Shimura Trouble (31 page)

I wanted to ask more questions about the development, but Josiah Pierce was looking at his watch and urging me back to the van. I got in again and said, “To my uncle’s house, then?”

“Yes. But there’s another stop just five minutes away that I’d like you to see.”

With the van windows rolled down to bring in the gentle trade winds, I cruised back on to the limited-access highway, and then followed Mr. Pierce’s directions to make a couple of lefts. Passing a ramshackle supermarket and a series of worn-looking apartment buildings, we came to a rough path of gravel and that led to a vintage cottage with peeling paint, and then another just like it.

“Another plantation village,” I said.

“Yes, and this village still belongs to my brother, Lindsay and me. It used to house the workers for a pineapple-growing and canning operation that folded in the thirties, when Hawaiian fruit became too much of a luxury for mainlanders.”

“Where’s the pineapple field?” I was confused, because this tiny housing area seemed hemmed in by modern development.

“That supermarket you just saw, plus the strip mall, plus the apartments—there were the fields and plant buildings! Now, let’s park and do some walking.”

I wandered a few paces behind my guide, spotting amid the tiny houses a longer plantation store building with faded lettering advertising groceries and beer. It was clearly vacant, with vines growing out of the glassless windows. A few of the houses in one cluster had trucks outside them, giving me the feeling someone was living there, perhaps illegally. A step up from the outdoors, I thought, remembering the homeless people I’d seen on Maile Beach.

These things didn’t seem to faze Josiah Pierce, who was walking determinedly ahead, as if he had somewhere in particular to go. I picked up my pace, and when he rounded a corner, I saw a Beach Access sign, and a straight row of slightly larger cottages.

Beach access meant ocean. As we drew closer, I saw flashes of blue behind the houses. “Great location,” I said. “Who was housed in this row?”

“This is the Portuguese village, so basically any family in that community with enough children for two or three bedrooms. Swimming and lying on the beach weren’t on the minds of many around here; they were too tired.”

He walked up to a door and tapped it lightly. It swung open, and he beckoned for me to follow him in.

“I don’t know if we should walk through the houses,” I called out. “The floors are likely to be rotten.”

“I’ll take that risk.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “If it’s any reassurance, I was out here fairly recently with my property manager. This house is the soundest one.”

I stepped a few feet further into the empty entry hall, noticing now what I should have seen earlier, the footprints in the dust. Yes, this place had been recently explored, and if I stepped in the places where other feet had been, chances were I wasn’t going through the floor.

To my left was a square room that I imagined had been the parlor. To the right were two doorways leading to smaller rooms—bedrooms. There was a crumpled-up, ancient newspaper in a corner of one of them. I saw the date, 1938, but I couldn’t read the Portuguese under it. The windows were large, and I saw traces of old electricity: the push-button light switches on the mottled walls, and old glass-shaded light fixtures and fans on the ceilings.

Proceeding to the rear of the house, I saw a small bathroom, all with the original porcelain fixtures, and a kitchen with a charming antique icebox, an apron sink, small table, and some old crockery on shelves. Josiah Pierce had opened the back door and was looking out.

“Big waves tonight,” he said.

I moved to stand next to him, and then went down the steps to explore a narrow stretch of overgrown garden, and a rough gravel path leading downward to a strip of sand and a broken wooden dock, and then the Pacific.

“This location is paradise,” I said. “I’m very surprised you didn’t sell it to Jiro Kikuchi or somebody earlier on.”

“Who wants to build a resort behind a downscale shopping center?”

“Well, you could tear it down. Couldn’t you?”

“The commercial areas you saw aren’t under my control. All I have in Ewa is this little portion of—as you put it—paradise.”

“I’m sure the local people would prefer a supermarket to another resort. This little area is such a haven, though. The area’s convenient, and the water access is amazing.”

“Do you think this is the kind of place you might like to start your married life?”

“Sure.” I laughed shakily. “The only problem is, each plot alone would be a million and more, wouldn’t it?”

“If you knocked everything down to create a brand new housing development, perhaps. But that’s not what I have in mind, so the price I was thinking of is somewhere around ten grand.” Before I could recover from the shock, he’d moved on. “It’s a low price because of all the renovation you’d have to pay for yourselves, according to your taste. That, and there would be an additional expectation.”

