“Friends.” He grinned. “Whatever you say, Shoko.” There was no disguising the hope in his eyes. I wondered if mine were the same.
MY MOTHER THOUGHT it was time for Tetsuo and me to get engaged. “You can’t run around with only him unless you’re engaged,” she told me. “Everyone will think you’re fast.” Needless to say, she didn’t know about Ronin.
Tetsuo made good money, and had been promoted to work at the front desk. Everyone thought he’d be a manager one day. My brain had to agree with my mother’s logic. It only made sense, though my heart sank when I thought of spending the rest of my life on this island. She arranged it all with Tetsuo’s parents, and we were officially engaged.
Then one day I arrived home from work a little early. I unlocked my door and saw Tetsuo’s face, eyes closed, poised above my prostrate roommate. It took a minute for me to realize what they were doing, since I had never seen it done before. “Aaaah!” I screamed. Yuki screamed. I left the apartment and ran down the street.
“Shoko, wait!” Tetsuo called from the apartment window. “It’s not what it looks like.”
The engagement was off. Secretly, I thanked Tetsuo. I was free again. Then I began my American phase.
Though I flirted with the Americans (all the better for tips), I never had dated one. Plenty wanted to. Of course they did; they were a bunch of young servicemen in love with Japan.
It wasn’t worthwhile for me. There was a ban on dating Japanese girls, effective for all ranks. Not that that stopped many. A girl, Mariko, who worked at the checkout desk did. She was two years older than me, with a long face and teeth a bit too big for her features. Still, she had a nice figure and a sweet laugh.
“She’s seeing a staff sergeant and a lieutenant,” Megumi, who worked with me in the gift shop, whispered. Megumi was a decade older, married to one of the lower-level managers, and the best gossip source in the region.
“Single guys?” I was doubtful.
“And they both want to marry her.” Megumi’s painted-on brows lifted in amazement.
“Pick the officer.” I laughed and dusted another figurine.
Mariko disappeared one day. She didn’t show up for work and no one was interested in finding her.
“What happened?” I asked Megumi.
Megumi shushed me. “She is not coming back.”
“Did she get married?” I asked eagerly.
Megumi waved her hand in front of her face, indicating no.
I understood. Mariko had gotten pregnant and left. Would her family take her in? What would become of her? Poor Mariko. This was not going to happen to me.
Then something surprising occurred. Mariko had been far from the only one dating Americans. Finally the military decided they could no longer ignore the “problem.” They decided to lift the ban on dating and marrying Japanese. Now, provided the Americans got all the proper documentation, they could fraternize with and even marry Japanese. Of course, the military made sure it was nearly impossible to navigate the paperwork maze.
“A thousand signatures by a thousand different officials are required,” Megumi remarked. “No one is getting married anytime soon.”
Nonetheless, it was legal, and therefore possible. None of these Japanese men were going to do anything for me. America is the way of the future, I reminded myself of my father’s words.
And Ronin? I couldn’t deny how handsome he was, or how nice. Or how he made me feel, all fine and intelligent and vibrating with life.
But there was no future with an Eta gardener. It would mean everyone I had ever known shunning me. My father would likely get banned from his church. Our family would be ruined, even if I left the country.
My father heard about the ban being lifted. The next time I visited home, he sat me down. “Shoko, this is your opportunity,” he told me.
“What do you think I should do?” I was afraid to hear his answer, but I was a practical girl and knew what was coming.
“You must casually see them, find out what you can about each. Then you can marry the best one. It’s very simple.”
“But what if I can’t?” Speaking to men in a foreign language, saying not just the price of an item but having real conversations, seemed impossible. I was also thinking about Ronin, though I could not tell my father this.
“Many people have managed.” My father’s voice was warm. “Because I cannot meet them all, I have a suggestion. Take pictures of the ones you like the best and I’ll help you choose.”
I agreed.
At the gift shop, I began accepting the Americans’ offers. I had a different date every night, and ended up seeing several casually. Dinner and a movie.
They were all very interesting men in their own ways. One was from Boston, one from Atlanta, one was a pig farmer from Iowa, one was a blond boy from Los Angeles. I dropped most of the ones who tried to get fresh.
I returned home again to see my parents. “The only problem is I’m not sure they all have marriage on their minds,” I told my father as he had his tea. “They want fun.”
“Not too much fun.” He smiled and slurped at his cup, closing his eyes in thought. Perhaps he prayed. Then he opened them. “You will know, Shoko. You are a good judge of character.”
I thought of Tetsuo. Not always, I thought. I went back to work.
Charlie became one of my Americans. He came into the gift shop one night with his friends, acting very nervous.
I had never seen anyone like him. He had red hair! No Japanese person had red hair. And he had freckles, and was skinny like a little boy. He was short for an American, but still tall for a Japanese. His blue-green eyes stared at me. He wore a blue dress shirt, blue tie, and black pants.
A Japanese girl clung to him, wearing too much lipstick and a low-cut blouse. Her eyebrows were shaved and then drawn in. She looked down her nose at me.
I smiled at Charlie, and he blushed beet red. He disengaged himself from the girl. I went over to him. “May I help you, sir?”
