Hawaii - James Michener [152]
"No, Makua Hale," Kelolo said firmly. "This my church in the old fashion. I will help you build your church in the new fashion."
Quietly Abner said, "When I stand beside these rocks, Kelolo, I can hear the voices of all the victims who were sacrificed here. It is an evil memory."
"It was not that kind of temple, Makua Hale," Kelolo said forcefully. "This was a temple of love and protection. I cannot surrender it."
Abner had the sense to bow to this decision, but he did so in a way that Kelolo never forgot. Lifting one of the stones reverently, the little missionary looked at it and said, "If you consider this a rock from a temple of mercy I can understand why you wish to preserve it. But I shall build a church that will truly be a temple of mercy, and you will see the difference. To your temple, Kelolo, only the strong alii could come. In my temple it will be the weak and the poor who will find mercy. And when you see the mercy that spreads out from my temple, Kelolo, believe me, you will come to this shore and throw every rock in this pile far out to sea." And Abner strode to the shore in as impressive a manner as his limp would allow, and at the edge of the sea he drew back his arm and pitched the solitary rock far into the waves. Then, holding his hat, he came back to Kelolo and said, "We will build my church."
The tall chieftain kept his promise. Wrapping his tapa about him, he marched through the hot sunlight to a fine piece of land north of the mission grounds, where he paced off a generous area and said, "You can build your church here."
"This is not enough land," Abner protested.
"Enough for one god," Kelolo replied.
"Your own temples have more land," Abner argued.
"But they also have more gods," Kelolo explained.
"My God is bigger than all the gods in Hawaii."
"How much land does he require?"
"He wants a church of this size," Abner insisted, and Kelolo was astonished.
But when the marking out was completed, he said, "Good. I will call the kahunas to determine how the church should be arranged."
Abner did not understand Keoki's translation and asked, "What's he going to do?"
"Call the kahunas," Keoki explained.
"What for?" Abner asked in astonishment.
"The kahunas have to decide where the door should be, where the people will sit," Keoki explained.
Kelolo, sensing Abner's repugnance, hurried to explain, "You must not build a church without permission from the kahunas."
Abner felt dizzy. Frequently since his arrival on Maui he had been confronted by positive confusion. Malama and Kelolo both eagerly wanted Christianity for their island, and each had given substantial signs of surrendering a good deal to the new religion, but repeatedly they indicated that they considered it not a new religion, not a truth that would shatter old ways and introduce salvation, but merely a better religion than the one they had. Once Kelolo had reasoned, "If Jesus Christ can give you big ships with many sails, and Kane gives us only canoes, Jesus Christ must be much better. He is welcome." Malama, impressed always with the power of the written word, had corrected her husband. "It is not ships that Jesus Christ brings. It is the mana there in the black box," she said, indicating the Bible. "When we learn to read what is in the box, we will know the secret of mana, and we too will be strong."
"Jesus does not bring either ships or books," Abner had patiently explained. "He brings light that illuminates the soul."
"We'll take the light, too," Kelolo had agreed, for he was tired of his smoky oil-nut candles when the white man's whale-oil lamps were so obviously superior.
"I do not mean that kind of light," Abner had started to say, but sometimes the Hawaiians were too much for him. Now, however, he was adamant. "No kahuna, no evil, heathenish priest is going to say how we shall build the church of God."
"But kahunas . . ." Kelolo began.
"No!" Abner shouted. "The door will be here. The steeple will be here." And he placed big stones at the critical orientations. When he was finished,