The Ohana (31 page)

“As long as you live in my house,” Mark ranted, “I expect you to act like a normal, decent daughter. Not like a whore.”

Sobbing, Susan ran from the room before her father could hit her.

Mary walked over to Mark. “Don’t you ever call her that again,” she hissed before walking away from him.

Mary felt his rage and heard him curse behind her. “Who the hell do you think you are talking to me that way?” Mark grabbed Mary’s arms and spun her around so hard she almost fell.

He was about to strike her when their son Harry stumbled down the stairs and took hold of his father. Harry’s eyes were filled with tears. “You touch her again and I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

Mark removed his hand . Harry loomed over Mark.

Harry was not only bigger and stronger than his father, he was a national Tae Kwon Do gold medalist.

 Mary nodded at Harry and walked out of the room to Susan’s bedroom.

When Mary entered into her room, Susan was crying and packing her bags.

“I’m leaving, Mom. I can’t stay. I can’t stand it anymore. Frankly, I don't know how you do it. I can't decide whether you're a saint or a masochist!” Susan snapped.

Pain crossed her mother's face and she was immediately sorry. She rubbed her eyes and put out her hand. "Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack you."  

Mary sighed. “Sometimes I wonder about myself too. But it is what it is. My generation doesn't believe in divorce."

"Your mother was a rebel. She ran away."

"And suffered the consequences." Mary shook her head. "Where will you go?”

Susan threw T-shirts into her suitcase. “I don’t know. To Daryl's, I guess. I don’t know where else to go.”

“From what you told me you just met Daryl less than two months ago."

"It would just be temporary—until I can figure things out."

"Don’t run and live with someone you hardly know just because of an argument.”

“You know I can’t stay. He called me a whore.” Susan’s hands trembled. "Anyway, you know this has been a long time coming. It seems we're always arguing. I won't let him slap me around again."

Mary hugged her. “I understand. But, why Daryl?”

“There’s no one else. Everyone I know lives at home, or with their boyfriends, or they’re married.”

Mary put her hand on Susan’s shoulder. “I don’t want you rushing into things.”

“Look, maybe he won’t even want me to live with him.”

“Wait awhile,” Mary suggested.

“Oh, Mom, how can I?”

“Look, I agree, your father is very difficult to live with. He still thinks of all of you as children. But he does love all of you.” Mary looked at her earnestly.

“He has a strange way of showing us his love,” Susan replied.

“There’s a condo I thought of buying as an investment. Maybe I’ll buy it and let you live in it and pay me rent.”

“Not the same,” Susan protested. “I’d still be dependent on you.”

“You have to go somewhere, right?”

“Right.” Susan sat on the edge of the bed.

“The condo is a good investment. And you can save me the trouble of finding a tenant.”

“Oh, Mom, you’re wonderful. I love you.”

Mary stroked her hair. “He doesn’t really mean what he says.”

Susan looked up “Then why does he say and do such awful things?”

Mary sat next to her daughter. “He gets mad and loses control of himself.”

“I know. He was never taught control as a child because Grandma spoiled him rotten.”

Mary frowned. “I never said that.”

“But all the aunties do,” Susan said.

Mary shook her head. “Try to understand him.”

“Do you?”

“I think so. We’ve been married long enough now.”

“I could never see why.”

“Susan!” Mary stood.

Susan shrugged. “It’s the truth. Why lie about it? Why do you stay married to him?”

“We’ve been married so long divorce would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

Susan grabbed her mother’s hands. “But you could still find someone and be really happy for once.”

“I’m too old. Change would be too much for me.” Mary kissed Susan’s forehead.

“So, instead, you just go on.” Susan dropped her mother’s hands.

“What else is there?” Mary cupped Susan’s chin in her hands.

Susan shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Mary sighed. “You see, my dear daughter, it’s not worth the effort to find out.”

George Han rifled through the monthly statements and leaned back with a smile. “Well, after a predictably slow season this fall, it’s gratifying to know that in December and January the Lotus Blossom did exceptionally well.”

Mary didn’t answer. She was staring out the window.

