The Woman in the White Kimono Read online

  “Yes, yes, because as I said, we are human, aren’t we? Even with war, there’s always that.” He gave a soft laugh.

  We smiled at each other, again on common ground.

  “So.” Yoshio leaned closer. “Have I passed your screening? Will you now share with me the story’s intent? What did you learn about this family?”

  His words stretched between us and hung there a moment.

  “Yoshio, there isn’t a story. At least, not one I plan to publish.” I turned my teacup. Turned it back. “I want the interview for personal reasons. Matters that pertain to my family.” I gambled with the vague comment. “Do you understand?”

  Yoshio’s brows twitched, then his eyes dropped as though in thought. After a moment, he lifted them to mine and gave a nod. “Yes. I think I do. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  I smiled, grateful I wouldn’t need to clarify. “And who knows, seeing the house, meeting a family member, it might be enough to answer my questions without asking any that could cause embarrassment. That’s why the interview is so important.”

  His face wilted. “While I am happy to provide you with this photo and the address, as I said before, an interview might not be possible.”

  My heart stilled. “They declined?”

  “No. There is no one living in the home to ask.”

  I sat back, stunned. “It’s empty?”

  “Yes, according to the neighbors, the home has sat empty for some time, but as you can see in the photo, the property is well maintained.”

  I gazed at the beautiful landscape in the picture. “So, who’s taking care of it?”

  “I wondered that, as well. Forgive my curiosity, but I did some research of my own. I found several Nakamura families in Kanagawa Prefecture, but only one with such deep generational roots in Zushi. A family with a large, privately owned business located in nearby Yokohama called NTC. Although they have added other industries, they made their fortune dealing sundries and tea.”

  I took a sip of my own, then asked, “What does NTC stand for?”

  “The Nakamura Trading Company.”

  My eyes widened, and I stifled a laugh. A merchant king of empire.

  I smiled at Yoshio through the sudden swell of emotion because it was more than fitting, it was perfect. It was where my father’s story started. Pops said, “Nothing good ever came from tea,” but just then, something had.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Japan, 1957

  I sit up with a sharp gasp, choked by morning’s persistent light. I push hair from my sweaty forehead, taking in my surroundings. A small table, a sumi-e ink painting hung beside the window and my suitcase below it. I blink in recognition. I am at the Bamboo Maternity Home, where a baby was born last night.

  Where a baby may have died.

  Everything floods back to awaken my sleepy mind. The girls. Young Jin, the silent one. Aiko, snide but fashionable. Hatsu, the girl with the sad eyes. And Chiyo, so loud and bold. Her words wash over me. What do you think? We all have husbands we can trick into marriage? My hands cover my belly, the miniswell that has begun to take shape.

  I glance at the wall, wishing I could see through it. Is Yoko still here? Does she rest? So far, my stay here has been anything but restful. I listen for her but only the bustling of the house makes noise from the other direction.

  No one woke me.

  Dressing in a simple skirt and blouse, I hurry to get ready. I do not plan on staying, so I return everything to my bag and place it by the bed. I have yet to see Housemother Sato about my tests. My stomach twists because I am not sure I want to.

  I slide my door open and stick my head out. Voices carry from the front of the house. Each step I take is quiet but with purpose. I am here for assurance. That is all. Then I will go home and return to Hajime.

  Hatsu washes dishes in the kitchen, while Aiko argues with the woman who runs the clinic. Only Jin still eats. She looks over, so I offer a soft smile.

  “Ohayou,” I say to everyone.

  Housemother Sato spins from Aiko, her wire-rimmed glasses low on her wide, flat nose. “Ah, you missed the morning meal. There is no fish but grab a bowl and fill up with miso. You are lucky anything is left.”

  “So, I do not eat, but she does?” Aiko spits the words, indignant. “If we do not prepare, we do not partake. That is the rule.” She presses a manicured hand to the counter and leans in to challenge the housemother. Her belly hangs low, giving her back a slight sway.

