Where Mountain Meets Sea: HAWAII'S STORY (1) [REWRITTEN]

What Cannot Be Said Will Be Wept

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Hawaiʻi had many of her favourite passages and stories in her Bible marked after Pulelehua died. She read and read for hours at a time, trying to find the ones Pule had adored the most, and eventually, so did she.

She couldn't choose her favourite story, not really. Ruth and Naomi, Deborah, Daniel, they were all wonderful stories that Hawaiʻi adored reading just as much as Arthur and Guenever.

But she had to say her least favourite had to be about David and Bathsheba. She had loved David from the moment she read of the little boy taking down a giant, and he was only a little shepherd boy.

And when he was older, he became the king of all of Israel.

He was intelligent, faithful, a king that was great and mighty. So how the hell did he do something so horrible as this?

Bathsheba hadn't chosen to be with David. She didn't choose the affair. She was only bathing on her roof, as strange as that was.

David did deserve punishment, for lusting after the wife of another, and then sending the poor thing off to war and killing that man to hide his affairs. He deserved a just punishment for stealing his wife and his life.

But did the mother deserve to watch this happen to her, for the crime of bathing?

She was the one that wept and laboured to bring the child of her king, her new husband into the world. It wasn't fair that the baby passed away.

Did the baby have a name?

Was the baby loved?

Hawaiʻi didn't understand it. The child was innocent, as was his mother.

She hated David at that moment.

But if she ignored that story, there weren't many that left a bad taste in her mouth. She liked reading, she loved the stories.

Britain had come over once more. He liked to, Hawaiʻi could see that. And she liked speaking to him.

"Oh and recently I've been speaking to Kahiau and Makanui," Hawaiʻi said, pointing at two men, who were sitting together under a tree, basking in the shade. They had their hands intertwined and were smiling together and talking. "They just got together a little while ago. They are very special, being aikāne. I don't know what you call that. Someone told me "friend" is the closest word, but I... I don't know about that."

"Sandy, slow down. What's the confusion?" Britain said, his voice turning to one of someone gently correcting a child. "You have only known English for a very little while. I think they are right about that."

"But friends don't kiss and love each other like aikāne do. It's... This is special," Hawaiʻi said. She leaned in close as if she were sharing a big secret. "And Beretania, it's, can you guess what? Their children are amazing! One of the girls, Pokaku? She's really really really pretty."

"Is that so?" Britain seemed to have taken it as childish rambling, more focused on the fact that not only did these sodomites exist, they were well known and open.

"But my Pāpā always said, when you love someone, you don't care what they look like. You just... You know that they will love you forever," Hawaiʻi said, sitting with her chin in her hands. "Pulelehua was like that for me."

"I'm sure, if that's what you choose to do, you'll find a lovely young man," Britain said, and Hawaiʻi frowned. Why emphasise on men? That was all well and normal, nothing secret.

Besides the missionaries, who snubbed anything that wasn't their own.

And Pulelehua had loved her. She loved Pulelehua.