I am so proud to be working with Paul Janes-Brown, a narrator supreme from the island of Maui, in the state of Hawaii. All of the character voices were “dead on” compared to the way I heard them in my mind as I wrote the novels. Please find below complimentary AudioBook 1: Sacred Idol chapters. Enjoy!
Book 1-Sacred Idol Prologue
Staggering through the ancient cavern systems beneath the royal palace, the man doubted his own immortality, his face bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds. The elder statesman tried to recall where he had been and where he was going. He vaguely remembered sharing a nice pot of chai with someone in the vacant regal mansion. He was not sure whether he was still savoring the nutmeg on his palate or if it was the taste of his own blood.
He paused for a moment to wipe his eyes, using the forearm of his black dinner jacket to clean away the gore. In frustration, he yelled at the top of his lungs—his voice echoing down the voluminous grotto. “Dear Lord Kaha, listen! Be my guiding light in this dark tunnel. Please restore my memory and heal my wounds. The blossoming time is now here. ʻĀmana, it is freed.”
Book 1-Sacred Idol Chapter 1
Tuesday, December 24, 2013—1:33 p.m. HST
Mānoa Hospice, Inc.
Room 102
Mānoa, Oʻahu, Hawai‘i
“Kawika, I can’t live this way! I can’t take the pain anymore! Please help me!” Leilani screamed in agony in the darkened room that smelled of antiseptic. All her husband could do was to sit by her hospice bed and hold her hand, tears streaming down his face. The sound of the IV drip—splashing once every second—and the ping of the heart rate and respiration monitor both reverberated throughout the private room.
Every time she cried out, the woman would squeeze her beloved’s hand like there was no tomorrow, while her other hand remained clamped onto the headboard. The blinds were closed so that the sunshine would not further irritate Leilani’s severe migraine; the multitude of prescriptions had no effect at all.
Kawika was not a deeply religious man; however, he was at his wits’ end. After seeing the love of his life pass out due to the intense pain, he got down on his knees and closed his eyes. Almighty God, please be merciful and take my wife Leilani, this very moment, to be with you in paradise. Her terminal brain cancer has had her bedridden for almost a year and we can’t take it anymore. It hurts so much to see her in such misery. Please help her now. Amen. Suddenly, the pinging machine elicited an alarm that could wake the dead—almost. A short Filipino male nurse, dressed in powder blue scrubs, raced down the hallway and into the night-enshrouded room. He looked at the bedridden patient and then to Kawika as if to say, should we attempt to resuscitate her? The man who now found himself to be a widower slowly shook his head and then sat there emotionless, tears of thanks in his eyes and his right index finger entwined in the puka shell lei around his neck—each shell had holes or pukas in it so that they could be strung together. Little did the full-blooded Hawaiian man realize that coursing through his ancestral veins was the power to pray people to death—the sorcery of ʻanāʻanā.
Book 1-Sacred Idol Chapter 2
Monday, March 31, 2014—12:30 p.m. HST
Department of Hawaiian Studies
Kimo Hall
University of Honolulu
Honolulu, Oʻahu, Hawai‘i
A staccato rap on the faculty office door startled the lone occupant. Dr. Kawika Kinimaka-Ka‘ahalewai—also known as “Dr. Triple K”, or just plain “Kawika”—was wearing his signature orange rubber slippers and matching aloha shirt, accompanied by khaki short pants. In addition, he was never seen without his white puka shell lei that his recently deceased wife had given him on the night of their wedding engagement—a symbol of her eternal and undying love. He was also adorned with short, spiky salt-and-pepper hair and black-rimmed reading glasses, which were perched at the end of his nose. I always forget about da’ kine student office hours. Talk about the absentminded professor. He yelled above the din in the hallway, which was full of boisterous students exiting the adjacent classrooms, “E komo mai. Welcome. Come on in.”
As his office door opened, the professor of Hawaiian Anthropology recalled the young man from the front row of his intro to anthro class. He was carrying an oversized skateboard, which he leaned vertically against a file cabinet; the conveyance stood a couple feet high, although it was dwarfed by an adjacent pile of books. The student from Long Beach, California, looked like your average surfer dude: tall and skinny, complete with long, curly blond hair that covered one eye, a two-day stubble, a bright orange tank top, and fluorescent yellow-green board shorts. To top it all off, he had a nose ring and was barefoot.
