The Ohana (8 page)

Kazuko thought of how foolish and naïve she had once been to believe the lies of the
hakugene
, the white man. In Hawaii, the reality of living the cursed, grinding life of a peasant stripped the life force from her. The hot sun was brutal at times. She wasn’t used to the sameness of the weather in a place where there were no seasons. Sometimes it rained, but the sun always followed.

The Islands of Heaven did not exist.

Several months later, as Mariko sucked on her breast, Tetsuo asked her to nurse a Korean child. Kazuko was horrified.

"His mother is ill. The boy will die and you have often said you have milk for two," he pointed out.

"How can you ask this of me? Is a daughter of a samurai lord to wet nurse the son of a
Yobo
?" The last word came out with contempt.

"I wish to save his son the way he saved ours," Tetsuo sat down and told her how Chaul Roong had given him the money to send both Kazuko and their newborn oldest son to the hospital.

Kazuko listened with growing horror. When he was finished she put down Mariko atop the folded
futons
that served as her child's bed and buttoned her blouse.

"I'll do this because it's a debt I owe." She paused to reflect on how low she had fallen in this world. "And because it is the life of a baby at stake." Without another word she stood and left the room.

Kohala, 1931

As Kazuko pressed steaming, hot rice into triangular shapes between her lightly salted and oiled palms, she looked at her brown and leathery hands with regret. How different these hands were from the white, soft hands peeking out from the hem of her silk sleeves. Those same hands once had nothing more arduous to do then pour tea now labored with the deft assurance of a peasant over hot stoves as she prepared Tetsuo’s
bento
of hot rice shaped into
musubi
, fried fish, pickled
daikon
, and an occasional egg. Her belly now held their fifth child. Kazuko hoped for a boy with a quick mind.

“Plantation life is not for us,” Tetsuo said from the table with the faded checkered tablecloth.

Kazuko arranged the food into a double-layer tin container: rice on the bottom layer, the rest of the food on top. Placing the tin pail and a corked bottle of tea into a denim lunch bag, she knotted the top and slid Tetsuo’s lunch to the side.

“I want our own homestead,” Tetsuo got up and stood next to her. “I talked to Han san.”

Kazuko kept making
musubi
, “Why do you talk to that garlic eater? You’re the only Japanese who does. You face the disapproval of the entire Japanese community for doing so.”

“I don’t care, he’s a very smart man, even though he’s a
Yobo
,” Tetsuo ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Every Sunday, Han san organizes the cockfights and betting at the Filipino camp. He says he sometimes makes sixty or seventy dollars in one day. Imagine!” He stepped closer to her and put his hand on the counter. “Han san says men like to gamble, to forget, to pretend for a little while life is not so hard and maybe they too will make a lot of easy money.”

Tetsuo touched her elbow and turned her around so that they faced each other. “He says we can run
hana fuda
games. We would be the house, so we always make money as long as we don’t gamble too much ourselves. He says he can show me how to do it. He wants me to help him with the cockfights.”

Kazuko shook him off and continued making her children’s school lunch.

“Kazuko?”

“I have to finish making
musubi
before the rice gets cold.”

Tetsuo sat down. Kazuko shot furtive glances his way and saw how his fingers played with the knot on top of the denim lunch bag. He always played with objects when he was anxious or nervous.

While she shaped the rice, she said, “I don’t trust Han san. How do you know he won’t cheat you?”

Tetsuo stopped playing with the knot and rubbed his rough hands together. “Han san told me I have a reputation for honesty and a trustworthy face. He knows how to make money. And he says I have a face people trust so we would make a good partnership.”

Kazuko stopped and rubbed her reddened hands on her rough, burlap apron.

“Han san has a car, a house with an inside bathroom, an icebox, and his own land. Tetsuo waved his hand at their mean surroundings. “Would you have us live this way forever?”

Kazuko raised her eyebrows. “A house like Han san’s...perhaps you’re right. We must do what you think best.”

“So, it's settled. I will talk to Han san today. We will make the deal.” He stood up and reached for his
bento
. There was a noise from behind him and he turned. Seven-year-old Mariko stood a few feet away with her arms outspread.

“Papa. You forgot my Eskimo kiss.”

