Silent Honor

by Danielle Steel

  But as they contemplated who the new arrival might be, there was a knock on the door, and the liveried chauffeur they had just seen entered the room carrying a bag, just two steps ahead of Miss Anne Spencer. She was very tall and very cool. She had white-blond hair, and ice-blue eyes, and she looked them both over without hesitation.

  “Anne Spencer?” Sharon asked her boldly. When she nodded, Sharon pointed out the closet to the chauffeur.

  “Yes?” She didn't look impressed by either of them, and she dismissed Hiroko from her attention the moment she saw her.

  “We're your roommates,” Sharon said, as though she and Hiroko had been friends forever. “I'm Sharon, and this is Hiroko.”

  “They told me I'd have a private room,” she said with a marked chill, as though the mistake was Sharon's fault, or Hiroko's.

  “Not till next year. I asked too. Freshmen sleep in threes or fours. The upperclassmen get all the doubles and singles.”

  “Not if they promised me one too,” she said, and strode out the door as the two girls and the chauffeur watched her. He walked discreetly outside and waited for her, as Sharon shrugged, hoping she would get a single. She looked like a real beast to live with. And Hiroko had no idea what to make of her. They were both part of a mysterious new breed to Hiroko.

  Anne Spencer came back twenty minutes later, looking anything but pleased, and she gave curt instructions to the chauffeur to open her bag and leave it just outside the closet. She had thought about bringing the maid with her to unpack for her, but she had decided it was better not to. She had wanted her parents to come with her too, but they were in New York, visiting her sister, who had just had her first baby.

  She took off her hat and tossed it on a chair, and then glanced at the mirror where Sharon had put up her photographs of movie stars, and it was obvious that she didn't like them. ‘Whose are those?” She looked accusingly at Hiroko, still unable to believe that they were forcing her to share a room with some gardener's daughter. She had had plenty to say about that, when she'd gone downstairs, but the woman in charge said she would have to discuss it with the dean of housing on Monday, and for the moment she'd just have to make do with her existing roommates. Anne was outraged. “Are those yours?” Her tone told them everything she thought of her Japanese roommate.

  “They're mine,” Sharon said proudly. “My father's a producer.” Anne only raised an eyebrow. As far as she and her family were concerned, show business people were no better than Orientals. With all the girls she knew who were coming here, she had drawn two complete duds as roommates, and she couldn't believe it.

  She dismissed the chauffeur eventually, and unpacked her suitcase in silence, as Hiroko tried not to disturb either of them, and sat down at the desk to write a letter. But it was easy to feel the tension in the room, and the lack of harmony between the roommates. Sharon was at least pleasant to her, but after a cursory attempt at impressing her, she moved on to other rooms, to meet other girls and tell them about her father, the producer. Anne would have said something in total disgust once she left, except that, as far as she was concerned, Hiroko was even worse, and not worth wasting time with in conversation.

  “Dearest Mama, Papa, and Yuji, I like it very much here,” she wrote in the elegant characters she'd been taught in Japan as a child. “St. Andrew's is very beautiful, and I have two very nice roommates.” She knew it was what they wanted to hear, and it would have been impossible to explain the exact tone of Anne's voice, or the nature of her prejudice against Hiroko. It was something Hiroko had never encountered before, but she sensed that even Sharon was not pleased to have a Japanese roommate. It was something she wanted to discuss with Reiko or Tak, but she would never have worried her parents. “One of them is from Los Angeles,” she went on. “Her father works in Hollywood, and the other is very beautiful. Her name is Anne, and she is from San Francisco.” And as she labored on, Anne glanced at her in disgust, and slammed the door on the way to dinner.

  And Anne's attempts to change rooms the next day proved fruitless. The administration was sorry to hear that she didn't like her room, and of course they were well aware of her family's donations, and that her mother had graduated from St. Andrew's in 1917, but they simply didn't have another room to give her. She had insisted, to no avail, that she had been promised a private room, without roommates. After she'd been told she would not be moved, she stormed back to the dorm, and was pacing the room furiously when Hiroko came into the room to get a sweater.

