The View from Here
Curses, Nightmarchers, Wasps, and Archaeology: My Summer Adventures with the University of Hawaii Archaeological Fieldschool Part II

Lynne K. Fukuda
Instructor of Anthropology
Windward Community College
E-mail: lfukuda@hawaii.edu

      I stared out of the airport only to be greeted by bright orange-red dirt that rusted anything that was metallic, and rows of neatly planted Norfolk pines that we often used in place of Christmas trees in Hawaii. I stared out at the flat land and saw Lanai city in the distance. It was Hawaii and yet not Hawaii. It was very rural. I felt like Dorothy of the Wizard of Oz, but instead of landing in the city of Oz, I had landed in the agricultural fields of Kansas. If I clicked my heavy hiking shoes, would I be transported to the land of the ancient Hawaiian before European contact? I do not know if I clicked my shoes, but surely, the act of merely walking into the field site had transported me to prehistoric Hawaii.
      It was still Hawaii. As some of you know, the state of Hawaii consists of a chain of islands. Most of the population occupies the larger, main islands of Oahu, Kauai, Maui, and Hawaii. Very small numbers occupy the smaller islands of Lanai, Molokai, and Niihau. No one lives on Kahoolawe, once used by the US military as a bombing target, and is now eroded, destroyed, and littered with unexploded ordinances. It is now a hotbed of controversy, as past activists protested its use in the way Vieques has been protested in the territory of Puerto Rico. Many of the locals do not know very much about life on Molokai and Lanai and very little about Niihau. Some have relatives or friends who live on those tiny islands. And thus, I did not know about Lanai, even if I had lived nearly twenty years in the islands. It was my very first visit to this little island that was only a twenty-five minute ride from Honolulu by plane.
      Each island, like a separate kingdom or dukedom, has a different flavor and a different culture. The locals who inhabit every island pass on a culture with traditions that are similar and yet, different. Perhaps, even after the unification of the Hawaiian Islands by King Kamehameha the Great, the first king of Hawaii, the islands still continued to have their own cultures. I knew that even with the introduction of modern technology and modern life, the islanders all had their distinct ways. I feel this every time I land on Kauai to see my relatives. Kauai people are distinctly different from Oahu people. Kauai locals are shy and reserved, and yet sweet and friendly. Oahu people are citified, bold but not very personal, although individuals differ. Those from Maui have a country goodness, and those from Hawaii or the Big Island are hearty and big-hearted like the island itself.
      Thus, upon landing on Lanai, I began to learn of the distinctness of Lanai folk. They were a shy but curious group of people, sharing and kind and knowing how to comfort others in times of stress. My subsequent accident there along with some mishaps that occurred during our stay was more bearable because of the kindness of the Lanai people. There was always a kind word of encouragement, a word of wisdom, and a mixture of superstition and blessings that came with my talks with the Lanai people. Being isolated until recently, I am certain that the people there treated each other like members of an extended family, sharing resources and hardship together with the passing of time.

      As we transitioned to life on Lanai, I was still trying my best to recover from shock. It dawned on me that many things were short in supply, and there would be a wait to obtain more. We unloaded our supplies that we had brought from Honolulu, mostly our personal belongings, since our tents and two vans were shipped to Lanai harbor. I accompanied my professor on a shopping spree.
      "Lets go all out and celebrate," my handsome blond professor said, smiling, looking more like a soap actor than a professor. He picked out a few frozen Sara Lee cakes for dessert, some preserved meats, some potatoes and rice, a huge supply of bread and crackers and fresh produce. Then we stocked up on canned goods. Not coming from a large family, I had never seen such a large supply of food.
      "You can feed an army with this," I remarked.
      My professor laughed, his sky-blue eyes twinkling. "I guess you didn't come from a large family as I did," he said. I was told later that he had come from a family of seven children, considered huge by my standards, since my family had few children.
      "I only know how to cook for a family of four, not for the ten people we have," I said, worried about the seasoning or cooking times for the food.
      "Don't worry, I also used to work as a fry cook in my college years. I'll give you pointers."
      I did not know that my kitchen would be very primitive, consisting of a campfire to slow-cook stews in an iron caldron that I had only seen in movies where witches make magic brews, a pair of propane camp stoves, and a small camp sink to wash the dishes. There was no fridge, and it would soon become my duty to beg for a steady supply of ice from the general store that we patronized. The ice melted in the deadly heat and had to be replaced daily. There would be flies, roaches, biting insects, armies of ants, and wasps to invade my outdoor kitchen. But ignorance was bliss. I did not panic until I saw the bare facilities at the campsite and heard the gruesome history behind the place where we pitched our tents.

