The Woman in the White Kimono Page 5

  “So, you agree that minds can change?”

  Her eyebrows draw together. She knows I pull water to my own rice paddy, so she says nothing.

  I lean close. “What if we learn Satoshi doesn’t wish to marry me, either? Then there’s no risk of losing his father’s business.”

  Okaasan’s drying hands stop.

  With a deep breath, I start the petition I have practiced to perfection. “I only ask you to consider this. If you agree that minds can change, and if Satoshi’s mind is changed—without offense—can you not change Father’s? Can you not open his heart to see what is in mine? I wish for a marriage of love, Okaasan.”

  “Naoko...” Okaasan tilts her head.

  “I love Hajime.” I dare his name in a whisper. “And he loves me. So much, he would give up his home in America. Leave his family to make a life here with ours.” I don’t yet say where. “He’s a good, honorable man who embraces our customs and ways, and also respects me.” I smile, emotion bubbling up and misting my eyes. “He encourages me, Okaasan. To speak up and act freely because he loves all that I am. And I love who I am with him. It’s as though I can do anything. Do you know what he said to me?” His beautiful words have decorated my thoughts since he spoke them. My smile widens.

  “He said I’m smart and clever, and if anyone could convince you and Father why we should be together, it’s me.” I take her hand, squeeze. “So, I say this to you... You are smart and clever, and if anyone can sway Father to reconsider, it’s you. Please, I beg you to find the courage and persuade him.”

  Okaasan turns her gaze forward, placing both hands on the counter. She stares out the window where everyone sits. The nervous twitch of her little finger gives movement to her consideration. Tap-tap-tap. Then again. Tap-tap-tap. We stand next to one another at the sink, each holding our ground by holding our tongue, until—the kettle trumpets steam.

  She motions to the boiling water and resumes drying dishes, a signal my answer must wait. Hurt is often the hole that truth whistles through, and even in silence, it squeals in my ears. What if Okaasan doesn’t answer at all?

  I prepare the after-dinner tea and present it to Grandmother outside. Father and Taro’s discussion on foreign trade stalls with my arrival. Taro regards me with a pointed look, but Father doesn’t consider me at all. Instead, he observes Kenji, who studies a bug beside his book.

  “Kenji-kun...” Father calling his name is correction enough.

  Grandmother accepts the tea with a nod and I am dismissed, but never acknowledged.

  As I turn to leave, Taro resumes their conversation, the word gaijin emphasized in spite for my ears. He’s more of a threat to Hajime than Father because his zealous nationalistic views feed Father’s old ingrained prejudices.

  He’s gasoline to a slow-burning fire.

  The best insurance against fire is to own two homes, so I wait on Okaasan’s answer. If I’ve persuaded her oversize heart, maybe she can coax Father’s narrow mind to open, and our house will no longer stand divided.

  SEVEN

  Japan, 1957

  The train’s vibration aggravates my sour stomach, making me queasy. I should have gone home right after traditional dance practice, but I went to the pier. Hajime’s ship is out at sea—they travel every other week between Yokosuka and neighboring ports, but I left him a note with the guard.

  In it, I wrote,

  The Red String of Fate is an old East-Asian belief. It is said the heavens tie a red cord around the little fingers of those ordained to be together. It is an invisible thread that connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. Follow ours to find me waiting at our little thatched house.

  I snipped two small pieces of red yarn—one for us each—and enclosed his in the envelope. He needs to know that my feelings and intentions haven’t changed. I left out how Father’s feelings haven’t changed, either. Although I believe my mother supports me, I understand her submission and her silence. She’s of a different generation and has never had someone like Hajime to inspire her words and actions. I’m hoping mine will encourage hers.

  With a sigh, I lean back in the train seat and watch the woman and child sitting across from me. While I’m crammed in with others, they sit alone. Passengers pretend indifference, but the overgenerous space demonstrates disgust. It doesn’t matter that their clothes are clean, hair is neat or that they wear no surgical mask to indicate illness, no one risks contamination from the child’s obvious mixed blood.

