Silent Honor (5 page)

“You'll be learning to jitterbug in California,” he said valiantly, proud of his knowledge of American culture. He also knew all their baseball stars, and he loved learning American slang. He could barely wait to get to Stanford. “You'll have to teach me when I get there,” he teased, and Hiroko smiled at him in spite of herself. He was so silly. But they were
such
good friends. They were less than a year apart, and she couldn't imagine how she was going to live without him. She knew that their cousins had a son nearly his age as well. He was sixteen years old, and his name was Kenji. And they had two younger daughters. But she knew that no one would ever take Yuji's place in her heart, and as they reached the dock, Hiroko felt her legs tremble and her heart sink.

They located the NYK Line pier easily, and the
Nagoya Maru
stood waiting, as passengers arrived and well-wishers went aboard to join them in their cabins. People were laughing and talking all around them as they boarded the ship and looked for Hiroko's cabin.She had a berth in second class, and her parents were pleased to see that she was sharing a cabin with a much older woman. She was American, and had been studying the art of Japan for a year, and now she was going back to Chicago. She chatted pleasantly with them, and then went out on deck to look for friends, and left Hiroko alone with her parents. She had sensed that this was not an easy moment. And as Hiroko looked at them, her face grew pale, and her fatlier could see that she was about to panic.

“You must be very brave, my little girl,” he said gently, as Yuji moved her trunk, and his mother told him where to put it. “Be strong. You will only be alone on the ship, and after that, you will be with your cousins.” He had purposely chosen a ship that would sail directly to San Francisco. It made for a very long crossing, but they felt it was safer than having her stop over in Honolulu. She didn't want to go ashore alone, and she was nervous even now about being on the ship without them. She had never gone anywhere alone before, she had never left home, and now she was going so far from everything familiar. “You will be home again very soon,” her father said kindly as she looked around the cabin. It was tiny, and more than a little claustrophobic. “The year will pass very quickly.”

“Yes, Father,” she said, bowing to him, silently begging him not to send her. She was only deferring to his wishes out of respect for him. She would have given anything not to go to California. Like her mother, she didn't understand what it would do for her, and why it was to her advantage. She knew that it was important to see the world, but she wasn't really sure why. It seemed so much better to stay at home, among familiar people and places. In fact, she had never become the modem young woman he had dreamed of. But Masao was certain that this trip would make all the difference.

The whistle blew, and the gong sounded for them to get off almost before Hiroko had had time to get settled, and Masao thought it was just as well. He knew from looking at her that if they stayed much longer, they would never leave her. She looked so terrified and pale, and her hands shook pitifully as she handed her mother a single flower from the tiny bouquet the NYK Line had sent her. Her mother took it in trembling hands too, and then reached out to her daughter and held her. They said not a word, and as the bell sounded again, Masao gently touched his wife's shoulder. It was time to go. They had to leave her.

Hiroko followed them quietly outside, wearing the bright blue kimono her mother had given her. Masao had insisted that she take Western clothes too, certain that she would regret it at college if she didn't have them. She had never worn Western clothes before. Like her mother, she preferred to wear her kimono. But she had taken the Western clothes with her, because her father said to.

The entire family stood on deck, and the air was warm and balmy. It was a perfect day to sail, and most of the passengers were excited, as music played and balloons drifted through the air. But Hiroko looked like an orphan standing bereft on the deck when they left her.

“Be good,” Hidemi warned her solemnly. “Help your cousins whenever you are with them.” But as she instructed her older child, her eyes filled with tears, and the thought of leaving her seemed unbearably painful. “Write to us. …” She wanted to tell her not to forget them, not to fall in love far away, not to stay in San Francisco, but all she could do was look at her and long for the days when she was a little girl, safely at home in Kyoto. And all Hiroko could do was cry as she looked at her mother.

“Take care of yourself, Sis,” Yuji said to her in English, and she smiled through her tears. “Say hi to Clark Gable.”

