Without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers,
and murderers, and idolaters,
and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.
Revelation 22:15
“He lied. He lied to Sachiko,” Chisato said to her husband as they sat in a restaurant called Ernie’s Café, partaking of what Kiyoshi called a “coffee”. The liquid was dark, bitter to the taste, but she had not said a word of complaint. It resembled a cup of mud. Cream and two sugars made it tolerable. She concentrated on the sweet blueberry tart that accompanied the hot beverage. That she liked.
Ernie’s Café was unlike anything Chisato had ever seen. It was small, but full of activity. Must be a popular place, she thought given the number of customers there were. The long wooden countertop especially impressed her. It was deeply polished with several metal stools with red Naugahyde covers (as she was told) in front of it. Many tables fanned out from it with an appropriate number of wooden chairs. A glass case rose behind, filled with all kinds of pies and cakes. The variety and number of strange unfamiliar desserts was a marvel to see. The menu itself was delightful, though she didn’t know what a “hamburger” was. She would have to try it sometime.
Ernie Ohashi himself was a large, broad man with thick arms; he wore a stained full-length apron over white shirt and black pants. He had a perpetually kind expression on his face, so it seemed, even if the unshaven look was off-putting to her. There were no neesan or waitresses like in Hiroshima. Ernie understood Japanese so Chisato could ask questions and order whatever she liked. In general, she left it for her husband who did the ordering. She would have to come again.
Kiyoshi Kimura was soft-spoken, but his intelligence shone through as he spoke. Chisato found him very attractive, and for long stretches, she stared at him as if to memorize his face. She was careful not to let him notice.
In time, Chisato could see that people respected him. They listened closely, they often closed their eyes and lowered their heads to do so. People bowed to him in public, lower than he to them. A sense of pride swelled in her. This is my husband!
“Kimura-san, where do you work? Which store? Is it close to here?”
“Store?”
“Yes, where you’re a clerk.”
“I’m not a clerk,” he said with a laugh.
“Manager?” she asked with hope in her voice.
“I don’t work in a store. Where did you get that idea?”
A little concerned, she said, “My father told me.”
“Well, he’s wrong. I own a lumber company on Vancouver Island.”
“A lumber company?” Just like Father, she thought.
“Yes, it’s doing rather well. You won’t have to worry about money,” he assured her.
She wasn’t worried about money, but it was nice he clarified things. Her mind moved to the recent past. “Sachiko, my friend from the boat, was lied to by this…this awful little man.”
“Yes, that’s common these days.”
“Kimura-san, can you do something?”
“Call me Kiyo. Everyone uses first names in Canada,” he said, seemingly delighted with the formality. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about your friend. It’s a tragedy. Perhaps she will seek you out and ask for help.”
She kept conjuring up the image of Sachiko being slapped by such a vile evil man.
“Do you know why my other friend, Terumi Takimoto, was deported?” she asked changing the subject. “She was right there with us when they took her away.”
“My, you are full of questions, aren’t you? I’m afraid I have no idea,” he said. “Was she sick?”
“You mean, like a cold? She wasn’t sniffling or sneezing or coughing.”
“I mean, did she have consumption?”
“Consumption?”
“Yes, tuberculosis,” he explained moving his chair slightly away. “A lung disease.”
“No, I don’t think so. As I said, she looked perfectly healthy to me.”
“Perhaps in the past...”
She shook her head and the two fell silent.
Kiyoshi then said something she had not foreseen. “Now, I have a question for you. Are you a Buddhist?”
“Um,” she said, caught off-guard. “Yes, I am. Aren’t you?” she asked with some trepidation. She was more like a Holiday Buddhist.
“Well no. I am of the One-True-Faith.”
“The what?” Chisato asked frowning.
“I am a Christian,” he said with finality. He smiled broadly at her with the revelation.
“Why would you want to be a Christian?” she asked. In truth, she had never met a Christian.
“Oh, I don’t know. It just makes sense to me.”
“How…when?” Her series of questions must be off-putting to him, it would to her, she thought, but he gave no impression of such. He just sat smiling.
“One day, the Reverend James invited me to tea with a bunch of others. I accepted, and we all came together at his house. His wife served black tea and pastries. Very nice, actually. At the end, he invited us to a service at his church. I couldn’t say no. Giri, you know—”
An obligation.
“And that did it?”
“I learned a lot that first Sunday. Christianity is a beautiful religion. Do you know anything about it?”
She lowered her head, embarrassed. “No, I don’t.” She lied; she did know that most Japanese and Foreign Christians lived in Nagasaki but didn’t know any of them. She also knew about the crucifixion. Nothing about the basic tenets.