      Our van, bought from a military auction, had been roughly driven by servicemen. It was worn in appearance but tough. Its twin followed, driven by my professor's field assistant. We were heavily loaded with food and supplies and held on as the paved road ended. We passed pastures, empty fields, and finally went onto the unpaved dirt road that twisted and winded down to the coast from Lanai city. The tires rattled on the rough road, giving us a very bumpy ride that I soon became used to. Being from the city, I had never ridden on unpaved road except for some stints abroad, when our guides took us to remote places with no official roads.
      "I hope we don't get a flat," someone remarked.
      I shuddered, wondering if we would have to change the tire. I had changed my car tire just once in my life when I was learning how to drive as a teenager, but my car was a small compact car, not a large van.
      "There's no towing service in town, so it would be good if you drove carefully out here," my professor informed me. I would be responsible for driving into town almost daily and was more likely to be at risk on the road.
      "What happens if I'm stalled?" I asked.
      "It will take weeks or even a month to move the van. You'd have to manage to move it along as much as you can off the road since this unpaved road is narrow, and you would be guilty of blocking off a whole coast," my professor replied.
      "Dear God, please never let me experience anything of the sort," I prayed.

      We were to be camped on the coast that was once the site of a bloody battle when King Kamehameha's men, in an effort to unite the island, had killed the inhabitants of Lanai who resisted. The mountainside had turned red with blood, and it was said that the spirits of the dead haunted the areas of the islands and parts of Hawaii where those who resisted were massacred. I also learned later, on my visits to town for supplies, that our seemingly comfortable, but strange-smelling, Boy Scout club house had been the morgue of the Lanai hospital. It was towed to the campsite to be used by the youth as a shelter. With such a place like this to call home, how could we not be haunted by spirits and ghosts, and even nightmarchers, the ghosts of Kamehameha's men who could not rest because they were in limbo, having killed countless others who resisted. It was to this place that many of us, in turn, would be subject to the ire of the spirits.

      I was not initially frightened by the thought that our campsite was right below the site of a bloody battle that occurred hundreds of years ago. "The spirits have already fled; the ghosts have all dissipated into gas," I said to myself, smiling.
      However, more frightening than possible malevolent ghosts of dead Hawaiian warriors was the prospect of sharing a tent with strangers. "You will have to share a tent with two other women, since you haven't brought one of your own," my professor informed me. I had thought that I would have my very own little tent, but instead, I had a very large tent and two tent mates.
      "Who is sharing with me?" I asked timidly, imagining having to share with the unpleasant girl who was one of the crewmembers.
      My professor smiled. "Don't worry, you will be sharing with Zaza, the Egyptian woman, and Sally, the nice middle-aged lady," he informed me. I knew that my professor was a sensitive and thoughtful person. Already, as we were landing, he had planned our sleeping arrangements. I was somehow glad to be sharing with two mature women instead of two selfish, immature coeds.
      I smiled, glancing in the direction of my soon-to-be tent mates. Zaza was somewhat mysterious, wearing her flowered scarf and long skirt, but having traveled widely, I knew that it was the custom of middle-eastern women to dress in this way. And Zaza did not seem like such a bad person. She smiled often, had a wonderful sense of humor, was friendly and interesting. We had spoken at the airport before boarding our small plane. I would be able to tolerate months of camping out with such a person.
      The other lady, Sally, was a married mother of two grown children. She, too, was interesting and friendly and put me immediately at ease. She was also a very sweet, motherly person, and I found later, a source of wisdom.
      I sighed in relief. I knew that weeks of camping out could take its toll, and close quarters could also rub salt into flesh wounds. Surely, Zaza and Sally would not turn into psychos and come after me with an ax while I slept because of some slight or rude act I accidentally committed during the day. Yet, I was wary, knowing that people were not always what they seemed.