Dr. Triple K gave the young man a big smile, which was accentuated by his deep tan. “Hey there, howzit. Come on in and have a seat. Oh, wait. Let me move my stuff.” There were large stacks of dusty books balanced precariously everywhere—and a musty smell of improper ventilation—in the dimly lit office. Dr. Triple K moved the books off the adjoining chair and placed them on top of another three-foot stack on the floor. “We are good to go, Patrick.” The professor then gave his star student a fist bump.
Kawika was slightly vertically challenged at five feet, nine inches tall, and was a slim and trim 160 pounds. He attributed his Adonis physique to a rigorous exercise regimen of ocean canoe paddling, Hawaiian martial arts, and jogging on the beach. Not too shabby for a nearly forty-year-old—supposedly sedentary—academician. His diet consisted of fresh fruits, juices, yogurt, granola bars, and most importantly homemade smoothies; his backyard aquaponic gardens gave him an endless supply of ong choi and mint to add to his healthful concoctions.
Kawika looked over his spectacles at the student’s mode of transportation. “I didn’t know that skateboards came that large. Da’ buggah is humungous. It looks like a sweet ride, though.”
The straight-A student grinned. “It’s great for bombing hills. I call it the rolling sidewalk.”
Kawika laughed, as he thought the name to be quite apt. “How was your spring break vacation?”
“The north swells were totally gnarly, and we had choke bonfires. I think my hair still smells like smoke.”
The professor laughed. I thought I smelled something stinky pilau when he walked in the door.
“Did you get to enjoy your spring break, Dr. Triple K?” the student queried.
“It was nice. I did some chillaxing, but mostly I spent plenty hours every day working on my book about cargo cults.”
Patrick’s eyes started to glaze over. Then he caught himself and said, “I think that you mentioned that in class before. What are they again?”
“Cargo cults are indigenous tribes, um… you know… da’ kine… um… natives, that have witnessed military exercises, for example during World War II. The aborigines’ eyes were bugging out as they watched the airplane cargo drops for the ground troops, and they thought that the pilots were um… da’ kine… um… gods with plenty mana or divine spirits. They were really clueless about the funny kind airplanes, never having seen them before.”
Patrick laughed at the thought of the naive natives. “No way, Doc. That is too trippy.”
The professor retrieved a model airplane, made entirely out of bamboo, from the top of a dusty bookcase. “This was a gift from a cult member from Papua New Guinea. The religious groups made full-size bamboo models of the fo’ real airplanes.”
“What? Come on. You’re pulling my leg, right?”
Kawika had a smirk on his face. “As if, Patrick. The natives also made fake landing strips in their cornfields to hopefully attract real planes—which contained their gods—to land and give them choke, or lots of, food and rifles. Most of all, they were fascinated by the mules—all-terrain jeeps that hele on or move quickly through the jungle — which were seemingly spit out of the airplanes.”
The professor then took down a framed photo from the wall in front of his desk. “Can you see the lolo or stupid looking control tower in this photo? It was also made of bamboo. Check out the dude inside looking up into the skies? They would do that fo’ evah.”
The student squinted his eyes at the ancient black-and-white photograph, positioning his head sideways for a better look. “That’s crazy. Is he wearing a uniform?”
Dr. Triple K laughed. “You know it. I betcha that some of the Japanese and Australian troops left some of their dirty laundry behind. Unbelievably, some of the aborigines even worshiped a photograph of Prince Philip, of course looking um… da’ kine…um… spectacular in his military tuxedo.”
Once again, Patrick was confused. “Who is Prince Philip?”
The professor tried to keep a straight face. “That is a lesson for another day, my friend.”
“Oh, okay.” The student tried to change the topic of conversation. “So, what else did you do during the break?”
Kawika had a shit-eating grin on his face. “I trained with my Hawaiian martial arts group, which is called lua. That was so cool because while I was working out, I was still able to think about my book and make mental notes.”
Patrick was shaking his head. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose behind working out? To try to get away from work?”
The professor paused for a moment. “You have a good point there, buzzkill.” He laughed. “However, the book is the only thing that keeps me going since my wife died. I probably think about the novel almost twenty-four/seven.”
Kawika then launched into the beginning of his formal lecture. “I am comparing the current religious cults in Papua New Guinea to the ancient Hawaiian nativistic religions.” Patrick had a quizzical look on his face once again. The professor explained, “If you Google ‘natavism,’ you’ll find it is the way of protecting the interests of native-born peoples against those of immigrants. I want to study these two individual cultures, the Guineans and the Hawaiians, to see how they protected their own traditions from the conflicting ideals and ideas of the haoles or foreigners.”
