The Aloha Quilt (16 page)

Before long, the party was underway. Bathed in torchlight and sheltered from the wilder
celebration on the streets outside, guests mingled, admired one another’s costumes,
savored delicious hors d’oeuvres and sweets, and listened to beautiful traditional
Hawaiian music. Playing hostess and assistant cook for a full house, Bonnie had no
time to sit down with a glass of wine and enjoy the performance but only caught a
few bars here and there in passing.

Two hours later, when the momentum of the party carried it along, Midori shooed her
out to the lanai with orders to feed herself and put her feet up. The borrowed sandals
were comfortable, but Bonnie had been racing around on them all evening. She accepted
Midori’s offer gratefully with promises that she would come running back if summoned.

Bonnie filled a small plate from the buffet, collected a glass
of white wine from the bar, and found a seat at a table on the discreet fringes of
the party with a good view of both the band as well as the kitchen in case Midori
beckoned. The band was in the middle of a song that for Bonnie evoked images of moonlit
beaches and palm trees swaying in a gentle, misty breeze. Though she did not understand
the lyrics except for “aloha,” repeated in the refrain, Hinano’s baritone conveyed
gentle longing with every unfamiliar word.

The song ended and Bonnie joined in the applause. Hinano said something over his shoulder
to the rest of his band, then turned back to the microphone and gave his ukulele two,
quick strums. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said to the crowd, tightening a tuning
peg, “but no, my guitar didn’t shrink.”

A smattering of laughter rose from the audience.

“This is a ukulele,” he continued, giving the word the same unusual lilt Bonnie had
heard from him before. “Most people think of it as a Hawaiian instrument, and it’s
true we’ve adopted it as our own, but it actually was brought to the islands by Portuguese
immigrants who came in the late nineteen hundreds to work in the sugar cane fields.”

He strummed another chord and adjusted the microphone. “When the Hawaiian people saw
the newcomers playing, they loved the music and were impressed by the speed of the
musicians’ fingers as they raced up and down the fingerboard. The Hawaiians gave the
instrument the name ukulele, which translates to ‘jumping flea.’ ” Hinano played a
few quick scales up and down, his fingers jumping and dancing on the fingerboard.
“You can see how that image came to mind.”

The audience responded with murmurs and nods.

“But that’s only one version of the story.” Suddenly Hinano’s glance fell on Bonnie,
and she froze with her wine glass halfway to her lips until he looked away. “According
to our
Queen Lili‘uokalani, ukulele came from two Hawaiian words,
uku,
a gift or reward, and
lele,
to come. So the ukulele is ‘the gift that came here.’ ” He played a few soft, wistful
chords. “I’ve heard a half-dozen other origin stories, but these are my two favorite,
so those are the only two you’ll get out of me tonight.”

His listeners laughed.

“Enough talk.” Hinano turned again to nod to his companions. “Let’s play.”

They launched into a quick, cheerful melody and the party’s liveliness quickly resumed.
Bonnie listened for a little while longer before returning to work. Guests had been
filtering in from the street festival all evening, requiring an ongoing replenishment
of the buffet table. As Bonnie watched their supply of prepared treats dwindling,
she worried that they might run out of food. “No need to panic just yet,” Claire assured
her as they crossed paths on the lanai. “I did a head count. Most of our guests have
already eaten. As long as people restrain themselves to only third helpings, we should
be able to hold out until the party wraps up.”

Bonnie hoped she was right. “But if they clear the entire buffet?”

“We’ll send out for pizza. Next time we’ll know, and we’ll plan for this.”

Bonnie knew Claire couldn’t possibly feel as nonchalant as she sounded. The party
had to be a huge, resounding success if they wanted their guests to go away completely
satisfied and reward them with glowing reviews on every site in cyberspace.

A little before one o’clock in the morning, the band went on a break just as Bonnie
was refilling the trays, bowls, and platters for what was sure to be the last time,
since they had not a single appetizer or cookie left in reserve. She had just finished
rearranging the buffet to disguise the dwindling quantities when
the musicians came over to help themselves. “Go easy,” Hinano urged his friends in
an undertone.