      Every day life became a tolerable and, later, pleasant routine. Each day we would meet at the picnic table under the trees or in the slightly smelly morgue to plan out our day. In the beginning, we had a tour of the area and our digging site. It was, as expected, a hot, dry area with very little trees. The soil was loose. The brush and trees were full of large thorns, some three inches long. My athletic shoes soon were dotted with broken thorns that embedded themselves into my soles, creating a bed of needles. The more I walked, especially on rocks and hard ground, the more, the thorns pushed into my feet, so that I yelped each time the thorns stuck me again and again until I took a pair of pliers or my fingernails and pulled them out one by one.
      Around camp, I wore my flip-flops, since they took me to the toilet and to the shower with ease. And yet, I never felt clean, constantly feeling the grime between my toes. Instead, I felt like a street child, dressed in my cotton floral print dress that was faded from too many washings, and rubber flip-flops that had seen better days. My long hair was braided and tied back in a small chignon. My sleeping area, too, was covered with grime. Even the interior of the car was covered with fine, red dust that stained all my clothes, no matter how clean I tried to be.
      I also learned, to my great displeasure, that our campsite was popular with many varieties of wasps and was infested with aggressive yellow jackets. I knew that bees and wasps were especially not native to Hawaii. Honeybees were an exception and were necessary for those who wished to have honey, but who in their right mind would import wasps to the islands? The wasp of many kinds swarmed about us, immediately making a beeline for any sweetened drinks in our hands. They haunted every wet spot in our camp, climbing on faucets that dripped, sitting in sinks, and flying about the open air shower. It became torture to take a shower in the daytime because it was a race against angry wasps, who wished to drink the water, and the bather, who wished to wash off the dirt and sweat of the day.
      One unfortunate day, still having remnants of my city life, I washed myself with a bar of lavender soap. Immediately, after using the soap, I was chased by bees and wasps alike. I put the bar of soap away, buying the cheapest, unscented soap for myself and the plainest type of shampoo for my hair. I did not wish to have a nest of bees in my hair. I also decided to take my shower in the darkness after the bees and wasps had gone to sleep. I balanced a flashlight on the rocks beneath me and washed in the privacy of the night. I did not care if some pervert would peek in through the plastic curtains to see my naked form. It was far better than being attacked enmass by angry bees and wasps.

      Another source of displeasure was the ants that invaded my tent. They crawled into my sleeping bag and around the floor of our tent, despite our cleaning activities. The ants also invaded all of our food supply and created a continuous trail to the picnic table, that was also our dining table. But soon ants became part of our daily life, and many of us supplemented our diets with ant body parts. "That's all part of camping," one of the students said brightly. "Having sand or insect parts in the food."
      "Yuk!" I said, shuddering from the memory of the two dead flies that I had found in the bottom of our pot of soup. I was in charge of the camp kitchen and ladled out the soup. My professor made me promise not to inform them of the extra bits of protein that were part of their soup. Ignorance was indeed full of bliss. The crew ate our food heartily and never complained about the quality or the taste of their food.

