JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby (10 page)

CHAPTER 13

Amanda tossed her phone in her purse and trotted back to where Timo and I were waiting. She raised her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and said, “Looks like I’ll be going after all.”

Timo checked his watch. “Then we gotta make tracks. They need to leave on time in order to keep to the schedule. You guys were lucky to get on the ride today. It was St. Damien Day yesterday, so they were overbooked.”

He helped each of us into the cab of his Toyota truck and got into the driver’s seat. “Sorry, but the A/C’s out. If you get too hot, you gotta roll down the window.”

We pulled into the parking area of the mule barn just as the first riders were getting settled on their mules. Timo ran into the office and checked us in while one of the mule skinners sidled over to Amanda.

“You going down the trail with us today?” he said, eying her from plunging neckline to stiletto heels. He was holding the reins of a brown, doe-eyed mule.

“I guess,” she said. She lifted a nostril. “These horses sure stink, don’t they?”

He sniffed and then looked off into the middle distance. “They’re mules. And to my way of thinking, they smell fine. At least they’re wearing sensible shoes.”

Amanda narrowed her eyes. “Look, this wasn’t my idea. I don’t even want to be here.”

I broke in. “I’m sorry we’re late. Do you have our mules ready? We had a little mix-up on the time.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’ll be on Ilikea.” He pointed to a rather scraggly ash-white mule standing at the far side of the corral.

He nodded to Amanda and said, “And you’ll be going on Friendly here.” He patted the flank of the mule by his side.

“Maybe the name will rub off,” he muttered.

He instructed Amanda to climb the stairs to a wooden platform to mount Friendly. She did, and when the head mule skinner saw her shoes, he told her to hang on, he’d be right back. He returned with a pair of mud-crusted sneakers that appeared a few sizes too large, but workable.

“You must be joking,” Amanda said.

“Nope. Can’t have you riding in those,” he said, pointing to her strappy sandals.

She reluctantly swapped shoes, and climbed onto Friendly.

While Amanda got situated, the lone female mule skinner led my mule over. Friendly had looked a lot more friendly than Ilikea. My mule had a twitchy-eyed bearing that gave me pause.

“What does Ilikea mean?” I said.

“It means ‘fair skinned.’ She looks kinda worse for wear, but she knows the trail like the back of your hand. She’s our lead mule. Doesn’t like to follow.”

We saddled up, and sure enough, Ilikea pushed her way past all the others to stand by the gate that opened to the road. The head mule skinner bellowed out the basics: stay forward in your saddle to distribute your weight, don’t lean away from the turns, and trust your mule. He explained we’d encounter twenty-six hairpin turns and each was marked so we’d be able to keep track of our progress.

“Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe. We’re descending a seventeen-hundred foot elevation drop in about three miles, so it gets pretty steep in places, but these mules aren’t suicidal. They do this every day. We’ve got twelve of you going down with us this morning and we promise we’ll make sure an even dozen of you comes back up this afternoon.”

I looked back over my shoulder and tried to locate Friendly and Amanda. They were toward the back. Amanda’s mouth was set in a tight line. Even under her full-blown make-up, I could see her complexion had paled.

“You okay, Amanda?” I called.

She didn’t answer.

“Amanda?”

“Shut up,” she said. “Richard is
so
gonna pay for making me do this. I’ll make him regret every step this mule takes.”

We headed off, the mules slowly clopping down a dirt trail that paralleled the road for a while before turning onto a wooded path. A metal guard gate blocked access to a narrow dirt road that led into dense foliage. I figured my mule would stop and wait for one of the skinners to open the gate, but Ilikea kept going, squeezing around to the right side. I had to grip the saddle horn to keep from getting knocked off by the tree branches hanging over the gate.

“Is this okay?” I yelled to the closest mule skinner who was three mules back.

“No problem,” he said. “She knows the way.”

The trail was muddy from an earlier shower and, now and then, Ilikea slipped on the slick rocks embedded in the path. At the first turn, she stopped. I thought maybe she was waiting for instructions from me, so once again, I called back to the mule skinner.

