Authors: CW Schutter
As Mary waited for Mitsuo to join her, she felt the wind lift her hair and mold her thin cotton dress to her slim body. Love had transformed her and she was completely happy for the first time since her father died.
Mitsuo was her first love. She was certain she would never love anyone else. He loved her so much, he allowed her to set the pace although it was clear he wanted her. She respected his self-control. Although they were very passionate together, Mitsuo never crossed the line. He thought she was a timid maiden. He didn’t know she was afraid. The final act seemed tawdry and dirty to her. She loved kissing and touching, but she was afraid going all the way would ruin everything. And she was terrified he'd despise her as a fallen woman if he discovered she had been spoiled.
Then, of course, there was the Sadako problem. They rarely talked about it, but it weighed heavily on both their hearts. Mary considered Sadako her best and only friend. How could she betray her like this?
"One cannot choose who to fall in love with. The heart wants what the heart wants. Attraction is destiny." Mary remembered her mother’s words, but it didn’t make her feel better.
Her quandary made torment and ecstasy her companions for the past three months. She knew Mitsuo also agonized over the choices before him. Mary didn’t make demands. She wanted to enjoy the moment for as long as it lasted.
"Mary." A voice interrupted her thoughts by whispering into her ear as arms slipped around her waist.
Mary turned and smiled at Mitsuo. Throwing her head back, her lips parted and she threw her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she announced before kissing him.
Mitsuo’s fingers threaded through her thick hair, “what makes you so happy?”
“Being with you.”
Mitsuo put his arm around her waist. They walked in aimless silence for a few minutes. When he stopped, he cupped her chin in his hand, “I’ve joined the Army. They’ve created an all-
Nisei
unit, the 442nd.”
Mary stopped walking. “Why?”
“Because this is my country,” Mitsuo grabbed her hands in his. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back. And when I do, we’ll get married.”
Mary melted against him for a moment before backing away. She put her hand on her throat. “Your parents…Sadako.”
“Before I leave, I’ll announce our engagement.” Mitsuo put his arms around her. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”
In spite of the complications, Mary felt sublimely happy.
Mary sensed the oppression in the Kawae household as soon as she entered the house after working in the store all day. Kawae san paced in the parlor with his head down. In the corner, his wife sobbed in Sadako’s arms. Mary bent her head, trying not to witness to their suffering, but Sadako called to her.
Sadako fell into Mary’s arms.
Mary hugged the trembling girl. “What is it?”
Sadako cried so hard she couldn’t talk.
Mary shook her. “Sadako, what’s the matter?”
“We’ve been relocated!”
“I don’t understand.”
“The government told us we have forty-eight hours to pack up and leave for a relocation center someplace in Arizona,” Kawae san said.
“Why?”
“Because father runs the Japanese-language school,” Sadako wrung her hands.
“I still don’t understand.”
“They want to make sure we’re not spies.” Sadako wiped tears from her eyes.
“What about the store? Your house?” Mary dropped her hands.
“It’s not fair!” Sadako began pacing. “I’m an American!”
Sadako’s mother looked at Mary and said. “We can only take what we can carry. We’re allowed only two suitcases each.” Masako Kawae’s eyes swept sadly around the room. Their house was more luxurious than most Japanese. They had a
tansu
, a wedding chest from Japan filled with silk kimonos.
Zabutons
, the brightly colored sitting cushions Japanese favored, were placed around a low table on top of straw
tatami
mats. A decorative scroll hung on the bare wooden walls as well as a portrait of the Kawaes in Japanese dress. There was a small shrine in the corner of the room for Sadako’s brother who died as a little child. Mary could see despite their pain, the Kawae’s had remembered the little bowl of rice inside the shrine. The smell of incense floated from the shrine.
Masako’s eyes lingered on the wedding chest. “I brought that from Japan. It was my grandmother’s.” Her eyes went around the room. “We must take poor Tadashi’s shrine.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as Sadako rushed over to comfort her.
Mary wept.
The next evening, Mary packed her things to return home. Sadako came up the stairs to her room and began to pace back and forth. Ordinarily, Mary would have noticed something was up, but she was preoccupied with thoughts of Mitsuo, the war, her future, and the relocation centers.
Sadako stopped pacing. “The Tanakas are coming over tonight.”
Mary turned. “What for?”
Sadako brightened. Her mouth curved into a little smile. “It’s a good surprise. Make sure you come downstairs when they arrive.” Before Mary could say anything, Sadako closed the door and ran down the stairs giggling.
A few hours later, Mary entered the living room and saw Mitsuo standing next to Sadako. Her arm was linked through his. Mitsuo avoided Mary’s eyes. Sadako was so happy she looked almost pretty. She wore her best dress and clung to Mitsuo.
