The Woman in the White Kimono Read online

  He smacks me.

  I wobble in shock. Okaasan gasps and runs toward me, but Father pushes her away.

  “Don’t touch her!” I move between them.

  “It is not my place to interfere. Forgive me, husband.” Okaasan lowers her chin.

  “No, it is. I’m your daughter,” I say, facing her. Tears itch behind my eyes. “You have a voice, Okaasan, and every right to use it. This is 1957...” I turn to Father, my heart enraged and beating fast. “Women make their own decisions and I—”

  Another strike across my cheek jolts me back. This one hurts. My hand covers my prickling skin as tears fall over my fingertips, but I hold my head up. Next time he won’t catch me off guard.

  “You reflect our family’s honor, Naoko. That does not change. And tonight, you shamed us by your unexcused absence. And now you disrespect me with your insolence.” He barks the words, nostrils flaring with each breath. “I blame the gaijin filling your head with nonsense. Women make their own decisions.” He scoffs. “I decide in this house.”

  I study the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallows his anger. I clamp my jaw to hold back mine.

  “And I have decided to give my blessing for you to marry Satoshi at once.” A snarl through clenched teeth. “If he will still have you.”

  “But, Fathe—”

  “Silence!” His mighty arm cocks but holds position. “It’s done.”

  I drop to my knees, distraught. Bury my face with tears.

  His words strike harder than any hand.

  Satisfied, Father leaves me there alone. In his mind, a match with Satoshi guarantees I’m well cared for by a family he respects, a family that ensures the continued success of ours. This pleases him, gives him comfort for everyone’s future. I understand, but what happiness is there in a future that isn’t mine?

  Unable to rise, I whisper a small prayer and send my request into the storm. I ask for the glue that mends jagged edges. If not possible, I ask to be stronger than the bowl I broke. If still not possible, I ask for help from someone regarded with even more importance than the ritual cat.

  For in Japan there are many fearful things under the sun: the great earthquakes that bring down entire cities, deadly thunderbolts from an angry sky, raging winds of lethal fires and the father.

  The last is not the least.

  EIGHT

  America, Present Day

  I’d checked in at a nearby hotel, but I spent little time there. Instead, I’d brought most of my things to the hospital and made do with the oversize chair. It had been over a week, and with the intravenous fluids and antibiotics, I had expected my father to start getting better. He’d gotten worse.

  The teal blue gown hung two sizes too big and washed out his already pale complexion. My heart twisted at how gaunt he’d become. He wasn’t eating and only took water through a straw, and even then, only in sips. And while medicine settled his chesty cough, it made him drowsy and increased his wheeze. My father was slipping away, and no one was doing anything.

  A quick knock, then Pops’s door opened, releasing a ribbon of fluorescent light. A nurse my father liked walked through. Natalie? It was hard to keep track of names when I could hardly keep track of the day.

  “Hello,” she whispered, trying not to disturb my father. “I’m here to check on our guy.” Her ponytail bobbed as she set to work.

  It was always our guy, our friend and we think this or that. As if the hospital staff were one collective consciousness instead of a mass of individual souls. Perhaps a necessity. Our guy allowed an emotional distance. But our guy was my father, and he had a name. I wished they’d use it.

  “Do you think you could get my father some oxygen?” I asked before she could slip away. Pops’s congested breathing had shallowed, sometimes with long pauses between. “I don’t think he’d want tubes, but you have the mask kind, right?”

  “Dr. Amon is on his rounds, so he should be here any minute.” She shut the door, taking the answers and the light with her.

  When the doctor finally appeared, I leaped up from the chair and herded him back into the hall.

  “What is happening?” He craned his neck toward the room, alarmed.

  “No, sorry, he’s fine. I just wanted to discuss other treatment options. The antibiotics don’t seem to be working—he’s getting worse.” Once I started, it was full steam ahead. I clenched my fist and pounded through my concerns and suggestions one after the next: the antibiotics, the resistance to them, his lack of appetite.

