Things happen on the Big Island that don't happen anymore on O'ahu. Herb Kane, the artist, lives on a tropical hillside above Kealakekua Bay. Kane told me a story not long ago. He was painting a mural in the pavilion at Punalu'u in Ka'u, famous for its black sand beach. The mural showed Punalu'u as it was in ancient times.

The houses were made of thatched pili grass. People wore malos. Outrigger canoes were drawn up on the beach. Women were making tapa, the men repairing fish nets.

Herb said families from around Punalu'u, parents and children, came to stand quietly at the door and watch him paint. They were very respectful, awed by the wonderful scene unfolding in the mural. Nobody spoke. It was if they were in a church and he was the priest.

One evening, an old woman came to stand behind him. After a while, she asked him for a cigarette. He gave her one and went on painting. The next time he looked around she was gone. He also decided to have a smoke, so he went out and sat down.

"Who was that old woman who came in just now?" he asked the security guard. "What old woman?" the guard said. "Nobody has been here but you and me."

Herb is convinced he was visited by Pele. One reason is because a tsunami wrecked the pavilion but didn't harm the mural.

The story has an unhappy ending. The mural has been stolen. Somebody chipped it out of the wall.

Over Christmas vacation, I visited an untamed beach in Ka'u at Kawa'a Bay. You get there by a bone-jarring trail over lava, and on the way you pass Uncle Able Simeona's shack with his family's Hawaiian flag painted on the front wall. Uncle Able calls himself the konohiki of the place. He wears the flag as a lava-lava and he's fighting developers for the land.

There's a freshwater spring and pool and a good surfing break. A community of Hawaiians lived there until the 1946 tsunami. Only Uncle Able is left.

It's the story of Kalama and Waiahole Valleys all over again, but 50 years later. Uncle Able cares for seven heiau. At least one is still alive. It's a great, brooding sacrifice heiau out on the point.

Uncle Able's hanai son, David Schlesinger, said a cruel chief named Kuleana-moku came from Tahiti to the heiau. He went about the countryside lighting fires. If smoke from the fire touched a man, he was taken to the heiau and sacrificed.

What impressed me is that the heiau is obviously still in use. There's an altar in front and one inside with offerings. A driftwood gate bars the entrance. Waterworn stones are placed on the paths.

Uncle Able gave the name of the heiau as E Kalaku. To find a heiau that shows signs of frequent use is an important discovery. It's evidence of cultural vitality. One meaning of "kala" is forgiveness. Ku is an important god.

I hope the heiau is used for forgiveness because another name for the temple is Ke'eku. "Ke'e" means "crookedness or full of faults."

Reach Bob Krauss at 525-8073.