Then Mary saw the gold ring on her left hand.
Sadako rushed to Mary’s side, hugging and kissing her. “Mary! Now I can tell you my secret. Mitsuo and I got married today!”
Mary turned her eyes to Mitsuo who looked at the floor. Without a word, she turned and walked out the door and up to her room.
There was a knock on her door. Mary lay on her
futon
with her head turned to the wall and her eyes closed. She heard the door open followed by the soft pad of footsteps on the floor. She opened her eyes and saw Keiko Tanaka. “It all works out,” Keiko said. “Sadako can stay here now she has a husband who enlisted. When the war is over, Mitsuo can go to school. Sadako loves Mitsuo enough for the both of them.”
Mary tried to sit up, but Keiko gently pushed her down. “We cannot change our destinies. That is the way of things. I’m truly sorry for you and I’m also sorry for Mitsuo.”
“How did you know?”
“I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. But marriage and love seldom go together. In time, Mitsuo will learn to be happy with Sadako. She brings him financial stability and a future as her dowry. With you, he could never become the doctor he wants to be. In the end, he might have despised you for destroying his dream.”
Mary squeezed her eyes and tried to shut out Keiko’s voice. To her great shame, she cried.
Kazuko returned home from selling baskets of tomatoes and sat down on the floor atop two faded
zabutons
. She took a cigarette from her apron pocket and lit up, savoring the strong, bitter taste. The weather was sultry, but not unpleasantly so. She felt sure there would be rain later tonight.
Looking out the window, she spied Mariko and Takeo walking together, their heads bowed in conversation. They were beautiful and intelligent with an air of aristocracy like her parents. Perhaps that was why she was unable to feel the spontaneous warmth she felt for her other children. Dragging on her cigarette, she wondered where all the years had gone.
Kazuko was not yet fifty, but she knew she looked sixty. She parted her graying hair in the middle, twisting it into a prim bun at the nape of her neck. For the last five years the neighborhood children took to calling her
oba chan
, old lady. In a way, they were right. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a face etched with wrinkles.
Mariko squeezed Takeo’s arm as they approached Kazuko in the parlor. They looked at each other and nodded. Kazuko continued smoking. She wanted her children to find peace more than anything. She found happiness was elusive. Her own life was over the day Tetsuo died. She lived only for her children.
Mariko knelt and whispered, “Mama.”
Kazuko said nothing. She knew why they were here. Takeo would go the way of the other young men in Kohala. This is why he looked nervous.
Kazuko took the cigarette out of her mouth and crushed the butt out in a pinch pot sitting on a low table next to her. “Yes, I know. You’re Americans,” she watched a look of surprise pass between her two children. “Don’t be so shocked. This I have always known. When I left Japan, I knew I would never return.” A lump rose in her throat. “I am Japanese. I always will be. But neither of you know Japan. You were born here, you live here, and you will die here. A man should fight for what he believes in. You believe in America, so you must fight for it. When do you leave to fight, Paul?” It was the first time she had ever called him by the English name he had chosen for himself in first grade.
Mariko took her hand. “Paul leaves for California in two weeks, Mama. His Japanese is good enough to be an interpreter. I’m leaving, too. I’m moving to Honolulu. The war has created many jobs. I can make more money there than I can here and help you pay for the farm.” Mariko spread her hands to encompass the farm.
Kazuko looked at her daughter and wondered what lay behind her sad and earnest eyes. But her daughter never talked to her about her life outside the farm. Perhaps if she knew why Mariko was unhappy, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She stroked Mariko’s hair. “No, Mary,” she said using her daughter’s American name, also for the first time. “The farm is paid for. You must start thinking of yourself.”
Mariko nodded. “Yes, Mama.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Takeo patted his mother’s shoulder.
Kazuko took out another cigarette and lit it. The war was already beginning to change their lives. She prayed her son would survive.
Honolulu was like a young girl just reaching puberty. It seemed to Sean the city had blossomed overnight, suddenly awash with brave desire and wanton hope. It burst with servicemen filling rooming houses, cheap hotels, and flophouses. Money flowed out of their pockets as if they were condemned men granted a short reprieve. Whorehouses, pool halls, and bars sprang up. USO dances became the rage. A false sense of gaiety overtook the town, but tension and fear of the unknown lay beneath the reckless surface.
“This war is a behemoth changing the fabric of Hawaii,” Duncan Ritchie complained at the prestigious country club he belonged to.
“Let’s hope it’s short-lived and we can return to business as usual,” Sean said. For a brief moment he mulled over the irony of his being here. When Uncle Patrick was alive, Duncan wouldn't have dreamed of bringing his plantation manager here. What a difference one generation made.
Duncan chewed on his pipe and shook his head. “Hawaii will never be the same. There are too many servicemen and bastards for that.”