  “Please.” The doctor held up his hands. “I understand—”

  “No. You don’t understand.” I pointed inside. “That is my father, and no one is doing anything.”

  “Please...” he said again, and guided me from the hall back inside the room. “Let us include your father in this discussion.” He flipped the dimmer up. Harsh light shocked the room. “Mr. Kovač?” Dr. Amon leaned over him. “Hello, Mr. Kovač. I am sorry to disturb you.”

  Pops blinked, squinted and inventoried his surroundings.

  “Yes. Hello, Mr. Kovač, hello.” Dr. Amon took a small step back, motioned to me. “I’m afraid your daughter is most upset. It appears you haven’t talked with her about your medical decisions, and I recommend we do before the others arrive.”

  “What others?”

  “Mr. Kovač?” Pops rubbed at his eyes, confused, so Dr. Amon repeated himself. My father shifted his head on the pillow in my direction, then gave a nod to Dr. Amon.

  “Yes? Okay.” Dr. Amon spun to me and pushed back his shoulders. “Against my wishes, your father requested we not share his recent medical decision with you.”

  “Wait, back up, what decision? And when did that conversation even take place?” I’d only left once or twice for the hotel. I got coffee a few times. Ice.

  “After the CAT scan results.” Pops’s words crackled as he tried to prop himself up.

  I wanted to help, but my feet rooted in disbelief. “Okay, so you want to make your own medical decisions, which is fine, but you didn’t want them to share anything with me?” I scrutinized Dr. Amon. “It’s not like his cancer is a secret.” I eyed my father, spoke louder. “Pops, that’s why we came here, remember? To discuss treatment options for your cancer.”

  “Doc...” My father furrowed his brows. “Please.”

  “Yes, all right.” Dr. Amon drew his palms together in thought, rested them under his nose, then flipped them free with his words. “Your father and I discussed palliative care after he received the test results, and as of this morning, your father informed me that was his decision. Do you understand this?”

  I didn’t. My silence said as much.

  Dr. Amon dipped his chin. “Your father has chosen not to continue treatment and opted for end-of-life hospice instead.”

  “What?” The punch of his words was so quick and sharp it drew tears from the shock alone. I stepped back in disbelief.

  Dr. Amon clarified that aggressive therapies would prolong suffering. He explained the interventions to provide symptom relief for a patient without curative options. He said other things, indistinguishable doctor things of what to expect, but my mind fixed back to my father’s words upon our arrival. My ship. That’s where my life began... Who’d have guessed it’d end there, too?

  My father didn’t guess, he knew. And maybe underneath the tea, the vitamins and even the last desperate appointment with a specialist, I did, too.

  That night I didn’t sleep. Instead, I peered out the hospital window and watched the sun break through the haze. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.

  The storm was just ahead.

  NINE

  Japan, 1957

  There is no after-school tutoring session, so my friend Kiko and I ride home from the train station unhurried. Twisting my bicycle’s handlebars back and forth, I make serpentine tracks in
the gravel as I think of Hajime, hoping he’s read my words. I stare at the red string I’ve dared to tie around my finger, then stand on my bicycle’s pedals to build speed for the hill ahead.

  Kiko lags behind. I’m lost in thought, while she’s loud in silence. She’s upset with me for even considering going against my family. But how could I not?

  At the top, I skid to a stop and turn. The skirt of my cotton school uniform clings to the backs of my thighs. I shake it loose and wait. Kiko takes her time pedaling and pretends not to notice my impatience. Her feet touch down to walk in the gravel. She does not stop, just passes by with tight lips and high-arched brows, like an insolent child holding her breath.

  “I am aware you’re angry with me.” Sitting on the seat, I push the bike with oversize steps to catch up. “But you don’t understand.”

  “What is there to understand?” She puffs a breath to free her eyes from blunt-cut bangs that settle in the same spot. “First, you date a foreigner, and I think, okay, he’s handsome, we both love everything American, so it’s fun, but now?” Kiko’s round cheeks dot red with anger as she stops to make her point.

