Fires arrived. They were sitting on the terrace of the Whale Watching Lanai watching the evening shade to sudden gray.
“Pele,” said Cordie, raising her drink in salute.
“Hmmm…yes, well, Pele is your basic tutelary goddess with the usual assortment of implied powers and obligations…” began Eleanor.
“No, Nell,” interrupted Cordie. “Don’t give me the academic shit Use your storytelling voice.”
Eleanor took a sip of Pele’s Fire, cleared her throat, and started again. “Pele is not one of the older gods, but she comes from the best family. Her father was said to be Moe-moea-au-lii, literally ‘the Chief Who Dreamed of Trouble,’ but he disappeared early on and doesn’t figure into any of Pele’s later tales…”
“Typical male,” muttered Cordie, and sipped her drink. “Go on.”
“Yes…well, Pele’s mother was Haumea, sometimes known as Hina or La’ila’i. In her various forms, Haumea is the supreme female spirit, goddess of women’s work and fertility, the mother of all the lesser gods and of all of humankind, and generally the female counterpart to all the male power in the universe.”
“Right on,” said Cordie, and lifted a clenched fist.
Eleanor paused and frowned. “You’ve had two of those drinks already. Are you sure you want to…”
Cordie reached over and tapped the back of Eleanor’s hand. “Trust me, Nell,” she said, her voice clear. “I can hold my Pele’s Fires. Go on.”
“Pe
le’s powers were created out of the womb of the Earth Mother the ancient Hawaiians called Papa,” said Eleanor.
“Earth Mother equals Papa,” said Cordie, chewing on a swizzle stick. “OK, Keep going, Nell. I won’t interrupt again.”
“The ancients saw the universe balanced only in the embrace of opposites,” said Eleanor. “Male light penetrating female darkness, begetting a universe of opposites.”
Cordie nodded but said nothing.
“Pele came late to these islands,” continued Eleanor, regaining her “storytelling” voice. “Her canoe was guided by Ka-moho-ali’i…”
“Hey, that’s the shark king you were talking about earlier,” said Cordie. “The old man of the brat who tried to eat me today. Sorry… I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“You’re right,” said Eleanor. “Ka-moho-ali’i was Pele’s brother. Back in Bora-Bora, where they both came from, he was also known as the king of dragons. Anyway, he helped lead Pele’s canoe to Hawaii. She landed first in Niihau and then moved on to Kauai. Being the goddess of fire, Pele had a magic digging tool—I think it was called Paoa. She used Paoa to dig fire pits in which she could live, but the sea kept rolling in and quenching her flames. Pele moved down the island chain until she came here to the Big Island, where she eventually found Kilauea to be just right. That’s been her home for thousands of years.”
Eleanor stopped as a wild screeching filled the air. Both women watched as a flurry of bright plumage showed where tropical birds were fighting in the branches below them. The two paused to sip their tall drinks.
“Anyway, before she settled here, Pele got in a huge battle on Maui with her older sister, Na-maka-o-Kaha’i, the goddess of the sea…”
“I never had me an older sister,” said Cordie. “Just brothers. And they were all pains in the ass except for one who died when he was little. Sorry. Go on.”
“Pele and her sister slugged it out until Pele was killed,” said Eleanor.
“Killed?” Cordie looked confused.
“The gods have mortal sides,” said Eleanor. “When Pele lost hers, she became even more powerful as a goddess. And because she died here in Hawaii, her spirit could be free to fly to the volcanoes of Mauna Loa and Kilauea, where she lives to this day.”
Cordie was frowning. “I thought that Pele could appear as a mortal…”
“She can,” said Eleanor. Their third round of drinks arrived. “It’s just that she’s not mortal anymore.”
“I don’t get it,” said Cordie. “But go on. I’ll drink. You talk.”
“It gets complicated,” agreed Eleanor. “For instance, Pele is the goddess of fire, but she can’t make fire…that’s a male prerogative. But she can control it, and she does on these islands. She has several brothers, also gods, who control thunder, explosions, fountains of lava, the so-called rain of fire…all the noisier and more dramatic but less powerful aspects of fire.”
“Typical,” Cordie muttered again.
“But Pele controls the great force of nature that is the volcano. Usually, Pele sleeps, but over the centuries she’s helped certain human kings that she liked…”
“Kamehameha,” said Cordie.
“Yes,” said Eleanor. She pushed the third drink away. “I’d better avoid this. I’m already light-headed, and as you say…tonight will be busy. I can’t let Paul and his pilot friend think that I’m a drunk.”
Cordie shrugged. “I rarely give a shit about what people think.” She looked up as the waiter returned to ask if they wished to eat in the restaurant or out on the dining terrace. “What do you think, Nell? I sorta like it out here tonight.”
“I agree,” said Eleanor.
They ordered. For an appetizer, Eleanor tried ahi cake, made of blended layers of marinated grilled eggplant, Maui onions, basil, seared ahi, and tomatoes, lightly sprinkled with a Puna goat cheese, and lemongrass dressing. Cordie ordered the potato-crusted lobster cakes with mustard vinaigrette. For a main course, both tried the caramelized Sonoma rack of lamb with fresh thyme and smashed potatoes.
“I used to call ’em smashed potatoes when I was a kid,” Cordie said.
The food arrived quickly and was delicious. The two women spoke between bites. The sky began to darken. At one point, Paul Kukali stopped by the table, but only to tell Eleanor that it would be another half hour or so until the helicopter arrived. The curator seemed distracted as he nodded to each woman and left.
