"Why?" Abner pressed.
"My family used to live on the big island, Hawaii. We had ruled
there for countless generations. It was my father who came here to
Maui . . . one of Kamehameha's most trusted generals. Kamehameha
gave him most of Maui, and the first thing Kelolo did was to build
the platform you saw. He insists that Pele, the volcano goddess
comes there to warn him."
"The platform will have to go. Pele is no more."
"The big brick building," Keoki interrupted, pointing to a rugged
edifice rising at the end of the stunted pier that edged cautiously out
to sea, "is Kamehameha's old palace. Behind it is the royal taro
patch. Then, you see the road beyond? That's where the foreign
sailors live. Your house will probably be erected there."
"Are there Europeans in the village?"
"Yes. Castaways, drunks. I worry about them much more than I
do about my father's stone platform."
Abner ignored this thrust, for his eyes were now attracted by the most conspicuous feature of Lahaina. Behind the capital, rising in gentle yet persistent slopes, cut by magnificent valleys and reaching into dominant peaks, stood the mountains of Maui, majestic and close to the sea. Except for the ugly hills at Tierra del Fuego, Abner had never before seen mountains, and their conjunction with the sea made them memorable, so that he exclaimed, "These are the handiwork of the Lord! I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills!" And he was overcome by an urge to say a prayer of thanksgiving to a Lord who had created such beauty, so that when the little mission band stepped ashore for the first time on the beach at Lahaina, he convoked a meeting, smoothed out his claw-hammerd coat, took off his beaver hat, and lifted his sallow face toward the mountains, praying: "Thou hast brought us through the storms and planted our feet upon a heathen knd. Thou hast charged us with the will to bring these lost souls to Thy granary. We are unequal to the task, but we beseech Thee to give us Thy constant aid."
The missionaries then raised their voices in the hymn that had recently come to summarize such efforts around the world, "From
Greenland's icy mountains," and when the surging second verse
was reached, each sang as if it had been written with Hawaii alone in mind:
"What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,
Tho' every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown.
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone."
It was unfortunate that this was the first hymn to be sung in Lahaina, for it crystallized a fundamental error in Abner's thinking. As long as he lived he would visualize Lahaina as a place "where every
prospect pleases, and only man is vile." He would perpetually think of the Hawaiian as both heathen and blind; and now, as the singing ended, Abner saw that he and his mission band were surrounded by a huge crowd of naked savages, and he was instinctively afraid, so that
he and his friends huddled together for mutual protection.
Actually, no missionaries in history had so far visited a gentler or
finer group of people than these Hawaiians. They were clean, free from repulsive tropical diseases, had fine teeth, good manners, a wild joy in living; and they had devised a well-organized society; but to Abner they were vile.
"Almighty God!" he prayed. "Help us to bring light to these cruel hearts. Give us the strength to strike down each heathen idol in this land where only man is vile."
Jerusha, however, was thinking: "Soon these people will be reading. We will teach them how to sew and to clothe themselves against the storm. Lord, keep us strong, for there is so much work to do."
The prayers were broken by the noise of men running up with a canoe, one that had never touched the sea, for it was carried aloft by ten huge men with poles on their shoulders. With ceremony they deposited it before Malama and she climbed in, for since the iHawaiians had not discovered the wheel they had no carriages. Standing aloft, Malama unfolded her new dress and ordered her servants to slip its enormous folds over her head. As it cascaded past her huge breasts and the tattooed shank with its memory of Kamehameha, the Alii Nui wiggled several times and felt the blue and red master-piece fall into place. "Makai! Makai!" squealed the women in the crowd, approving their Alii Nui in her new garb. "From now on I shall dress like this!" she announced solemnly. "In one moon I am going to write a letter to Honolulu, because I
have good teachers." Reaching down, she touched Abner and Jerusha, indicating that they must join her in the canoe. "This man is my teacher of religion, Makua Hale," she announced, and in Hawaiian style she called his name Halley, by which he was known thereafter, "And this is my teacher of words, Hale Wahine. Now we will build my teachers a house."
