The Color of Air

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “What kind of trouble?” Daniel asked. He slowed down as they bounced over the rutted dirt road.

  “He’d been gambling in Honolulu, owed a lot of money. He came back because he needed money from your mother.”

  Daniel looked over at him, surprised. “She didn’t have any money,” he said, quiet and filled with emotion.

  Koji paused, swallowed, and kept talking. “I told him I’d get him the money if he would leave you and your mother alone, yeah. We agreed to meet again down at the beach early the next morning. That was when Mama saw us, when she was out early collecting shells.”

  “You had the money?”

  “Most. I’ve never needed much. Borrowed the rest.”

  Daniel turned down another road that led directly to the beach, and Koji rolled down his window. It was windier down by the water, the air cooler, smelling briny and reminding him of the sea urchins they used to catch when they were young on the rougher, wilder north side of the beach, where the currents ran stronger.

  “He never asked about my mother?” Daniel asked.

  The truck bumped and squeaked.

  “No.”

  The word fell flat and hard, like a rock hitting water.

  “Did he ask about me?”

  “No,” Koji said again.

  “You never saw him again?”

  Koji shook his head. “No.”

  The roar of the waves filled the truck. Daniel stared straight ahead. There was another moment of silence as he gathered his thoughts and then asked, “What about all the blood Mama mentioned?”

  Koji ran his hand over his short hair. “We got into a fight the morning I brought him the money.”

  “Were either of you hurt?”

  Koji nodded. “We both took a licking. Nothing that didn’t heal, yeah, we’re tough old suckers,” he said.

  Daniel parked and turned off the engine. Onekahakaha Beach was right across the road, the rush and roar of the waves as they rose and fell. Koji leaned out the window and breathed in deeply, a dull ache pulsing across his forehead. He looked up at the clouds pushing in, muting the sunlight for just a moment, as if someone had abruptly pulled the curtains closed. Koji turned back to find Daniel watching him.

  “Tell me,” Daniel said. “Tell me everything.”

  * * *

  It was late March. Koji moved quietly through the darkened house, already missing the warmth of Mariko’s body next to his. It was not quite 3:00 a.m. He was careful not to step on eleven-year-old Daniel’s baseball glove and bat lying on the living room floor. In the past year the boy lived and breathed baseball. Koji quietly pulled the front door of the green bungalow closed. He hadn’t planned to stay so late, but it was hard to leave once he’d settled in. At thirty-three, he relished the thought of having a family, but he still had to be back up at the plantation before the cane cutters were out in the fields. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek. Little chance he’d be catching up on sleep. Koji had promised Razor he would attend his union meeting the following evening. He had already missed so many.

  It was warm out. The only light came from the moon overhead, a watery glow dulled by the clouds. Koji heard the trees rustling, the cicadas in their nightly chorus. When his family first arrived in Hawai’i from Japan, he couldn’t sleep with all the noise at night. Now he couldn’t sleep without it.

  Just as he opened the door to the truck, Koji heard something move from behind the toolshed. A cat or dog, he thought. But when he turned, he saw a shadow walking toward him, the ghostly orange glow of a cigarette dancing up and down in the darkness. Koji couldn’t imagine who would be out so early in the morning. He reached for the crowbar under the driver’s seat and waited.

  “I should have known. You were always panting after her.”

  Almost five years had passed, and Franklin’s voice remained unmistakable. Koji turned as he stepped out from the shadows.

  “I was wondering if you’d ever come crawling back.” Koji kept his voice a low whisper, hoping not to wake Mariko or Daniel.

  “Not crawling, returning on my own two feet to see my wife and my son.”

  Even in the shadows, Franklin looked older and thinner, rougher around the edges. “You lost that privilege when you walked out on them.”

  “Well, I’m back now.”

  Koji’s heart pounded. He wanted nothing more than to make Franklin disappear once and for all. The thought was unsettling. He breathed in slowly and said, “Get in the truck. Let’s go for a ride.” He wanted Franklin away from the house.

  Franklin watched him for a moment. “And what if I don’t?”