Patrick replied, “So that’s where the cargo cults come in?”
“Nice. Correctamundo, Patrick. In the old Kingdom of Hawaii, ships from America, England, and France were the cargo transporters of their day. The ship captains, as well as their rich passengers and missionaries, were awarded places of honor with the Hawaiian monarchy, the ali’i, in return for requested bribes of luxurious items, as well as choke or plenty booze and opium.”
“Wow, they really knew how to party back then, Doc.”
“You got it.
“So, you are saying, Doc, that there were cults in Hawaii? Do any cults exist today?”
“My answer to both of your astute and insightful questions is yes. When you get a chance, Google ‘Madam Kalehua’ and ‘Prophet Kaona.’ There is enough material in those pictorials to write numerous books on nativistic cults. I have not checked recently, but I am totally fo’ sure that there are hundreds of religious cults that are in existence in the state of Hawai‘i today.”
The student looked at his mentor with a hopeful glance. “I remember that you mentioned in class how you were going to Papua New Guinea next winter break, to do some research on your book, and you were looking for some student help. Did you find an assistant yet?”
“Why do you ask? Are you available? If can, can. If no can, no can. No pressure.”
Patrick had a ginormous grin on his face. “Down.”
The professor looked at the student with a toothy smile. “You straight? Nice.” Kawika thought for a moment. “Hey, wait a minute. Are you interested just because of the great surfing they have at that time of the year?”
The student laughed. “Oh, they surf there?” They both laughed. “You know I am all about surfing and I would do anything for an opportunity like this. I will be the best student researcher you have ever seen. I will do all my surfing at dawn and dusk and have the rest of the day to assist with your work.”
“Great, cuz. Welcome aboard.” They fist-bumped to seal the deal. “It would be da’ bomb to work with you. I will try to scare up some funds so you can have all of your expenses taken care of.”
“I’m stoked, Dr. Triple K. I hear the kite surfing down there is unbelievable as well,” sang the new research assistant.
“That is something I always wanted to try. I live in Kailua and whenever I go to the beach, which is usually every day, I always see the kiters going aerial at Kalamas.”
“Hey, that’s where I go kite surfing. Small island, huh? If you want to take lessons, just let me know. I won’t charge you a penny and I’ve got all the gear. I can get you up and flying after two half-hour lessons. Pure adrenaline and extremely addicting.”
“Now I’m stoked.” Kawika gave him another fist bump.
“Hey, you got to explode it, Doc.” He then demonstrated the new variation, with fingers outstretched and pointing toward the ceiling after the fist collision. “Since we are going to be a team, Doc, my friends call me PatManDu.”
“Sounds fine to me, Mr. Du.” They both laughed.
Just then, Kawika’s office phone rang. He noticed by the call screen that it was the Honolulu Police Department. “What the…? They must be calling for more donations for the Police Activities League. I better take this call. The PAL sticker on my car expired and it usually kapus or prevents any potential tickets. Aloha, this is Kawika.”
“Hi, this is Detective Adams from the Honolulu Police Department. I am trying to locate Dr. Kinimaka-Ka‘ahalewai.”
“Speaking. How may I assist you?” Kawika looked surprised.
“I need some expert advice in Hawaiian lore for a crime scene at Mount Tantalus on Round Top Drive.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you calling me?” asked the startled professor.
“I called the university and they gave me the phone number for the Anthropology department office. I talked to Shirley and she connected me to your office. I was actually looking for Dr. Leilani Ka‘anā‘anā, who has helped us in the past, but I was told that she is now deceased.”
Dr. Triple K was taken aback by the mention of his wife’s name. He had to catch his breath for a moment. He touched the puka shell lei around his neck for comfort.
“Hello? Are you still there, sir?”
“Yes. Sorry about that. Dr. Leilani was my wife. I was freaked out when I just heard her name. She passed away about three months ago and I am still in shock.”
“My deepest condolences, sir. Sorry to be so inconsiderate.”
“No worries, Detective. It was an innocent mistake. Something I need to get used to.” Kawika quickly changed the subject. “Was there another murder up at Round Top?”
“That is correct. It looks like some sort of ceremonial sacrifice, Hawaiian-kine.”