“War always brings opportunities.”
“You’re not thinking of enlisting like most of the young men around here, are you?” Duncan looked at him sideways.
“I’m a lawyer, not a soldier,” Sean smiled. “I intend on spending the war right here in Honolulu.”
The thought of blood, dirt, and death sickened him. But a day after his conversation with Duncan, he opened a letter from his sister Bridgett. The subtle smell of lavender floated from the notepaper and evoked memories of Bridgett’s golden hair swept up above her long, white neck. He felt a pang of remorse. She was too good for the dirty, grimy streets of Boston.
My dear Sean,
It’s sad news I bring you. Our brothers, Seamus and Jimmy, are dead. Killed trying to be heroes in Italy and France. They’re shipping Seamus’s body back home for burial. Poor Jimmy was blown to bits and there will be no recovering any part of him. All Jimmy wanted was to see Paris and the Louvre. Now he’s a part of France forever. You remember how Jimmy was, always painting and dreaming. He used to say he was going to visit you in Hawaii someday and paint. He only wrote one letter about the horror of the war. It left us all wondering because we don’t really know what’s going on there except what we read in the newspapers.
We told Seamus to leave the fighting to the young ones. He had a family to consider. But he never minded what others thought. He was always stubborn. So off he went and was killed. Less than two weeks after Jimmy.
There will be no more Duffys going, I hope. My own man thought of signing up, but I told him he was a fool. Ever since we got word of Seamus’s death, there’s not been a word out of him. Scared, he is. He was only thinking of the glory and the uniform. It never occurred to him he might be killed.
Take care of yourself. We all love you and miss you.
Bridgett
Sean crumpled the thin sheets with one hand and clutched it to his forehead. How arrogant he had been. He thought of Jimmy dreaming of painting the wonders of Hawaii and was consumed with guilt.
He wrote a check for five thousand dollars to Seamus Duffy’s family and another for three thousand to Bridgett. He put it in the afternoon mail.
But sending his family money wasn’t enough, he joined the Army the next day.
Sean was alone in his office when he cleaned out his desk. The world outside was exploding, but here among the books and rich walnut paneling, he felt safe. Pearl Harbor had been bombed, but this weathered brick building with its graceful arches and paned windows on Merchant Street was untouched. The brash young men who only cared whom their date would be to the governor’s ball were gone. The war had changed everything.
Sean regretted putting his career on hold, but as far as he was concerned, Hawaii was just another place. He fingered a leather-bound copy of Moby Dick on his desk and smiled. The book had taught him not to let one’s emotions distort the main goal. Captain Ahab could have won if he had not been so personally invested in killing the whale.
“Mr. Duffy,” a husky, female voice called out.
Sean looked up and smiled at Katherine Ritchie. She was in a stylish, tailored suit with padded shoulders and a cinched waist. “Yes?”
Katherine shifted her weight and fiddled with her purse. “I wanted to see you.”
“Please, sit down,” Sean waved to a leather chair. “What can I do for you?”
Katherine dropped into the sofa leather. “Does the war frighten you?”
“Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid.” Sean picked up a pen and twirled it in his fingers.
“Then why are you going?” Katherine put one hand on his desk.
Sean tapped the pen against the corner of his mouth. “Preservation of democracy? Destruction of evil? Patriotism? Contempt for insane despots who want to rule the world? Take your choice.”
“You’re not being honest with me,” Katherine leaned forward. “People like us don’t have to be used by politicians. So why go? One person will not make any difference on the outcome.”
Sean shrugged. “It was an impulsive move on my part.”
“Do you regret it?” Katherine leaned back in her chair, opened her purse and took out a cigarette. “May I?”
“Of course.” Sean rose and lit her cigarette.
Katherine looked up at him as she blew smoke between them. “Well?”
Sean slipped the lighter in his pocket and returned to the plush of his chair. “To answer your question, I don’t believe in wasting time on regrets.”
“Wars are created by men like my father; rich, powerful, and without conscience. The rest of us are the casualties.” Her green eyes mocked him. Tell me that’s not true, they seemed to say.
Sean raised his eyebrows and smiled. He refused to accept her challenge. Instead, he deflected her. “As the daughter of one of the rich and powerful, how could you possibly be a casualty?”
Katherine’s eyes softened. “I would be a casualty because you are going to war. Should anything happen to you…” Her voice trailed as she looked down at her fingertips.
Her romantic naiveté was touching. He stood again and took one of her hands in both of his. “Why, Miss Ritchie, I’m flattered. But you mustn’t waste your tears on me. I’m coming back. And I’ll bet by then you will have a beau on each arm.”
Katherine withdrew her hand and glared at him. “You’re patronizing me! I’m not a child. I’ll prove it to you!”
