wireless had spread the word throughout the neighborhood.
“Howzit, Uncle.” I walked up to the door and showed him my ID. “Can we ask you a couple questions?”
He looked us up and down. I was in my standard work clothes: aloha shirt and khaki pants, deck shoes without socks. Ray was about the same, though the print on his shirt was louder than mine, and he wore reflective sunglasses that reminded me of the highway patrol on CHiPs .
Bunchy shrugged and stepped back, inviting us into the house. He motioned us to the sofa, and as I sat down I scanned the room. The walls and surfaces were decorated with Hawaiian artifacts—an old quilt, tattered at the edges; an anthurium flower 46 Neil S. Plakcy
made of koa wood with a blossom of whalebone; a collection of stone and ivory fishhooks.
Bunchy’s collection was valuable. Had it come down to him from his ancestors? Or was somebody with big bucks funding him?
“Talk to us about this group you run. Ka Leo. Been getting into any trouble lately?”
“What, you think I go round killing old ladies now?”
I held my hands out, palms up. “Did I ask you that, Bunchy? I grew up watching you on TV. The stuff you did for Kahoolawe, Uncle, that’s history.”
“But you asking around about Aunty Edith,” Bunchy said.
“You know her?” Ray asked.
“Shoot, everybody in Papakolea know Aunty Edith. She real kahiko lady, she know everything about these islands, about the history of our people. She talk story lots, about old days, Big Island. She like the record keeper for her town. She have all kine stuff in her room. She say one day she make a book out of it.”
I remembered the piles of papers and photos we had seen in Edith’s room. They had seemed like ordinary memorabilia, but maybe we should have looked closer at them.
“I heard she was a nosy old lady, sticking her two cents in all over the place,” I said. “Somebody told me she was hanai tūtū
to Ezekiel Kapuāiwa. If she could prove what he says about his family background, that could make KOH come out on top, and Ka Leo the loser. That would piss you off, wouldn’t it?”
“What you trying to say?” Bunchy frowned and clenched one fist. “You want make beef with me?”
The harmless old fut had fallen away, and I saw a man who could lead a movement by the force of his personality. Behind him, I noticed a group of photographs, Bunchy with young people at various rallies.
“She talking stink about Ka Leo?” I asked. “Trying to get people to support her hanai grandson instead?”
MAhu BLood 47
I guessed Bunchy was composing his thoughts, trying to rein in those impulses Kalia Rogers had talked about, the undercurrent of violence I’d seen in his behavior at the Wizard Stones rally.
“Aunty Edith, she not the type to talk stink. These groups, they just names. Everybody want same thing. Hawai’i for Hawaiian people.”
I didn’t believe him for a minute. The Bunchy I grew up watching on TV and reading about in the paper wasn’t the kind to give up so easily. He didn’t claim, like Ezekiel did, to be a direct descendant of the Hawaiian royal family, which put Ka Leo at a disadvantage when it came to who might rule an independent Hawai’i. Discrediting Ezekiel and destroying his movement could position Ka Leo to gain a lot of power, money and land. That was a good motive for murder.
Bunchy wouldn’t say much more, though we tried asking the same questions in different ways. Aunty Edith was a talkative old woman, there wasn’t any harm in her and he couldn’t see anybody wanting to kill her. There was some rivalry between groups, but nothing worth killing over.
“I kill anybody, it be some haole okole ,” he said. “Not a kupuna.”
We were back in the Highlander when Ray asked, “What’s an okole? You think that was some kind of jab at me?”
“Okole means butt. And no, I don’t think he meant you. More like some haole who wants to stand in the way of his goals.”
“And the
“Howzit, Uncle.” I walked up to the door and showed him my ID. “Can we ask you a couple questions?”
He looked us up and down. I was in my standard work clothes: aloha shirt and khaki pants, deck shoes without socks. Ray was about the same, though the print on his shirt was louder than mine, and he wore reflective sunglasses that reminded me of the highway patrol on CHiPs .
Bunchy shrugged and stepped back, inviting us into the house. He motioned us to the sofa, and as I sat down I scanned the room. The walls and surfaces were decorated with Hawaiian artifacts—an old quilt, tattered at the edges; an anthurium flower 46 Neil S. Plakcy
made of koa wood with a blossom of whalebone; a collection of stone and ivory fishhooks.
Bunchy’s collection was valuable. Had it come down to him from his ancestors? Or was somebody with big bucks funding him?
“Talk to us about this group you run. Ka Leo. Been getting into any trouble lately?”
“What, you think I go round killing old ladies now?”
I held my hands out, palms up. “Did I ask you that, Bunchy? I grew up watching you on TV. The stuff you did for Kahoolawe, Uncle, that’s history.”
“But you asking around about Aunty Edith,” Bunchy said.
“You know her?” Ray asked.
“Shoot, everybody in Papakolea know Aunty Edith. She real kahiko lady, she know everything about these islands, about the history of our people. She talk story lots, about old days, Big Island. She like the record keeper for her town. She have all kine stuff in her room. She say one day she make a book out of it.”
I remembered the piles of papers and photos we had seen in Edith’s room. They had seemed like ordinary memorabilia, but maybe we should have looked closer at them.
“I heard she was a nosy old lady, sticking her two cents in all over the place,” I said. “Somebody told me she was hanai tūtū
to Ezekiel Kapuāiwa. If she could prove what he says about his family background, that could make KOH come out on top, and Ka Leo the loser. That would piss you off, wouldn’t it?”
“What you trying to say?” Bunchy frowned and clenched one fist. “You want make beef with me?”
The harmless old fut had fallen away, and I saw a man who could lead a movement by the force of his personality. Behind him, I noticed a group of photographs, Bunchy with young people at various rallies.
“She talking stink about Ka Leo?” I asked. “Trying to get people to support her hanai grandson instead?”
MAhu BLood 47
I guessed Bunchy was composing his thoughts, trying to rein in those impulses Kalia Rogers had talked about, the undercurrent of violence I’d seen in his behavior at the Wizard Stones rally.
“Aunty Edith, she not the type to talk stink. These groups, they just names. Everybody want same thing. Hawai’i for Hawaiian people.”
I didn’t believe him for a minute. The Bunchy I grew up watching on TV and reading about in the paper wasn’t the kind to give up so easily. He didn’t claim, like Ezekiel did, to be a direct descendant of the Hawaiian royal family, which put Ka Leo at a disadvantage when it came to who might rule an independent Hawai’i. Discrediting Ezekiel and destroying his movement could position Ka Leo to gain a lot of power, money and land. That was a good motive for murder.
Bunchy wouldn’t say much more, though we tried asking the same questions in different ways. Aunty Edith was a talkative old woman, there wasn’t any harm in her and he couldn’t see anybody wanting to kill her. There was some rivalry between groups, but nothing worth killing over.
“I kill anybody, it be some haole okole ,” he said. “Not a kupuna.”
We were back in the Highlander when Ray asked, “What’s an okole? You think that was some kind of jab at me?”
“Okole means butt. And no, I don’t think he meant you. More like some haole who wants to stand in the way of his goals.”
“And the
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