[Found under: “Ka Moolelo Kaao o Hiiaka-i-ka-Poli-o-Pele”]
Then Hiiaka replied, “If you really want to go with the two of us, you can take your young pig. There is but a short distance before you reach the crater. The crater is right there upland. You will find us in no time.”
“It is a tribute, like an uku, a fish from Kahoolawe,” replied Wahineomao, continuing on, “But there is one problem. Maybe when I get back, I will not find the two of you.”
“No. You will find us,” answered Hiiaka. “And when you are making the climb, say o ku o ka, o ku o ka, and keep doing that until you reach the crater. When you reach the crater, you should throw your offering into the pit; and then turn and come back. It is your god that will deal with her pig. Your work will be complete. And when you are headed back, say, o ku, o ka, o ku, o ka. You will probably not end up saying two times forty o ku, o ka, and you will come upon us.”
“Hey, my thoughts are disturbed at you speaking those words. O ku, o ka, o ku, o ka. Those are your names that you told me,* and those are the words that I am to ramble on while I make this climb, and so too while I am returning. Therefore, I am thinking that you perhaps are Pele, my god. Consume my pig, and this great difficulty of mine will be over.”
Hiiaka felt aloha for these words of Wahineomao, and at that point she replied to that mountain-climbing woman, the woman who was taking her offering for that sullen elder sister of hers…
*In the previous installment of this story, Hiiaka tells Wahineomao that her name was Ku and Pauopalae’s name was Ka.
(Kuokoa Home Rula, 7/17/1908, p. 1)