  The little girl catches me looking, so I smile. Reaching in my pocket, I retrieve two pieces of cubed dagashi candy and offer her one. She only stares.

  “Please,” I say, holding it out farther. “I have plenty.”

  With enthusiasm, she reaches out and claims it.

  Now no one pretends indifference.

  The man seated to my left bolts upright to stand. The woman beside him shifts farther away. The sleeping woman is awake and glares with disapproving eyes. I’ve become infected, so I pretend indifference.

  In truth, it hurts my heart. If Hajime and I have children, it will be the same.

  With her light skin and almond eyes, the little girl is a living reminder that we lost the war, that America’s radical Western beliefs intrude upon our traditions, that they have tainted our blood. She’s a mixed-race child, and although innocent, her existence shames and scares them.

  My country’s opposition and my family’s fear are what shame and scare me.

  Tears well up. For them, for me. For not knowing what to do. I dig in my pocket and pull out what remains of my candy cubes. She gets them all.

  The train squeals as the brakes squeeze. Impatient passengers stand and make their way toward the door, itching to be rid of us both.

  I focus on the horizon as I step from the platform to walk the long road home. I should hurry, but I’m already late, and as Grandmother says, “If you are going to eat poison, you may as well clean your plate.” I kick the gravel, causing angry puffs of loose dirt to rise in protest.

  “Naoko!” The deep voice travels from the top of the hill.

  I squint to make out the figure. A charged thunderbolt shocks my insides. Heat soars up my neck and prickles my skin.

  Satoshi!

  Oh, no. Did I forget? I thought our meeting was tomorrow! I quicken my pace but then slow. Hajime said if anyone could change my family’s mind, I could. Now is my chance to change Satoshi’s, as well. I shuffle-step, pretending a leisure stroll even though he approaches in haste. I want him to find me discourteous.

  “Your father sent Taro and me out to search for you.” His voice softens as he nears. “He’s gone to your friend Kiko’s house, so I headed for the train and here you are.”

  “Here I am.” Leaves rustle as I stand a captive audience. Maybe just a captive. I’m still confused. “Isn’t our match meeting tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but your father invited us to visit informally today.”

  Which I might have known if Father had told me.

  For the moment, we study one another. Me, plotting a plan. Him, cursing his luck? I’m a mess. Good. I hope he storms off to declare me unacceptable. I slouch to inspire the idea. Hajime would laugh and beam with pride. I slump more.

  I pretend not to notice how he’s changed. I remember him as cute, but now, I must admit, he’s attractive, although not like Hajime. His hair is longer on top and slicked back, but I would presume on a normal day it is not as neat and worn more fashionable. His face is angular, with a high nose bridge and wide-set eyes that fix on mine.

  I drop my head and toe the dirt, aggravated from my misfortune. He should be hideous, so I can complain to my family. How could you ask me to marry such a beast? Think of your future grandchildren! Did you not see how striking Hajime was? Instead, my arguments would fail.r />
  From midwaist, I bow an apology to test him. “Forgive me, Satoshi-san, I must have forgotten today’s arrangement. It slipped my mind. Such carelessness. Weak character makes for a weak wife.” Flippant remarks, but now I can study his reaction. The strong, square jaw, is it tense with irritation? Is his chin held high and smug like Taro’s? Do his eyes hold contempt like Father’s?

  “And I am sorry for the confusion.” He returns the bow gracefully. Smiles. “Shall we walk?”

  I cast a sideways glance, not trusting the performance, but stroll beside him.

  Birds give pause to consider the steam whistle. One long signal indicates the train’s withdrawal. Japan runs on a strict schedule of arrival and departure, everything at its own proper time.

  Except for me.