  I brake, too, braced to fight it.

  “I can’t believe you want to marry Hajime despite your father’s wishes. And to tell Satoshi he is American was foolish. What if they close their account with your father’s business? Your family fortune will dry up and they won’t be able to secure another match.” She tucks her short hair behind her ears to better frame her scowl. “And you know what everyone will think.” She sniffs.

  “I’m not trapping him,” I snap, and cross my arms, embarrassed.

  “But that’s what people will say. That you sold out for a ticket to America like the pan-pan prostitute girls who hang out at the base.” She leans over the bicycle’s handlebars. “They may even say you’re pregnant.”

  I hide my face into folded arms on the handlebars.

  “Naoko?”

  When I don’t say anything, she shakes my shoulder. “Tell me you’re not?”

  “I’m late,” I mumble.

  “What?” Her voice rings shrill. “Oh, no...” Kiko’s shock shifts to sympathy. “How far do you think? There still may be time to get rid of it and fix everything.”

  I gasp. “Get rid of it? No...” I shake my head to dislodge the thought.

  Kiko pedal-walks closer and almost whispers. “We could lie on the permission forms. And I have some money—I’m not sure if it’s enough. And we’d have to find a doctor who would bend the rules a little.”

  “Stop, Kiko!” I push off from the ground to move the bike forward and leave her horrible words behind.

  “How many cycles missed? Tell me.”

  I drop my head, disappointed with my situation. The one I wouldn’t admit but can no longer deny. “If I miss this week, it’ll be three moons. Too many weeks.”

  “You should have told me sooner.” Her words stipple in hurt. “I would have helped you. You would have had time. But now?”

  “But nothing. I want this baby.” Twirling around to face her, I plead my truth. “I love Hajime. Does that not mean anything? And Hajime wants me.” I kick the gravel road, scattering sand and pebbles in various directions, then start pushing my bike again for home.

  Kiko glides beside me on hers, buzzing like an irritated bee set to sting. “People will talk.”

  “We planned to marry, anyway,” I say without glancing over. “So, that leaves the gossiping hens nothing to cluck about.” Another kick, this one raises dust along with Kiko’s ire.

  “That gives them more!” She pedals faster, making sharp circles, ensnaring me in the middle. “Rumors will follow your family at every turn.”

  I pivot as she circles to keep her judgmental eyes in view. Mine burn hot with tears.

  “They will call you a whore, Naoko, say your family has no honor, and no one will associate with you. My family will force me to stay away. Is that what you want?”

  I balk. “You know that’s not what I want.”

  “No one wants half-bloods.” Kiko snorts a fast breath, coasting closer. “And no one will want you. Where will you live? Foreigners cannot own land and your family will cast you aside, so where? On the American base?”

  “No.” I plant my feet because I’m losing ground. “Hajime has rented a house in Taura.” I jut my chin, determined. “We will be fine.”

  She skids to a stop. “You mean in the old Eta community, don’t you?” Her eyes go wild. “Oh, Naoko, you can’t live there.”

  “I know...” My heart plummets and sours in my stomach. “But maybe I won’t have to.”

  I tell her the plan I put into place, how I petitioned for Okaasan to sway Father. And if that doesn’t work, how I’ll share where we would live—and because the Eta stigma would impact them, perhaps they will help us secure better housing. Even if only to save themselves.

  “That is your plan?” Kiko taunts. “Hajime was intended for memory, Naoko. A secret, wonderful memory to return to one day. But if you do this, that’s what you’ll become. A memory, to all of us. Exiled. Have you worked that into your plan?” She shakes her head. “I’m not going to let you do this.”

  “There is nothing to be done. I love him.”

  We stare at one another.

  “Then you’re a fool.” She glares tearful eyes, then pushes off.

  Why must this be so difficult? If it were Satoshi’s child, everyone would claim an early blessing and rush the marriage. Touching the red yarn looped around my finger, I watch Kiko pedal away through my steady tears. Her words slice through my heart, but not my resolve. We’ve been friends since we were children, so our threads have run together side by side. We’ve never once crossed to move in different directions.