Dr. Triple K massaged his traditional two-day stubble. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. I need an expert to see the body and surrounding area before my guys finish up their postmortem analyses. They are on a lunch break right now. I have never seen a more bizarre murder in over thirty years of working on the force. The reasons will become self-evident once you get here, if you are willing to help us out.”
Kawika started to perspire in his cold, air-conditioned office. Latahs to this. Do I really want to get involved? “It sounds like I’m going to get freaked out big time.” He thought for a moment and then decided to go for it. “Okay, I’m down. What do I have to lose, except my lunch?”
“I am at the murder scene now. Can you meet me right away?”
“I actually have a class to teach this afternoon, Detective. However, I can get my graduate student to pinch hit.”
“That would be greatly appreciated, Professor. Just drive up to the top of Round Top Drive and look for the flashing blue lights.”
“Give me thirty minutes, sir. I will be driving a maroon Nissan Leaf, you know, da’ kine electric car.”
“Excellent, sir. See you soon.”
Dr. Triple K turned quickly to his student. “Okay, Mr. PatManDu . . . love that name. My next career is calling me with an urgent request.”
“What career is that, Doc?”
He had a bizarre look in his eyes as he replied, “Homicide detective.”
Book 2-Precious Blood Prologue
Quietly groping his way down through the unlit earthen tunnel—connecting to the cavern twenty feet below the prison—the man grimaced as his escape route collapsed around him. In an attempt to grab a desperate handhold, he bashed his head against an unseen rock; his unconscious body plummeted the remaining fifteen feet onto a stone subterranean floor.
What seemed like an eternity later, he was awakened by a bright flame which seemed to dance in front of his pasted-shut eyes. As he lay supine on the damp bedrock, the fugitive tried to recall where he had been and where he was going. He heard a nearby voice but could not understand nor see his companion. The prison escapee then felt someone wiping the gore from his eyes with a cold wet cloth and was able to slowly emerge from his darkened cocoon. Floating directly above, he did not recognize the face of his benefactor. When the fugitive tried to stand up, a wash of dizziness came over him. Suddenly, his meager stomach contents were emptied onto his rescuer’s bare feet and the man inflight lost consciousness.
When he re-awoke, the fugitive found himself lying in a moving wooden cart—destination unknown. The coachman in charge of the horse-drawn wagon hit every cranny in the cavern floor—jostling human cargo. Each impact felt like a dagger inserted into the escapee’s severed forehead.
When the man inflight realized that his manservant was walking beside the cart, holding a torch aloft, he whispered, “Our escape plan worked perfectly, except for that missing step in the tunnel.” He then held his forehead with both hands to quiet the pain. “Do you have any of that yen shee suey? I need a couple swigs. My head is killing me.”
The right-hand man laughed and pulled out of his overalls pocket a wine bottle filled with the Lai Yuen opium and 100-year-old cognac concoction—a big-time upgrade from the traditional brandy elixir. The prison escapee sat up, took a few small sips, and within a couple of minutes was feeling much better. He shared the libation with his manservant—passing the bottle back and forth. The fugitive smiled and raised the bottle to toast his hired hand. “The blossoming time is now here. ʻĀmana, it is freed.”
Book 2-Precious Blood Chapter 1
Thursday, May 2, 1850—9:00 a.m. HST
District Court of Honolulu—Court Room 1
Honolulu, Oʻahu, Hawai‘i
“All rise. The Honorable John J. Kaona presiding.” Throughout the courtroom, there was a characteristic smell of wooden benches and unbathed bodies, with a less than fragrant addition of incontinent shi-shi urine. There were approximately twenty-five interested observers in attendance in the gallery, who had all made the trip from the North Shore of Oʻahu in support of the defendant. Some of them seemed disoriented, looking into space with blank expressions on their faces. In addition, their garments needed a good scrubbing. Suddenly, almost on cue, the witness stand was perfectly illuminated by the sun shining brightly through a side window.
The judge walked into the courtroom, looking a little bit befuddled, with a glazed look on his face. “Thank you, Bailiff. Please be seated.” The magistrate, better known as ‘Keoni’ to his friends, was not his usual chipper self. His silver hair was noticeably disheveled and his typically blazing blue eyes seemed overcast.
Immediately the prosecuting attorney proclaimed in an undertone, after noticing the judge’s deficient wardrobe, “Your Honor. May I please approach the bench?”
