“I am sorry, Father,” Hisashi replied. “I am not hungry right now.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Mr. Saito said. “You are tired from working so hard and traveling. Rest for the day and tomorrow, too. In the evening, we will have a grand party to celebrate your return.”
Hisashi lowered his head. “That will not be possible, Father.”
“What? Why?” Mr. Saito asked.
Hisashi folded his hands in his lap. “I have to leave tomorrow,” he declared.
“Tomorrow?” I cried out.
“So soon?” Mrs. Saito asked.
“Yes,” Hisashi answered. “Doctor Ishii is building a medical camp in Manchuria outside of Harbin. I have orders to join him there as soon as possible. Coming home was only a stopover on my way.”
I almost burst into tears. I wanted to throw my arms around him and cling to him to keep him from leaving again. He needed more than one day to regain his strength. I needed more than one day with him to be sure he still loved me.
Hisashi looked sideways at me. “I am sorry,” he said.
“Well,” Mr. Saito said, clearly surprised, “I can place a call to try to give you more time here.”
“No, Father,” Hisashi said quickly, “it will do no good. Doctor Ishii—Colonel Ishii now—has influence with the generals in Tokyo. He has taken a liking to me and wants me with him. Please do not make any calls.”
“As you wish,” Mr. Saito said with a shrug. “As you wish.”
Mrs. Saito stared at her son, her face creased with concern. “When will we see you again?” she asked.
“I do not know,” Hisashi answered, looking away.
“We can visit in the morning,” Mr. Saito said, trying to sound upbeat. He pushed away from the table and stood, and we all stood with him. Mr. and Mrs. Saito left, and Fumiko and the cook’s assistant started to clear away the food. Fumiko brought in a fussy Young-chul. “Masaru is hungry,” she said as she gave me the baby.
I followed Hisashi to our room, carrying Young-chul on my hip. As I nursed him, Hisashi watched me, expressionless. I wanted to ask him if I could go with him to Manchuria, what he would do there. I wanted to ask him how long it would be before he returned. But he looked so tired I didn’t have the heart to press him for answers. He curled up on the bed. While I nursed Young-chul, I gazed at my husband and worried how I could possibly rekindle our love in just a few hours.
Hisashi slept all night and into the morning. We missed prayers and the morning meal. I thought he’d wake up when Young-chul fussed for me to feed him, but he never moved. I was so concerned about my husband, I didn’t sleep. I wanted to know what was bothering him. I worried that he didn’t love me anymore because he’d found a Japanese wife. I thought he might be angry that he didn’t get letters from me. But the only meaningful words he’d said were that he’d always loved me. I clung to those words like a drowning woman clings to a wood plank. I prayed that he’d feel better after a long night’s sleep so we could talk before he had to leave.
Midmorning, Hisashi sighed and uncoiled his legs from his chest. I’d given Young-chul to Fumiko and sat on the mat watching my husband sleep. When he roused, I hurried to his side. “Hisashi,” I said, “you are awake. Do you feel better?”
“A little, I think,” he replied. “What time is it?”
“You slept all night and it is midmorning. Are you hungry?”
“I suppose I am,” he said. “I must get dressed. I have to be at the train station by noon.”
He swung his legs over the side of the low bed. I kneeled in front of him. “I’m so worried about you,” I said. “You are troubled.”
“That is true,” he said with a nod.
I took his hands. “Oh, my dear husband, tell me what is wrong. I want to help you.”
Hisashi put a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me away. In his face, I saw incredible sadness like I’d never seen in him before, like I’d never thought was possible in the man I’d first seen that day in the forest. I began to sob. “Why are you so sad? Please tell me! Is it because you didn’t get letters from me? I wrote to you every day as I promised I would. But they did not send them. Your mother and Haru, they did not send them and they never gave me your letters, either. I love you, Hisashi. Please know that I never stopped loving you.” I began to sob uncontrollably.
“I know you do,” Hisashi said. “And as I said, I’ve always loved you, too.”
He sat on his bed and looked at his feet. “But now, I fear the way for me to prove my love will be the hardest thing for me to do. I must ask you to stop loving me.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. I shook my head. “What did you say?”