  She was always cold in Western clothes, and they always made her feel so naked.

  “What do you want?” Anne Spencer snapped at her, still furious that they had refused to move her.

  “Nothing, Anne-san,” she apologized, bowing before she thought of stopping herself. “I am very sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “I just can't believe that they d put us in the same room.” Anne stood glaring at her, unaware of how rude she was, or that she had no right to speak that way to Hiroko. She could be very charming when she wanted to be, but she didn't think Hiroko was worth it. “What are you doing in this school?” she asked, sitting down on her bed in total frustration.

  “I came here from Japan because my father wished it,” Hiroko said simply, still unclear as to why Anne was so angry that they were roommates.

  “So did I, but I don't think he had any idea who I'd be going to school with,” she said meanly. She was a pretty girl, but she was spoiled, and she had all the prejudices of her class, against all Orientals. In her mind, “Japs” were all servants, and far beneath her.

  To Hiroko, this was something new, and she didn't completely understand it. But that day she had felt the same cool reception from other girls at school, and no one seemed anxious to include her. Even Sharon, who had been effusive to her at first, didn't go to meals with her, or offer to sit next to her, although they were in many of the same classes. Unlike Anne, she was friendly to her in their room, but beyond that, she always acted as though she didn't know her. Anne was truer to her feelings and never spoke to her at all, and in some ways her persistently chilly ways wounded Hiroko less than Sharon's hypocrisy, and sudden unpleasantness, when they were around others.

  “I don't understand,” she said sadly to her Aunt Reiko the next time she went to Palo Alto for the weekend. It was very puzzling. Everyone seemed to keep their distance from her, and Anne and her friends were outright rude to her, and looked right through her. “Why are they angry at me, Reiko-san? What have I done to them?” Tears filled her eyes as she asked, because she had no idea how to fix it. And Reiko sighed in dismay. She knew Hiroko would have had the same problem anywhere, but at least Stanford was bigger and less exclusive. St. Andrew's was a very small world to exist in, although it was a wonderful school, and Reiko knew that she'd get an excellent education. But she was wondering if Tak should write to Masao and suggest that Hiroko transfer to Stanford, or even to the University of California at Berkeley.

  “It's about prejudice,” Reiko said sadly. “It has nothing to do with your school. This is California. Things are different here. There are negative feelings about the Japanese. It's not easy to overcome. You can keep to your own kind,” she said, hating what she was saying, and the fact that she even had to explain it. But the poor girl looked distraught, and she was completely undone by the rejection of her fellow students and roommates. “It'll stop eventually. If you're lucky, they'll get to know who you are, and forget their prejudice. They can't all be like that there.” She looked at Hiroko, and reached out to hug her. She looked like a child with a broken heart, and as Reiko looked at her, she reminded her of Tami.

  ‘Why do they hate me so much, Reiko-san? Only because I am Japanese?” It was incredible, but Reiko nodded.

  “Snobbism, racism, prejudice. It sounds as though the Spencer girl thinks she's too important to room with you, and the other one probably thinks the same thing and won't admit it. Are there any other foreign students there?” It would have been nice if there was anoth
er girl from Japan, but that was too much to hope for.

  “One from England and one from France, but I don't know them. They're both juniors.” It was going to be a long year, living with Anne Spencer and being shunned by the others.

  “Have you said anything to anyone? Maybe you should tell one of your advisors.”

  “I am afraid it will only make them more angry. Perhaps it is my …” She looked for the right word, and then settled for the next best one. “Perhaps it is my responsibility that they do not like me.” She meant fault, but Reiko knew better than that, and thought it unlikely. She had run into the same thing when she'd gone to school in Fresno, and times didn't seem to have changed much. As long as they were in a large Japanese community, they were comfortable and safe, but when one moved into other worlds, there were always people who were threatened by it. It was remarkable to realize that despite all the changes around the world, and modern developments, it was still against the law for a Japanese to marry a Caucasian in California. But it was all a little too insidious to explain to an eighteen-year-old girl from Kyoto.

