Ho'okano

Wikiquote - 'disdain'

  hoʻo.kano Haughty, proud, conceited, rude, disdainful of others, insolent, vain; to act superior - Wehewehe.org

The story began here and continues 🠋 

The dream came like cotton candy on a hot day. Pink. Sticky. Teeth-achingly sweet. 

"Why do I do this?" The Pua of her dream muttered, "I mean I don't enjoy getting this stuff in my hair, and it always gets in my hair." 

"Wanna know what I think?" It was the giant talking. He, she, whatever gender being puppeteering the dream asked with the voice of Rosemary Clooney. A dated voice, a voice from Pua's American songbirds era. Looking with dream vision eyes, her mouth challenged the candy to keep her from answering. With her fingers poised to take yet another lump of the stuff Pua said, "Yeah, I'd wike to know."

"You buy cotton candy because you love the carnival. Mostly, you love the clowns."

Her eyes were still closed. The hot sticky feeling lingered making the transition from dreamspace to bedroom a comfortable, well maybe not quite that, but it was a familiar sensation. Blinking slowly Pua felt her forehead. She was hot but probably not feverish. How like her Ancestors to feed her dreams with voices of famous dames who could belt a love song and make you feel she owned it. Kaulana loved Rosemary Clooney, and Pua loved the mish mash of magic with the grit of the carnies driving the stakes in to secure the big canvas tents. And simple drama of the rides. The slow rising movement of the Ferris Wheel and painted ponies that went up and down. And the clowns ... so many clowns.

A sound reset time. The screen door slammed. 

"Huuuiii, Aunty I'm home." It was Iliahi.

Iliahi's arms were loaded. Bundles of clothes hung over his arms: tee shirts once-bright with colors of mango, Myer lemons, the red dirt of Kaua'i, stripes; lengths of batik twisted around denim; at least three different stocking caps topped his golden head of hair. Two braids fell down his back. 

"In here Honey Man," Pua's voice was a give away. Barely audible. Iliahi moved quickly to his Aunty's bedroom, his eyebrows went into nearly-full worried position. They touched.

"Aunty," Iliahi said without thinking about the mountain of mending. "Aunty, what's going on?"

The stash of clothes tumbled onto the woman as Iliahi knelt to embrace her. 

"Ahi, I'm okay just a little ... little buggy."

"And a little hot," Iliahi released the hug long enough to feel Pua's forehead. 

"I could use some la'i," Pua pointed to the tall green leaves nodding in the breeze outside her bedroom window. 

Iliahi nodded, pulled the caps from his head on his way out, left them on the kitchen table and started to chant. When he wasn't sure what to do, Iliahi olied. When he was sure he chanted. Damn, Sam was right, Iliahi was always oliing.

A few years, five to be exact, had passed since Samuel and his family moved their home bakery into the storefront. The transition took some juggling and for the first six months some of the preparations were done in their kitchen. Sour dough starter in larger patches were tended and fed at home. Sam started his official apprenticeship at this point. Hands on measuring and keeping track of the recipes and costs. Math in practice! Once the starters were primed and ready, Sam's dad drove the bowls of starter to the new bakery. 

The baking was done through the night. Mamo and the Baker decided the kids needed the sleep, and the regularity of home routines. While the Baker baked, Mamo and the clan grew the marketing: made up stories about the breads, drew pictures that became silk-screened designs for the packaging used to sell their wares. 

"All this work, is the stuff to make sure these kids don't suck on the ho'okano genes." This was the first time the giant voice showed up. Bodiless presence, the Rosemary Clooney of Pua's dream kept watch. 

At first Pua wrote it off as part of the virus she had. There were so many variants, and so many sciences now describing or prescribing what was right, what was wrong and just how kanaka, humans, were going to own up to course corrections on a personal and collective level. But the voice was not ho'okano, and not choosey about who heard her. This was a very adamant ghost with a mission. Somewhere in the web of ancestry the Great Spider was going to intervene. 

Those resident magicians weren't predictable but they do leave clues.

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