He sighed a choking sigh as if he was trying not to cry. “I said, we have to stop loving each other.”
My heart stopped and my mind went numb. I couldn’t think. “That does not make sense. Why?” I asked.
“I cannot tell you,” he replied, shaking his head woefully. “It has to do with my work with Doctor Ishii. I can tell you nothing more.”
He stood and began to pace. “You have to forget me,” he said, turning angry. “I will forget you, too. That is what we must do. That is why I came home—to tell you that we cannot be married anymore.”
“You have a Japanese wife!” I cried. “You married a woman in Tokyo and now you are throwing me aside just as your mother said you would.”
“I would never do that,” he said.
“You are lying! You don’t have the red scarf I gave you. You said you would keep it to remember me by, and now you don’t have it anymore!”
“I am not lying,” Hisashi countered. “As I said, it has to do with my work.”
“How? Why?” I asked, wiping my tears on my sleeve. “We have a son—our son, your son—and he needs a father. Surely you do not mean to abandon your son!”
“I will talk to Father and he will take care of you and our son,” Hisashi replied. “I will do it before I go. You will not be abandoned.”
“Why can’t we be married any longer? Please tell me. What happened in Tokyo?”
Hisashi stopped pacing and stared at the wall. “They made me an officer in the medical corps. The youngest officer in the medical corps,” he said with a wry smile. “I will be a doctor someday and make Father proud. But what I must do—what they have made me do and what I will do while I wear the uniform of the Imperial Army—means that we can no longer be in love.” He faced me. “Although it will destroy me, it is the right thing for you. It is as simple as that,” he said with a shrug. “And now I must go.”
I was dumbfounded, looking at my husband as I would look upon a stranger. The world fell away as if it was dissolving into a void. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t dare let myself cry or I would have spilled myself out and died right there.
Hisashi put on his uniform. He gave me a look that was both sad and resolute. Then, he slid open the door and left.
SEVENTEEN
He left the same way he came—in the back of the big black car. Under the same perfect blue April sky as when he came, Mr. and Mrs. Saito, Haru, Yoshiko, Young-chul, and I watched from the veranda. I wore my best kimono and had put my hair up and pinned it with the silver hairpin. He gave me one last sad look before he climbed into the back seat. After that, he didn’t acknowledge me, as if he was determined to forget me and was telling me again that I had to forget him, too.
As the car passed through the gate, I was too numb to cry. It was as if my heart was leaving with him. After the car disappeared, I dragged myself to my room. For some time, I sat on the mat with Young-chul, trying to make sense of what Hisashi had said to me, but I couldn’t. How could I ever stop loving him? How could he stop loving me? I imagined all manner of reasons why he said we couldn’t love each other anymore. But I always came back to the one reason that made the most sense—my husband had taken a Japanese wife. But he’d said he hadn’t. He’d said it was about his work. He’d said he loved me. And he was not the type of m
an to lie about something like that.
Young-chul must have sensed my distress because he started to fuss. Kiyo knocked on the door and offered to take him. I was surprised at this because Fumiko usually took Young-chul. I told her I was fine, but she came to me and took Young-chul anyway. She leaned in and whispered, “Do not worry. I will take care of your son.” As she left, I wondered why she felt she needed to reassure me about Young-chul.
I was too exhausted to remove my kimono when I curled up on the bed. I hadn’t slept well in days and I needed to clear my mind. I pushed away the images of Hisashi, frail and sad, saying we couldn’t be married anymore. I tried to stop imagining what he was doing for Doctor Ishii that made him say those terrible things.
And then I realized what I had to do. Mother had said that love was a commitment you made every day for the rest of your life. Well, I would stay committed to Hisashi for the rest of my life, no matter what he’d told me to do. It didn’t matter what he was doing for Doctor Ishii. It didn’t matter that Hisashi was trying to stop loving me. Just as I’d chosen to marry him, I’d choose to keep loving him.
There was a knock on the door and Haru came in. He held his hand out. “Come,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Saito want to talk with you in the Zen garden.”