“OK, back to Pele,” said Cordie as the dishes were cleared away from the second course. “Our problem is telling if she’s on our side or if she’s behind this shit at the Mauna Pele.”
“Yes,” said Eleanor, sipping water. “But you know what I think.”
“Yeah, I read Kidder’s journal.”
Eleanor made a small gesture with her hand. She paused to look at that hand now in the horizontal sunlight. It reminded her of her mother’s. When did I get my mother’s hands? she thought. Shaking her head, she tried to focus. “We have to assume…or at least I want to assume…that these happenings are from forces opposed to Pele.”
Cordie’s small eyes were bright. “Yeah, but which of Pele’s enemies are behind it?”
“I don’t know,” said Eleanor. She suddenly felt tired. “Pele had a lot of enemies. Besides fighting Na-maka-o-Kaha’i, the sea goddess, Pele’s traditional enemies include Pliahu, the goddess of snow who lives at the summit of Mauna Kea. They had a falling-out several thousand years ago because they both loved the same man.”
“Hrmm,” grunted Cordie. Their desserts arrived. Cordie had ordered lilikoi cheesecake and had asked to try the lemongrass brûlée with the cashew cookie base. Eleanor had coffee.
“It seems from what we’ve heard that Pana-ewa, the reptile and fog guy, was behind this war and the one back in 1866,” said Eleanor. “But as powerful as Pana-ewa is, he doesn’t seem enough of a figure to lead a rebellion against Pele.”
“Who else hates her?” said Cordie, digging into the cheesecake.
“Most of the male gods,” said Eleanor. “Even the older gods like Lono and Ku have become jealous of the devotion Hawaiians have given to Pele.”
“Typical insecure males,” muttered Cordie.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Cordie tried the brûlée. “Oh, God…this is great. Want some?”
“Sure.” Eleanor picked a bit of the brûlée out with her spoon, tasted it, and closed her eyes. “That is wonderful.”
“Want some more?”
“No thanks.” Eleanor sipped the strong coffee, feeling some of the alcohol buzz fade. “Where was I?”
“Pele and the male gods being jealous.”
“Oh, yes…we saw that black dog, and Ku takes the form of a dog.”
“How does the other one…whatshisface… Lono appear?”
“I’m not sure,” said Eleanor. “Lono can be human, but I think he rarely appears in that form. He was the fiercest and most demanding of all the old gods…most of the human sacrifices along this coast were made to Lono…but I don’t think he had any special bone to pick with Pele.”
Cordie alternated bites of her cheesecake with spoonfuls of brûlée. “So Pele’s enemy here could be Ku, the mutt, or more likely Pana-ewa and his demon buddies.”
Eleanor watched the light fade on the treetops beyond the terrace. “Or someone else.” She glanced at her watch and looked back at Cordie. Still a few minutes before she had to meet Paul for the helicopter ride. She found herself feeling tense about it. “Pele had a huge battle with her favorite sister, Hi’iaka, right along this coast somewhere. Again, it was a falling-out over a man. What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” said Cordie.
“Hi’iaka was Pele’s younger sister who danced,” said Eleanor, “and they got along very well. Hi’iaka remained loyal to Pele even though she was attracted to one of Pele’s lovers, a human named Lohi’au. Pele thought that some hanky-panky had been going on and attacked Hi’iaka somewhere right along this stretch of coast…”
Both women looked out at the low sun and expanse of ocean. The ash-and-smoke cloud hung over the coast like a tarpaulin with the sun igniting the undersides of the cloud, tinting everything with an orange-red hue. The waves in the bay moved sluggishly, like an ocean of blood.
“Who won?” said Cordie. She had finished her desserts and now dropped her spoon in the brûlée dish with a satisfied clink.
“Hmmm? Oh, when Pele fought Hi’iaka? It was a draw, but Pele accidentally killed Lohi’au.”
Cordie nodded. “It sounds like a Saturday night in Chicago. Typical domestic brawl.”
“That tale had a relatively happy ending,” said Eleanor. “One of Pele’s god brothers found Lohi’au’s spirit flying away over the ocean and brought it back to land, where he set it back in the body.”
“Like in Kidder’s journal?” said Cordie.
“I presume. Anyway, Hi’iaka and her new lover went off to Kauai together. But she might still hold a grudge. And she’s a powerful goddess…”
Cordie folded her hands over her stomach and sat back in her chair. “I don’t know, Nell. Somehow I don’t think that Paul and these male kahunas managed to reach a female spirit. I think that they got some male-chauvinist-pig god workin’ on their side.”
Eleanor grinned broadly.
“What’s so funny?” said Cordie.
“There is a pig god,” said Eleanor. “Or at least a hog. Kamapua’a. He’s the quintessential male god…and Pele’s enemy. Also Pele’s lover.”
Cordie leaned forward. The last rays of the dying sun made her sunburned face glow. “Tell me.”
Eleanor shrugged. “The boar was the biggest land animal the Polynesians and the Hawaiians knew existed. It’s the embodiment of male power. Kamapua’a takes the shape of a hog…or a handsome man. He’s a powerful god, although he likes to stay on the rainy windward side of the islands—he’s associated with rain and forests and dark places—but his appetite is always getting him into trouble. Kamapua’a once tried to rape Pele’s sister, Kapo, but Kapo got away by detaching her vagina and tossing it away as a decoy… I’m sorry, what?”