  Grandmother says, “Truth has a proper time, too. If it comes too early or too late, it is both a lie.” The push for Satoshi as a match is not fair to him or me. I don’t wish to lie, so the proper time to tell Satoshi my truth is now. My teeth grind hard as I decide how to present it without igniting outrage. I want him disinterested, not offended. He is still the son of my father’s client.

  Hajime says I’m smart and clever. But convincing? I stop and throw the words to the wind. “I’m sure someone of your quality has another match. Somebody obedient and mindful. Someone that’s perfect for you. In fact, I find myself in this same challenging situation.” I face him but focus on his impeccable brown shoes.

  “I see.” His polished foot taps once, then again. “Do I know him?”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t, just as I haven’t met your intended. But I’m certain she’s always considerate to your busy schedule, unlike me—an unlikely match. What were our parents thinking?” I almost laugh. Hajime would say I should go into acting.

  “Does he attend your school?”

  “No. He’s completed his education.”

  Satoshi shifts his weight. “Does he work with your father, then? I may have met—”

  “He doesn’t, and you haven’t.” I grind my jaw in agitation. Did he not hear anything I said?

  “But how do you know? I may—”

  “I know because he’s American.” My head jolts up, surprised by my own audacity. Then, at once, lowers. My stomach plummets. What have I done? “I’m very sorry and wish not to offend you or your family. Please don’t tell your father or... I can’t...” I can’t breathe or think. Now I want someone to tell me what to do.

  This emotional storm is too close. I would like to seek shelter in the forest with the now-laughing foxes. They may tell Grandmother everything, but they tell me nothing.

  From flash to boom, I mentally count the seconds between them.

  One one-thousand.

  Two one-thousand.

  Three—

  “I must admit, Americans are hard to resist.”

  What? I peek up through lashes. Satoshi is not angry or cross that I choose another match—an American—and he is...smiling? Does he, in fact, have another match and therefore an understanding heart?

  He resumes our walk, so I follow, not taking my eyes from him.

  “You know baseball, Naoko?”

  I nod, still surprised by his casual demeanor, but also cautious. Hajime plays baseball. Does he know this? Is it a trick because the American team won the highly promoted match? Will his words yet rain down in ire and disgust?

  “The American baseball player Joe DiMaggio married the famous blonde movie star. I saw them in Tokyo when they were here for their honeymoon.” He turns, casting a fixed gaze to me. “I swear she hypnotized me with her big blue eyes.”

  He laughs, which makes me smile despite myself.

  This blue-eyed spell I understand well. When I first met Hajime in Yokosuka, his eyes charmed me. They captured light and sparkled like water absorbing the sun.

  “So, yes, Naoko, I, too, understand the appeal. But...” Satoshi stops, his wide smile replaced by a softer one. “I also like midnight eyes that glint like rare black diamonds.” He winks. “Maybe you do, too, hmm?”

  My face warms, so I stare into the trees, confused. So, he is charming; it’s still for show. In Japan there are two types of love. Family love for wife and children and relationship love, which the husband continues outside the home with others. I want both within the marriage and I want my own home. Not one governed by a spiteful mother-in-law.

  We walk in silence.

  Why isn’t he angry? He should have declared our match unacceptable, forcing my family to at least consider Hajime. Satoshi’s not following the rules.

  “You’re lost in thought. Where are you?” Satoshi asks.

  “Oh...” I glance in his direction but look away with haste. If this were our official match meeting and I were trying to impress him, I’d talk about the garden’s various plants to show my knowledge and attention to detail. Or I’d ask about his studies in electronics and exclaim how impressive his ambitions are. Instead, my tongue betrays me. “I am thinking of the ritual cat story and its silly rule.”

  He laughs and regards me with an amused expression.

  “Much like these match meetings, wouldn’t you agree?” I ask, glancing at him sidelong to see if that, too, makes him smile.

  It does. He clasps his hands behind his back and looks up to the trees. “There was once a great spiritual leader whose meditation was disturbed by the constant noise and whine of the displeased monastery cat.”