“Mary?” George asked.

“What?” Mary turned and looked at him with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t really listening.”

George leaned forward on his desk. He still felt protective of her even though she’d turned out to be a remarkably strong person with tremendous inner resources. Still, he couldn’t help but recall the pregnant young woman who stood on the sidewalk with rice spilled all around her. Waves of regret engulfed him and he reminded himself she was his brother’s wife.

“You’ve been distracted all morning. Is everything okay at home?” he asked.

Mary looked down at her nails. “Of course,” she said.

“Mark’s gambling,” he began.

“It’s under control,” Mary nodded. “Really, it is. You mustn’t be too harsh on Mark. It hurts his male pride that he has never been able to make as much as I do. I think it destroyed him. Mark wants to make just one big hit. It would make him feel more like a man.”

“You’re too good for him.” George shook his head. “You deserve better.”

“Don’t say that, George. He’s been good to me most of the time. Remember, he overlooked the fact I was kamikaze,” Mary whispered.

George averted his eyes. “That was a long time ago. Anyway, if his gambling isn’t upsetting you, what is?”

Mary looked at a picture of George’s family on the wall. George was dressed in a suit and sat next to his wife Sarah who wore pearls and a Chanel suit she bought in Paris. Mary remembered how proud she was of her new wardrobe from Paris. George's sons stood behind their parents looking somber and uncomfortable in the suits Sarah had forced them to wear. They looked like a millionaire's family. “It’s nothing, really. I shouldn’t even be upset. Susan moved out.”

“Kids nowadays want their freedom.”

“I suppose.” Mary bit her lip.

“Where's she living?” George asked.

“I put a down payment on a two bedroom condo near Iolani.”

George shook his head. “Well, I wish I could say the same about Jeff. I’ve come to the conclusion he’ll never leave. He’s a spoiled brat tied to his Mama’s apron strings.” George was disappointed in his son. To hear Jeff talk, his only problem was that the entire world conspired against him. Everything was always someone else’s fault. Could Jeff help it he was born to a father who went to prison and ignored and criticized him?

“I guess I’m just being overprotective.” Mary paused and looked at the ledgers. “Looks like the future projections for the tourist industry are great. I guess we can look forward to a good year.” She looked up.

“Yes, we’ve been lucky,” George said.

Mary shifted in her seat. “No, we’ve worked very hard.”

“That too.” George handed her the ledgers.

Mary took them, tucked them into a manila file folder, and stuck it under her arm.

George left his chair and came around the desk to escort her out. When they got to the door, he put his hand on her upper arm. Mary winced then quickly tried to cover it up with a smile.

“What’s the matter?” George demanded.

“Nothing. I banged into a wall and bruised myself.”

George frowned. “Let me see.”

Mary tried to move away. “It’s nothing, I tell you.”

“Let me see.” George shoved the hem of her sleeve up, looked at her bruise, and swore.

Mary flushed. “It’s no big deal.”

George leaned against the doorframe. “Did Mark do that to you? Don’t lie to me.”

“You don’t understand, George.”

“Understand?” George punched the wall. “I understand that you’re always making excuses for him. He’s an animal.”

“It’s not his fault,” Mary said softly.

“Not his fault?” George shook his head. “We’re not kids anymore. There’s no excuse.”

Mary cried. “If I loved him the way he wanted me to, things would be different. The truth is I married him so he would take care of Jackie and me. Back then, he was a good provider. But now I’m the breadwinner.”

“Only because all his business ventures failed,” George pointed out.

“But at least he tried. Even though it was a money drain, he tried.” Mary clenched her fist. It kills him that I work and support the family. It makes him feel less than a man. Maybe I should have quit a long time ago.”

“Working for me was always an option,” George replied. “So is divorce.”

“I had to think of my children.”

“They’re not kids anymore,” George said.

“In some ways, he’s been a good father. As for the two of us, we’ve settled into our relationship.” Mary dabbed her eyes.

“You know I love you,” George said.

Mary looked away.

George turned her face toward him and stroked her cheek. “I loved you as a child because you were kind and beautiful. I love you now because there's no one else as strong and good.”