“Don't run after too many girls,” she teased him in Japanese, and then she hugged him and turned to her father. But somehow leaving him was the hardest of all, because she knew he expected so much from her, and he wanted her to do this.

“Have a good time, Hiroko. Learn many things. Open your eyes and see everything, and then come home and tell us all about it.”

“I will, Father,” she said, bowing low to him, promising him silently that she would be everything he wanted. She would be brave and wise and inquisitive. She would learn many things, and come back speaking perfect English. But when she stood up and looked at him again, she was stunned to see that there were tears in his eyes too, and he held her very tight for a moment, and then slowly he pulled away, squeezed her hands for a last time, and then turned and led his wife and son to shore, as Hiroko watched them in terror.

She stood at the rail, waving at them, feeling lonelier than she ever had in her entire life, and desperately afraid of what waited for her in California.

And as she watched them fade away, she thought of each of them, and how much they meant to her, and prayed for the next year to fly by very quickly. She watched the mountains of Japan slowly drift away, and she stood for hours on the deck, just watching her homeland shrink on the horizon.

When Yuji and his parents returned home, the house seemed painfully empty without Hiroko. She had always moved among them so quietly, so efficiently, as she went about her chores, and helped her mother without saying anything, but one always sensed her presence. And now suddenly without her, Yuji realized how lonely it was going to be, and he went out to meet his friends so he didn't have to think about it.

Masao and Hidemi stood looking at each other then, wondering if they'd been wrong, if she was too young, if they'd made a terrible mistake sending her to California. Masao particularly had second thoughts, and at that moment, if he could have, he would have brought her home to them and told her to forget St. Andrew's College. But this time it was Hidemi who was sure, who knew that they had done what they had to do, that it was best for her. Hiroko was only a year younger than she herself had been when she married Masao. Hiroko would learn many things, make many friends, and then she would come home to them again, and dream of the year she had spent in California. Masao was right. It was a different world, a world in which one needed to know more than just traditions, a world in which arranging flowers and pouring tea would no longer be important. It was a world that, one day, would belong to the young, to people like Hiroko and Yuji. She had to be prepared for it, to learn the lessons she would need when she came home again. It would be a year well spent, and as Hidemi thought of it, she looked at her husband and smiled.

“You did the right thing,” she said generously, knowing that he needed reassurance. He was feeling terrible. All he could remember was the agony in his child's eyes when he left her on the ship and hurried down the gangplank.

“How can you be sure?” he asked unhappily, but grateful that she had said it.

“Because you are very wise, Masao-san,” Hidemi said, bowing to him, and he reached out and took her hand and pulled her slowly to him. They had shared nineteen years, and they had been happy ones. They respected each other, and loved each other deeply. It was a love that had strengthened over the years, and that had weathered storms. And in their time together, they had shared many different decisions, but none as hard as this one. “She will be happy there,” Hidemi said, wanting to be sure of it, and believing everything Masao had told her.

“And if she isn't?” he said, feeling old, and suddenly very lonely. But no lonelier than his daughter.

“Then she will grow strong. It will be good for her.”

“I hope so,” he said softly, as Hidemi took his hand in her own, and they walked slowly out to the garden. They couldn't see the sea from where they were, but they stood in the direction they knew it was in, and as they thought of her, Hiroko stood on the deck of the
Nagoya Maru
and bowed low to the horizon.

Chapter 4

T
HE
NAGOYA MARU
docked in San Francisco on August first, after a two-week voyage. The sea had been smooth, and the weather had been good, and for most of the passengers the crossing had been uneventful.

The
Nagoya Mara
had carried mostly families, and a number of older people who didn't want the livelier route via Honolulu. The passengers were primarily Japanese, and many of them were going on to Peru and Brazil. But there had been a number of Americans as well, like the woman who had shared Hiroko's cabin. She had kept to herself, and spoke very little to the other passengers, and only to Hiroko when they were both getting dressed or passed each other on the way to the bathroom. Hiroko had nothing to say to her. She had nothing to say to anyone. She was numb with grief and homesickness all the way to San Francisco, and more than a little seasick.

