House of Many Gods by Kiana Davenport Page A

intense. They lifted her and carried her to
lauhala
mats piled high on the floor. They took turns with the midwife, gently bearing down on her stomach. Even children were involved, for this was life’s most natural process. Girls ran back and forth with towels, scissors, and water. Boys stood at the window calling out the shape of a cloud, the flight of a bird, omens that would tell elders many things about the coming child.
    They prayed and continued bearing down gently on Rosie’s stomach. They did this for hours in watchful acceptance until the
pohā ka nalu
, the amniotic sac, broke, and they knew birth was near. Now Rosie was lifted to her feet and placed squatting on the mats. Her knees well apart, her arms round Ben’s neck in front of her, giving her support when actual birth began. Later, when he tired, it would be another uncle’s neck she clung to.
    As pain became more intense, Ana moved behind her as
ko‘o kua
, sat with her legs spread, and wrapped her arms around her tightly. Following the midwife’s instruction, Ana pressed down and stopped, pressed down and stopped.
    Now the midwife spoke softly to Rosie. “
‘Ume i ka hanu
. Draw the breath.
Koke. Koke
. Soon.”
    Contractions began to come so strong sweat cataracted down Rosie’s body, drenching Ana. They heard the rumble from Noah’s room as cousins came running.
    “Ho! Uncle Noah moan and groan, all twisted up in pain. Three cousins try hold him down. How long it going take?”
    Ben shouted back. “However long da gods decide. Tell him he scream, I break his leg. Screaming in childbirth is disgrace!”
    “
Pahū! Ho ‘opūhūhū!
Push now. Push hard!” the midwife called, and suddenly the head emerged.
    Ana moaned, pressing down with Rosie as if she herself were giving birth. The whole family seemed to moan, weeping and praying, even breathing for Rosie. Gently, the midwife held the baby’s bloody head, guiding the little body through its narrow passage. Ben’s eyes bulged from the strain of Rosie’s arms pulling on his neck. Her knees began to give out.
    It was then the midwife cried,
“ ‘Ike ‘ia na maka I ke ao!”
The eyes are seen in the world. The child was born.
    Closest to a grandfather for the child, Ben now stepped forward, his cheeks wet with tears.
    “Ola
ke kumu, I ka lōlō hou!
” The branches of the tree were green again. The family line continued.
    Very gently, he stuck his finger into the baby’s mouth and gagged her just enough to disgorge her birth fluid. He rinsed his own mouth and sucked the baby’s fluid from her nose, then wiped her eyes, as she let out a healthy scream.
    The infant’s
piko
, umbilical cord, was handled with great care as her link between the backward time to ancestors, and the forward time to her descendants. It was cut and blessed by the midwife, and dusted with arrowroot to stanch the bleeding. All the while, Rosie continued squatting, grunting, trying to expel the
‘iēwe
, the placenta. Suddenly, she gasped, expelled the thing, and then collapsed. Shaking with exhaustion, Ana fell forward to her knees. Someone bent and wiped her face and neck with cool, wet cloths, then lifted her and held her in their arms.
    The child’s
piko
was wrapped in tapa cloth. Within days it would be taken by canoe out beyond the reef, a gift to
‘aumākua
dwelling there, assuring that the child would be safe in her travels. Then the midwife requested the
‘iēwe
, which she thoroughly washed and prayed over. It would be buried beneath a young tree to ensure that the child would always find her way home and not become a hopeless, wandering spirit.
    Observing the rituals, the washing and the wrapping, in spite of extreme exhaustion, Ana wondered,
When I was born, did someone take my piko out beyond the reef? And where is my ‘iēwe buried? Under what tree?
    While Rosie was bathed and lay with her child, the old midwife sat with the family. “I am tired, nearing my time. This child, Makali‘i, is my