Hawaii - James Michener [215]
"Is it a great kapu?" the fat Hawaiian asked, with his wife and three daughters at his elbows.
"A kapu so horrible that there is no word for it," Abner explained.
"But you just used a word for it," Pupali hopefully pointed out.
"I used several words," Abner snapped. "What I mean is that civilized languages are not required to have a single word because such an act . . ." He stopped in confusion and started over by stating flatly, "It is a horrible act, Pupali. You cannot keep that money."
"What shall I do with it?" Pupali asked.
"I think," Abner said after due reflection, "that you should turn it over to the church . . . absolve yourself of the sin of which you are now a part."
Pupali got the money, laid it out carefully and studied it. Then he shook his head negatively. "No," he reasoned, "if this money is as kapu as you say, isn't it better that it harm only me and not something as fine as your church?"
Abner coughed and explained, "It has always been the job of the church to correct the wrongs in any society, Pupali. If you give the money to a worthy cause, its kapu will be washed away."
"On the other hand," Pupali argued, "your fine church has already been destroyed because the spirits of the land were angry at the way you built it . . ."
"It was a fire and a wind," Abner corrected.
"And now if you make even your own god angry at the church, it would surely burn down again," Pupali reasoned triumphantly. "So I cannot let you run this risk, Makua Hale, I will keep the money." In fact, things had worked out so well for the shiftless man through the sale of Iliki, that he now started introducing his three other daughters to as many whaling captains as possible, but they had grown fat and careless and found no takers.
IN SPITE of many defeats, these were good years for Abner and Jerusha. They now had four children, two boys and two girls, each apparently gifted with superior intelligence. Abner was disappointed that the young ones could not play with the Janders and Whipple children, but since both Mrs. Janders and Amanda stubbornly allowed their offspring not only to associate with Hawaiians but actually to speak that lascivious language, the Hale youngsters were kept rigidly alone within their walled garden. They appeared at church each Sunday, handsomely scrubbed, and often at twilight Abner would lead them to the waterfront, where they would study the marvelous islands that rimmed Lahaina Roads, and the clever children would play the game of "Spot the Whales!" in which at proper seasons of the year they would try to detect mother whales and their babies. The family came to enjoy these end-of-day respites as the finest part of the week, and much of the poetry of speech that marked the children derived from these hours when they watched the sunsets and the islands. In December the sun set almost over the middle of Lanai, as if it were a fireball going back to sleep in the dead volcano of that gracious island, but in June the great fiery sun sank off the coast of Molokai, rushing with crimson and orange streamers into the blue ocean. Then, with daylight fading, the children would listen for the talking owls and the gentle motion of the rising wind in the coconut palms.
What they loved best, however, was when their father pointed toward the rotting hulk of the Thetis and said, "I remember when your dear mother and I sailed from Boston in that brig." And he convinced the children that they belonged to three precious fraternities: "You are the children of God. All men are your brothers. And you are descended from the bravest group that ever came to Hawaii, the missionaries that sailed aboard the Thetis." One night Micah whispered to his mother, "Father tells us that all men are brothers, but the ones who sailed on the Thetis are a little