Hawaii - James Michener [189]
"I've never watched for any whales," Abner replied.
"A sailor told me, as I was cutting off his arm, that one night at Lahaina he saw a dozen whales with their babies, and he said that all his life he had been harpooning whales and had thought of them only as enormous, impersonal beasts so huge that the ocean was scarcely large enough to hold them. But when his arm was gangrenous and he knew that he was going to lose it, he, for the first time, observed whales as mothers and fathers, and they were playing with their babies in the Lahaina Roads, and he told me ... Well, anyway, he won't be throwing a harpoon any more."
Abner was not listening. He was doing something he had not done before: he was looking at the physical setting in which his whaling town existed. To be sure, he had seen the hills behind the town, for he had walked over them, but he had not appreciated the glorious ocean roads: jeweled islands on every side, the deepest blue water, white sands and the constant scud of impressive clouds. He understood why the whaling ships were content to anchor here, for no storm could get at them. From all sides they were protected, and ashore they had Lahaina for water, and fresh meat and cool roads.
"This is rather attractive," Abner admitted.
"I was sorry to hear your view on Brother Hewlett," Dr. Whipple began when he had found a comfortable rock.
It's not my view," Abner replied. "It's the Bible's. He went whoring after a heathen."
"Let's not use that old-style language," Whipple interrupted. "We're dealing with a human being in the year 1829. He isn't a strong human being and I never liked him much . . ."
"What do you mean, Brother John? Old-style language?"
"He wasn't whoring after heathens, Brother Abner . . . Do you mind if I quit this brother calling? Abner, this man Abraham Hewlett was left alone at Hana with a baby boy and not a damned thing to guide him in the care of that child."
"Brother John!" Abner exploded. "Please do not offend me with such language. And besides, Brother Abraham had as much . . ."
"And the Hawaiian girl wasn't a heathen. She was a fine, Christian girl ... his best student . . . and I know, because I delivered her baby."
"She had a baby?" Abner asked in a whisper.
"Yes, a fine baby girl. She named her Amanda, after my wife."
"Was it . . ."
"I no longer count the months, Abner. They're married now and they seem very happy, and if there is any system of morality which requires a lonely man like Abraham Hewlett . . ."
"I hardly comprehend your words any longer, Brother John," Abner protested.
"I have buried so many people, cut off so many legs . . . Many of the things we used to worry about at Yale don't worry me any more, ancient roommate."
"But surely you would not allow a man like Brother Hewlett to remain in the church? With a heathen wife?"
"I wish you would stop using that word, Abner. She's not a heathen. If Amanda Whipple were to die tomorrow, I'd marry such a girl any day, and Amanda would want me to. She'd know at least that her children had a good mother."
"The others will not think as you do, Brother John."
"Immanuel Quigley does, I'm proud to say. And that's why I've come to Lahaina. We want you on our side. Don't drive poor Hewlett from his church."
"The Lord saith, "Thou hast gone a whoring after the heathen.'" Dully, Abner closed the discussion, but in doing so he began to wonder about John Whipple. What the doctor said next erased the wonder and confirmed the doubt.
"I’ve been doing a great deal of speculation recently, Abner," he began. "Do you think we've done right in bursting into this island kingdom with our new ideas?"
"The word of God," Abner began, "is not a new idea."
"I accept that," Whipple apologized. "But the things that go with it? Did you know that when Captain Cook discovered these islands he estimated their population at four hundred thousand? That was fifty years ago. Today how many Hawaiians are there? Less than a hundred and thirty thousand. What happened to them?"
To Whipple's surprise, Abner was not particularly shocked