  “Then you’ll lose them for sure making a scene out here,” he said, getting into his truck. A moment later the passenger door opened and Franklin climbed in, bringing with him the ripe stinks of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat.

  “You do understand that they’re still my family,” Franklin said. “It’s my blood that runs through Daniel’s veins, yeah, and no one, especially not you, will ever take my place.”

  Koji lit a cigarette. “You gave up your place years ago.”

  Koji drove toward Onekahakaha Beach, knowing the road would be empty and quiet so early in the morning. Franklin lit another cigarette and relaxed when he saw where Koji was driving them to, the place of their boyhood adventures, the beach where they’d first met Mariko.

  “Just like old times,” he said.

  “Why are you back?” Koji asked.

  “I’m here to visit my family,” Franklin said, smiling.

  Koji knew better. “Why are you really back?” he asked again.

  Franklin was quiet for a while, staring at the dark road illuminated by the headlamps. “I ran into some trouble in Honolulu,” he finally said, blowing out smoke.

  Koji turned down a dirt road and then another before he stopped the truck at the edge of the beach. He turned to face Franklin. “You better not have brought your troubles back with you.”

  Franklin smiled and said, “‘With this ring I thee wed, and all my worldly goods I thee endow. In sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, till death do us part.’ I think those are the words Mariko and I recited.”

  “Mariko doesn’t have anything,” Koji said, hating that he was taking the defensive.

  “She has the house.”

  The house. Koji swallowed the words like a bitter tea. His anger rose so quickly he didn’t have time to think. His fist struck Franklin hard several times in the close confines of the truck before he stopped, leaving Frank with a bloody nose, a split lip. Who’s the pretty boy now? Koji thought. He was breathing hard as he watched Frank open the door and stumble out of the truck. His knuckles stung.

  The next thing Koji heard was Franklin laughing.

  “You’ll never have her,” Franklin said, slamming the door shut, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “You can pretend all you want.”

  “Neither will you,” Koji said, jumping out his truck and following him down to the beach. There was a briny and decaying smell in the air, as if something had died and washed up with the surf. When he was within striking distance, Frank had turned and swung at him but missed. Koji stepped forward, hitting Franklin in the face again. He was ashamed at how good it felt when Frank stumbled and fell on the sand. “How much?”

  “Too much,” Franklin said, staying seated.

  “How much?”

  “Three hundred.”

  Koji always knew Franklin’s luck would change. He couldn’t always win, but Koji was willing to pay him to save the house, and for him to stay out of Mariko and Daniel’s lives.

  “Meet me back here tomorrow night, same time, yeah. I’ll have the money for you,” Koji spit out. “Then you leave them alone. I want you gone for good.”

  Franklin stood shakily. “A ready-made family, yeah. Not a bad deal for three hundred,” he said.

  Koji ignored him. “Tomorrow night,” he said, walking back to his truck.

  * * *

  When Koji retur
ned to the beach the following night, the ocean was rough and restless, mirroring his own emotions. He turned, sensing movement, and saw Franklin walking out from a grove of trees toward him. Everything moved quickly as soon as Franklin demanded more money for the price of his family.

  “I need more,” he said. There was a smirk on his face.

  Koji had nothing more. He’d depleted his savings and borrowed the rest of it. Even if he did have it, he wasn’t going to give one more penny to Franklin. He threw the envelope of money at him. “That’s it. No more,” he said. They argued, their rising voices lost in the roar of the ocean, their angry words carried down the empty beach. Somewhere along the way it wasn’t about the money anymore. This time Franklin swung a hard right and connected with his cheek. Koji didn’t hesitate after that. His strength came from years of working in the fields. He hit Franklin several times before Koji saw him reach toward his back, returning with the glint of the knife he suddenly held in his hand.

  “Go ahead, come again!” Franklin yelled. “I’ve killed pigs bigger than you!”