But the band had entertained their guests all evening, and Bonnie couldn’t bear to
let them go hungry. “There’s plenty,” she assured them, smiling. “Go ahead. We know
you’ve worked up an appetite. If we polish off the buffet, we’ll just skip ahead a
few hours and start serving breakfast.”

The musicians laughed, but it occurred to Bonnie that she might have hit upon the
solution. She was about to hurry off and suggest it to Midori as a last resort, but
Hinano caught her by the elbow. “You mean you’re not going to join us?”

“I—” Bonnie shrugged, helpless. Why not? She couldn’t replenish the buffet even if
she wanted to, and she couldn’t clean up until the party ended. “Sure. I think your
aunt could spare me for a few minutes.”

She joined the band at the last unoccupied table, and after Hinano made introductions,
Kai and the other members of the band began discussing the next set. Hinano made a
few suggestions but then quickly turned his attention to Bonnie. “There’s more to
the history of the ukulele in Hawaii than that brief intro I just gave you.”

“I figured there probably was,” said Bonnie, determined not to make too much of his
choice to say
you
instead of
your guests
.

“Some of the Portuguese immigrants who introduced the ukulele here were also skilled
woodworkers, and they began making new instruments for others as the music of the
ukulele caught on. It quickly became our most popular instrument both among the common
people and the royalty.”

“You mentioned a queen,” Bonnie recalled, “and her thoughts on the origin of the name.”

Hinano nodded. “Queen Lili‘uokalani, our last queen. She
played the ukulele, as did King Kalakaua, Prince Leleiohoku, and Princess Likelike.”

“I don’t know anything about Hawaiian royalty,” said Bonnie apologetically. “What
happened? Did the monarchy get phased out after Hawaii joined the United States?”

Hinano’s eyebrows rose and he regarded her for a moment as if not sure whether she
was joking. Eventually he must have decided that she honestly didn’t know, for he
said, “It wasn’t quite like that. Hawaii was a sovereign nation and recognized by
international heads of state as such. In 1893, Queen Lili‘uokalani was deposed in
a coup organized by Stanford Dole—”

“The pineapple guy’s cousin,” Kai broke in. “But that was after he forced that constitution
on us. Tell her about that, Dad.”

“Kai’s right. If you go further back, you find more injustice.” Hinano hesitated,
flexing his hands as if to keep them limber for more music soon. “In 1887, Dole helped
organize local politicians, businessmen, and sugar planters to create a constitution
for the Kingdom of Hawaii that stripped Asians and all but the most elite native Hawaiians
of their voting rights. It also shifted power from the monarch to the Privy Council,
the royal cabinet. All of this gave the elite native Hawaiians, Europeans, and Americans
greater control and influence at the expense of the common people.”

“Same kine story the world over,” said the drummer. “Rich and powerful end up running
everything.”

“Many of the same people involved in the 1887 constitution participated in the 1893
coup,” Hinano said. “The Kingdom of Hawaii was taken over by the United States with
the full threat of the use of their vastly superior military force. When the U.S.
Marines landed in Honolulu, Queen Lili‘uokalani stepped aside under protest to prevent
the loss of life. She
fully intended to regain her rightful place eventually, believing that the international
community would denounce America’s illegal actions.”

“Hinano,” the bass player broke in cautiously, “this is a friendly party.”

“Wait. Hawaii was invaded by the United States Marines?” asked Bonnie. “You didn’t
want to become a state?”

“Not that way,” said Kai, and with a glance at his father, added, “and some people
would say not any way.”

“Some people believe that Hawaii isn’t a state at all, but a sovereign nation under
prolonged occupation,” said Hinano. “Some believe that the Hawaiian people ought to
have the same rights to self-governance that many Native American tribes on the mainland
possess.”

Bonnie studied him. “Some people, meaning you. But you were in the military.”

Hinano shrugged, but that small, ostensibly dismissive motion suggested fathomless
depths of conflict. “I’ve fought for my country. I took a bullet for my country. I’m
a proud American the same as you. But America doesn’t exactly have a great track record
when it comes to dealing with indigenous peoples, and the law was broken. It’s never
too late to correct an injustice.”