  “Yes.” I nod because he knows the story. “And to solve this problem, they tie up the cat during service, so the great leader will be able to concentrate.”

  “And when the cat eventually dies...” Satoshi holds up his index finger and speaks in a dramatic fashion. “They get another and tie that one up, as well. This becomes a required rule for perfect and proper meditation for centuries to come.”

  This time we both laugh.

  “Naoko...” He stops as we near my house. “Please know I admire your honesty and would not betray it to my father or hold it against you or your family. You can trust me.” The corners of his lips turn up. “And while I understand your heart is full, can you understand when I ask if there’s room for consideration?” His mouth opens to say something else but closes as Okaasan and Satoshi’s mother approach from the front door.

  Dread crawls up my spine. I’m already exhausted by this day, but to have caused embarrassment to Okaasan? I am white bones and weary. A daughter who cannot be found signals a mother who is also lost.

  Father must be furious.

  * * *

  Polite conversation finishes up the visit I all but missed. I bow an apology again for my tardiness to Satoshi’s mother, and Satoshi quickly interjects that it’s not needed, as the visit, although short, was thoroughly appreciated and enjoyed. This stops his mother from responding and saves my continued embarrassment. We exchange smiles, and with a slight nod, he escorts her from our home.

  From the doorway, I watch them walk away. Satoshi’s one arm motions as he talks; the other extends for her to hold for balance. She leans into him and says something, causing his head to throw back in a robust laugh.

  “You’re smiling,” Grandmother says from beside me.

  I turn, my cheeks dropping fast. “He just surprised me.”

  “Like having a rice dumpling fly into your mouth, it’s unexpected and sweet.” Her lips pucker smugly.

  Just as unexpected is Taro’s tight grip on my arm as he tugs me aside. “First you insult us by bringing home a filthy gaijin and then when Father attempts to discredit any rumors it may have caused, you show up late? Had you not been found, all would be lost. Do you not understand this, sister?” His eyes bulge.

  “I understand no one cares what I want.” I yank my arm from his grasp but maintain my piercing glare.

  “What you want?” Taro’s thin lips twitch into a sneer. He steps clos
e and growls. “Do you want us to lose everything? Do you know how hard Father works since the war?”

  “The war ended twelve years ago, Taro.” I fire the words back.

  “The war ended millions of lives, Naoko. It almost destroyed our country and the American Occupation has barely dissolved and you...you whore around with them, wearing their clothes, listening to their music, wanting to marry one.” Taro begins to pace. “How do you think this reflects on our family? Our chance to rebuild?”

  “Do you not do business with them?” My eyebrows rise with my point.

  He stops. “Buying and selling wares in a mutually beneficial agreement is not selling your family’s name.”

  “No, instead you wish to sell me out for the sake of business.” I cross my arms to hold my pounding heart in.

  “Look around, Naoko.” Taro motions wildly. “Do you not see our shrinking station? Do you wish to see Obaachan and Okaasan reduced further if you cause offense with these games? For Father to lose face? Me, my birthright? Trade you off...” He huffs. “Father trades you up. He secures a prominent home for your future when ours is still uncertain because of them. Are you so selfish?”

  My stomach drops in confusion. Am I? I flip my hand to reject his words and spin to leave.

  Father stands right behind me.

  Kenji roars past to taunt. “Naoko, you’re in so much troub—”

  “Enough!” Father’s tone halts Kenji. With a sweeping motion, he dismisses both him and Taro.

  Kenji bows, the teasing eyes replaced with worry. Quietly, he back-steps to where Grandmother and Okaasan stand near the kitchen. Taro stabs me with one last cutting glare, bows to Father and leaves in a huff.

  My breath shortens; a sharp ill-ease brews in my belly.

  Father widens his stance. Fire burns behind his eyes to redden his face and scorch his words. “Where, Naoko?”

  Grandmother’s adage floods my mind. “Truth told too early or too late is both a lie.” It’s too late. “Otousan, please forgive me. Time slipped away an—”