The bearers raised the canoe aloft, adjusted the poles to their shoulders, and at the head of a mighty procession containing feathered staffs, drums, court attendants and more than five thousand naked Hawaiians, the Hales set forth on their first magical journey through Lahaina, with Keoki trotting along beside the canoe, interpreting for his mother as she identified the subtle beauties of her island.
"We are now passing the royal taro patch," Keoki explained. "This little stream brings us our water. This field is a choice location, because it has so many fine trees, and this is where Malama says we are to build your house."
The bearers carried the Alii Nui to the four corners of the pro-posed dwelling, and at each she dropped a stone, whereupon servants began immediately to lay out a grass house, but before they had accomplished much, Malama grandly indicated that the procession must now move to her palace.
"This is the main road," Malama pointed out. "Toward the sea are the fine lands where the alii live. Toward the mountains are lands for the people. In this great park lives the king when he is in resi-dence."
"What are all those little grass buildings . . . like dog houses?" Abner asked.
When his question was interpreted, Malama laughed vigorously and said, "Those are the people's houses!"
"They don't look big enough to live in," Abner argued.
"The common people don't live in them . . . not like the alii in their big house," Malama explained. "They keep their tapa in them . . . sleep in them if it rains."
"Where do they live the rest of the time?" Abner asked.
Spreading her huge arms grandiloquently to embrace the entire countryside, Malama replied, "They live under the trees, beside the rivers, in the valleys." And before Abner could reflect on this, the canoe came to a spacious and beautiful park, set off by a wall of' coral blocks three feet high, inside of which stretched an extensive garden of flowers and fruit trees, interspersed with a dozen grass houses and one large pavilion looking out over the sea. It was to this building that Malama and the Hales were carried, and as the huge woman climbed out of the canoe, she announced: "This is my palace. You will always be welcome here."
She led the way into a cool spacious room outlined by woven grass walls, handsome wooden pillars and a narrow doorway which permitted a view of the sea. The floor was made of fine white pebbles covered by pandanus matting, upon which Malama with a gasp of
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relief threw herself, propping her big chin on her hands and stating firmly, "Now teach me to write!"
Jerusha, who could not even recall how she herself had been taught, sixteen remote years ago, stammered, "I am sorry, Malama, but we need pens and papers . . ."
Her protests were silenced by a voice as soft as polished bronze, "You will teach me to write," Malama commanded with terrifying majesty.
"Yes, Malama." Jerusha trembled. Looking about the room, she happened to see some long sticks with which Malama's women had been beating intricate designs onto tapa and beside them several small calabashes of dark dye. Taking one of the sticks and a length of tapa, she smeared out the word MALAMA. As the giant woman studied Jerusha explained, "That is your name."
When Keoki translated this, Malama rose and inspected the word from varying angles, repeating it proudly to herself. Grabbing the stick rudely, she splashed it in the dye and started to trace the cryp-tic symbols, sensing fully the magic they contained. With remarkable skill she reproduced the word exactly. "Malamal" she repeated a dozen times. Then she drew the word again and again. Suddenly she stopped and asked Keoki, "If I sent this word to Boston, would people there know that it was my word, Malama?" "You could send it anywhere in the world and people would know that it was your word," her son assured her. I am learning to write!" the huge woman exulted. "Soon I shall send letters to all the world. The only difference between white men who rule everything and us Hawaiians is that white men can write. Now I shall write, too, and I will understand everything." This error was too profound for Abner to tolerate, and he inter-jected, "I warned you once, Malama, that a woman can leam to write words, but they are nothing. Malama, I warn you again! Unless you learn the Commandments of the Lord, you have learned nothing." The walls of the grass house were thick, and not much light entered the area where Malama stood with her length of stick, and in the shadows she seemed like the gigantic summary of all Hawaiians: powerful, resolute, courageous. Once on Hawaii in the days of her husband Kamehameha's war she had strangled a man much larger than the puny, sallow-faced individual who stood before her, and she was constrained now to brush him aside as her servant brushed away the flies, but she was impressed by his dogged insistence and by the power of his voice. More important, she suspected that he was right; the mere trick of writing was too easy; there must be additional hid-den magic that enforced it; and she was about to listen to the little man with the limp, when he pointed his finger at her and shouted, "Malama, do not learn merely the outlines of the words. Learn also what they mean!" His manner was insufferable, and with a sweep of her immense right arm, thicker than his entire body, she knocked him off his feet. Returning to the tapa she wrote furiously, splashing her name across it.