“Give her a kick,” he said. “She’s just messin’ with you. You need to show her who’s boss.”

“Kick? You expect me to kick an animal who’s got my life in her hands? Or her hooves, or whatever.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Like I said, they’re not suicidal. She’s not gonna jump off the trail or nuthin.’”

“I’m not worried about suicide; I’m worried about murder. If I kick her, what’s to keep her from throwing me over the cliff?”

Just then, a strangled scream echoed from somewhere far down the mule line.

I turned to see what was going on. Ilikea snorted in derision and lurched forward. Once again, I had to grab the saddle horn to keep from tumbling off.

“Keep going,” said the skinner behind me. “It’s okay; somebody just got a little spooked. Everything’s okay.”

Ilikea made it to the third turn before halting again. The mule behind me also stopped, but after half a minute the second mule began nudging its way forward, pushing us closer to the cliff edge. We were poised at a turn that offered a breathtaking view of not only the entire Kalaupapa Peninsula, but also the sheer seventeen-hundred foot drop between here and there. As the second mule’s nose got about even with my stirrup, Ilikea stepped back, blocking the second mule’s head between her flank and the muddy hillside.

“What should I do?” I said in a shaky voice. The mules were locked in a game of chicken, and I had a bad feeling neither of them was about to back down.

“Show her who’s boss,” said the mule skinner. “She’s testing you to see what you’ll do.”

“Okay, Ilikea,” I said using the most I’m-in-charge tone I could muster. “Let’s go. Now.” I gave her a half-hearted giddy-up kick.

Nothing. The stand-off continued. The rider on the second mule joined me in attempting to “show the mule who’s boss,” but, as I’d suspected, her mule also stood firm. I could feel Mule #2 deliberately shifting its weight, nudging Ilikea’s sweaty midsection ever closer to the edge.

After half a minute, the mule skinner whistled and yelled, “Ilikea, don’t make me come up there.”

Ilikea twitched her ears. Then she took a step. Then another. The second mule dropped back and once again we were off down the trail.

“No worries,” the skinner chortled after we’d gone a few steps. “Just a little mule drama. These animals are no different than snotty high school girls.”

It went on like that for most of the ride down. Every third or fourth turn, Ilikea would halt to a dead stop; the mule behind us would nudge forward and try to pass, and the skinner would admonish me to get tough. But no matter what I said or did, Ilikea stood still as stone. Each time, the skinner would wait half-a-minute and then whistle and threaten, ending the stand-off.

“This is really getting annoying,” I said as Ilikea halted at turn number fifteen.

“You ever hear the saying, ‘stubborn as a mule?’” the skinner said. “Well, that girl you’re on wrote the book!”

After three hours of gripping the reins and forcing myself to lean into turns with hundreds of feet of open air below, I wondered how Amanda was doing. Since that initial screech at the beginning of the ride, the other riders had been generally quiet, with only a smattering of low conversation now and then. It’d been impossible on the twisting, narrow path for me to look back far enough to see Amanda, and I’d been so preoccupied with keeping my own mule moving forward I’d almost forgotten she was back there.

We reached switchback marker twenty-six and the trail abruptly switched from a steep, muddy trail to a wide sandy path along a pristine white sand beach. I blew out a breath. I felt like I’d worked almost as hard as the mule to get down the precipitous trail.

Now that the trail had widened, I could turn and see the other riders behind me. But I couldn’t spot Amanda in the line. I began counting mules. With twelve riders and three skinners there should’ve been fifteen mules. I counted thirteen. Had she fallen back and hadn’t caught up? Was she okay?

I called to the skinner. “I don’t see my friend. Did she fall behind?”

He laughed. “She freaked. Tonya took her back topside right after we cleared the gate.”

“She went back?” I said. My voice was so loud Ilikea twitched her ears and picked up her pace. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. It happens sometimes. No biggie.” Apparently he didn’t want to discuss the trip’s washout in front of the other riders.