Mary grabbed his hand by the wrist and held it away from her. “You’re thirty years too late, George.”

“We married the wrong people,” George said softly.

Mary stepped backward. “I love Mark. Not the way he wants me to, but I love him.”

George’s face froze. “Forgive me. I forgot myself.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Mary turned to leave.

“I'll always love you,” George whispered after Mary walked out the door.

There were times Mary felt defeated. If it hadn’t been for her children she would have nothing to live for. Their dreams became her dreams and their lives were more important to her than her own.

Her marriage was a charade. She and Mark had stopped sleeping together long ago. They lived in truce mode. She didn’t want a divorce. She thought it was disgraceful when people her age divorced. Divorce was for young people who still had lives to live.

Sometimes, her mind wandered to the past and she thought about Mitsuo. Why did things happen the way they did? Did he love her too little? Was he too tied to his duty, to his family, and to the traditions that drove their lives? In the end, they both chose to pursue a safer world of mediocrity and sacrificed great love for the sake of  tradition and family.

Now and then she even thought of Sean Duffy. How ironic that Susan worked for him. It was almost as if she and Sean were destined to continue to be in each other’s lives.
So close and yet so far
, a song said.

Sometimes she took out the music box and tried to remember how it felt to completely lose oneself in making love so nothing and no one else existed. Winding the key at the bottom of the carousel, she set it down on the table and transported herself to that one elusive night when all they had was each other. When the song had played out, she placed the music box back in its hiding place and decided what happened that night was one of those mysteries in life that made no sense.

Honolulu/Hana 1973

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Steve’s friend?” Sean asked Susan one morning as she brought him his morning coffee. It had come to him out of nowhere the night before. He had a feeling he’d met her somewhere before. Then he remembered Steve’s going away party and his college friends.

“It didn’t seem appropriate.” Susan placed the coffee cup before him on his desk.

“Why?”

Susan stepped back and looked at her fingers. “Rumor has it the two of you don’t communicate.”

Sean leaned back in his chair. “Steve doesn’t talk to anyone. I never understood his desire to go to Vietnam. I didn’t try to stop him—I just didn’t understand it. But, I had my reasons for volunteering in World War II and supposed he had his for ‘Nam.” He picked up his coffee, sipped it, and put it down again. “War changes people. Steve’s no different. He moved to Hana and lives by sufferance on a spectacular site belonging to my sister-in-law.”

Sean looked out the window at the palm trees. Odd how genes landed. Steve had always seemed more like Meg’s child than Katherine’s. They both lived in their dreams and refused to share their nightmares. Meg finally let someone in when she was in her forties; Sean hoped Steve wouldn’t take that long.

He turned back to Susan. “I worry about him. He’s a recluse.” Sean leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “I know you were once good friends. Are you still?”

Susan shook her head. “I haven’t seen or heard from him in years.” She blinked at him. “But I suppose I’ll always be his friend.”

“I have a Maui trip scheduled in the next few weeks. Routine check of land trust property. Usually Jenny Liu checks up on the properties, but I’m sure she’ll be glad not to go for the hundredth time. Would you mind taking her place and while you’re there, go by and see my son?”

She raised a brow. “Why haven’t you gone yourself?” she asked.

“I have no idea how he feels. I don’t want our first meeting in years to be antagonistic. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Susan. This is really important to me.”

It was a long and bumpy ride to Steve’s Hana home. The scenery was breathtaking yet disturbing in its primordial disorder. Susan passed overgrown areas so lush and jungle-like the vines completely covered the tree trunks, giving it a spectral quality. There was a disquieting sense of waiting and discovery.

As she drove further up, the air grew cooler. She came upon pasturelands rolling idyllically to the sea. The horses gazed at her indifferently as they flicked their tails lazily, shooing the flies. Below, the sea shimmered like a mirror of pale blue sapphire unrelieved by the usual lines of white foam. Most of the homes were hidden from the road behind thick trees and vine-covered lava rock walls.