“Aha!” I smiled at him. “I imagined some strings were attached.”

“You saw how Tenney Village was restored, and I’d like to do that, but I’m afraid I prefer not to have state involvement. I want someone to create aesthetic guidelines for the entire redevelopment and live onsite in a cottage that has been renovated to the highest standards. The homes are going to be reasonably priced and comfortable, but there will be development covenants, and ensuring buyers are agreeable to the covenants will take some finesse.”

“I understand.” I was afraid to ask the next question, because I wanted the job so badly, but I was afraid he’d think I was unqualified. “The employee you mention—is he or she already working within Pierce Holdings, or are you getting an architect from outside?”

“I’m thinking of you, Rei. You may refine the title as you like, but the important thing is to remember that even though these cottages are small, you must think on a large scale.”

“I…I will!” I stammered, thinking that this really was a position I wasn’t trained for, just like every other one I’d taken on in my life.

“There are things that only a person living here, day in and day out, could figure out, such as whether some unsalvageable or badly located cottages should be removed for open space. In the old days, we had lots of sports in the plantation villages, playing baseball in the evenings and so on.”

“That’s a great idea, and you could also…make it a little more like a resort?” I knew I was throwing myself out on a limb, since he was so cautious about modern development.

“This is going to be housing for local people. In what way should we make it like a resort?” He sounded puzzled.

“There could be a communal barbecuing area, a small playground, and at least one swimming pool. And what about that empty plantation store? It’s perfect for a coffee shop, which also could sell fishing and boating supplies.” I already had an idea who could run the place.

“I like those ideas.” Josiah Pierce’s voice was firm. “And I won’t develop this village unless you agree to take the job. Of course, you may want to discuss it with Michael.”

BUT I WAS
headstrong, so I had no intention of discussing it with Michael. Instead, I just married him. I had expected the wedding to be full of little mishaps, but there was nothing but sunshine and smiles as I made my way barefoot in a thin white silk gown toward Michael. I felt overwhelmed when Michael slipped a pale pink plumeria wedding lei around my neck, because this intimate moment was being shared by so many people I cared about.

My old friend Andrea Norton and her Japanese mother Pearl had come from Washington, DC. Richard and Enrique were representing Tokyo quite stylishly in their ivory tuxedo jackets worn over jeans. Aunt Norie and my cousin Chika wore proper black wedding suits, and my friends Nana and Akemi Mihori of Kamakura came in exquisite silk kimonos. Mr. Ishida had thought the journey was too taxing for his health, but he had sent a sweet letter and an 18th century woodblock print of a Japanese bride and groom. I could not wait to frame it for the new bedroom—no, I corrected myself. Our new bedroom.

Only after a long day of hugging new relatives and old friends from Japan was the time finally right to give Michael the news about our future. We waved Michael’s parents and mine off to dinner at Alan Wong, and boarded our white limousine, decorated in the gaudiest manner imaginable by Braden and Courtney. When we were safely en route to the Halekulani, I slid the glass partition separating us from the driver and instructed him to detour to the faded supermarket near Ewa Beach.

“Did you forget something?” Michael asked, looking at me with concern. “If you really need it tonight, we can go to the supermarket, but I think we’ll be a laughing stock, dressed like this.”

“Just wait,” I said, and continued with my directions to the old Pierce village. I remembered the little street, and had the driver stop, and ushered Michael out and up to my favorite cottage in the row.

“Let me guess—Josiah Pierce owns this area?” Michael asked as I led him up the short flight of steps and inside the empty old house.

“It’s about to become mine—I mean, ours.” I laughed slightly, and leaned into him. It was going to take a while to get used to being married. As Michael listened, I explained Josiah Pierce’s offer of a house, and an exciting new job for me. When I’d finished, he walked out to the back of the house, opened the door, and there was ocean.

“I could sail to work,” Michael said. “This is…unbelievable.”

“Yes, and I haven’t even told you how low the price is. You could keep your condo in Virginia, in case you—I mean, we—decide to go back.”

“There’s no going back,” Michael said, slipping his arms around me, and burying his face in my hair for a moment.