      We were also in discomfort, mainly from camping out in the height of the Hawaiian summer. Lanai, especially along the coast where we camped, was known for hot summers. My springtime sleeping bag was much too hot, and I slept on top of it, covering myself modestly with a sheet. Our tent, housing three individuals, sometimes grew unbearably hot, and I found myself roaming the pitch-dark campsite, unafraid of anything because I had not seen any ghosts, we were removed from civilization, and the island did not harbor fugitives and murderers. I was also stifled by the close living quarters. Most of my life, I had had my own room, with the exception of sharing a large room with a roommate in the university dorms. I craved privacy and silence more than most people. I did not like to hear the echoes of laughter and hear the buzz of human voices. Sometimes, I wanted to shake them off. It was because of this that I took to strolling alone in the darkness with only my flashlight to guide my way, walking until sleep beckoned and calmed me once again. I felt safe on my walks and continued my nightly exercises.
      Soon, the teammates and I began to form a support group of complainers. When our professor was not present, we aired out our complaints. "Why do we always have to work out in the hot sun?" one of the students asked. I knew that this was not a valid complaint. In Hawaii, no one excavated in the evening, and all activities took place in the daytime. It was hot because it was a summer archaeological field school, and most field sites in Hawaii were hot. Trees, branches and bushes were removed for the purposes of excavation. No one could really do archaeology in America with servants carrying teasets and bringing canopies or umbrellas to shade the diggers. We would not have martinis and sit on chairs in the field. Instead, we would be covered from head to toe in the powdery orange dirt of Lanai and be sunburnt and covered with a layer of malodorous sweat.
      "Why is he so immaculate?" another student asked, referring to our professor.
      I smiled, recalling how our professor liked to dress in white and never appeared dirty after spending a day in the field. He had a white baseball cap, white shirt and pants, and even white shoes. With a small smudge on his cheek and elbows and a small dirt stain on his knees, he was as pristine as the Pillsbury doughboy.
      "Maybe he sprays scotch guard on his clothing," someone else said. I imagined my professor spraying scotch guard intently on his belonging before he packed his things for a dig. I shook my head. I knew that there were immaculate individuals, like my own mother who managed to be a full-time housewife with two lively children and dress in beautiful dresses, her hair in place, and still looked slip and pretty and collected like Mrs. Cleaver and other sitcom mothers of the 50's and 60's. I had never seen my mother ruffled and dirty like other mothers who wore no makeup at all and looked as if they had dragged themselves through a dusty basement.
      In contrast, I was like Pigpen in the cartoon, Peanuts. I attracted dirt. Every white piece of clothing had a stain on it or was smudged with dirt when it was first new. I found my professor's clean clothing a deeper mystery than any supernatural happenings that occurred on Lanai.
      "Why can't we have a trip to town in the evenings instead of hanging out in this drab camp?" someone else asked. Everyone all turned to look in my direction. I had the keys to the van and made trips into town almost daily. It was part of my duties to get the free ice from the general store, buy a few necessities, and once a week get the wash done.
      "Maybe, if you asked, you could go into town on a Friday," I suggested.
      "I didn't think we'd be stuck in the boonies all the time," another person said.
      "Why can't we take turns going into town with the van?" another asked. I knew that this was not possible. There was a problem with liability.
      I shuddered, feeling a riot coming on. I wondered if the student would have a strike and refuse to work in the fields like slaves. They had paid for their trips and their tuition and were virtually free labor while I had only paid for my plane trip and was fed and given a place to stay for free and did not pay tuition, since I was a volunteer assistant.
      I grimaced. I too was feeling rundown. I did not like the idea of washing the dirty undies of those who were not family members and felt like a servant or a slave. I was so angry once at one of the students, who was insolent to me, that I revenged myself by pouring a little extra bleach into the wash. "Oops, I think I accidentally spilled some bleach into your wash," I later told the nasty student, when he complained about mysterious bleach stains on his dark clothing.