“No need to feel ashamed. Come to the next service, and I’ll explain things for you. What do you say?”
“Hai…” she said. What choice did she have?
“Good. Maybe your friend can come too. Uh…Sachiko, is it?”
Chisato nodded.
“Yes, Sachiko will find solace in the teaching of Christ and find peace within the church membership.”
Chisato was skeptical but said nothing.
***
After what Kiyoshi called a “welcome-to-Canada snack”, he led Chisato to his house a few blocks away. It was early evening and the shadows had begun to grow.
She was impressed as she stood in front of a three-storey wooden house with an attic on Main Street, near Cordova, two streets she was determined to pronounce and to remember. There were unkempt bushes and overgrown small trees in the front yard but no flowers. Typical of a man, she thought. The smells of home came to mind.
The stand-alone, well-kept house fit the area, and probably the city too. It consisted of painted-dark-brown wood and a sharply peaked roof, very unusual to Chisato. A small grass area sat in front, defined by a low-lying white-picket fence, with a larger area in the rear. She saw the potential for a flower patch or two, while the backyard would be perfect for a vegetable garden. A wide and tall staircase led to the veranda and the front door. She noticed it was unique to the area. No other house seemed as grand. She kept looking around to make sure.
Inside was dark, the air thick with dust and humidity, the window shades drawn. As the two took off their outside shoes and placed them on the floor at the front, she coughed. The narrow halls closed in on her, lightly choking her, as she moved. The dry, stale interior attempted to suffocate. But then she made out a glimmer of light ahead, not bright but dull and flickering. Her husband led her to the source.
In what Kiyoshi called the dining room, Chisato first found her luggage. She sighed relief. Her husband had arranged to have them delivered. She then saw something astonishing. A multitude of candles burned before a large statue of a figure impaled to a cross. It was taller than she and certainly wider with its stretched-out arms. She knew instantly it was the figure of Christ during His passion. That much she could recall about Christianity.
“What is this?” she asked, more than a bit confused.
“The crucifixion of our Lord,” he stated.
“Yes—”
“Grand, isn’t it? I bought it as a donation to the church when the building was being reconstructed last year.”
She stared at it. The painted blood from the hands, feet, and the gaping wound in his side was particularly disquieting. The extremities nailed to the cross were enough to upset her stomach. But the face, so much agony, so much pleading for mercy in its expression. The sorrow, the sorrow. A tingle of fear shot up her spine.
The statue reminded her of the stone samurai in the Hiroshima garden. That frightened her as a child with its fierce expression and raised katana; here, the crucifixion made her stomach queasy, but not enough to cause upset. What was its purpose? The samurai guarded against intruders to the Oni Room. To remind them of the Akamatsu past. What was the crucifixion for?
Kiyoshi went on to explain that he set up the candle display before he left for the docks. It was meant as a grand welcome for her. She kept staring at him and the icon.
Eventually, she decided to name the crucifixion statue, The Jesus.
Why worship someone tortured to death?
Kiyoshi turned on the one room-light, an ornate Victorian lamp that hung from the ceiling, and then other lights around the house. The first thing that struck Chisato was the fact that there were crucifixes, small and large, everywhere. Some were wooden, others a shiny silver.
“Wait till you meet the Reverend James,” he said with an eager smile. “You’ll like him. He’s such a wonderful man, very forgiving, understanding.”
A curious thing to say, she thought, but let it go.
“Let me show you the rest of the place.”
There were many rooms, like the Akamatsu Compound in Hiroshima, but they looked different with smooth walls of dull white plaster and heavy furnishings her husband called Victorian. Paintings of Christ adorned the walls. And there were chairs and a heavy table in the dining room in front of but far enough away from The Jesus so as not to disturb the display, a fully equipped kitchen, though the appliances didn’t look much used. The running water, without pumps, (even in the interior washrooms—no Japanese bath but something called a bathtub) was a handy convenience. Upstairs, she loved the large bedrooms with high beds and thick mattresses. She would have to get used to such Western luxury. The house seemed gloomy, because of the lack of bright lights. She would get used to that too, she imagined. At least, every room had a large window or two. She would make sure to open the shades every day.
Chisato was too tired and fatigued to explore the newness of everything in the house fully. The strange décor too weighed heavily upon her. But the so-called “wedding night” was ahead of them. She knew this and remembered what her mother had advised.
Do what your husband tells you to do.
Exhaustion pressed upon Chisato, and it must’ve shown, for Kiyoshi with his broad smile understood.