Several young men had tried to speak to her, all of them Japanese, but she had been extremely polite, and avoided all attempts at conversation. By the time they docked
in
the States, other than a brief “good morning” or “good night,” she had spoken to no one since they left Kobe. She had eaten her meals in the dining room, and even then didn't speak to the other people at her table. She kept her eyes lowered, and appeared absolutely unapproachable, and she wore only her darkest and most serious kimonos.

And just before they docked, she locked her trunk, closed her small case, and stood for a moment looking out the porthole. She could see the new Golden Gate Bridge just ahead of them, and the city was perched on the hills, sparkling white in the sunlight. It looked very pretty, but to her, even from here, it looked and felt completely foreign. And she couldn't help wondering what she would find there. She was going to cousins she didn't know, but whom she had heard about for all of her eighteen years. She only hoped that they were as kind as her father believed, and remembered.

The immigration officers came on with the tug, and they looked over her passport and stamped it, as others stood
in
line in the main dining room for the same reason. And then she went out on deck, and smoothed down her long black hair. She had worn it in a neatly combed knot, and she was wearing a pale blue kimono. It was the prettiest one she had worn since they left Kobe, and it looked like a piece of summer sky, as she stood at the rail, looking very small and very lovely.

The ship sounded its great horn, and the tugboat eased them in, as the
Nagoya Maru
came to rest at pier 39. And a moment later, the passengers who had been cleared by immigration began disembarking. Most of them were in a great hurry to get off, to meet relatives and friends, to end the two-week voyage. But Hiroko moved down the gangplank very slowly. She moved gracefully, her feet seeming barely to reach the ground, and she was not sure if she would recognize her relatives, or where to find them. It was terrifying just being here. What if they had forgotten to come? If they didn't recognize her, or once they did, if they didn't like her? A thousand thoughts flew through her mind, as she reached the pier, and saw a thousand unfamiliar faces. People were jostling and hurrying everywhere, identifying trunks, and looking for bags and hailing cabbies. And she stood feeling lost in the midst of the excitement. There was almost a party atmosphere and a Dollar Line ship was setting sail nearby in a blare of music. You almost couldn't hear amid the shouting and the noise, with the strains of “Deep in the Heart of Texas” all around them. And just as she despaired of finding anyone, she suddenly looked into a face that reminded her of her father. He was a little older, and not quite as tall, but there was something vaguely familiar about him.

“Hiroko?” he asked, looking down at her, but he was sure of it. She looked exactly like the photograph her father had sent them, and as her eyes rose to his, he saw a shyness and gentleness that touched him deeply. All she could do was nod silently in answer to his question. She was completely overwhelmed by everything that was happening around them, and she had been so afraid not to find them at all, that she couldn't even express her relief to him that he had found her. “I'm Takeo Tanaka. Your Uncle Tak.” She nodded again, startled that he was speaking to her in English. He spoke it perfectly, with no trace she could detect of an accent. “Your Aunt Reiko is in the car with the kids.” But as he explained it, Hiroko bowed low to him, as low as she possibly could, to show her deep respect for him, and that of her father. And he was as surprised as she had been to hear him speak English. For an instant he hesitated, and then he bowed briefly to her, realizing that not to would have been an offense not only to her, but to her father. But it was only with elders that he ever bowed, never among young people, or even people his own age. Somehow, knowing Masao, he had expected her to be less steeped in tradition. But he remembered that in his brief single meeting with her, Hidemi had been very formal.

“Do you know where your bags are?” he asked quietly, a calming force in the storm all around them. The trunks were being delivered to areas on the pier alphabetically, where customs officers explored their contents, and she pointed at the T, as he began to wonder if she spoke English. As yet, she had not said a word to him, all she had done was bow, and glance up at him once cautiously, though she averted her eyes shyly.