“Hey, do you smell something?” I asked, finally noticing what had seemed different this time around.

“Just your skin. Is that plumeria body cream?”

“No, and I left my lei in the limousine. I think there’s fresh plumeria nearby, and I swear it’s not growing in the garden.” I broke away from Michael, and he wandered after me into the former parlor, which I’d pegged as our future bedroom.

I hadn’t noticed anything before, but the room now held a small, weather-beaten card table, and on it was one of the old crocks from the kitchen filled with yellow hibiscus and white plumeria: the colors of my wedding gown.

“You didn’t arrange this to welcome me?” Michael said, leaning over and sniffing the lush bouquet.

I shook my head. “No, and nobody knows this will be our cottage. I never told JP I came back here one afternoon, looked at all the houses, and decided this is the one I like best of all.”

Michael straightened up and slipped his hand into mine. “Well, by the time we move in, we’ll hopefully have an answer to this mystery.”

I smiled back at him, thinking to myself that it wasn’t going to be that simple. I didn’t need to know who’d brought flowers to the house. All I cared about was their scent, and my dreams.

THIS BOOK WAS
awhile in the making. I would need to throw a luau to have room enough to thank all the people who helped with it. I’ll start with thanking Maeona Mendelson who opened her little black book, and thus opened Hawaii for me. I am grateful for what I learned from Honolulu lawyer and activist Bill Kaneko about the loss of civil rights for Americans of Hawaiian ancestry during wartime. And another friend of Mae’s, University of Hawaii religion professor George Tanabe, offered great insights into many topics ranging from aquaculture to O-bon. Finally, thanks to June Shimokawa, who shared her memories of her father’s wartime internment.

Another new and dear friend is Liz Tajima, who did everything from introduce me to Hawaii Japanese to help with this manuscript. I’m also glad to have interviewed Professor Ginny Tanji of the University of Hawaii and her focus group: Andy Tanji, Richard, Emily and Philip Tanimura, Jean Toyama, Ginine Castillo and Colleen Kimura. Great information on Leeward Side life came from Betty Shimabukuro, features editor at the Star-Bulletin, who also introduced me to librarian Cynthia Chow of Kailua. Through Cindy I made friends with the terrific Hawaii writer Deborah Atkinson, who I thank for her insights on water sports and Hawaii schools. I learned so much about real estate from Cori Meyers of Kapolei Realty, and Patrick M. Cummins, a partner in Hawaii Land Consultants and an expert in the intricacies of land ownership in Hawaii.

The Kapolei Police were so helpful regarding my questions, and the entire staff of the archives department of the Japanese Museum of Hawaii were extremely gracious to an unknown drop-in scholar, sharing documentation of the immigration experience and connecting me with community member Sidney Kashiwabara. I’d also like to thank Marji Hankins for explaining the importance of Transpac, and at the Transpac Yacht Club, Ray Pendleton and Rich Roberts for giving me the access and information needed. In the Kapolei area, my home base for both summers, I am grateful to Retired Officer Kane from the Honolulu Police Department for sharing his knowledge of native plants, and Kevin Won of the Honolulu Fire Department. Management at the Halekulani and Hale Koa hotels in Waikiki were very kind to answer many questions and check out the rooms. Doctors Nancy Withers and Ken Hirsh, thanks for the introduction to Tamashiro Market, and more. Kyoko, Gary and Brian Vogel helped make my family’s stay in Hawaii more fun than we even expected, as did Vanessa MacDonald and her friends.

In the US, I thank my new writers group in Minneapolis, Judy Yates Borger, Maureen Fischer, Stan Trollip and Gary Bush for their uncomplaining help with this manuscript and its revisions. In New York, I am indebted to my agent Vicky Bijur for finding a happy home for this book with editor Amanda Stewart and publisher Edwin Buckhalter at Severn House. It’s taken a long time to get Rei to England, but she’s there now! And I close as always with many hugs and kisses to Tony, Pia and Neel Massey, who were with me all the way from plantation villages and lush Hawaiian gardens, to the less obvious thrills of writing and proofreading.

If I left anyone out, please accept my apology for the oversight, and I promise you a plate of tofu-scallion pot-stickers at the Little Village Noodle House.

Aloha.

Sujata Massey