Part 12 (2/2)

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 b.u.t.t 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 pa.s.s between her two children. ”Don't be so shocked. This I have always known. When I left j.a.pan, I knew I would never return.” A lump rose in her throat. ”I am j.a.panese. I always will be. But neither of you know j.a.pan. 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 j.a.panese 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 encompa.s.s 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.

Chapter Nineteen.

Honolulu was like a young girl just reaching p.u.b.erty. 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. Wh.o.r.ehouses, 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.ds 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 s.h.i.+pping 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 d.i.c.k 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 s.h.i.+fted 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 naivete 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.”

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