“Now?” I asked. “Is it about Hisashi?”
Haru lifted me up by my arm. “They are waiting,” he said. “Do not make them wait any longer.”
Haru’s grip was firm as he dragged me through the house to the side door off the kitchen. I tried to break free from him, but I could not. “What is this about?” I asked. “You are hurting me.” I had to lift my kimono so I didn’t trip on the hem.
“Do not fight, Miyoko,” Haru said. “It will be best for you if you do not fight.” As we passed through the kitchen, the cook and her assistant kept their eyes on their work.
Mr. and Mrs. Saito sat on the bench facing the Zen garden. Haru pushed me to stand next to Mr. Saito. He kept his hold on my arm.
As usual, the gardener had raked the pebbles into neat concentric waves around the boulder islands and dwarf juniper trees. This was normally a place of serenity for me, where I came to clear my mind. Now, tension filled the air as if the pebble waves were the waves of a tsunami. Mr. Saito stared at the garden but he was not in his meditating pose. His eyes were unfocused and his face was sad. He drew in a long breath. “Miyoko, you have brought shame to our family,” he said. “I promised that you would be treated well here, and that is what we have done. In return, you betray my son and mock my generosity. It brings me great sorrow.”
“Sir,” I said, “I would never do that. Why do you say I did?”
Some papers sat on the bench next to Mr. Saito. Still looking at the garden, he picked them up and raised them over his shoulder. He said, “This is a report from Doctor Suzuki. He examined your baby some time ago. The report says it is not Hisashi’s baby.” He set the report back on the bench.
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what Mr. Saito was saying. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening to me. “It is not true!” I cried. “He is Hisashi’s baby! The doctor is wrong.”
Mrs. Saito faced me. There was a spark in her eyes and a slight lift of her mouth at the sides. “Doctor Suzuki is an expert in the differences between the races,” she said. “I thought there was something peculiar about your baby, so I brought the doctor here. After he examined the boy, he gave me the report. According to his analysis, your baby is purely Korean. He has no Japanese traits whatsoever.”
“It is not possible,” I protested. “I only love Hisashi!”
“I recall,” Mrs. Saito said coolly, “that you and the chauffeur were alone the day you went to visit your parents. Haru learned that your parents were not there. They had fled to Manchuria to join the rebels. Yet for some reason, you and Isamu were gone the entire day. The timing of your pregnancy is right for it.”
Everything was upside down. The sky was the earth and the earth was the sky, and I was trapped somewhere in between. My head spun. “It isn’t true!” I cried out. “I would never betray Hisashi. Ask him! He will tell you that my love is true.”
“We told him about the report,” Mrs. Saito said. “That is why he was so sad. He said he is willing to leave you if his son is cared for and you aren’t harmed. We will take care of the boy. As for you . . .”
I shook my head to try to make everything right side up. “He said it was because of his work! He is sad because of something about his work with Doctor Ishii.”
Mr. Saito turned to me. “It has nothing to do with that,” he said. “Doctor Ishii is doing important medical work for the empire. He chose Hisashi because my son is gifted and he works hard. My son honors me. You, however, do not, and you must face the consequences.”
Mr. Saito stood, and Mrs. Saito rose with him. “Come,” he said. Mr. Saito walked toward the front of the house followed by Mrs. Saito, me, and Haru, who still held my arm. We walked around the corner and there, waiting for us, were two police officers. One had a pistol on his belt. The other held a length of rope. When I saw them, I froze. Haru gripped my arm harder and pushed me toward the officers.
Mr. Saito said, “I am sorry, Miyoko, but you brought this on yourself.” Mrs. Saito lifted her chin and gave me a most satisfied look.
“My son!” I said. “What about Young-chul?”
“Young-chul?” Mrs. Saito mocked. “Who is Young-chul? Oh, you are asking about Masaru, but I see you have given him a Korean name. That proves you know he is Korean.”
“No!” I said. “I just . . . He is Hisashi’s son! I only wanted him to have both a Japanese and Korean name. You are making a mistake! I did not betray Hisashi. I wouldn’t!”