      We had been digging for three weeks when the toll of our labor was making us angry and dissatisfied. The students had found very little artifacts. There were a lot of midden- the remains of someone's meal- the shells that had been collected and eaten and discarded, fishbone, animal bones. There were a few tools such as stone adzes and cutting stones.
      "It's so boring. We've found literally nothing," a student complained. I am certain that for new students on a dig in Hawaii, the islands seemed devoid of material artifacts.
      And yet, for an archaeology freak such as myself, I was filled with envy. I knew that the site was richer than the small agricultural shrine I had spent digging for two summers previous to this one. The site on Lanai on Keomoku was rich with evidence of a temporary fishing village and was relatively undisturbed. I would have switched places with the grumpy students in a second. Instead, I was stuck in camp, readying the meals, cleaning up, driving into town to do the wash and errands, and the students were free to dig all day.
      "I wish I could spend some time in the field," I told my professor.
      "When the students have excavated further, you can come," he informed me. I knew that, initially, a lot of dirt had to be removed, and it was the most unglamorous part of a dig. I was invited to help out when the artifacts were coming out and the site was more inviting.

      "The site is cursed," one of the townspeople informed me. "It's the area where Kamehameha's men massacred the people of Lanai."
      On my errands to town, after my initial adjustment, I found small but wonderful pleasures in my mundane duties. I began to talk to the friendly townspeople and sought them out. The owner of the general store, Mr. T, and his brother were wonderful people who were friendly and kind. They were naturally curious about our work and about the students.
      I found immense pleasure in looking at every nook and cranny of their general store. It reminded me of many of the stores of my remote childhood, stocking every necessity from flip-flops and fishing supplies to medicines and books. I voiced my shock at the prices but did not care, knowing that the school was paying the expenses. I planned out the meals with my professor, creating things in the black cauldron. We had a healthy variety of meals such as spaghetti, stew, goulash, beef burgundy, pot roast, and soups. We even baked cakes in the cauldron over the fire.
      Because I spent most of the day in town, I ate at the small shops, having my fill of delicious homemade hamburgers in a 1950's styled burger joint. From the outside, it looked like a hardware store, but once in the darkened interior, it was a typical malt shop, with a menu written on the wall. I also had shaved ice, or snow cones, with sweet syrup. It was a relief to have something cold, knowing that once back in camp, anything with ice did not exist.
      I relaxed under the Norfolk trees, very much alone. Lanai city was sparsely inhabited. Because it was of a higher elevation than our campsite, it was also cool and breezy. "Ahh, relief at last," I thought, lying under the trees. Here, there was no red dirt flying in the slightest breeze or the ominous buzzing of wasps around my head. Instead, it was cool and green and true paradise.
      In addition to my newly found pleasures of food and shopping, my trips to the post office were also very pleasant. I managed to train my family into sending me little gifts and things that were not available in town. I munched on foods that my mother sent and got a new shirt occasionally. The harsh washing and the red dirt were taking its toll on my wardrobe. Everything was beginning to have a sheen of red dust and my clothes were quickly fading.

      After my initial disappointments with life as an archaeologist's assistant, I began to find pleasure in my duties. Because I was also an anthropology major, I liked collecting stories. The shy inhabitants of Lanai were beginning to open up to me after observing me for three weeks.
      "Do you know about curses?" one of the townspeople asked me.
      I shook my head. "Is there a curse on our campsite as everyone says?" I asked.
      The elderly man nodded gravely. "The spirits don't like it when you disturb the sites. You gotta be careful. Always be respectful," he warned me.
      I nodded. "Don't worry, we try our best not to disturb things. Hopefully we won't come across a burial. We've only found habitation sites. My professor thinks it was a fishing village that was only inhabited for part of the year."
      Another man informed me of curses of another kind. "I had a friend who peed on a site without knowing that it was an important place. His stuff got so swollen and painful. He went to the doctor and the doc couldn't figure what was wrong. No medicines or treatments worked. Someone told him to go back to the site where he peed, since it occurred on his stuff, and to pray to the spirits and apologize."
      I nodded, imagining the secret agony of the man who was in pain in his private area. I wanted to laugh out loud, but stifled it, wishing to be respectful. I could not believe that the gods would curse the man for being disrespectful and peeing on a certain place.
      "He went to the same place once again, his stuff so swollen he couldn't even sit down. He prayed and asked for forgiveness. That day, when he went home, the swelling came down and he was ok."
      I smiled. "I guess there must be truth in that," I said smiling.
      "Be careful. Someday, you will believe what I just told you," the man warned.