“Only if it is important, Prosecutor. You are disrupting the proceedings.”
The prosecuting attorney approached the bench and stage-whispered so that the entire courtroom was privy to the supposedly private conversation. “You forgot your powdered wig, Your Honor.”
“Oh, dear me.” replied the disheveled official. “I did not sleep well last night . . . very strange dreams.” He continued in a much louder voice, “The court will recess for two minutes.” Then he hammered his gavel on the wooden sound block and scurried off, stage right.
The people in the courtroom started to titter quietly and the bailiff responded, “Quiet! Please be respectful of His Honor.” The crowd’s chatter became louder.
A minute later, the unmistakable smell of talcum powder filtered throughout the courtroom as the judge returned with his hairpiece intact. “All rise.” announced the bailiff. “The Honorable—”
He was cut off immediately by the judge. “For goodness’ sake, my dear bailiff. All our yesterdays are still behind us. If you would be so kind as to read the charges for the first case.”
“Sorry, Your Honor. The District of Honolulu versus Madam Kalehua. The charge is practicing medicine without a license. Mister Jonas Kamaka will represent his wife. The kingdom’s prosecuting attorney is Mister Alakahi Jones.”
“Mister Jones, you are first up—I reckon,” sighed the judge, wishing that the trial had started later in the day.
“I call to the witness stand the woman known as Madam Kalehua.”
Mister Kamaka stood up, looking statuesque in his starched white long-sleeved shirt, black trousers, spit-shined black leather shoes, and horn-rimmed black spectacles worn at half mass. He was balding, lithe, and spoke in an effeminate and whiney fashion. He was half Caucasian—on his mother’s side—with the remainder being Hawaiian.
The man put a sassy hand on his hip. “I most certainly object, Your Honor. Since today is Thursday, my wife wishes to be called either Grandmother Tūtū Lana or Supreme Goddess Lana; she goes by the name of Priestess or Madam Kalehua only on Sundays. That is the day that her resident spirit, the supreme goddess, rests in heaven. Isn’t that right, my precious buttercup?”
Mister Jones jumped to his feet in a huff. “Your Honor, as you know, this is a court of law. We should deal only with the facts and not local legend.”
The judge bellowed, “Please keep to the facts, Mister Kamaka, until we can accurately verify your claim.” In a more genteel voice, Keoni motioned to the woman. “Please take the stand, ma’am, and we shall ascertain your real name.” All the while, the doting husband translated the court proceedings into the Hawaiian language to his common-law wife.
Before Madam Kalehua was able to take the stand, the bailiff swore her in. She answered “Yes” in English.
The priestess glided to the witness stand as if on a cushion of air, her camouflaged legs and bare feet seemed to be motionless beneath her ti leaf skirt—a Hawaiian tradition for good luck. Her wraparound, which hung from her waist to the floor, consisted of long, wide, waxy green leaves tied together with olona twine. Her blouse was dark blue with pink plumeria flowers. As she ascended onto the witness stand, Madam Kalehua’s eyes were beyond reach and trancelike. She had long gray hair, was of average height, and looked emaciated.
The judge then inquired, in Hawaiian, whether she was feeling alright; Madam Kalehua nodded almost imperceptibly in the affirmative. The judge then addressed her defense counsel. “Mister Kamaka, your wife’s transcendent manner seems to be that of a person in a self-induced narcosis.”
The resplendent lawyer put a hand on his hip once again. “If it pleases the court, Your Honor, my wife is not intoxicated. She is simply trying to calm herself, via meditation, to withstand this courtroom deposition. Physically, she has never felt better. Isn’t that right, sugar lips?” After a dramatic pause, the defense attorney continued. “Your Honor, I would like to call your attention to the following. My wife usually appears this way when Tūtū Lana takes over her body. During these occasions, her psyche travels in an out-of-body experience.” Suddenly, Madam Kalehua gesticulated wildly with her hands and arms, simultaneously whispering in Hawaiian. “May the record reflect that at this moment, Your Honor, my wife is speaking with Madam Petra, the goddess of fire.”
The judge interjected, “Come what may, please call her back to the courtroom so we can proceed with the trial.”
“If it pleases the court, Your Honor. Ku‘uipo darling, there are some people in this courtroom that need to speak with you.” Jonas snapped his fingers close to his wife’s face and her demeanor suddenly changed.