: This
"The'
212
HAWAII
"I can write my name!" she exulted, but even as she did so, Abner's persuasive words plagued her, and abruptly she threw down the stick and went to where he lay sprawled on the tapa. Kneeling beside him, she studied his face for a long time, then said softly, "I think you speak the truth, Makua Hale. Wait, Makua Hale. When I have learned to write, then I will come to you." Then she ignored him and in her silky voice commanded Jerusha: "Now teach me to
write."
The lesson continued for three hours, until Jerusha grew faint and would have stopped. "No!" Malama commanded. "I have not much time to waste. Teach me to write!"
"I am growing dizzy in the heat," Jerusha protested.
"Fan her!" Malama ordered, and when the young woman indicated that she must halt, Malama pleaded: "Hale Wahine, while we waste time, men who can read and write are stealing our islands. I cannot wait. Please."
"Malama," Jerusha said weakly, "I am going to have a baby."
When Keoki explained the meaning of these words to Malama the great Alii Nui underwent a transformation. Thrusting Abner from the large room, she ordered her servants to carry Jerusha to an area where more than fifty of the finest tapas had been piled to make a day bed. When the slim girl had been placed on the pile, Malama swiftly felt for her stomach and judged, "Not for many months," but without Keoki in the room she could not explain this conclusion to the white woman. She could see, however, that Jerusha was exhausted and she blamed herself for what had been a lack of consideration. Calling for water, she ordered Jerusha's white face bathed and then lifted her in her arms, a mere child against her own huge bulk. Rocking back and forth, she nursed the tired mission woman to sleep, then placed her once more gently on the tapas. Rising quietly she tiptoed to where Abner waited and asked in a whisper, "Can you also teach me to write?"
"Yes," Abner said.
"Teach me!" she commanded, and she kneeled beside the little New England missionary as he began logically, "To write my language requires twenty-six different letters, but you are fortunate, because to write your language requires only thirteen."
"Tell him to teach me the twenty-six!" she commanded Keoki. "But to write Hawaiian you need only thirteen," Abner explained. "Teach me the twenty-ski" she said softly. "It is to your country-men that I wish to write."
"A, B, C," Abner began, continuing with the lesson until he, too,
felt faint.
WHEN THE TIME CAME for the Thetis to depart, almost the entire population of Lahaina appeared to bid the ship farewell and the foreshore was dark with naked bronzed bodies following
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213
each movement of the department missionaries. At last the twenty who would go to other locations assembled at the small stone pier to sing their sweet blend of mournfulness and hope, "Blest be the tie that binds," and as their dedicated voices rose in unison, the watching Hawaiians could detect not only an inviting melody but a spirit of the new god of whom Abner Hale and their own Keoki Kanakoa had already begun to preach. When the hymn spoke of tears, the eyes obliged, and soon the vast congregation, led by the missionaries, was weeping.
In one respect the sorrow was not formal but real. When Abner and Jerusha watched John Whipple prepare to sail they could not mask their apprehension, for he was the only doctor in the islands, and with him absent, Jerusha knew that when her term of pregnancy was ended, the success of her childbirth would depend upon how well her youthful husband had mastered his book lessons. Whipple, sensing this concern, promised, "Sister Jerusha, I shall do everything possible to return to Maui to help you. But remember that on the other end of the island Brother Abraham and Sister Urania will be living, and since her time does not coincide with yours, perhaps you shall be able to visit by canoe and help each other."