“You go to bed, Chisato-chan. We’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”
She appreciated his thoughtfulness and thanked him. She soon found that a nightgown had been placed on her bed as if waiting for her. Probably by Kiyoshi.
After she slipped under the covers and laid her head upon the comfortable pillow, she became instantly groggy. She thought she heard the front door open and close but was too sleepy to investigate.
She soon slept deeply and soundly in a new dreamscape.
With morning, she awoke to the sunlight and noise coming from downstairs somewhere. She sat up in bed and found her luggage had been placed in the room from the living room. What a thoughtful husband, she thought.
Chiemi felt tired still, but the house appeared brighter, its gloom dissipated with the window blinds drawn open, as she moved towards the source of the activity. The morning had conquered the empire of the haunted night. She was no longer queasy when she viewed The Jesus. It looked inert in daylight. The floorboards creaked no matter how lightly she stepped. Cooking smells greeted her as she landed at the foot of the stairs.
Kiyoshi was in the kitchen preparing something wonderful: a Canadian breakfast.
“Oh, good morning!” he said with his constant smile beaming as could be anticipated. “I made breakfast—bacon and eggs. Canadians wake up to this along with toast and coffee just about every morning.”
A man cooking was a surprise. Her father never set a foot in the kitchen never mind handling the food except to eat it. She said nothing. TheseKanada ways! she thought. The cuisine was also a new experience for Chisato. She liked everything; eggs she had in Hiroshima, usually scrambled, but bacon was new, crispy, and tasty. It was hard, with a pleasurable crunch. The taste was salty and meaty. She had had pork before but mostly stewed with vegetables, never fried. Having bread was also very unusual. Where was the miso soup and rice? That she missed. The coffee was tolerable with cream and sugar.
After “breakfast”, a new term to her, she stood before her luggage and began unpacking. She parted the wings of the trunk and opened a top drawer. She first discovered that her ruined dress was nowhere to be found. Had Kiyoshi thrown it away? She would have to ask. She then found the Hiroshima sack of soil. She held it to her chest. It was soft and strangely still warm.
Silly, worthless thing, she thought and began to hiccup with emotion. She placed it back in the trunk drawer, hidden and safe.
***
Soon thereafter, Kiyoshi showed her around the neighbourhood. He explained the area was known as Powell Street and not Japantown. He pointed out the local food store, Matsumiya Grocery, that sold everything she might need for the kitchen. There was also the nearby Yamamoto Fruit Store and the farther afoot Union Fish Market and Matsuba’s Butcher Shop. He showed her Sameshima Cleaners, Taishodo Drugstore, the New Pier Café, and all manner of restaurants and clothing stores. Soga’s Department Store was large and well-stocked. She was told Chinatown was nearby, so she could buy Chinese barbecue meats and greens, if she so desired. That was something new again. She once visited the Chinatown in Yokohama, but that was when she was a little girl on a trip with her father. Only a vague memory for her.
Chisato’s brain was overwhelmed. Her head spun with all the names she would have to memorize. Ernie’s, she knew and would probably never forget, and she could find the grocery store easily enough, but the others, she would have to learn where they were in time.
The couple eventually stood before a large, mostly white building at a corner. Kiyoshi pointed out that this was his church at Jackson and Powell Streets. The United Church Japanese Mission, its spire above soared well into the sky. The wooden front doors were large and somewhat imposing. She was shocked that Kiyoshi had the temerity to walk right up the short flight of stairs to open them.
He turned and invited her inside.
***
It was stuffy in the vestibule. The smell of what Kiyoshi called “Christian incense” lightly gagged her throat. The interior quiet clouded her ears. Farther in, the space opened to a cavernous hall with rows of chairs in an arched half-circle facing the front where what Kiyoshi pointed out was the altar. It featured yet another cross (gold this time) which sat in the centre of a table covered with a white cloth. Above was a stained-glass window depicting a Biblical scene or unknown saints, so Chisato surmised. More than a few stained-glass windows around the room.
It was noticeably quiet, something Chisato appreciated, until…
“Kiyo!” called out a cheery voice.
A slight, tall white man approached them in a rush. His face was smiling like Kiyoshi’s as he reached out his hand. Must be the Reverend James, she reasoned. He was thin but solid. He towered over the couple, even taller than her husband. He was dressed in a dark suit with a distinctive collar, the collar of the clergy.
He seemed friendly enough, but Chisato couldn’t understand a word as he took Kiyoshi’s hand to shake it. Hmm, no bowing here, she thought.