  Housemother Sato waves a stubby finger in the air. “She eats because she is new and is just learning the rules. Go on, Naoko. Take the bowl.”

  I pick one up, darting eyes to Aiko. She folds her arms and watches me pour the soybean soup. It is watered down and runny, but the fermented smell excites starved taste buds. I sit across from Jin, trying to ignore Aiko’s pretty scowl.

  “And when’s payment coming, Aiko?” Housemother rests her hands on pronounced hips and shifts her weight to her back leg. “You’re lucky you are not on the street. Eh?” She twists back to Hatsu, who is putting the dried dishes away. “Find Chiyo, then come help me clean Yoko’s room.”

  My back straightens. Yoko is gone?

  “Chiyo!” Hatsu hurries off in search of her.

  “Housemother Sato?” My voice shakes. I want to ask about the girl, her baby, but instead focus on why I am here, so I can leave. “The tests?”

  Housemother turns, wiping hands on her apron, and regards me with indifference. “What tests?”

  I stare at her, incredulous. “We are to do tests today before I go home, remember?”

  Her nostrils twitch. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? But my husband is expecting me tonight.” My pulse quickens, knowing if he is delayed he will not be expecting me at all. But I can’t stay until tomorrow.

  She shakes her head and shoos my words with waving hands. “I must discuss this husband with your grandmother, and you need to rest.” Her chin lowers. “Tomorrow. Now eat.” She turns from me and leaves the room.

  She’s meeting with Grandmother? And what does she mean “this husband”? What is there to deliberate? Aiko slides my bowl of miso away. I glance up. Her lined eyes narrow to slits.

  “The rule is, if you do not help prepare the meal, you do not eat the meal.” Aiko lifts the bowl and slurps.

  “You did not prepare it, either.” Jin’s words are whispered as light as a feather.

  Both Aiko and I gape in surprise. Jin stares at her rice, braced for Aiko’s response.

  “See? I knew you had a voice. Too bad you don’t know when to use it.” She gulps more into her mouth and leans close to Jin’s ear. “What? You have nothing more to say? Did you forget your words again?”

  Aiko grins at me and dumps the rest in the sink. I keep quiet, but do not glance away. She flashes her eyebrows, then leaves us alone at the table. Jin looks up and slides her bowl over.

  I wave my hand to protest. “No, Jin, it’s okay. I can wait.”

  She shakes her head and pushes it farther. “No, I have had enough.”

  “I have had enough of Aiko,” I say, making Jin laugh.

  “She is jealous because you have a husband and her boyfriend is married.” She motions to the bowl. “Please...”

  I nod, grateful for the offer, and accept. My stomach rumbles as it is filled. I deliberate on Jin’s words and debate my own. I must know about the baby. To hear what I fear spoken out loud. “Is Yoko in another room?”

  “She has left.”

  I stop eating and lean in. I lower my voice to a mere whisper. A soft tap to a quiet bell will still produce an answer. “What about the baby?”

  She wets her lips and sinks her chin low. “Gone.”

  “Gone?” The word rings hollow. I tap again. “Do you mean...?”

  “I want this baby gone, too.”

&nb
sp; Okaasan’s words flood my mind: There is a midwife Grandmother knows, who deals with such things. My insides seize. This is not a maternity clinic. It is a dwelling to hide the mothers and deal with unwanted babies.

  What has Grandmother done? What did she tell my father? Does he know? Is he in agreement? And what of Satoshi? No, he didn’t understand any more than me.

  A long, shuddering sigh escapes. Everyone here is unwed and young. Based on Aiko’s and Chiyo’s stories, does that mean they also all carry babies of mixed blood? These children are regarded as less because they don’t have pure Japanese blood racing through their veins. This makes mine race faster and boil.

  Poor Yoko. That poor baby.

  My attention falls to Jin’s ballooning belly. If ignorance is the mother of suspicion, what is truth when it confirms it? “How old are you, Jin?”

  Her timid eyes flick to mine. “I turned thirteen last month.”