Mariko ran into Tetsuo’s arms. Bending down, he rubbed her nose with his before kissing her cheek.

“
Sayonara
, Papa,” Mariko rubbed his coarse cheek with her soft hand.

“
Sayonara
, Mariko.”

As Tetsuo released Mariko and turned to leave for the fields, Kazuko noticed the slight stoop to his shoulders, the gnarled hands, and the thick, wavy black hair laced with too much silver for his age. As his bent, gaunt figure disappeared in the gray morning mist, Kazuko shook her head. Ten years in the cane fields was no life for a man.

Kazuko felt renewed respect for her husband. At least he hadn’t given up his dreams. This was the Tetsuo who had found the courage to dream the unspeakable. This was the man who stepped over the strict caste system for her. Despite their hard times, she still loved him passionately. But lately she wondered if his spirit had burned out of him like the harvested cane. Today she discovered it still smoldered inside. To fan the embers, she had acquiesced to Tetsuo, despite her apprehension about Han san.

She gazed at her daughter and gently put her hand on Mariko’s head. Mariko looked up at her mother with her great, dark eyes that always seemed to see beyond their cane field existence. Tetsuo often said Mariko was like the dawn, full of promise and hope. Mariko admitted although she was sometimes reprimanded in school for daydreaming, she didn’t much mind because she knew she was destined for something more than plantation life.

Kazuko stroked her hair. Mariko’s greatest liability in this cursed land could be she had nothing of the peasant in her.

“Go feed the chickens,” Kazuko withdrew her hand and went back to her work in the kitchen. “You’ll be late for school if you don’t do it right now.”

“Okay,
Oka-san
.”

“Okay? What kind of word is okay?

Mariko beamed. “It’s an American word mother. It means fine, everything is not good or bad, it’s just okay.”

Kazuko shook her head as she watched her daughter fly out the door.

The Hans and the Matsubaras prospered despite the fact Kazuko only managed a grudging acceptance of Han.

After the birth of Kazuko’s sixth child, a daughter Michiko, Tetsuo took her hand in his as she lay on the floor on
futons
with their child at her breast. “It's a good day my love. Today I sign a lease for ten acres of land. In time, it will be ours.”

“It's good to have land.” Kazuko thought of her father’s vast land holdings. Her family’s land was the basis of her father’s wealth.

“I have enough to buy a horse, chickens, farm equipment, and seed. I can work as an independent contractor in the cane fields.” Tetsuo smiled and gripped her hand tightly. “We'll have our freedom.”

“I can grow produce to sell at the market. The children can help me.” Kazuko began to look forward to their impending move. “But where will we live?”

Tetsuo kissed her gently on the cheek. “I saved the best news for last. There is a house, much larger than this, with a bathhouse and outhouse on the property.”

Although she had deserted her god a long time ago, Kazuko disengaged her free hand and stroked Tetsuo’s cheek. “We must thank
kami-sama
.” For the first time since leaving Japan, she felt optimistic. They would have their own house with land to cultivate which would eventually be theirs. And, they would still have some money put aside. Kazuko was happy their association with Han would be a thing of the past.

 And although she still dreamed of Japan and the family she left behind, Kazuko thought perhaps they could make something of this life in Hawaii after all.

Kohala: February, 1935

When Tetsuo began coughing blood, Kazuko knew he was going to die. As she trudged along the dusty road with her scarf-covered head bent, she thought of how she felt an icy hand grip her heart when she saw blood spit out of him. “It's your
bachi
,” the wind seemed to mock her as it whipped her threadbare cotton dress against her legs. A silent mist brought a light drizzle. Kazuko clenched a thin shawl around her shoulders with her calloused hands. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath. It was six miles to the hospital from their homestead. Each day the distance seemed longer.

Tetsuo had been in the hospital for three weeks. She tried to visit him daily. Seeing him everyday made her believe she could forestall the inevitable.

When she brought him to the hospital with the help of her neighbors, the doctors whispered and shook their heads. She didn’t have to understand the words because she could read their faces. To the doctors Tetsuo was just another patient. To her, Tetsuo was everything. She had left a world of luxury to create a life revolving entirely around him. Without him she felt she might go mad on this horrible island. But it looked as if he were going to leave her stranded in a tough world.

