The daughter of a chief died and was buried in a cave. Out of her navel there grew the vine of a gourd. The vine traveled all the way back to the village and made it to the garden of another chief. Over time, it produced a gourd. When the chief picked it up and gave it a thump, the gourd appeared to a kahuna in a dream. The kahuna followed the vine back to its source and thereafter the gourd was treated with great respect.
It had been raining all day and I’d been lying in my lower bunk at the Downtowner Hostel, trying to plan my next move. It looked like what I’d probably do is spend a few days in Kona and then return to Oahu. I would’ve liked to visit the other islands, but prices were very expensive and whenever I thought about moving to Hawaii it was always between Oahu and the Big Island, places where I had some history. We’d briefly lived in a commune outside of Kona after leaving God’s House, and though all I had for the house was a rural route number, there were still memories from being there as a kid that I wanted to investigate.
When it stopped raining, I went outside, to Kalakaua Park, right behind the hostel. The centerpiece of the park is a statue of the last king of Hawaii, David Kalakaua, sitting beneath a banyan tree with a gourd on his knee. Just as the kahuna followed the vine back to its sacred place in the story of the gourd, David Kalakaua, also known as the Merrie Monarch, was the one who was responsible for the Hawaiian Renaissance, bringing back traditions, such as the hula, that had been banned for decades. It is in his honor that the Merrie Monarch festival is staged every year in Hilo, a week-long dance competition and celebration of ancient traditions.
On this particular evening, it was just Kalakaua with the gourd on his knee, and me with a ukelele on mine. The only other revelry was a group of addicts hitting a pipe in the other corner of the park. Then it began to rain and I got out my umbrella and just sat there, with nowhere to go.
Far from being a night of culture and renewal, I ended up walking to McDonalds and then returning to the hostel to watch Battle-Bots with Seth, Joe, and the few travelers who were gathered in the main area. It was either that or the winter Olympics and the vote hadn’t even been close.
That night my roommate Jack came in. He’d been the one passed out early the night before. All of his earthly belongings were spilling out of a big green army bag that was jammed under his bed. He told me about a vision that he’d had back in cold Michigan, about him on a beach, in a hut, with a beautiful woman. Funny. It was very similar to a vision that had plagued me from time to time. As far as he was concerned, he’d already done the visualizing and had had the nerve to buy the ticket and make it happen.
Joe was trying to help him out and had lined up an interview for him the next afternoon at a gas station where the manager was a friend of his. In the meantime, a single woman showed up the next morning and her and Jack started drinking early. She had an idea about trying to drive all around the island and we didn’t see him at all that day, certainly not when it came time for him to be at his interview.
That evening his big green army bag was gone and the next time I saw Jack he was sleeping on the street corner. He’d spent some time with a beautiful woman. The beach was right there. He could always build a hut. In a way, his dream had almost come true. I was playing ukelele in the rain again. So had mine.