“Cigarettes?”
I got him a pack. He pointed to some chocolates and handed me some money. “The chocolates are for you.”
“Thank you.” I smiled nicely at him, trying to figure out his rank. Not confident enough for an officer, I decided. It didn’t really matter. The American dollar was so strong that all the servicemen, even the enlisted ones, were rich here. The girl with him glowered. My heart beat faster.
“You speak English real well.”
I bowed my head. “Thank you, sir.”
His friends laughed. He blushed. “Call me Charlie.”
“Okey-dokey, Charlie.” I’d heard “okey-dokey” from another guy. I liked how it sounded. I started walking away, my wooden geta shoes clattering, but Charlie leaned toward me.
“Are you free later?” he asked.
I shook my head, an American custom I had observed. He probably thought I was another cheap girl.
Charlie smiled, and his face looked gentle and kind. “How about tomorrow? I’ll take you to a movie.”
“Yes, I can do that,” I said, my eyes lowered.
EVEN THOUGH I WAS SEEING AMERICANS , I still saw Ronin during my lunch breaks. He was an interesting friend, that was all, I told myself. Not even a real Eta, since his father was European. I made all sorts of excuses to myself.
Of course, Ronin was still supposed to be off-limits, but he was right that in this day and age when Americans dated Japanese, it hardly seemed to matter too much. Old rules didn’t apply. At least, not to this degree of casual friendship.
“Can you go anywhere and dance?” I asked him one day. We were sitting on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the maze. He had brought me a bento box packed by the hotel—a sticky rice ball rolled up with salt, covered in a seaweed wrap; steamed swordfish; and a spinach salad sprinkled with sesame seeds. The hashi—the chopsticks—were wrapped in a cloth napkin and secured with a tie.
“Of course.” He lifted up half the salad with his hashi and popped it into h
is mouth. “People at nightclubs don’t know who I am. No one would unless they checked my background. Like if I wanted to marry.” He looked at me meaningfully.
“I could never marry an Eta.” I took a bite of the cool rice ball. “My parents would throw me out.”
“But you’d marry one of these Americans you run around with,” he said, leaning close to me. “Someone you don’t love, just to leave.”
Before I could respond, he drew me in close and kissed me. I knew I shouldn’t let it happen, but I did. The kiss went on for what felt like minutes before I pushed him away.
“How dare you!” I said, getting up. I started running back toward the hotel.
“Shoko, wait!” Ronin said, coming after me, but I didn’t stop. He caught my arm and whirled me toward him. “Shoko, we can go to America together. It will be a new beginning. I’ve already applied for my passport. I will take you there.”
“No,” I said, surprised at the shame I felt. There was a certain cachet in marrying an American, but not in marrying an Eta. Americans were up, Eta were below down. Even if it was unfair, I couldn’t change it. “They’ll never grant you a passport, Ronin.”
He kissed me again, as if to try to convince me. His arms felt strong and safe, his body hard against mine. I inhaled the smell of him, cut grass, earth, and salt. “Meet me here tonight,” he said. “Midnight.”
“All right,” I said. My knees actually felt weak.
I’d never felt anything like what I felt with Ronin. That night, and every Friday night for weeks after, I met Ronin in the garden. They were the happiest hours of my life, but I was also plagued with guilt, both for leading Ronin on and for what my family would think if they saw me. I would have to choose between my family and my love. Deep down, I knew I could not do this to my family. It was my job to marry well, not bring generations of shame to them.
Slowly I started dropping some of the American men I was seeing informally. Their laughter and easy ways no longer seemed as appealing. The time for superficial fun was over. I was not enjoying being single, with all these freedoms, as much as I thought I would. At the end of the day, my feet hurt and dancing became tiresome. My job at the hotel was so easy I could do it half asleep, yet there was no opportunity for promotion. I was twenty now, and because my situation would not improve on my own, I wanted to marry someone who could help it improve.
I took photographs of the men I thought were the best prospects, the ones who treated me respectfully, who held the door open for me and made efforts to communicate. I kept these in a special black lacquered box, inlaid with white mother-of-pearl cranes, to show my father later. I would marry the American of his choice, I decided. If I could not marry Ronin, I might as well marry any of these men. They were interchangeable to me. My father would at least have the guidance of prayer to help him, while my instincts seemed poor at best, leading me down difficult paths.
Charlie took me out several times. We went dancing, but Charlie was a horrible dancer, so we stopped that, to the relief of my feet in their high heels. We saw American movies, subtitled in Japanese. Mostly we sat and talked, or attempted to talk, over food, always ending with an American-style ice cream cone. If I didn’t watch out, I’d gain too much weight for him to be interested.
ONE DAY, my brother came to see me and Tetsuo during his spring break, and stayed in a room at the hotel. They were still friends, even though Tetsuo was a cad. “Who can blame him,” Taro said callously, “after he was stuck with an elephant like you.”
I hit him in the shoulder, hard enough that he rubbed it. “I hope you’re doing well in school, little brother,” I said. He was in his final year. “Or else I won’t pay for the rest.”
“Don’t worry,” Taro said. “This hotel is nice. Maybe I’ll have a party tonight.”