“Aloha,” the woman sighed as her eyes opened and she appeared to start coming out of her trance.
The judge felt that it would be prudent to expedite the questioning at this opportune moment. “Proceed with your interrogation, Mister Jones. I wait with bated breath.”
“Mahalo nui loa, Your Honor. Thank you very much.”
“Madam Kalehua, where were you born?” His question was then translated by her husband.
She answered in Hawaiian pidgin, “I stay Hilo Town small-kid time.”
The prosecuting attorney gave the judge an exasperated look. “Your Honor, now we have three different languages taking place in the courtroom. I move that we speed up the proceedings by conversing whole hog in our native Hawaiian language. I think everyone here speaks and understands it.”
The courtroom spectators all smiled and nodded their approval. “So moved. This request, even though contradictory to our traditional protocol, is in fact commonplace in courtrooms across our Hawaiian Kingdom.” The judge’s mind started to wander. I wish I had not drunk so much Kona coffee last night. I was up half the night and my dreams were full of night terrors.
The prosecuting attorneystarted his interrogation, fully in the Hawaiianlanguage. “Priestess Kalehua, please tell us in your own words. What have you been doing since you moved to this island from Hilo Town in 1844?”
The full-blooded Hawaiianwahine woman bowed slightly from the waist as she started to speak. Her hair was reminiscent of Goddess Petra’s: gray, waist-length, and untamed. “Let me begin by saying that I was born in Hilo Town in January of zero zero. I was told many years later that our local kahuna sorcerer stated, upon my entrance into this realm, that I was blessed with the tears of Goddess Petra. As was demonstrated earlier, I visit her frequently in my trances. The all-knowing madam of fire told me as a child that once my menses started to flow, Tūtū Lana would visit me and reside in my body. This revelation came true upon the thirteenth anniversary of my presence in my mother’s womb.
“Tūtū Lana informed me that my mother had died at the hands of my father, who had been physically and mentally abusing her for many years.”
The woman became visibly emotional, and her husband rushed to her side with a small cloth towel and dabbed at her forward. “Mahalo nui loa, ku‘uipo. Thank you very much, my dear sweetheart.” With a wave of his hand, Judge Kaona motioned for the man to retake his seat.
“My apologies, Your Honor. Please allow me to continue. Prior to taking over my body, Tūtū Lana’s spirit resided for many years with Goddess Petra at her Kilauea volcano caldera. While there, Tūtū Lana learned many wonderous things. Just prior to occupying my body and soul, the supreme goddess returned to the Great Beyond—the distant island in which all gods and goddesses reside—and learned about our destiny together. Beginning on my thirteenth birthday, the spirit woman shared with me all that she had learned.
“Tūtū Lana described the glory of heaven and the happiness of all its blessed inhabitants. They neither ate, nor drank, nor labored, and had no understanding of weariness, sickness, or death. They were constantly rejoicing and singing praises to our Lord Jehovah. They saw no darkness, and though the sun was not seen, there was a continual light like noonday.
“You might have trouble believing what I am about to share with you, Your Honor. I say this to prove the validity of my deposition. Tūtū Lana confided in me that heaven is divided into two compartments—one for Catholics and the other for Protestants. As you had trouble sleeping last night, Your Honor, my beloved Tūtū Lana visited with you and has already shared that interesting fact with you. All of this was done so that you would believe my testimony today.”
The entire courtroom looked upon Judge Kaona and noticed that his eyes appeared to be glazed over and he was perspiring profusely. He appeared as though he would faint at any moment and he started to wipe his forehead with his handkerchief.
“Your Honor, you look like you have seen a ghost,” exclaimed the bailiff.
“I have,” replied the judge, and he whispered, “Thirty-minute recess.” The man with the powdered wig nearly toppled out of his seat of wisdom as he made his way to the backstage rooms.
After fifteen minutes, the bailiff was asked by the judge to bring the defendant and both attorneys to his inner chambers. His Honor was still wiping his brow when they arrived and motioned for them to have a seat. The dimly lit judge’s office contained dusty overfilled bookcases on each wall and the chair cushions were covered with leather. “Priestess Kalehua, a few minutes ago when you were sharing the words of the supreme goddess Lana, it felt as though someone had walked across my grave. I am quite aware now that your Tūtū Lana did in fact visit with me last night. As good luck would have it, she informed me of the dual compartments in heaven—as you have already stated.”