  “It's their loss, Hiroko. You'll make friends there eventually. Just be patient. And try to stay away from the ones you know don't like you.” It was what she had told Sally and Ken. They both went to schools where there were Caucasians as well as Japanese, and now and then each of them had encountered prejudice among their peers, or friends' parents, or their teachers. It always hurt Reiko terribly when she heard about it. And in some ways it seemed simpler to her when her children had Japanese friends, especially now that they were older, and romance had entered the picture. What Reiko didn't know was that the boy down the street that Sally was so enamored with was half Irish and half Polish. “You can come home every weekend if you want to,” she said to Hiroko. But it was a sad lesson for her to learn, and Hiroko insisted that she had to face it with gambare, to endure quietly and bravely. She had promised to persevere no matter how unfriendly the girls were at St. Andrew's. But despite Hiroko's determination, Reiko was still upset about it when she told Tak that evening after dinner.

  “She could have run into the same thing at Stanford,” he said honestly, when Reiko insisted that he write to Masao and ask him to let her transfer. “The problem is by no means exclusive to St. Andrew's, Rei. After all, this is California.”

  “And that makes it all right?” She was furious that he was so wiling to accept it.

  “That makes it what is. They want to keep us segregated from them. They want to believe we're differ-ent. And all the differences in our culture, all the little traditions, all the things that our parents and grandparents cling to, are what scare them. It's all part of what makes us different.” It was old news to him, but he was sorry for Hiroko anyway. She was a sweet girl and their reaction had come as a shock to her. But Takeo knew, as Reiko did, that there was nothing they could do to change it. “She hasn't been wearing her kimonos at school, has she?” he asked. That certainly wouldn't help her be accepted, but even in Western clothes, she was so totally Japanese, and so obviously unlike the other students.

  “I doubt it. I think she left them all here.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.” But he promised to talk to her, and he did the next day. But he had no more advice to offer her than Reiko had. She would simply have to live with their prejudice, and try to find some friends who didn't share those views. She would meet girls in time who felt differently, and in the meantime, she was always welcome in Palo Alto.

  But it was easy to see that the problem hadn't improved when, a month later, she was still coming home to them every weekend. Every Friday afternoon she took the train back to them, just as every Friday the chauffeur with the limousine came to pick up Anne Spencer. In the past three weeks she had spoken to Hiroko exactly once, and only then to tell her to move her suitcase.

  “That's outrageous,” Peter said, when Tak explained it to him.

  “It's not the school. It's just the girls, and probably no more than a handful at that, but I guess there are enough of them to make her life miserable, and she's so shy, I don't think she knows how to handle it. She's getting great grades, but she can't be having much fun. And she's here every weekend. Not that we mind, of course. I'm just sorry for her.” But Hiroko was happy coming home to them every weekend. She was completely at ease with them now. She played with Tami for hours, knew all of Ken's friends, and Sally had even confided in her about her sixteen-year-old boyfriend. Hiroko was worried about her. She thought the boy was too old, she was concerned because he wasn't Japanese, and the situation was far too clandestine, but for the moment she had promised not to tell her Aunt Reiko.

  “Do you think Hiroko will transfer?” Peter inquired. He hadn't seen her since she'd left for school. On Sundays, when he often dined with them, Hiroko had already left to go back to St. Andrew's. So they kept missing each other until late October.

  And then one Saturday afternoon he ran into her at the dry cleaners in Palo Alto. Ken had taught her how to drive the station wagon, and she was out doing errands for Reiko. She was staggering under a load of their clothes, wearing a lavender kimono and wooden geta. He knew instantly who it was, although he could scarcely see her concealed behind the load of clothes.

  “Hiroko?” he asked. As she peeked around and looked at him, a small smile escaped her.