She stopped at Hasegawa’s General Store. They looked at her oddly when she asked for directions. “Look for the Tahitian long house up the hill, take the first dirt road to the left, and go straight down until the end.”

“Is it easy to find?”

“No can miss if you look for the long house,” the elderly Japanese man with wispy tufts of gray hair said.

As she came up the road, she spotted the long house. It was a Tahitian-style meetinghouse with a grass-covered roof held up by massive poles of carved Tikis. It had no walls. To the right was an unmarked road. She turned down the road adjacent to the long house and drove until she reached the end where she parked her car.

Although the area was overgrown with trees and bushes, she spied a footpath cut through the foliage to a clearing a few hundred feet away. Stepping out of the densely wooded area into the clearing, she paused and held her breath at the sight of green pastureland sloping gently to the sea. From her vantage point the shoreline looked like a charcoal black snake weaving its way between the land and the ocean. Further out into the ocean, a tiny atoll broke out of the water.

“It’s the most beautiful spot in the world, Sue,” a soft voice said beside her.

Startled, she turned and saw Steve. He was thinner than she had ever seen him and his long blonde hair and beard gave him a slightly feral look. But his eyes were as she remembered; dark violet with glints of blue. Now, however, a gentle sadness lingered there.

Susan threw her arms around him and the years melted away.

Steve held her by her shoulders and peered at her. “You look different. Pretty, but different,” he said with a wink.

“I guess we all change.” Susan smiled. “You look pretty different yourself.”

Steve chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”

Susan looked at him searchingly. “Are you happy, Steve?”

Steve looked past her, she guessed at the ocean. “Am I happy? I don’t even know what happy means anymore. Maybe I never knew. But, I’m at peace in this little slice of paradise.”

For the first time Susan noticed the little gray house with a makeshift tin roof perched incongruously on a little knoll to the right. It was dilapidated, but had a fantastic view.

Steve grinned. “My castle awaits you, Princess.”

“You live there?” Susan couldn’t help but think of the mansion in Kahala he’d grown up in.

“Yes.” Steve’s eyes twinkled. “As you can see, my humble abode is humble indeed.”

“It’s in a beautiful spot.”

Steve took hold of Susan’s hand and walked her toward his cabin.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

“It’s so quiet here any foreign noise filters down through the trees.” Steve stopped at the entry to his cabin and put out his hand. “Enter my castle, Princess.”

Susan walked in.

The house was almost primitive with gas lamps and a wood-burning stove. There was no evidence of electricity or running water. She thought she saw an outhouse in back. However, throughout the house were extraordinary woodcarvings on the beams, the walls, the doors, and doorframes. The carvings depicted parrots, foliage, tropical flora and fauna, and even a volcano. Hanging on some of the rough walls were astonishingly beautiful canvases, some of them with scenes of Hana, past and present. She didn’t know much about art, but the power and beauty of the pieces shook her to the core. Captivated, she wandered around the little house, irresistibly drawn by the passion of the artist inherent in his work.

“My God, Steve,” Susan threw up her hands in amazement. “Did you do all this?”

Steve nodded. “It’s a little hobby of mine.”

“Hobby? These are masterpieces.” She examined each one closely. Each piece elicited powerful emotions. Most of his work held an intangible sense of melancholy mixed with joyous wonder. The conflict resonated throughout his work. In a way, it reflected his life, which should have been beautiful but instead was riddled with despair.

“You like it?” he asked in a way telling her he was both surprised and interested in her response.

“I love it.” Susan spun slowly around. “If only Jimmy could have seen this!.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. She looked at Steve and knew he was thinking of Jimmy too.

“Come.” Steve took her hand in his and led her into another room. Susan held her breath. Above his bed, was a painting of the three of them during their last night together on Kahala Beach. Although it was a moody piece like the others, there was a gentle peacefulness about it. The crescent moon slung low over a placid, mirror-like ocean. The three friends sat on the sand, gazing at the moon, the stars, and the ocean. There was a powerful feeling of love and innocence entwined with hope. Nothing could have captured that moment in time better.

