"Dreams go deep, all the way down, maybe to
before the beginning. May not old Maui have only dreamed he pulled
Hawaii up from the bottom of the sea? Then would this Hawaii land
be a dream, and you, and I, and the squid there, only parts of
Maui's dream? And the lark bird too?"
He sighed and let his head sink on his breast.
"And I worry my old head about the secrets undiscoverable," he
resumed, "until I grow tired and want to forget, and so I drink
swipes, and go fishing, and sing old songs, and dream I am a lark
bird singing in the sky. I like that best of all, and often I
dream it when I have drunk much swipes . . . "
In great dejection of mood he peered down into the lagoon through
the water-glass.
"There will be no more bites for a while," he announced. "The
fish-sharks are prowling around, and we shall have to wait until
they are gone. And so that the time shall not be heavy, I will
sing you the canoe-hauling song to Lono. You remember:
"Give to me the trunk of the tree, O Lono!
Give me the tree's main root, O Lono!
Give me the ear of the tree, O Lono!--"
"For the love of mercy, don't sing!" I cut him short.
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