Sean stepped back. “You’re a lovely woman, Miss Ritchie, who will break many hearts. After the war is over, you won’t be interested in a broken down old soldier like me.”
She stood and kissed him on the cheek while pressing something into his hand. “For luck.” Before he could protest, she was gone.
He looked down and saw a carved Hawaiian gold pendant on the end of a chain with the word,
Kuuipo
—sweetheart—written in black. Sean smiled as he put it around his neck.
Mary recognized Sean the minute he walked into the gift shop where she worked. He looked around at the merchandise before stopping in front of a glass case full of music boxes.
Mary whispered to the other salesgirl Helen, “Let me have this one. I know him.”
Helen shrugged and kept reading her book. “Go ahead.”
Mary walked purposefully to Sean. “Can I help you?”
“Yes I’d like to see some music boxes, please.” Sean kept his eyes were on the various music boxes.
“Any one in particular?”
“That one looks nice.” He pointed to a miniature carousel.
Mary opened the case, removed the music box and smiled. “The song is ‘Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.’”
Sean shook his head, “It’s not very appropriate, I’m afraid.” Peering at her, he said, “Excuse me, but you look familiar.”
Mary grinned. “Remember Mary? From Kohala?”
Sean’s face lit up. “You’re the girl who loves books! How could I forget such a pretty face? How are you?”
“Fine, thank you,” Mary put the music box back on the shelf. “Are you looking for a music box for someone special?”
“Yes,” he paused. “But I’m afraid I’m not very good at this.”
“I have just the thing.” She took out a music box with a dancing couple and wound it. The figurines swirled around to a haunting melody.
Sean touched the figure of the blond girl. “What’s the song?”
“
Der Litzle Walzer
, The Last Waltz,” Mary watched the figurines twirling. It was her favorite music box. “You know it?”
“Yes. It’s perfect, thank you.” Sean handed the music box to her. His fingers brushed against hers.
Mary felt something stir between them. But it was only her imagination, she decided. “Are you off to war like the rest of the young men?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because many young men come in here to buy gifts for their sweethearts to remember them by before they leave. Music boxes are sentimental favorites of both men and women.”
“Then you have found me out. I’m off to join the war effort.”
Mary felt his eyes on her as she walked to the register. “I hope whoever you’re giving this box to saves the last waltz for you.”
“I hope so too, Mary.”
Mary turned and looked into his blue eyes bright with hope and desire. For one brief, irrational moment, she envied the woman who was able to do that to him.
Sean stood before the massive front door of Meg’s home. As it swung open, he wondered if she would see him.
The Japanese maid who opened the door stared, “Who you?”
“Please tell Mrs. Brandon Sean Duffy is calling.”
“I tell.” the maid, closed the door. After a few minutes, she returned and muttered, “Missus say she see you in library.”
Sean followed Meg’s housekeeper to a dark sitting room. Meg was standing behind a Koa Wood rocker, one hand crossed over her breast, massaging her shoulder. Her eyes were frosty lights, and her hair was wild, as if it hadn’t been brushed for days. The muumuu she wore was slightly disheveled.
When she saw him she blanched and grabbed the back of the rocker as if it were a life raft. “Why are you here?”
Meg reeked of alcohol.
“To say goodbye.”
“Why? Did you join the army?”
“It’s my patriotic duty.”
“Is that what you call it?” Meg snorted. “Tell me, please, why would you risk dying? For our government? Our money? Our system? Or is it guilt?” She giggled.
Her drunken words rang true. He needed to atone. How could she have guessed that? “Does it matter? Isn’t it enough I’m going?”
Meg wobbled, “There are too many whys we must answer before it’s too late.”
Sean took her hands in his and sat her down in a rocking chair. He knelt in front of her, still holding onto her hands. “I need you to try to understand.”
“Don’t waste your time. Can’t you see I’m drunk?” She pulled her hands away. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”
“All I see is a desperately unhappy woman,” Sean touched the hem of her sleeve. “I would give anything to make you happy.”
Meg chortled. “All men are full of cheap lines and false promises.”
“Let me help you.” Sean took her hand in his and kissed its palm.
“No. It’s too late.” She pushed him away.
“I bought something for you.” He handed her the present he brought. But when she refused to take it, he unwrapped it, and wound it up. The dancers spun on the tabletop. When the music stopped, he looked at her.
Meg stood. She began to shake and sway. “You don’t understand. It’s too late. There’s nothing left.”
Sean stood and faced her. “I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it. I’m sorry,” Meg shrank from him. “There’s no hope for me. I’m dead inside. Please forget me.”
“I could never forget you.” Sean put out his hand.
Meg backed away.
“Will you at least keep this as a token from me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Just leave…now.”