  My heart drops. She is not much older than Kenji. I am almost eighteen, just five years older, but five years is the difference between adolescence and womanhood. Five years is a lifetime.

  With a breath, I force the question. “What of the father?”

  Her lips move but no words come out. She chews them instead and shakes her head. Her eyes drift to seeing nothing.

  I slide closer and lean in. “You can trust me, Jin.”

  “I said no,” she says, barely audible. Her fingers open and close into a fist. “My parents blame me even after I told them.” She shrugs. “That is why I choose silence. What is the point of speaking if no one will listen?”

  “I’m listening.” I despise the pity in my voice. It festers inside, threatening to surge.

  Jin stares at her belly as if she reads my thoughts. Her mouth twitches to a grimace. “My mother says this baby is my punishment. It won’t let go. It will be born so I am forced to look upon its mocking pale face and devil eyes at least once.”

  I straighten and speak with authority. “He was a devil for what he did to you, Jin, not because he was a foreigner. And your baby is innocent.”

  Her eyes grow moist, but not one tear falls. “You are lucky, Naoko. You have a suitable husband, so you will have a proper baby.” She wrinkles her forehead. “So, why are you here?”

  I don’t answer because I will not be for long.

  * * *

  Housemother Sato has left, and everyone takes advantage of her absence. Aiko fixes Chiyo’s hair in their room, and they cackle on about music and movies while Jin sits alone and reads. Hatsu is the only one who attends to her chores.

  I plot my escape.

  Walking past Hatsu, I nod, and slide the main door open, saying I need some fresh air. I slip my shoes on, peek back at Hatsu and wander out to the front deck. The sun’s bright smile causes me to squint and grimace. A beautiful day after such a dismal night and morning.

  To not raise suspicion, I pluck a sprig from an evergreen shrub, then walk around as if I am curious about the grounds.

  Kicking at the grass, I edge toward the path that led me here. The air tickles my nose, but I hold back the sneeze. One glance over my shoulder tells me my performance is without an audience, so I make my exit.

  I am going home.

  Together, Hajime and I can figure out how to approach Father and what to do about Kenji. Grandmother is a different story. I have some wise words of my own to share.

  My small bag sits packed in my room, but I do not need it. It is all replaceable. This baby is not. I quicken my pace as my mind churns over recent events. Jin’s question stabs at its center. “Why are you here?” This explains Housemother Sato’s confusion when meeting Satoshi. Why she needs to discuss things with Grandmother. But what does it change?

  I do not plan on staying to find out.

  My ankle rocks from stepping wrong on the narrow path, so I slow to be more careful. Stretched tree limbs hold hands high above to form a canopy. Concealed in its shade and away from that house, I breathe easier for the first time. The footbridge should be ahead, then just a little farther to the gate.

  Easing myself down the shallow embankment, my foot slides, and I skid a step before grabbing hold of a branch to keep steady. The sound of trickling water fills the air, and I spot the bridge.

  In crossing, I peer over at the butterfly koi to catch my breath. My mind spins. I am not a girl kept in a box. The real world is all around me—I see how it works, I know there is injustice. Even with my family. There is Father, a retired military man with strong views; Obaachan, opinionated and set in her ways; and Taro, who is blinded by nationalism.

  But me? I fall in love, marry and carry a child of an American despite it all.

  I may be of my own mind like Father, but my heart comes from Okaasan. Otherwise, how could I have given it to Hajime? My chest heaves a slow pained breath.

  I need to get out of here.

  Ahead, I see the tall bamboo fence with black ties. I lift the wooden latch and, with an open palm, push on the gate, but it doesn’t budge. I shove it again. Nothing. It only sways to absorb my weight.

  My pulse quickens. Why won’t it open? Using my side, I press my hip onto it, but it is stuck and only bends more. Panic creeps over me. I scan the height of the fence, then the length. Should I follow it? Climb over? With both hands, I grip the crossbeams in the gate’s construction and rattle it hard, willing it to open and let me free.

  “That will not work.”

  I spin. It is Hatsu. “You followed me?”