The priestess nodded her head in affirmation. “My apologies for shaking you up, Your Honor. However, did you know that Tūtū Lana has a wonderful sense of humor?”
“Oh yes, I remember now. It did not make sense to me at the time, but the message is crystal clear now.” The judge was smiling. “Tūtū Lana told me that the Catholics tell each other to be quiet, because the Protestants think that they are the only ones residing in heaven.” All four inhabitants of the judge’s chambers shared a tumultuous laugh. In fact, the loud gleeful noises caused the courtroom spectators to exchange quizzical looks. “We should be getting back out there. I am quite over my shock now.”
Mister Jones inquired, “What is our next step? Do we return to the trial and continue on?”
The judge replied, “Yes. But I will find the evidence is inconclusive and dismiss the charges without prejudice. What’s done is done.”
Priestess Kalehua and her husband both excitedly responded to the magistrate. “Mahalo nui loa. Thank you very much, Your Honor.”
Book 2-Precious Blood Chapter 2
Thursday, May 2, 1850—9:45 a.m. HST
District Court of Honolulu—Court Room 1
Honolulu, Oʻahu, Hawai‘i
After the short recess, the prosecuting attorney continued his interrogation of the defendant. As he asked the first question, His Honor was still brushing the crystalized cane sugar off his black smock—the remnants of a half-dozen malasada doughnuts. They had been devoured during his private chambers conference. On the plus side, the sugar rush made his sleep deficiency a little bit more manageable.
“Priestess Kalehua, or should I say Tūtū Lana, did you give medical advice and prescribe medications to your neighbors?”
Mister Kamaka upstaged Mister Jones and blurted out in a falsetto voice, “Please rephrase the question, Counselor. I call your attention to the fact that a couple of dunks in a cold mountain stream, called the Makeleha— lift up your eyes in prayer for assistance—accompanied by additional verbal prayers, and the clients always go on their merry way.”
Judge Kaona gave the defense attorney stink eye. “Thanks, Mister Kamaka. Please allow your wife to answer from now on. I am sure that you realize that you are not the biggest toad in the puddle.”
At that same moment, the Hawaiian priestess chimed in—still speaking in her native language. “I am an inspired doctoress and capable of successfully curing any form of disease.”
Suddenly the prosecuting attorney stood up and yelled, “Your Honor, I object. There is no way to prove her claims. Pshaw! It might be pure gum for all we know.”
“Overruled, Mister Jones. Please let the woman finish her testimony.”
“My patients are free to stay at our residence for as long as they like. When they do leave, they always declare themselves free of their initial ailments. If they wish to pay for my services, they are free to leave a donation in the calabash bowl outside our front door. The money is used to pay for food and necessities for the others.
“Tūtū Lana is the one responsible for the miraculous cures; I just serve as a vehicle by which she performs her acts of kindness. Lana’s spirit inhabits my soul for the six secular days, and on Sabbaday, she continues her schooling in the Great Beyond.” The woman also added, “I tell all about the necessity of having faith in the Lord Jehovah and reforming their lives to a strictly moral course of action, in order to be completely healed. The religious rites include readings from Hawaiian scriptures, prayer, and confession. Tūtū Lana’s powers work through me and I am grateful for being chosen to serve in this capacity.
“To finally answer your question, Mister Jones, for stubborn cases, I would exclusively give my clients Hawaiian herbs from my own garden. I know nothing about any pills and have never given them to anyone, or taken them myself, for that matter.”
The prosecuting attorney replied, “Thank you, Madam Kalehua. In addition, it is my understanding that you have been educated in both schools of Christianity and heathenism. Your knowledge has been reported to astound and dazzle the minds of the local Hawaiians.”
The woman took the comment as a compliment. “I share deep regard for all of our ‘ohana. They are truly part of our kinfolk.”
Just then, Mister Kamaka performed his already tiresome jack-in-the-box impression. “If I might interject once again, my fellow counselor. Let the record reflect that my wife’s descriptions of heaven and hell are listened to with amazement by her patients. Her eyes and ears, through Tūtū Lana, have witnessed marvelous sights and sounds. Only a few of the locals say that she is crazed; however, they have not borne witness to her. It is fair to state that my wife seems more rational now compared to when Tūtū Lana first took over her body. I presume that can be attributed to some sort of breaking-in period.”
Several people in the courtroom cackled at this comment, including the judge.