“Enough of these lies,” Mr. Saito bellowed. “It makes me sad.” He motioned to the police officers, and the one holding the rope stepped forward. Haru held on to my arm. I tried to jerk free, but he just held on tighter.
“No!” I screamed. “I have done nothing wrong!”
The policeman approached. “If you fight, I will have to hurt you,” he said.
It was useless to resist two strong men, so I stopped fighting. A strange calm came over me. Standing there under the bright blue sky, I saw everything was right side up again. I looked at Mr. Saito. “You are wrong, sir,” I said directly. “I love your son. I always will.” He looked away.
As Haru turned me so the policeman could bind my hands, there was the sound of a car starting. Then, slowly, Mr. Saito’s car came from the garage and approached us. Byong-woo sat behind the wheel, focused on the policeman with the pistol on his belt. He pulled up to us and stopped. He left the car running and opened the door. The policeman put his hand on his holster.
Byong-woo got out of the car as if it was just another day for him to drive someone somewhere. Except now, he wasn’t wearing his chauffeur’s hat. As he came around the front, I saw he had a pistol in his hand. He raised it and pointed it at the policeman. “I have been wanting to kill a Japanese policeman for years,” he sneered. “Do not give me an excuse or I will shoot you.” The policeman dropped his hand from his holster.
“What are you doing, Isamu?” Mr. Saito roared. “Put that gun down.”
“My name is Byong-woo,” the chauffeur replied, “and I am a member of the resistance. I am sorry, Mr. Saito. You are an honorable man. It is your country’s occupation of my country that I resist, not you. Anyway, I think your wife has convinced you that I am the boy’s father and the police will arrest me, too. I assure you that I am not the father. Mrs. Saito’s lies are only a plot against her daughter-in-law.”
Byong-woo pointed his pistol at the policeman next to me. “Let her go,” he demanded. The policeman stepped aside, but Haru still clung to my arm. I tried to twist free, but he would not let go.
“Let go of her, Haru,” Mr. Saito ordered.
Mrs. Saito stepped forward. “No, Haru!” she said, her eyes flashing. “Keep hold of her. She is a whore.”
“What are you d
oing, Wife?” Mr. Saito said.
She stared at Byong-woo. “Isamu will not shoot. He is a chauffeur, not a warrior.”
As Haru held on to me, Byong-woo pointed his pistol at Mrs. Saito. His face was hard and resolute. He focused on her. “No, Isamu!” Mr. Saito said.
Mrs. Saito didn’t move and returned Byong-woo’s stare. She sneered at him. Byong-woo lifted the pistol a little and pulled the trigger, sending a shot just above her head. The shot was loud and made everyone recoil. Mrs. Saito went slack-jawed and took a full step back, her eyes wide with fear.
Byong-woo leveled his pistol at Haru again. “You I will not miss,” he said. “Now let her go.”
Haru hesitated and then released his grip on me. Byong-woo reached behind him and from his belt, he took his chauffeur’s hat. He tossed it on the ground in front of him. “We are not Japan’s slaves,” he said. All the while, he held the pistol on Haru.
“Get in,” he said to me.
I ran to the car and climbed into the back seat. With his pistol still leveled on Haru, Byong-woo went to the driver’s side. He jumped in, put the car in gear, and stepped on the accelerator. The car lurched forward. There was a shot from behind us, and the back window shattered. I screamed and put my hands over my head.
“Get down!” Byong-woo shouted as the car roared onto the road. I dropped between the seats as we raced along. There was another shot and I heard a metallic ping on the back of the car. We turned a corner and then another, each turn pitching me to the side. My head hit the door. I climbed onto the seat. Byong-woo was expertly steering the speeding car through the streets of Sinuiju.
“Where are we going?” I said, my heart racing.
“To the river. There is a boat for us there.”
“Young-chul!” I cried. “I cannot leave Young-chul! We must go back.”
“If you do, they will arrest you and you will never see your son again.”
“What will they do to him? What will they do to my son?”
The Spirit of the Dragon Page 14
