Japan, 1957
My mother is off to retrieve her treasured shiromuku, wedding kimono, while Kenji and I admire her wedding photos. She worries about my sullen mood since the failed meeting with Hajime yesterday and hopes to lift my spirit.
I hope yet to change her mind.
A photo catches my interest, so I pull it close to study. Okaasan had three costume changes: a reception gown of pink, another in bold red for their departure and, the most elaborate in design, her layered shiromuku gown of white for the ceremony. She wears it in this portrait. The faded image hides its glory, but not Okaasan’s beaming happiness.
“So beautiful.” I hold the picture out to show Kenji. “And Father looks so handsome.” He seldom smiles, but when he does, his expression changes from one of regal dominance to that of a contented cat with his underbelly exposed. He saves that face for Okaasan. Here, it’s captured for all to see.
Kenji scoots closer and pulls down the snapshot. “Like me.” He flashes a grin. “And you’re like Haha,” he says, using the child’s term for mother. His eyes dart from me to the photo.
Squinting to regard Mother’s features, I smile. It is my face that stares back. We have the same defined cheekbones, narrow jaw and high nose bridge. “They’re so young, only babies.”
“You’ll make babies soon.” Kenji wrinkles his face in disgust.
I mock him, then feign interest in another picture. I have no plans to discuss such intimacies with my little brother, but now I think of nothing else. The stolen kiss that led to more. And how that led to Hajime’s proposal of marriage. I smile to myself, remembering my surprise.
“You want to marry me?” I asked, eyes wide.
“More than anything.” Hajime pulled me so close our racing hearts beat as one.
“Where would we live?” I asked, contented in his arms. While America’s youthful energy colored my dreams, Japan’s cultural traditions rooted me home. I nuzzled under his chin, my previous happiness stifled by truth. “Hajime, I could never leave.”
“Well...” He kissed my temple, then leaned back to rake fingers through my hair. “What if I stayed here?”
“Stayed?” My chin shot up. “What about your family?”
He shrugged. “I’ll miss them something awful. I mean, I already do, and my mom? Yeah, it’ll kill her...” He angled his head and shook it. “And I’ll miss the weekend ball games with the guys and Sunday brunch with my folks. I’d miss that life for sure, because it’s a good life. And yeah, I could just go and live it. But then one day, before I know it, I’m an old man and I’d always wonder, what if? Because I’d know...” He brushed knuckles across my cheek. “Don’t you see, Cricket? I’d give up all the comforts of home because you’re my home. And if my life doesn’t have you, it’s no life at all.”
I kissed him. He asked for my hand. Instead, I gave him my whole heart.
“Look!” Kenji waves a picture in front of my face to startle me from memory. “I want to join the army, too. That way I can kill evil gaijins.” His sweet face contorts.
“What? Don’t say that...” I glance to the image. My stomach twists. It’s Father wearing his military uniform. Kenji isn’t aware that Hajime is American. He knows nothing of what happened at the meeting because he wasn’t here. I push the photo away. “War is what’s evil, Kenji.”
“A necessary one.” Father’s deep voice startles us both. His narrowed eyes scan the memories scattered about on the floor.
How long has he been standing there?
With two fingers he motions for Kenji to give him the military photo. Regarding it, he grunts with a bunched expression. He has experienced war more than once. “One too many,” Okaasan says any time it’s brought up.
I borrow Hajime’s courage, swallow hard and dare to speak. “Necessary but over, Father. Otherwise we are forever in a monkey-crab battle.”
His eyes glare daggers, then dart toward Grandmother shuffling by with tea.
“Monkey and crab...such a foolish battle, tsk, tsk, tsk.” As she turns into the garden, her lightweight summer yukata blends into the deep indigo of the evening sky.
For once I agree with Obaachan. A silly story to illustrate a horrid truth. The crab has a rice ball, and the monkey convinces him to trade it for a persimmon seed. The crab agrees and plants the seed for the fruit. But then the monkey climbs the tree and steals the fruit. The crab’s children are so angry they seek revenge, and so on, and so on.
When I look up, Father still stares, so I lower my chin and my voice. “Revenge only creates more revenge,” I say, hoping to soften his resolve.
“Tut, tut, tut. Enough of all this.” Mother waves off the unpleasantness as she enters the room. “Naoko’s match meeting with Satoshi is only days away. Let’s speak only happy words, yes?”
We silence our conversation as we know not to upset her. Okaasan’s enlarged left heart chamber sometimes beats to its own rhythm when stressed. A small abnormality seldom discussed, but always considered.
Satisfied, she holds out her traditional ceremony kimono and smiles. “Here, Naoko, try it on and let us see.”