“Any more questions, Mister Jones?”
“The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”
Judge Kaona looked to the defense attorney. “Do you have any questions for your wife, Mister Kamaka, or do you have any witnesses that want to testify on her behalf? It is time to fix one’s flint and settle the matter once and for all.”
“If it pleases the court, Your Honor, I will bring forth the closing argument. “My darling Ku‘uipo, in the last five years approximately how many people have you treated at our ranch in Mokulē‘ia Town, on the North Shore of Oʻahu?”
Kalehua gazed into her husband’s eyes. “Over the years, there have been nearly one thousand people that have knocked at our front door asking for assistance. I do not remember a single person being dissatisfied with Tūtū Lana’s kindness and generosity.”
“Mahalo nui loa, my precious buttercup. I will now call my only witness, Mrs. Joyce Kaipii. Please take my arm, sugar lips, and I will escort you back to your seat.”
The bailiff announced, “Mrs. Kaipii, please take the witness stand.” The judge recognized the woman but did not let on. She was like a sister to his deceased wife and they had been members of the same church quilting bee club.
“Please swear in the witness, Bailiff. If it is easier for you, you can perform the swearing-in ceremony in English, and we will continue the testimony in our native Hawaiian language.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” stated the bailiff, and he proceeded to swear in the woman.
Mister Kamaka addressed the new woman in the witness highchair. “Mrs. Kaipii, it is so good to see you once again. I hope your family is doing well. Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to speak here on behalf of my dear wife.”
“You are welcome, Jonas.”
“Mrs. Kaipii, if it pleases the court, how well do you know Madam Kalehua?”
“I have been your neighbor for about ten years, since you two moved in from the Big Island of Hawaii. I am one of her longtime patients. With the help of Tūtū Lana and the Lord Jehovah, the priestess cured my asthmatic condition. I used to have a terrible time breathing—wheezing like the dickens—when the trade winds would stop, and the volcano smoke would come over from the Kona side of the Big Island of Hawaii. It would take all my breath away and I was afraid that I was going to have a heart seizure.”
Mister Kamaka nodded his head in agreement. “Please proceed, Mrs. Kaipii. Has your asthma returned since my wife first treated you almost eight years ago?”
“No, sir, it has not. I still take a bath every morning in the Makeleha stream that runs through my property. Also, I continue to recite the prayers to Tūtū Lana and Jehovah that were given to me by Madam Kalehua. She is utterly amazing. I told all my friends to see the priestess concerning their ailments and they all reported back to me how their diseases were completely cured. Madam Kalehua is a gifted miracle worker.”
“My last question, Mrs. Kaipii. Is it fair to state that this woman sitting in front of you, that many call a doctor, did not give you any medications, potions, powders, or ointments for your asthmatic condition?”
“No, she did not. I can honestly say that the cold baths, prayers, and confessions have been the only reason why myself, my friends, and our townspeople have been cured of our various afflictions.”
The man smiled at the witness and then continued to restate his last question, a trick he had learned at the University of Honolulu School of Law. “If I understand you correctly, the woman known as Priestess Kalehua sitting before you now, did not prescribe any medications whatsoever to you, which happens to be illegal in the Kingdom of Hawai‘i without a proper medical license.”
“That is correct, Mister Kamaka.”
“Your witness, Mister Jones,” exhaled the defense attorney.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
The judge exclaimed, “I find for the defendant that the charges should be dropped without prejudice. We have indeed learned that faith can move mountains.” He then rapped his gavel on the sound box three times. “This court stands adjourned.”
As the Kamakas were about to stand and leave the courtroom, the magistrate cleared his throat. Once he had their attention, he smiled and bowed to them from his elevated station. “Mister Kamaka and Madam Kalehua, if I might have a word with you before you depart.” They approached the bench and the judge told them, “I would like to send my carriage for you at two p.m. on this Saturday, if you are willing, so we can dine and talk story at my Pali Cliff residence. Priestess, your miraculous works fascinate me—bigtime. I would like to humbly request a sit-down with Tūtū Lana concerning all creation, all nature, and all wrath.”
Jonas returned the bow. “If it pleases the court, Your Honor.” His wife mouthed mahalo to the distinguished-looking judge—heaven-sent with blazing blue eyes, a courtly face, and angelic silver hair.
Keoni replied, “I think we are on the verge of a long and prosperous future together. As we sow, so shall we reap.”