We pulled into a beachside mule pen and I climbed down from Ilikea. I immediately pulled out my phone and called Amanda, but nothing happened. Then I looked at my phone. No bars whatsoever.

“My phone isn’t working,” I said to one of the mule skinners.

“Yeah, there’s no service down here,” he said. “If we have an emergency we need to use the satellite phone at the hospital.”

“My friend turned back,” I said. “Can I go back up and find her?”

“No can do,” said the skinner. “Unless you want to hike it. None of these mules will go without the others.”

There was no way I’d be able to scramble up the steep three-mile cliff face on foot. I could only hope that Amanda had made it back to George’s safely and was lolling by the pool by now.

After everyone had dismounted, we were told how we’d spend our time at the Kalaupapa Settlement. First, we’d have a bus tour of Kalaupapa and pay our respects at the grave of St. Marianne Cope. Then, we’d visit the small local Catholic Church and hear from the current priest about the history of Father Damien and the former leper colony. Finally, we’d take a short bus ride to the other side of the peninsula to see St. Damien’s grave and have a sack lunch. After lunch we’d come back, and get saddled up for the ride back to the top.

“The ride up is easier than coming down,” said the skinner. I looked around at the other weary travelers and noticed I wasn’t the only one envying Amanda for bailing out. It’d already been a long day and it wasn’t even half over.

***

Although the mule ride down the cliff face was challenging, it was nothing compared to the lives of the unfortunates who’d been exiled to Kalaupapa in the mid-1800’s. The first case of what was then called “leprosy” was documented in Hawaii in 1848. It was an incurable disease that ravaged the skin, muscles, and nervous system of its sufferers as they died a slow, painful death. There was no cure or treatment, and although it was known to be contagious, no one was sure how the disease was transmitted. By 1866, the Kingdom of Hawaii was in a panic. Week after week, new cases were reported and the need to do something became painfully apparent. But what?

Separating the sick from the healthy seemed the only way. With a heavy heart, King Kamehameha V banished those suffering from leprosy to the most isolated place within a one-day sail from Honolulu—the Kalaupapa Peninsula on the island of Moloka’i. In the early years, the ships brought people to the Kalawao, or windward, side. When seas were high, which was most of the time, the sick people were dumped into the bay and left to make their way to shore on their own. If they made it to shore, things didn’t get much better. There was no housing, little food, and no functioning government. It was a traumatic experience for all, but even more harrowing for the women and young children who’d contracted the disease and were sent to Moloka’i to fend for themselves.

In 1873, after seven years of horrific conditions at the colony, the eight-hundred exiles were joined by a young Catholic priest from Belgium, Father Damien. Father Damien brought help and hope to the people, improving conditions and encouraging the Church and the government of Hawaii to do more to ease the suffering at Kalaupapa.

Of Father Damien’s many accomplishments, one of the most important was convincing a group of Catholic nuns working as nurses in Honolulu to come over in 1888 to assist at the leprosy hospital in Kalaupapa. One of the nuns, Mother Marianne, was the perfect counterpoint to Father Damien. Whereas Father Damien worked tirelessly on behalf of his flock, he was not especially talented in interpersonal skills, and he had little patience with bureaucracy. Mother Marianne, however, had the knack. It’s said that when it came to getting the help they needed from Honolulu, Mother Marianne accomplished in six months what Father Damien had failed to achieve in six years.

Father Damien contracted Hansen’s Disease and died in 1889 at the age of forty-nine. Mother Marianne, and the nurses who came with her, never contracted the disease. In fact, Mother Marianne died in 1918 at eighty-years-old, a ripe old age for those times.

In the 1940’s, with the advent of sulfa drugs, the disease was finally able to be treated and cured. People were no longer taken from their families and sent to the settlement against their will. But those who’d come to the settlement were allowed to stay, since many of them had no memory of living anywhere else. By the time the exclusion order was lifted in 1969, over eight thousand people had been buried in the cemetery at Kalaupapa.