“Nice to see you,” the reverend said with Kiyoshi translating. “And you must be the new bride!”
Chisato didn’t know what to do as the man grabbed her hand and pulled her in to him. Her face flushed red. It was rather shocking behaviour.
“You must forgive her,” Kiyoshi replied. “She’s not used to Canadian ways.”
“Well, we’ll have to work on that!”
“Yes, we’ll be here this Sunday. I just wanted to show her the church.”
“Of course, of course. Come downstairs, some of the ladies are preparing tea.”
And so, they went to the spacious kitchen below where several Japanese women were serving tea and cake to other women who had gathered for some volunteer work. Chisato was relieved to see other Japanese so she wouldn’t have to bother with the translation.
“Ladies! Ladies!” the reverend called to gain attention. “Please, welcome…uh, what’s your name, dear?”
Chisato looked at her husband who answered for her.
“Good. Welcome Chai-sato, Kiyo’s new bride! Let’s show her some of that good Christian hospitality.”
An audible sound of pleased surprise arose from the crowd. Whispers murmured among the ladies before they applauded her.
Chisato bowed but she looked to her husband with eyes wide open. He said it was a Canadian greeting.
“Chai-sato, make yourself at home and see you Sunday,” the reverend said with finality.
He walked away trusting the women would take care of her. Kiyoshi followed having further business with the minister. He was the President of the church after all.
Chisato was somewhat upset at the mispronunciation of her name and the informality of addressing her by her first name. But as her husband had said Canadians all were on a first-name basis. She suddenly grew small in the room. What was she to do now?
“Kimura-san,” addressed a pleasant voice speaking Japanese. “Would you like some white cake?”
She felt a little ill-at-ease though the woman, Michiko Fujino, brimmed with kindness. Her face was round, and she had more weight than was necessary. But she was outgoing with that ever-present and ubiquitous smile. As it happened, she lived with her husband and two kids about a block or two away from her place. This could come in handy, Chisato thought.
At least some of the others in the room were smiling at her. Fujino-san’s ability to speak both Japanese and English was a plus. Chisato relaxed and made the effort to use the first name of everyone she was to address.
“Michiko-san, what is everyone doing here?” Chisato asked with a friendly grin. She couldn’t help herself.
“We’re putting together the newsletter. We come together once a month to do it,” she explained. “Would you like to help?”
Out of politeness, Chisato said yes. She spent the rest of the day sorting pages and stapling them together. The publication was in Japanese and featured stories and information about the Japanese community in Vancouver. This she would read every month.
***
At home in the front room with its comfortable Chesterfield couches, the newlyweds discussed the day. Kiyoshi walked around the living and front rooms lighting the candles while The Jesus played witness to the conversation. The icon glowed in the soft, indirect light.
The two enjoyed a long talk about the church and its activities. Kiyoshi eventually said there’s time enough to learn about Christianity. Chisato also mentioned all the shops she had seen.
“I like Soga’s,” she declared. “There were so many nice things in the windows.”
“You should shop there…shop there any time,” her husband replied. “Just mention my name when you buy something. It’ll all be on my tab, my running bill.”
She was impressed and eagerly looked forward to shopping there, though she had no idea what a “tab” or “running bill” was. Something else to learn. She wondered if there was an Ebisu-ko festival when bargains could be had, just like back in Hiroshima.
The humiliating experiences of the Immigration Building came to mind. Tears seeped from her eyes. She quickly dried them. She vowed never to complain to her husband. The thoughts soon faded and disappeared.
***
The cold autumn air chilled Chisato’s skin. The warmth of the evening bath had evaporated as she faced her husband in the bedroom. The “wedding night” had been delayed enough. She could feel desire swell within her. It was time. She would do as her husband desired.
Kiyoshi sighed and inhaled deeply as he took off his robe after his own evening bath. He stood naked before her.
She dutifully allowed her robe to drop to the floor. Keenly aware of her nakedness, she demurely covered as best as she could her more intimate parts. Her legs were short, her stomach was not flat enough, her breasts were too small. Her face flushed red with the shame. But her heart started to race. Her breathing accelerated as he brushed her hands away and touched her left shoulder.
He led her to the bed and pulled the top sheet back. She quickly fell under the covers, and he just as quickly joined her. It was cold for only moments. The contact of skin on skin was electrifying. His kisses were as sweet and soft as she had imagined a first kiss would be. Chisato started to groan as he manipulated her. She never thought it would feel this good. As time slowed, she pushed and pulled for more until her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. It was from that moment that she knew she was in love and wanted to have his babies.