A cold wind chilled her to the bone. She had sacrificed everything for the right to choose her own life and destiny. Now
kami-sama
was mocking her by leaving her with six children, huge debts, and too many lonely years ahead of her. It was her
bachi
.

The fine mist turned to drops and the gray sky blackened. She heard running footsteps behind her. A small hand tugged at her shawl.

“Mama.”

Kazuko whirled around to face eleven-year-old Mariko who was flushed from exertion. Thick, unruly curls whipped wildly around her face and neck. “Mama, you must let me go with you. Please, I have to see Papa.”

“You cannot, you must not…” She had yet to tell her children their father was dying.

Mariko’s eyes widened. “I must see him before…” Mariko bit her lip.

Kazuko realized she couldn’t protect her children forever. She nodded; they walked together in silence.

The rain plastered Mariko’s unruly tendrils to her neck and cheeks. Kazuko took her hand and Mariko huddled closer.

A car drove past them and stopped just ahead. As they walked past the car, a voice called from the window, “Kazuko san.” Han Chaul Roong peered out the window, a white straw hat on his head. “It’s raining. Let me take you where you want to go.”

Although she had nursed his youngest son, Mark, alongside Mariko, Kazuko continued to feel hostility toward Han san and did not want him to witness their hardship. “It's most kind of you but—”

“We'd love to have you drive us to the hospital,” Mariko interrupted. Kazuko looked at her disapprovingly. Mariko ignored her mother and grabbed hold of Kazuko’s elbow, marshalling her into the car. Mariko settled in and stared out the rain-streaked windows.

Kazuko sat stiffly between Han and Mariko.

“Who are you visiting at the hospital?” Han san smiled at Mariko.

“Tetsuo,” Kazuko replied.

“Tetsuo?” Han frowned. “Is he ill?”

“He is,” Kazuko took out a handkerchief and began wiping the rain off her face.

Mariko turned her head toward Han san. “He has tuberculosis.”

Kazuko squeezed her daughter’s hand.

 “Mama, you don’t have to pretend any longer,” Mariko looked at her mother. There were tears in her eyes. “I was angry at first, but what is there to do?”

“He’s not going to die,” Kazuko’s muscles tensed. Tuberculosis sounded so final. Her hand clutched her daughter’s arm so hard, Mariko winced. “Your father will get better.”

Kazuko spoke to convince herself. But despair hit her and caused her to relax her grip on Mariko as she slumped down in the car seat.

“Yes, Mama,” Mariko huddled against the car door.

Kazuko saw the pitying look on Han san’s face. Tetsuo respected Han, she wondered if he had confided in the
Yobo
.

Kazuko’s mind drifted back to the last two years. Their first watermelon crop had been a big success. After the success of the first crop, Tetsuo’s partner insisted they lease twice the acreage and thereby double their profits. Tetsuo wanted to keep his profits and stay out of debt. Despite Tetsuo’s misgivings, his partner convinced him to take the gamble.

It poured last year and the crops were ruined. They were wiped out. It shamed her to think Han san might actually pity her. She pressed her fist to her mouth.

“This is a fine car.” Mariko ran her hand over the leather seats.

“Thank you.” They pulled to a stop in front of the hospital.

“If there’s anything I can do to help I would be pleased and honored to do so. Not only did you save my son's life, but I consider your husband my friend,” Han san told Kazuko as the driver opened the door.

Kazuko was silent but Mariko nodded and said, “Thank you.”

Kazuko followed Mariko. She turned to thank Han san; but his eyes were on Mariko as she sprinted to the shelter of the front door of the hospital.

Tetsuo was the only patient in the dreary ward with gray concrete floors. Kazuko stood at the foot of the bed while Mariko approached her ashen father lying motionless under the roughly textured blankets and dingy sheets. His eyes were closed. His harsh death rattle cutting through the silence was the only sound in the room.

“Papa,” Mariko whispered. Her father’s paper-thin eyelids fluttered slightly. “Papa, it’s me, Mariko.”

Tetsuo looked at her and smiled.

“Oh, Papa.” Mariko threw herself on him.

