House of Many Gods by Kiana Davenport

“English fo’
haole. Haole
buggahs stole our lands.”
    “Fuck English. Fuck yo’ teachah. And fuck education.”
    Ben smacked them on the shoulders and forced them to sit down while Rosie pointed at each boy.
    “That’s right. You kids keep messing with your lives, your
pakalōlō
, your six-packs. One day be heroin, and crime. Couple years from now, no English, no education—dropouts or pushouts—you’ll both be on Welfare. Or pulling time at the Halawa Hilton.”
    One of the boys spoke earnestly. “Aunty, I going finish high school, ’kay? But I like fixing cars, I like engines. Smell of oil, stuff like dat. Maybe one day I like have my own garage. You telling me I got to learn
haole
English fo’ dis kine work?”
    Rosie studied him. Her fingers tapped the table. “No, Jason, you don’t. But I will tell you this. In Taiwan, folks speak Taiwanese. In Spain, they speak Spanish. Probably in Africa, they speak African. But when folks leave their homes and go out in the world, the universal language that is spoken most … is English. Proper English. Now, unless you plan to stay in Nanakuli all your life, you better think about it.”
    Later they sat on the
lānai
, watching dusk decanting off the fender of a truck. Ana felt alternately sad and pleased. Sad, because the world was invading their language, their traditions. Pleased, because Rosie was trying to prepare them, to arm them in a way. The two of them swung back and forth, chains of the old porch swing barking and whining.
    Rosie splayed her hands across her stomach. “You know, this house is full of interesting, intelligent folks. Our men went halfway round the word. Ben saw Paris, Naples. Great-uncle Willy saw the pyramids in Egypt. Look at the lives our great-aunties lived. They remember when we had a queen! But they never tell. And no one asks. We don’t talk-story anymore. This family was once
pulupulu ahi
, real fire-starters! Now we’re just decaying into silence.”
    She grunted and slowly shifted her weight. “Time we wake up. I don’t want my baby born into a tongueless clan.”
    F OR SIX NIGHTS R OSIE DREAMED OF CONSTELLATIONS . O N THE seventh she woke and saw the Pleiades above her, the seven major stars gleaming so brilliantly they seemed to be aiming at the house.
    “So. That is the name our ancestors have chosen for the child. Her
inoa pō
will be Makali‘i, for the Pleiades, and for our seven major islands of Hawai‘i Nei.”
    When the lines of the
alawela
, the scorched path, had met and gone into Rosie’s navel her labor pains began. The old
pale keiki
was called. Boiling water, towels, and clean sheets were readied. Ana prepared herself as
ko’o kua
, Rosie’s back support. With the elders gathered on both sides of Rosie’s bed, the old midwife coached them on how to give physical support if Rosie needed an arm to grip, and emotional support when she needed women to bear down with her. And she acknowledged the psychic forces of her great-aunties who had birthed many babies through the years and now stood praying and chanting to
Haumea
, goddess of birth.
    With each preliminary pain Rosie was tossed backwards on her bed, but she never cried out, a thing
kapu
during childbirth. The old midwife looked round at the elders.
    “Who will accept
ho’okau ka ‘eha?
Who will carry this girl’s pain?”
    Fearful, most of the men looked down. Only silent Noah stepped forward. The midwife nodded, pointing her finger at him.
    “Go then. Lie down. And be a woman!”
    Noah fell back, as three younger cousins helped him to his room.
    The old midwife threw her hands in the air.
“Ē hāmau! Ho’olohe!”
Be silent. Listen. “Have not the dark lines of the
alawela
met at the
piko?
Has not the cry of
‘Ewe‘ewe-iki
, ghost mother, been heard singing on the roof? And look. The
‘ina’ina
has appeared.” First bloodstains. “It is the time of
Hānau
.” Childbirth.
    Folks gathered, watching and waiting as Rosie’s pains became