  Until now.

  * * *

  “Naoko.”

  My name is whispered from somewhere far. Who is calling? I run with outstretched fingers to sweep the wind and chase the sound. Looking around, everything fades and blurs until I focus. I am awake within my dream.

  My arms rise to command the air. I am the composer, coaxing Nature’s elements to perform. At first, gentle, the indecipherable rustle of swaying branches and leaves. Then, with force, and in one gust, the foliage rips from limbs to swirl around me. Faster and faster in a mad whirlwind dance.

  “Naoko, wake up.”

  The voice stills the gale, and the leaves drop in unison. My eyes flutter open. Mother leans close. Her hand jostles my shoulder to shake the fog of in-between.

  “Okaasan?”

  “Shh, follow me now,” she whispers, then rises and pads out.

  I stand and blink away my dream, while moving on tiptoes after her toward the back door.

  My eyes widen to adjust as I step outside. The sleepy orange sun peeks from a thick blanket of dark, not committing to push it away, maybe irritated by our early disturbance.

  “Come.” Okaasan tugs my arm, walking us along the garden’s path, away from the house.

  “What is it?” My skin bumps like a plucked chicken from the cool air.

  Mother stops at the wooden bench that sits to the west. I sit beside her, sensing the moment’s importance. Does she have my answer?

  Her shadowed eyes lock on to mine. “Naoko, it’s good that Satoshi knows of your American and shows a compassionate heart. And now confirmed, it releases our family of future burdens. It also allows you a choice. You have two paths, but only one opportunity to select which one you will walk.” She pulls my hand between hers. “But there’s no going back. Is this clear?”

  I nod, wanting to comprehend, but struggle in confusion.

  She forms a soft smile. “Daughter, since you present an American military man as your intended and deny consideration of Satoshi—a good match—your father suspects a pregnancy.”

  “What? Why would you think...?” My heart
falls. Kiko. “She told you?”

  She waves to silence the words that dangle from my lips. “Because I know my daughter and watch her appetite wane and see her sick with morning worry, I already suspected.” Her hand squeezes mine. “So then, has the bloom remained on the branch? Or is the pregnancy Kiko spoke of possible? Now, I am asking for your courage to answer with truth.”

  Not wanting to admit the shared intimacies of marriage, my chin drops, and I look away humiliated. My silence is answer enough.

  Again, her slender fingers, wrapped around mine, squeeze. “Your father won’t accept Hajime, with or without a baby, daughter. And Satoshi cannot accept you as a match if your womb grows another man’s seed. There’s a midwife Grandmother can contact who can confirm either way and, if you are, can deal with such a thing in discretion.”

  I glance up to absorb the meaning of her words. “Okaasan, no...”

  Her eyes soften. “Satoshi still wants this match if you do, Naoko, as does your father. It’s still possible. Do you understand?”

  “I understand both sides of the coin contain sorrow.” My shoulders fall and I lean onto Mother. Her hand runs through my hair from crown to tip in slow, comforting strokes. The sun no longer fights its slumber. With a deliberate stretch, it drags fingers of light dipped in orange across the gray-blue sky.

  Okaasan sighs. “When I was a young girl, no older than Kenji, I tried to trick my mother. She was not so different than Obaachan—stubborn and opinionated. Determined to show her up with a clever riddle, I pretended to hold an imaginary bird behind my back. I asked her, ‘Is the bird I have hidden alive or dead? What is your answer?’ I grinned, so proud, knowing I couldn’t lose. If she replied, ‘Dead,’ I would act as though I set it free, so it would fly away before her eyes. If she said, ‘Alive,’ I would feign a small squeeze to snap its little neck.

  “I watched my mother consider my puzzle, and I repeated my question, ready to bask in my moment. ‘What is the answer? Is the bird alive or dead?’ My mother’s chin lifted. She smiled and said, ‘The answer is in your hands.’”