“Be good,” I warned. His room was nice, much better than his cramped apartment at his college. This was American-style, with a bed off the floor, carpeting, curtains to keep out the light, and a radio.
“Testuo will be here,” Taro said, grinning. “Don’t you want to get back together?”
“Mother already said I should not,” I said, sniffing. “I had to get a new roommate because of him.”
THAT NIGHT, I met Ronin in the garden again. It was to be our last time. I was sick of working in the gift shop, and the aircraft carrier, which had all my Americans on it, was due to leave in six months. That was just enough time to get married and settled before they left. I had to think of my family and of myself. I had to stop leading Ronin on.
Ronin sat stock-still in the moonlight after I told him. “Let’s leave tonight,” he said, grabbing my hands. I felt sick and hopeful at once. “We’ll marry and leave.”
“I have no passport,” I said.
“We’ll go to the north, where we’re unknown. I’ll change my name to yours.” Ronin stroked my arm, sending shivers up and down it. “I have no reason when it comes to you, Shoko.” He kissed me, tasting of rice and miso soup, his lips soft as pillows.
With the last of my resolve, I stood up from the blanket strewn on the ground. “I have to go.” From somewhere I heard laughter and music. “I won’t see you again.”
“Wait.” Ronin hugged me, then touched my face with tenderness. I closed my eyes.
Then I gave way to weakness. I should have known I was asking for it, meeting him alone in the garden that way, but I couldn’t say no again.
When you marry an American, it is not to be expected that every person in your family will be happy for you. Some still cling to old-fashioned precepts of Japanese-ness. They may shun you. It does not matter. You have embraced the modern reality of what it means to be Japanese. They are the ones who will be left behind. Remember this, and do not be ashamed.
—from the chapter “Turning American,”
How to Be an American Housewife
Eight
The morning after I said good-bye to Ronin, I went to work in the gift shop as usual. I put him in another part of my mind, behind a locked door. That didn’t stop me from gazing into space a few times that morning, causing my boss to speak sharply to me.
At midday, my brother came into the gift shop. His face was a stern mask, heading into battle. I believed my brother’s greatest regret was that he was too young to have been a kamikaze.
“Shoko.” He already had a headmaster’s voice.
“You look just like Father when you’re mad,” I teased him. “What’s wrong?”
“I must speak to you in private.” His voice was ice.
I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d never seen my brother’s eyes so cold, not even during the war. And pained. “Is it Mother?”
He shook his head and pointed silently to the door. I was so relieved that I followed without my usual smart remarks.
We went up to his hotel room, walking up the three flights of stairs, the sound of our shoes the only noise in the empty concrete stairwell.
Taro shut his door. “Did you think no one would find out? All the staff is talking. Tetsuo told me everything.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” My response was automatic. I did know—Ronin. I sank into a chair.
Damn Tetsuo. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? He owed me more, after what he had done to me. I had thought I was being so secretive. Now I realized it had never been a secret at all. Probably someone saw me with Ronin and had gossiped about it to Tetsuo. Of course he had to stick his big nose back into my business.
“It’s bad enough, running around with Americans. But an Eta! An Eta!” Taro stood over me, his voice angry but not too loud. He didn’t want the whole hotel to hear. “You have shamed your family, Shoko.”
“Taro, I’m sorry. It’s not what you think.” I took a deep breath. “Ronin is a kind, hardworking man. In another life, I would marry him. But I broke it off.”
I told myself this was true. Last night—I had slipped. I had woken, Ronin’s arms around me, in a daze. We were still on the blanket in the garde
n; I had no idea what time it was. The moon had disappeared, but I could see every star from here to Mars.
“Ronin.” I had pushed at him. He was deeply in slumber, a soft flutter around his lips. “I have to go.”
His eyes were white in the darkness. “Where?” He grabbed my arm. “Let’s make a run. Tonight. Right now.”
“I don’t have my clothes.” What was I saying? I wasn’t going anywhere with him.
“You don’t need them. I’ll buy you new ones.”
I laughed bitterly. “Ronin. This is madness.”
“It’s not madness. It’s love.” He pulled me down for a kiss. “There. Do you feel that with any of your Americans?”
“Stop it.” I pulled away. I needed to leave fast, before I destroyed my life. I thought about my parents. My brother, asleep in the hotel right next to us. I couldn’t devastate them. I stood.
“If you go, I’ll follow you,” Ronin said. “Everyone will know anyway.”
I didn’t turn. “I know you. You wouldn’t do that.”
He exhaled. “No. I wouldn’t.”
My head drooped so low it touched my chest. “Fool,” I whispered to myself. Ronin deserved better than me. I was a coward. “Good luck in America.”
I LOOKED UP at my brother in shock. Taro’s shoulders were shaking, his eyes wet. I had never seen my brother cry before.
“I’m so angry I could kill you,” he muttered, sitting on the bed. The covers were all messed up and I smoothed them automatically. “Once a maid, always a maid.”
I knelt beside him. “You won’t tell Father, will you?”
“Of course not. It would kill our parents to know.” He grabbed my shoulder. “Have you really broken it off with him?”
How to Be an American Housewife Page 7