 Tears came to Susan’s eyes and for a moment she was unable to speak. “Oh, Steve,” she finally said. “Jimmy would have been so pleased.”

Steve put his arms around her and held her as they both wept.

Later, they lay in his bed listening to the rain clattering on the tin roof. They were at peace. Their lovemaking had come naturally. Susan snuggled up next to him.
This is how it was supposed to be from the very beginning,
she thought. She hadn’t realized until now some part of her had always loved Steve.

“Steve, what happened to you?” she finally asked. “Why are you here?” Her fingers traced little circles on his chest.

Steve was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with sadness. “I guess you could say I’m a squatter here. Aunty Meg owns a two hundred acres. We used to call her crazy old Aunty Meg because she shut herself away in her Tantalus home after she got her heart broken as a young woman. Maybe I’m like her, shutting myself away because my heart was broken too.” Steve kissed the palm of her hand gently. “After Vietnam, I wandered around California for a while. I had no direction. Everything I once believed in, I despised. I joined an anti-war movement for a while. They loved having me as their poster boy. They called me the hero who hated the war. I grew tired of causes and realized I had a more pressing problem. I was an addict.”

“Oh, Steve, not you.” She ran her hand up and down his abdomen; she couldn’t stop touching him.

 “I won’t make excuses. I was too weak to tolerate what was going on, and it was too easy for me to do drugs in 'Nam. It took me away from the horror. I did a stint in rehab. I returned to Hawaii.”

 “And after that?” Susan asked.

“I fell in with, don’t laugh, the Hare Krishnas. I shaved my head, wore orange robes, and worshipped the blue god Krishna. The continuous chanting anesthetized me, as did getting up at three or four in the morning to slave eighteen hours a day for Krishna.

“The Krishnas I fell in with employed brainwashing techniques, especially on the children, and advocated the use of drugs. Worst, they planned to take over the government with the arsenal of guns they owned. Some of them went so far as to disguise themselves as straight, suit-wearing politicians.” Steve chortled. “They looked like Mormon missionaries.”

Steve stroked Susan’s hair. “Children were taken away from their parents and became zombies through sleep and food deprivation. The Krishnas tried to turn them into perfect little Krishnas by depriving them of the basics of life. They were methodically brainwashed and used as guinea pigs. The kids worked as hard as the adults.”

Susan raised herself on an elbow and peered at him. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say you were making it all up.”

 Steve reached over to rub Susan’s upper arm. “Sometimes I can hardly believe it myself. It didn’t take me long to get it was nothing but a cult. God nudged me to stop taking drugs and for the first time since joining the Krishnas, I was clear. I left before they got me for my trust fund.”

“Thank goodness.”

“I was searching—I’m still searching. There’s a vacuum in my life nothing or no one seems to fill. The thing I struggle with the most is if there is a God, why does he allow tragedy? After Krishna, I joined EST, then Silva Mind Control. But the only thing I found was that people were being duped. These movements had one thing in common. They insisted we were our own god and able to create our own reality through the power within us.”

“I understand.” Susan traced his face with her finger. “After your letters stopped coming, I questioned everything too. I wondered how I could have been so wrong about Vietnam. Believing the propaganda I was fed made me doubt myself.”

 “Realizing we were deceived about Vietnam made me cynical and helped me to penetrate all the lies surrounding the different movements I got into. I wondered if it's true we're god, how could we account for the horror in this world? If we have the power to create our own reality, then what happened to Jimmy? He loved life to its fullest and used the same visualization techniques the false religions taught. Remember how he loved to sit and imagine himself behind the cockpit of a plane flying to Paris, Rome, or Vienna? How can anyone tell me Jimmy created his own death?”

“They can’t.”

“You’re right there.”

She allowed a moment of silence to pass before asking, “So then what?”

“I continued my search.”

“And did you find yourself?”

“I don’t know. My search brought me here. I need to find out who I am and why I’m here. To find the answers, I needed my own space without the clutter of the outside world. But I sense I’m near the end of my journey.” He reached toward the nightstand and picked up a Bible. “You won’t believe this, but I’ve been reading this amazing book. I even started praying.”