Her father stroked her back. “It’s all right.” He coughed and turned away into the mattress, covering his mouth.

“It’s not all right!” Mariko sobbed.

“Listen to me, little one. Your mother and I tried to cheat fate. We thought we could plan our own lives. It’s my fault. How terrible life here has been for her. She was a great lady back in Japan.” Tetsuo’s eyes filled with tears and he coughed again. “I have so many regrets.”

 Kazuko stepped closer and put her hand on Mariko’s shoulder. “You must go now,” she whispered. “Children aren’t allowed here and someone might see you.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t stay. Besides, your father is very tired. He needs his rest.”

Mariko kissed her father on his forehead. “Good-bye, Papa. I love you.”

Tetsuo’s friends and their families were gathered in his home. Kazuko thought the clamor seemed almost festive. Women gathered in the kitchen rolling sushi, frying vegetarian omelets, and making the round rice balls reserved for funerals.

The cooking, the people, and the cloying smell of incense made the room unbearable. Kazuko saw Mariko sitting in a chair in front of the white casket rocking her upper body back and forth against the straight-back. The intense look on her face was troubling. Beads of perspiration peppered Mariko’s upper lip and brow. She looked like she was in a trance as she stared at her father’s ghostly white face draped with diaphanous white netting. The casket was surrounded by flowers and incense.

“He’s not dead, he’s not dead,” Kazuko heard Mariko tell herself over and over again as she rocked back and forth.

“Mariko,” Kazuko put her hand on Mariko’s shoulder.

Mariko stopped rocking and looked up at her. “He’s not dead, Mama. Soon I’ll wake up and find out this was all a bad dream. He’ll get up and make pancakes and tell stories.” Mariko turned back to the mask-like face in the coffin.

Mariko's sister Kimiye walked up to the casket with two of her friends and blocked her line of vision. A year older than Mariko, Kimiye was short and squat with the thick calves and ankles the Japanese children called
daikon
legs after the thick pickled turnips stumps they loved snacking on. Mariko suspected Kimiye was responsible for leaving a dead mouse in the folds of her
futon
but she couldn't prove it.

Kimiye cast a sidelong glance as she chatted with her friends as they looked at the body. “He looks good, doesn’t he?” Kimiye said, “The undertaker did a fine job.” The others nodded and lit a couple of incense sticks to pay their respects.

Kimi looked at her mother. “Now that he’s gone, what will Papa’s spoiled pet do now?”

Mariko ignored her but Kazuko narrowed her eyes. “Kimi, you shame me.” But Kimi had already walked away with her friends.

Mariko began rocking again. Tears rolled down her cheek.

Her older brother Takeo walked up to her with swollen eyes. “Don’t cry Mari. Father’s spirit's still wandering. The forty-eight hours are not up yet. He might see you and be too sad to go to the next world.”

“I don’t want him to leave.”

“A spirit left to wander is never happy,” Kazuko knelt before her daughter.

“But I don’t want him to be dead!” Mariko stopped rocking.

Kazuko held Mariko’s face in her hands. “You must accept it. I’m sorry your father and you children had to suffer my
bachi
.”

“Kazuko san.”

She stood up slowly, like an old woman, and turned to the small, bowing gentleman behind her. It was the undertaker.

“About the arrangements for the cremation tomorrow, there is the matter of the urn.”

“Yes.” Kazuko squeezed Mariko’s shoulder before leading the undertaker to a quiet back room. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.

That night, Kazuko lay on her
futon
and tried to sleep. As usual, memories of Japan swirled around her. With her eyes closed, she saw Tetsuo in her father’s garden. She could almost feel the smooth pale blue silk of her favorite kimono, emblazoned with flowers from the hem to just below her
obi
. She remembered watching Tetsuo through a crack in the shoji doors. “Tetsuo, I love you,” she whispered.

He turned, his dark eyes sparkling.

Kazuko opened her eyes to stop the memory. Because the entire family slept in the same room on
futons
, she could hear Mariko’s quiet sobbing. Turning her head to the window, she spied a full moon behind the mango trees in the yard and whispered to it, "Forgive me, Tetsuo for making you leave the life you were fated to live in Japan. If I did not do so, you would still be alive."