In Hawaiian mythology, a kupua is the son or the daughter of a god, a human blessed with supernatural strength or ability.  One of the most famous of these is Kamapua’a, or the Hog Man, one half hog, one half man, who was born to Hina as a piglet and cast out, only to be later rescued by his grandmother.  As a man he is handsome and tall, with a sparkle in his eyes.  It is said that he has bristles on his back which he hides beneath a cape.  He is a great romancer of women, his most notable paramour being the goddess Pele.  Some of the women he pursues turn into springs of water.  The males who try to stop him get turned into stone.

Kamapua’a is a shapeshifter, meaning he can change from man to animal and back.  In addition to the hog, he can also change into various plants and other animals.  He was able to escape the fires of Pele by turning into a fish.  Some adversaries were overcome by becoming a weed or vine and killing them from within.  Many popular landmarks are named for one of his legendary encounters or skirmishes, such as a point called Huluhulu-nui, or Many Bristles, where he is said to have once lost all the hair from his back.

There were two buses that traveled from Hilo to Kona, up the Saddle Road, past the volcanoes of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa.  I decided to take the second one at 1:15 in the afternoon, and give myself the chance to sleep in.  Besides, taking the early one would mean I arrived too early to check into my room and would have to wait around.  For a departing gift, I actually got one night where it was quiet.  Ryan slept soundlessly on his side.  A third roommate who was supposed to check in never showed up.

When I went out in the morning, Jolene, the hippy woman living in a tent, was waiting in the lobby to see Joe.  She and another woman who had just arrived were talking.  When I said I was leaving, Jolene said she was sorry she hadn’t had to chance to hear me play my ukelele.  I got it out and played her a song of mine called The Fight.  Both women were very taken with it and suddenly had ideas for what I could do with my music if I stuck around. 

I knew better.  Departure ceremonies always create a sense of nostalgia for good times that never happened.  I’d come back to Hilo later, maybe when I had more money or some solid connections.

Right before I left, Ryan came out and gave me his address and phone number.  That was a bit touching.  I wasn’t sure how much he really knew about me, but he considered me a friend.  I guess we’d been going through hard times together, and after a week of sleeping three feet from someone you either grow fond of them or try to kill them.

I got to the bus station an hour early and bought a tuna sandwich and iced tea.  There were an assortment of sketchy characters sitting around outside with me.  When the first-class bus arrived, there were only ten of us onboard.  One man with a flat-top and rectangular head seemed able to block every view of the black volcanic landscape from his seat ahead of me.  Perhaps he was a kupua and that was his special power.  The guy in the seat across from me sat slumped against the window with his hat over his eyes.

It took about two hours to cross the Saddle Road.  When we reached the leeward side of the sun, resorts, malls, condominium complexes began to spring up.  The sunny vibe of Kona was made for tourism.  When the bus stopped, I needed to walk two miles to get to the hostel.  Now I was passing all of the families, men, women, children, couples, wearing Hawaiian shirts and beachwear.  I walked by the Marriott pulling my suitcase, the ukelele stacked on it, and felt the sweat soaking through my shirt.

The hostel, Kona Beach Huts, was clean and well kept up, but when they showed me the dorm I’d be sleeping in for four nights, I discovered that it was box-like and windowless.  Fortunately, there was a lower bunk open right beside the door.  As soon as I checked in, I headed out to Ali’I Drive to walk along Kailua and Oneo Bays.  The waves were green and blue with white caps.  Green succulents grew amidst black lava and white coral.

Around sunset, tourists began to descend with their cameras, anticipating a world-class sunset.  A ledge of clouds moved in, just at the last minute.  The sun remained white, sinking down through the clouds and then into the sea.

There were a few open patios at the hostel, and when I got back to it, I took my mythology book to sit outside and study.  Most of the travelers were young, having the vacation of their lives.  A family also occupied a few of the open seats.  The mood was merry and chatty.  Then a shadow darkened the wooden floor, and I saw a guy from the bus, the one who’d been passed out with his hat over his eyes, step across the threshold.  He was looking for something to mix with his drink.  His presence threw off the other travelers.  They didn’t know what to make of him.  He looked more like a homeless tramp than a tourist.

When he left, I saw him stumble across the yard and then go into my room.  I cursed under my breath, just imagining him in there.  It was even worse than I feared.  When I gave up my reading and called it a night, I found he was right above me, flat on his back, his shirt off, his stomach as bloated as a dead whale, a brown and grey beard that looked like roadkill, fanned out over his chest, and a series of impossibly grotesque grunts and snores, pouring from his open mouth.  I looked at a girl in the bed across from me who had her head wrapped up in her pillow in anguish.  My god I hated that man.

Some legends are just stories.  Others are out there running around.  That night I discovered Kamapua’a, the Hog Man, in the bunk above me, not tall, handsome, and charming, but short, sniveling, and conniving.  So repulsed was I by his squeaks, squeals, and phlegm-ridden bellows, that I spent the night spearing the underside of his bed with both feet, hoping to launch him into consciousness and over on to one side.  Right at sunrise, I went down to the beach with my ukelele and waited there until after check-out. 

When I got back, he was gone, thank God, but on the floor all around my bed were beard clippings, scraggly brown and grey hairs that he’d shaved off in one last great act of indecency.  Who he was off to terrorize next I couldn’t say.  If there was a bus to be ridden, he was sure to be passed out on it.  If there was a cheap bed to be found, he’d go on dreaming his terrible dreams.