“Easy, Hinano,” said the bass player. “Queen Lili‘uokalani reconciled herself to it.
Maybe you should too.”

“What choice did she have?” Hinano countered. “After imprisonment, after President
Cleveland broke his promise to support her? What was she supposed to do?”

The bass player held up his palms and shook his head, exchanging a long look with
the drummer that implied they had been through this same debate before.

“But the coup was so long ago,” Bonnie said. “And from
what you said, there was no blood shed over it. Surely you don’t think Hawaii would
be better off if it weren’t a part of the United States?”

She knew at once that it was the worst thing she could have said.

“You’re posing a hypothetical that avoids the real issues,” Hinano said quietly. “Ask
Native Americans on the mainland if they would be better off today if Europeans had
never come to the New World. Ask African-Americans if they would be better off today
if their ancestors had never been brought to the Colonies as slaves. If you want good
answers, you have to ask the right questions.” He pushed back his chair and stood.
“And blood
has
been shed over this issue. It’s not all in the past. Look beyond the resorts and
the beaches and you’ll see a host of social ills that are the direct result of our
native lands being colonized. Our people can’t find affordable homes. We work two
or three jobs just to keep up with the cost of living, and many of us have to leave
our beloved
aina
when we can’t support our families here any longer. We suffer from a serious brain
drain. Kai isn’t the only Hawaiian college kid who’ll probably have to take a job
on the mainland instead of his own island home if he ever wants to get ahead. Rich
haole
from the mainland want to turn our islands into their own private playground of vacation
homes in gated communities.”

“I’m sorry,” Bonnie said as the other musicians rose, averting their gazes as if to
spare her further embarrassment. “There’s obviously a lot I don’t know. I didn’t mean
to offend you.”

“No problem.” Hinano smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. “You should just know
that we’re not all happy natives draping leis and dancing the hula for tourists.”

Mortified, Bonnie nodded in reply, but Hinano had already turned away and didn’t see
it. Biting her lips together, she busied
herself with clearing their table and had returned to the kitchen with the dirty dishes
by the time the band struck up another song.

Midori took one look at her and frowned. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?” Bonnie rinsed off plates and stacked them on the counter
above the dishwasher, which was already running its third load of the night.

“I saw you sitting with my nephew and from the look on your face I know he said something
wrong. And after he was going on and on to Eric and Claire about how lovely you looked.”
She shook her head. “Always he does this.”

“I was the one who said something wrong.” Then Midori’s last words registered—Hinano
thought she looked lovely? Well, it didn’t matter now. “I offended him. I said something
stupid about Hawaiian sovereignty, and I didn’t even know there was a controversy.”

“Naturally. Why should there be a controversy? Who wouldn’t want to be ruled by the
United States?” Midori’s tone was so ambiguous that Bonnie couldn’t tell if she was
mocking her nephew, Bonnie, both, or neither. “Don’t mind him. That’s a sensitive
issue for my nephew.”

“As I discovered the hard way.”

“Unless you denounced Queen Lili‘uokalani and proposed a toast to Stanford B. Dole,
he’ll get over it. And it won’t take him long. Before he leaves tonight, I’m sure
he’ll come to you and apologize for being such a big baby.”

Bonnie didn’t give him the opportunity. When the party ended at two o’clock, Hinano
lingered after the other musicians departed, but Bonnie had so much work to do that
she managed to avoid him. It wasn’t that difficult. As far as she could tell, he made
little effort to speak to her. Despite what
Midori thought, he couldn’t have wanted to apologize too badly or he would have done
so.

Besides, she didn’t really think he owed her an apology, except for that snide remark
about leis, hulas, and tourists. What she had said was worse, but she had spoken out
of ignorance and had meant no harm. Hinano, on the other hand…

She didn’t notice when he left, only that he was gone. Her heart felt strangely heavy
as she, Claire, Midori, and Eric restored order to the lanai, but she told herself
it was merely fatigue. At last Claire decided that they had done enough to make the
kitchen and lanai suitable for breakfast the next morning. Wearily, Bonnie was about
to drag herself upstairs and collapse into bed when Claire called her into the office.