Pele and Hiiaka: A Myth From Hawaii

It has come at last, the situation to which the logic of events has for many days pointed the finger of a relentless fate. For the first time Hiiaka finds herself alone with Lohiau. The history of her life during the past two months seems but a prologue to the drama, the opening scene of which is about to be enacted in the dressing room, as we must call it. For Hiiaka, having gathered a lapful of that passion-bloom, the scarlet lehua, and having plaited three wreaths, with a smile on her face, hangs two of the wreaths about the neck of Lohiau, using the third for her own adornment.

They are sitting on the sacred terrace of Ka-hoa-lii, at the very brink of the caldera, in full view of the whole court, including the sisters of Hiiaka who gather with Pele in the Pit. “Draw nearer,” she says to Lohiau, “that I may tie the knot and make the fillet fast about your neck.” And while her fingers work with pliant art, her lips quiver with emotion in song:

The wreath is placed, the song is sung, yet Hiiaka’s arm still clasps Lohiau’s neck. Her lithesome form inclines to him. With a sudden motion, Hiiaka throws her arms about Lohiau and draws him to herself. Face to face, lip touches lip, nose presses nose.

The women of Pele’s court, chokefull of curiosity and spilling over with suspicion, watchful as a cat of every move, on the instant raise their voices in one Mother-Grundy chorus: “Oh, look! Hiiaka kisses Lohiau! She kisses your lover, Lohiau!”

The excitement rises to fever heat. Pele is the coolest of the lot. At the first outcry—“they kiss”—Pele remarks with seeming indifference, “The nose was made for kissing.”1 (The Hawaiian kiss was a flattening of nose against nose). But when Hiiaka and Lohiau sink to the earth wrapped in each other’s arms, and the women of Pele’s court raise the cry, “For shame! they kiss; they embrace!” At this announcement, the face of Pele hardens and her voice rings out with the command: “Ply him with fire.”

From Pele’s viewpoint, the man, her lover, Lohiau was the sinner. The role played by the woman, her sister, Hiiaka—the one who had, in fact, deliberately planned this offensive exhibition of insubordination and rebellion—was either not recognized by Pele or passed by as a matter of temporary indifference. Hiiaka’s justification in motives of revenge found no place in her reasoning.

When the servants of Pele—among them the sisters of Hiiaka—found themselves under the cruel necessity of executing the edict, they put on their robes of fire and went forth, but reluctantly. In their hearts they rebelled, and, one and all, they agreed that, if, at close view, they found him to be the supremely handsome mortal that fame had reported him to be, they would use every effort to spare him. On coming to the place, their admiration passed all bounds. They could not believe their eyes. They had never seen a manly form of such beauty and grace. With one voice they exclaimed:

Pele’s fire-brigade went through the form of obeying their orders. They dared not do otherwise. Acting, however, on their preconcerted plan, they contented themselves with casting a few cinders on the reclining form of Lohiau and, then, shamefaced, they ran away—an action that had the appearance of reproof rather than of punishment.

The effect on the mind of Hiiaka, whose insight into the character of Pele was deeper than that of Lohiau, was far different from that of mere admonition or reproof. She recognized in the falling cinders a threat of the direst import and at once braced herself to the task of averting the coming storm and of disarming the thundercloud that was threatening her lover. “Have you not some prayer to offer?” she said to Lohiau.