Nancy had mentioned going to Catholic Mass before her birthday get-together, so church was on my mind. Both Art and I had an open invitation from Joey and Louise to go to Reverend Suzuki’s church service at the Moody Bible Institute. I wasn’t quite sure why because none of us were particularly religious; I got the feeling that their motivations were more social than spiritual. Without telling either one of them, I decided to check out the Moody Bible Institute that Sunday morning.
The campus was large, with towering dormitories to house male students and a smaller one for women. Joey had told me that the service designed for Japanese Americans was held in Moody’s social hall next to its coffee shop. There was no sense in having such a small Christian gathering in Moody’s main auditorium, which could fit probably a thousand people.
I hadn’t been sure what to wear. I had opted for my simple striped dress but, inspired by Tomi’s example, I wore a pair of my mother’s gloves to look more dignified.
I knew the social hall’s approximate location and searched for some Nisei dressed in their Sunday best to follow. I spotted a Nisei couple in their thirties with two children, walking with their hands linked. The man wore a light-colored suit and hat; his wife, a dress made of white eyelet. The boys, their hair freshly combed to reveal their shiny, spotless foreheads, wore matching outfits of baby-blue shirts and shorts. They were perfect, all-American, and probably came from one of the ten concentration camps in California, Arizona, Utah, Wyoming, Idaho, Colorado or Arkansas.
“Tropico, what are you doing here?” I heard Hammer’s familiar voice behind me. I stopped and turned around. Hammer’s hair was still in a pompadour, but it was less outrageous—shorter and more controlled. Instead of a zoot suit, he wore a conservative dark suit that flattered his lean physique.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I grinned. I had missed him. We were now walking side by side, and I saw the black Bible that he had tucked under his arm.
“It’s all healed up,” Hammer said.
“What, you mean my face? You gave me a good shiner, I’ll tell you that.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I even tried to go by your place to give you my mea culpas in person, but your parents didn’t seem like they were leaving your side.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “You were spying on me?”
“Just for a few days. Then I decided to leave Clark and Division.”
“I heard that you’re at some okanemochi hakujin woman’s house in Lakeview.”
“Yeah, she’s a church person. She’s helping Reverend Suzuki set up this place.”
“Oh, I get it now,” I said.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“This whole church business. Your latest scheme?”
Hammer looked wounded. “I’m trying to turn my life around, Tropico. Things were spinning out of control. Kuru-kuru-pa.” What in the world was he referring to?
We walked into a two-story building made of dark-brown brick, in contrast to the taller reddish ones. Folding chairs were set up across the wider axis of the room with an aisle in the middle, all facing a podium with a large cross on the front.
I was amazed that Hammer knew the other parishioners and they seemed genuinely happy to see him. About half were hakujin, probably do-gooders like his patron, while the rest were Issei and Nisei. I scanned the small-yet-animated crowd for familiar faces, but I recognized no one, not even Joey and Louise. While Hammer disappeared into the choir room, I sat in the back row, feeling a bit out of place. I was so bored that I even opened up the hymnal that had been placed on my chair and tried to find songs I had heard before.
“Miss Ito?”
I was surprised Reverend Suzuki had recognized me. He was in the same robe that he had worn for Rose’s funeral.
“Hello, Reverend.”
“I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been meaning to call you, but I had no phone number for you on file.” He asked me the perfunctory minister questions: How were my parents doing? Where was I working? How was I finding Chicago?
I could not answer any of his inquiries honestly. I surely could not have told him that I was no longer a virgin and I was secretly engaged. Or that my parents and I were not getting along. Or, most importantly, that my sister had been assaulted and I was determined to find and punish whoever had done this awful thing to her.
Instead, I sat in my folding chair with the hymnal on my lap, said some pleasantries, nodded and smiled. Thankfully, an older couple approached Reverend Suzuki, releasing me from my charade.
I took no comfort from Reverend Suzuki’s homily, which was about forgiveness, but I was moved by the choir. There were only about ten of them, Japanese, hakujin, and one black woman. Hammer stood in the back row and I cringed a little because it was such an incongruous sight. But he behaved himself and moved his lips along with everyone else’s. They sang a hymn that I had heard maybe once before, “Be Still, My Soul.”
When disappointment, grief and fear are gone
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past
All safe and blessed, we shall meet at last
A hakujin male soloist belted the refrain and I was overcome with tears. I wiped them away with the tips of my fingers. What was happening to me?
At the end, Reverend Suzuki gave the benediction and marched down an aisle between the rows of folding chairs. I didn’t want to talk to him again but had to if I wanted to leave.
“I hope we see you again, Miss Ito. And give my regards to your parents.” He covered our handshake with his left hand as if to secure some sort of promise. I wasn’t going to give it to him.
According to my watch, it was twelve-thirty, a good time to head to Nancy’s house in Polonia Triangle.
As I walked up Clark to catch the bus, I heard a burst of footsteps behind me. His Bible in his right hand, Hammer had caught up with me. “What did you think of it?” he asked.
“Church? It was all right. I did like your singing. It made me cry.”
Hammer seemed genuinely moved by my comment and he started to blink more rapidly. He said that joining the choir had been Reverend Suzuki’s idea. I smiled, remembering that Hammer had been the one to tell me that the minister had “screwed up” Rose’s funeral.
Maybe being here with Hammer was a sign. When would I have this opportunity again? I tried to recall the details of the sermon. “Reverend Suzuki spoke a lot about forgiveness. ‘As long as you confess, your sins will be wiped clean.’”
Hammer readjusted his grip on his Bible. From the tone of my voice, he sensed that I was going to engage him in a serious discussion. We had stopped walking and stood outside some buildings in front of the Henrotin Hospital.
“Did you know where Rose got her abortion?”
Hammer flinched, as if the word caused him pain. “Why? Why would you want to know something like that?” His voice became rough; he sounded like the old Hammer. “Are you planning to go to the cops?”
I already tried that, I thought. “No, no. I need to know, Hammer. It may not make sense to you, but I can’t rest if I don’t find out everything that happened to Rose while she was in Chicago.”
Hammer took a deep breath. “There’s a doctor’s office on State Street near Marshall Field’s. His name is Thomas McGrath. He delivers babies but he also has this side business on Sundays.”
Side business. That sounded hideous.
“I found out about him through his driver who is a regular at Aloha.” We both resumed walking but Hammer slowed as he saw some Nisei women from my apartment building coming our way. He waited until they passed by before he continued. “Rose was so desperate; I said that I’d help her. At least with finding someone.”
“Do you think that this Dr. McGrath is legitimate?”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Rose was bleeding a lot afterward.”
Hammer looked truly pained. “I was worried about that from the get-go. I told Rose not to do it. I said we could get married, at least in the short run.”
I was amazed by Hammer’s offer.
“She laughed about that one. Not at me, though. She thanked me but said that she had to handle it her way.”
I started to head up Clark but Hammer didn’t follow.
“I’m staying away from Clark these days.”
I fanned my face with the church bulletin. “Why?”
“I can’t get into it with you.” Hammer’s voice dropped an octave.
“Does it involve Aloha?”
“No, no.”
“How about Manju? You aren’t spending any time with him these days?”
“Tropico, stop. Believe me, some things are best unsaid.” The demon face returned, only this time Hammer seemed more afraid than tortured.
I said goodbye and left him on the corner. When I was halfway up the block, I turned back, surprised to see that he was still there, unable to decide what his next move would be.