  “Here, let me help you.” He took the clothes from her, in his own arms, and smiled as she bowed to him. She was happy to see him. And this time, unlike the other times they'd met, she looked him in the eye for several moments. She had grown braver at St. Andrew's, and Peter couldn't help wondering if things had improved for her since the last time he'd talked to Takeo about her.

  “How are you?” he asked very gently as they walked to her car, and he helped her put the clothes in the back of the wagon. He was surprised himself at what he felt seeing her. Suddenly all he wanted to do was sit and talk to her, and admire the way she looked in the pale lavender kimono. “How's school?” he asked, as he looked at her, and saw a look of sadness cross her eyes, and he thought he saw a shimmer of tears there.

  “It is very well. How are you, Peter-san?” she asked softly.

  “Busy. We've got midterms.” She'd been preparing for them too, and as he looked down at her, he found himself wishing that she was one of his students. He wanted to ask how her problems with the other students were, but he didn't want to upset her, or admit that Takeo had told him. “I hear you've been home a lot on weekends. But I seem to miss you every Sunday.” She smiled and looked down again. It still embarrassed her to talk to him, especially alone, but she liked being with him. In spite of the differences in their ages, he was easy and comfortable to talk to. “Do you like St. Andrew's?” he inquired, trying to draw out the conversation, and she hesitated for a moment before she answered.

  “Perhaps I will like it better soon,” she said honestly. In truth, she hated going back every Sunday. She had only seven and a half more months now, and she was counting every moment.

  “That doesn't sound very encouraging,” he said, watching her. He wished he could take her some-where, and really talk to her, or walk through the woods or on the campus. He didn't know why, but he would have liked to be alone with her. And as he watched her, he remembered the look in Tak's eyes as he had reminded Peter of how young she was, how innocent, and how unlike American girls. Hiroko was no ordinary young girl, she was from a totally different world from his, and she was very special.

  “It is very difficult to be from another place,” she said sadly. “I did not know that in California, it would be like this.” She had expected to like school, and to make friends. She hadn't expected to be an outcast.

  “I felt that way in Japan,” he said gently, with eyes that reached out to hers with unspoken compassion. “The way I looked, the way I dressed, the way I moved, everything set me apart. I felt completely out of place the whole time I was there, but I liked it anyway. It was so beautiful, and so fascinating, after a while I didn't
mind “being different.” He smiled at the memories he still cherished. “Sometimes children followed me. They just looked up and stared at me…. I gave them candy, and they loved it. And I took lots of pictures.” She smiled, remembering other foreigners she'd seen with small armies of children following them. Perhaps if her parents had ever let her, she might have done it as well, but of course they never had.

  “I did not know, Peter-san, that I would be one of those people …someone odd to be stared at. At college, everyone finds me very strange. … It is very alone for me,” she confessed with huge, dark eyes that spoke volumes of the loneliness she had felt ever since she'd left Kyoto.

  “I'm sorry,” he said sadly. He wanted to change things for her, to shield her from the pain, to help her sail home again. He couldn't bear the sorrow he saw in her eyes as he watched her. “Perhaps you're right,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “Perhaps it will get better.” But there would be no changing Anne, or Sharon, or the others. And Hiroko knew that.

  “I am happy here,” she said philosophically, “with Uncle Tak and Aunt Rei. They are very kind to me. … I am very fortunate to have them.”

  “They are very fortunate to have you too,” he said kindly, and then regretfully, she bowed to him, and told him she had to get back to help Reiko. “I hope things get better at school soon,” he encouraged her, wishing that she would be there on Sunday when he came for dinner. But maybe it was just as well she wouldn't. He felt something much too powerful between them each time he saw her. It still haunted him as she drove away; it was like an irresistible force pulling him toward her. He couldn't understand why or how it had happened. She was a young girl, she had come here to go to school. And he was a man, with his own life, his own ways, and a woman of his own kind to keep him involved and busy. What did he need with this child, this girl-woman with the velvet eyes whose face haunted him each time he thought of her? What could possibly ever come of his feelings?