      Another person informed me of Nightmarchers. "You've heard of them, haven't you since you're local?" the lady said.
      I nodded. "They were the ghosts of Kamehameha's men who cannot rest because they killed so many people on all islands and sometimes they harm living people," I replied. During the process of unifying all the islands, King Kamehameha the Great and his men had killed those who resisted. It was due to conquest and alliance that the king united the island, which were once separate kingdoms.
      The lady nodded, approving of my knowledge. "Some people here have seen or heard them. They see lights in places that have no electricity. They hear chanting and drumming on the nights of the full moon from places no one lives."
      I shuddered. The hair on my neck stood up. I wondered if these ghosts would come after us, because we slept near the site of the terrible massacre hundreds of years before. "Our campsite, is it haunted?" I asked, my heart beating a little faster.
      "Maybe," the woman replied. "Anyway, the wooden building the Boy Scouts use as a clubhouse was actually the morgue for the Lanai hospital years ago."
      This being when I first learned the information, I looked at the woman in shock. I knew that the clubhouse had a strange smell. Being made of wood, the scent of disinfectants and preservatives would have permeated into the grains. I visited old hospitals that had similar scents and finally made the connection. The smell of blood, bodily fluids, and dead people were hard to erase. The morgue, probably only housing a few or even a single dead person or none at all for months, had not been as heavily used as some other morgues would have been in highly populated areas, and yet, I shuddered, feeling a revulsion for dead things. Images of cooled, stiff bodies covered with sheets lying in the Boy Scout clubhouse crowded my mind. I wondered if the ghosts of the dead still haunted the clubhouse in the present day.
      Because of this bit of information, I was less reluctant to use the restroom in the middle of the night and enlisted my tent mates to go with me. I did not want to encounter a ghost of a dead person who had once rested in the morgue. I wondered sometimes if the Lanai people, being kind, and yet a bit naughty, decided to have a good laugh by scaring us with their creepy tales. Yet, I knew, after spending much time with them, that by giving us the strange and frightening information, they felt that they were helping us instead, in case something out of the ordinary ever were to occur.

      Another week passed. I got used to my routine, traveling up and down the winding unpaved road to and from the campsite to Lanai City. Because the road was narrow and unpaved, when another car passed, the driver would go to the side as a courtesy to give it room. One unfortunate day, lugging a load of food and some alcohol for the beer-hungry crowd, I had a flat tire. I discovered that a large thorn from the Kiawe or mesquite tree had pierced the worn tire of my van. I drove on, knowing that there was no tow truck, and I could not change the tire myself. Then, suddenly, the other tire also had a flat. In that strange afternoon, I felt a heavy presence. I could almost hear the music of the movie Damien (not Father Damien, but of the devil's spawn aka Damien Omen II etc.). Perhaps the spirits craved the alcohol in my van. Many ghost stories of Hawaii warn drivers not to take alcohol in the car when passing through certain areas in Hawaii because it will stop your car.
      I felt a heavy cloud hovering near my shoulder. I wondered then if I were destined to plunge to my death, the van careening off a cliff or into a ditch on the side of the unpaved road. My professor and the crew would come out in search of me when darkness fell, and find me the next morning, dead in the driver's seat of a wrecked van.
      I began to slide widely down the hill, passing cliff areas. I held on for dear life because the brakes did not seem to be working. I pumped the brakes a few times, but they did not respond. I did not think about using the hand brake at that time. Then, finally, close to camp, I stopped the car with a tree and twisted the steering wheel as far as I could. I saw smoke coming out of the van from overheating. I jumped out of the car and went a safe distance from it, afraid of an explosion, and waited, suddenly afraid of my professor's wrath.
      I shivered violently. "Maybe we have been cursed," I said to myself, remembering the townspeople's warnings. I looked at the car and was thankful that the car was not on fire. It was no longer smoking and, like an exhausted old creature, the van was silent and still. Like a rag doll, I dragged myself to the back of the car and began unloading the food, afraid that it would spoil. I needed to occupy myself with an activity before I became hysterical. Thus, the slow and laborious work of unloading the food and supplies began to calm me. I then sat at the picnic table after finishing my task, ignoring the buzzing of the wasps. It no longer mattered if I got stung. I had been cursed with something far worse than a bee sting.