“Try it on?” My eyes drink in its lush fabric. It is a visual feast of tripled white fine silk and detailed workmanship. The intricate pattern is revealed or masked, depending on how it flirts with the light. It is stunning, and I dare not touch it. To wear this on my wedding day is to honor my family and signifies I am unblemished and presented pure for my husband. I shake my head, full of guilt for failing both. “It’s too beautiful, Okaasan, too much for me.”
Father turns toward her. She drapes the cherished kimono over his forearms, and I catch a shared glance of warmth that lingers between them.
Facing me, Father nods. “Try it on. It’s not too much for a daughter who will marry into such a prominent family. Not everything must be a battle, Naoko.”
There it is. A conditional offering of peace to a battle that has only just begun.
After our evening meal, with a clear view of Father and Taro on the patio, I take over washing the dishes while Mother dries and Grandmother returns them to their display.
“Do you not want to take your tea in the garden, Obaachan?” I motion outside. “You could rest your feet, and I could bring you a fresh cup.”
Mother casts a curious glance in my direction. Maybe I’m too obvious?
Grandmother hobbles closer, smelling of custard and jasmine, eyeing us both with suspicion, but moves to join Father and Taro on the patio.
I place the kettle over the flame and, when I’m sure Grandmother’s in the garden, begin. “You look so pretty today, even more than usual, Okaasan.” It’s not a lie. Her hair is pulled tight in two sections and fastens with combs of gold and dark sapphire. “Your summer kimono flatters you.”
“As you flatter me, Naoko.” Mother glances sideways, only this time with eyes that glint and smile.
Giving a small head bow, I stay focused on my rehearsed words.
They are a trap of poetic truth.
Okaasan takes the overwashed bowl from my hands. “You have my ear, Naoko.”
My heart’s beating wild, like a tiny bird trapped in my chest. I take a breath for courage, and release, hoping her fragile heart holds its rhythm as I cast my plea. “Do you think it is possible that Satoshi can change his mind about me?”
“Is this what troubles you?” Her shoulders drop as though braced to carry a heavier load.
“Please, Okaasan, is it possible?”
“Of course it’s possible, but I don’t think—”
“So, you agree that minds can change?”
Her eyebrows draw together. She knows I pull water to my own rice paddy, so she says nothing.
I lean close. “What if we learn Satoshi doesn’t wish to marry me, either? Then there’s no risk of losing his father’s business.”
Okaasan’s drying hands stop.
With a deep breath, I start the petition I have practiced to perfection. “I only ask you to consider this. If you agree that minds can change, and if Satoshi’s mind is changed—without offense—can you not change Father’s? Can you not open his heart to see what is in mine? I wish for a marriage of love, Okaasan.”
“Naoko...” Okaasan tilts her head.
“I love Hajime.” I dare his name in a whisper. “And he loves me. So much, he would give up his home in America. Leave his family to make a life here with ours.” I don’t yet say where. “He’s a good, honorable man who embraces our customs and ways, and also respects me.” I smile, emotion bubbling up and misting my eyes. “He encourages me, Okaasan. To speak up and act freely because he loves all that I am. And I love who I am with him. It’s as though I can do anything. Do you know what he said to me?” His beautiful words have decorated my thoughts since he spoke them. My smile widens.
“He said I’m smart and clever, and if anyone could convince you and Father why we should be together, it’s me.” I take her hand, squeeze. “So, I say this to you... You are smart and clever, and if anyone can sway Father to reconsider, it’s you. Please, I beg you to find the courage and persuade him.”
Okaasan turns her gaze forward, placing both hands on the counter. She stares out the window where everyone sits. The nervous twitch of her little finger gives movement to her consideration. Tap-tap-tap. Then again. Tap-tap-tap. We stand next to one another at the sink, each holding our ground by holding our tongue, until—the kettle trumpets steam.
She motions to the boiling water and resumes drying dishes, a signal my answer must wait. Hurt is often the hole that truth whistles through, and even in silence, it squeals in my ears. What if Okaasan doesn’t answer at all?
I prepare the after-dinner tea and present it to Grandmother outside. Father and Taro’s discussion on foreign trade stalls with my arrival. Taro regards me with a pointed look, but Father doesn’t consider me at all. Instead, he observes Kenji, who studies a bug beside his book.
“Kenji-kun...” Father calling his name is correction enough.
Grandmother accepts the tea with a nod and I am dismissed, but never acknowledged.
As I turn to leave, Taro resumes their conversation, the word gaijin emphasized in spite for my ears. He’s more of a threat to Hajime than Father because his zealous nationalistic views feed Father’s old ingrained prejudices.
He’s gasoline to a slow-burning fire.
The best insurance against fire is to own two homes, so I wait on Okaasan’s answer. If I’ve persuaded her oversize heart, maybe she can coax Father’s narrow mind to open, and our house will no longer stand divided.