  She steps into clear view. “Housemother Sato secures the latch from the other side when she leaves.” She ambles toward me. “Normally the lock is on the inside.”

  I step back, my lips parted in shock.

  “She says it is to keep squatters out, but everyone knows it is to hold us until full payments are made.”

  Without thinking, I move past her and edge along the bamboo fence, pushing branches to clear a path.

  “Wait. Naoko, where are you going?”

  I am not staying here. “The fence cannot encircle the entire property, can it?” The ground crunches under my sandals with barbed brush biting my calves.

  Hatsu follows. The nicks itch, so I scratch as she catches up. With her behind, I push forward. She holds a hand high to block her cheeks from the branches’ snapback. The tangled brush grows thicker with every step.

  Voices carry from over the fence. People are walking down the street. My heart jumps. We both stop and stare at the bamboo fence. I close an eye and press the other to the bound stalks, trying to see in between. Two monks. Older. And one in a long white robe.

  “Hello?” I try to sound calm. “Hello? Excuse me?”

  The talking stops. Something is mumbled and then, “Yes, hello?”

  “Hello?” Hatsu steps closer, pressing her face beside mine. “Can you tell us if the fence goes on much farther? We are trying to follow it out.”

  “Out where?” the monk asks.

  “Out there,” I say, hoping we are closer than we thought. “We are trying to get to the other side.”

  A pause precedes the serious tone. “My children, you are on the other side.”

  Hatsu and I look at each other. What does that mean? They are leaving?

  I smack my hand on the fence. “Wait! Please! Excuse me?”

  “Forget it, Naoko. Unless it is Brother Daigan, those monks will not help us. Not even the nuns, who work and live in the adjoining community. They know what this place is, and as long as we are inside, they cannot interfere. Those are the rules.”

  I straighten and brave the words. “What is this place, Hatsu? Say it. I want to hear it said out loud.”

  She studies me. “Housemother provides a service for those who waited too long to get an abortion.” She shrugs. “It is a business. That’s all.” With that, she pushes through the brush again back the way we came. />
  This time I follow her. “I want my baby, Hatsu.”

  She whirls around with a huff. “Yoko wanted her baby, too. She planned on sneaking away to that home before she delivered, then leaving it on the steps. But she went into labor early.”

  “What home?”

  Hatsu flips stray hair from her forehead and rolls her eyes. She turns, seemingly tired of my questions.

  I pull her shoulder. “Hatsu, what home?”

  “The one for mixed-blood children.” Again, she walks, pushing branches to the side. “It is over in Oiso. Some lady takes them in, I do not know. I hear they are overcrowded and overrun with sickness, so how is that better?”

  I step high to avoid the bramble canes at my feet, my mind spinning her words into something I can understand. Branches bite my cheek. I shove them aside undeterred. “Yoko’s baby was mixed?”

  “Yes. I found out he was a boy. He did have some lungs, didn’t he?” she says. “He cried so loud.”

  And then he was silent. I stop. “Hatsu.”

  She faces me, and I can see the pain in her pinched expression. She knows I am going to ask. What I must know. What I must hear.

  My heart beats louder than my words. “What did the housemother do to Yoko’s baby?”

  Her mouth draws into a tight line.

  I step closer, eyes locked on to hers. “Tell me.”

  She looks away, forcing a hard breath. “She holds their noses.”

  I stare at her, stricken, gripped by the enormity of this truth.

  “Housemother Sato does it as soon as they are born. It’s usually before they sneak in a breath, but that one had fight.”

  My hand covers my mouth. Fresh tears build along my lashes. The spirit only enters the body with the first cry of life. Her baby cried. I heard him. He announced his arrival to the universe. An image plays in my mind of the little boy’s body squirming in vain while his mother watches him suffocate.

  She is a monster. A monster. And what does that make Obaachan? My father? I heave, leaning on the fence, unable to catch my breath. Every thought screams with sadness and anger. No one will touch my baby! From this moment on, my family is no more. Only Hajime. Only Kenji. Only this child who will cry out with mighty lungs.