      It was beginning to get dark when my professor and the rest of the crew returned. "What happened?" my professor asked me. "Are you alright?" He looked pale and far from angry.
      I nodded, tears coming down my cheeks. I finally was able to cry. "I'm sorry, I wrecked the car."
      "We saw the mess. It wasn't you. You had two flats and something else seems wrong with the car. I'm just glad you're not hurt," he said kindly.

      The very next day, some people from the service station came to examine the car. It was totaled. "The drive shaft was cracked in two and there were two flat tires," they informed us, "How did she manage to drive the van back to camp?"
      "I needed to get it off the road since you don't have a tow truck, and I couldn't block all traffic for this side of the island."
      The service station people decided that the drive shaft probably had a small crack when it was purchased, but it did not explain the failed brakes and why I had two flat tires. I reasoned that, perhaps, it was the curse. I did not say it, lest everyone believe that I had cracked like the van's drive shaft.

      Later, I spoke with the Hawaiian activist, who was one of the students, to consult him on blessing our area. "I think we're cursed and our professor won't believe me, but I need to have our campsite blessed," I told him. I knew that discussing such a matter with a native person was safer. Many Hawaiians that I knew also believed in such things as I did. I needed desperately to have the activist's opinion.
      Kimo, the activist, nodded gravely. "I knew something would happen. This place has heavy mana (supernatural power)," he informed me. "We must have displeased the gods."
      "I have to tell them that we mean them no harm and that we respect them."
      "Then offer them some spirits and sprinkle salt water around the site," he advised. "I can also pray to them."
      I nodded. I made a note to buy a small bottle of vodka, since beer seemed a cheap offering, and a bag of Hawaiian sea salt to mix with water. I reasoned that even if I were not a Hawaiian priest, the ghosts would accept my sincere offerings.

      After buying the necessities in town the very next day, I sprinkled all the vodka into the soil, knowing that some alkies would have thought it wasteful, and sprinkled the salt water, praying to the spirits for forgiveness and permission to remain on their land and to do excavations.
      "We are here to help preserve your past. Please forgive us and understand us," I said in a small voice. It seemed that the spirits were listening. They would not harm me but watch over me.

      After the accident, the air seemed cleared. No one complained about the living condition. Although, now, we only had one van instead of two, and in addition to doing my errands in town, I now had to drive the van to the camp site each day to pick up the crew. My professor also made time for the students to do their own errands in town, allowing them to do their own wash. Life was easier for all of us.
      Like in all small towns, the news of my accident traveled quickly. Each time someone spotted me doing errands, they would question me curiously about the event. "It's surely a curse," everyone said.
      Each time I saw someone, he or she would ask me to repeat what had happened and what we were doing for our excavations. I felt like a celebrity and knew that the Lanai people felt that a chat with me equaled an interview on the TV news.
      I smiled back, reassuring them that I had done the blessings and obtained permission from the spirits. I was smug, believing that because the blessing was done, we would all be safe from now on. Little was I to know what was to come.

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------------------------------  Page Citation Reference: Fukuda, Lynne K. (2005).  AE-Extra. March. Available Online. [URL: < >. Created: 21 February 2005. Updated: --. Accessed: ]