  Before Koji righted himself, Franklin lunged at him, the sharp sting of the knife slicing across his stomach. He saw a flicker of surprise on Franklin’s face before it turned to anger and determination. The knife came at him again, but this time Koji stepped back and grabbed Franklin’s wrist with one hand while throwing a punch and hitting him hard in the face with the other. Koji pulled back and threw another one-two punch with all the strength he had, hitting him hard in the ribs and watching him fall heavily to the sand, the bloodied knife still in his hand.

  Koji’s pain quickly took over. He pressed firmly against the wound to try and stop the bleeding. His shirt turned crimson. How did it all get out of hand so fast? He stumbled backward, the pain suddenly crippling. Franklin was still down. Koji’s legs felt like lead moving across the sand and back toward his truck. All I need is to get sewn up and I’ll be just fine, yeah, he thought. He looked back toward Franklin, who hadn’t moved. Koji stumbled farther, falling to his knees, his stomach on fire. There was so much blood. He lay down on the sand. It was becoming hard for him to concentrate, so he focused on the lightening sky and the sound of the waves, which offered comfort. He knew someone would eventually find him. What a fucking foolish way to die, he thought.

  They were all so young when they met for the first time, not ten feet away from where he lay on the sand, the day he couldn’t stop looking at Mariko. He saw her again. And Razor. He hoped his friend would forgive him for missing another union meeting. He hoped Razor would understand that he couldn’t let Mariko lose her house. Koji closed his eyes, thinking he heard someone running toward him, hoping it wasn’t Franklin. His stomach burned, his body reeling from the loss of blood as he felt himself slowly disappearing, moving farther and farther away from everyone and everything he loved.

  * * *

  Koji touched his stomach, the wound long healed. He’d been lucky the knife missed puncturing anything important. Once in a long while, he still felt a twinge of pain if he overdid things. The scar had faded to a pale white still visible across his midsection. It had taken him almost six weeks to heal and six more before he could be out in the fields and cutting again. He worked through the pain, slowly building back his strength. It was nothing compared to the pain he’d felt learning Razor had been killed after the meeting that night on his way back to the plantation. He would have died, too, if it wasn’t for Mama Natua.

  * * *

  “He stabbed you?” Daniel asked. He was stunned at first, and then angry.

  Koji cleared his throat. “I lived.”

  Daniel raked his fingers through his hair. “What kind of person would do that, stab an old friend?”

  “A desperate one.”

  They sat in the warm silence of the truck and Koji turned to see Daniel lost in the enormity of it all.

  “You could have died,” Daniel finally said. His voice was tight with disbelief.

  “Wasn’t my time yet,” Koji said quietly.

  “What happened to him?”

  Koji shook his head. “Gone,” he said.

  He had wondered for weeks after if Franklin had really left, worried that he might return asking for more money from Mariko. The fear followed him like a shadow, but weeks led to months and the dimness finally cleared. Franklin may have thought he killed him that night. Either way, he was unlikely to ever return.

  “The Sunday you came to the house all beat up, it was during that time, wasn’t it?” Daniel remembered. “You were moving so slow that day. You couldn’t play catch with me that afternoon like you always did.” Daniel sat quiet for a moment before he said, “I should have known something was wrong, I was old enough.”

  Koji looked at Daniel. “You were just a kid, yeah.”

  “I was just a kid in so many ways. When I was younger, I sometimes wondered why my mother was with you and not with my father anymore.

  Koji hesitated a moment. “A fair question.” He then said,

  “I couldn’t ask my mother; I didn’t want to make her sad, so I kept quiet. There was a small part of me that always thought when I went to the mainland for college that I might see him there again. That’s one of the reasons I studied so hard. Foolish, right?”

  “No more than any of us,” Koji said. “Your mother meant the world to me. She always did.”

  “I know,” Daniel said.

  Koji looked away and out the window. “We’re wasting a nice morning, yeah. Let’s get some air, eh.”

  He opened the door to the truck and gingerly stepped down. The clouds had cleared as he squinted against the bright sunlight.

  Ghost Voices

  MARIKO, 1918

  Koji usually stops by during the week when the sugar train is being unloaded, but I haven’t seen him since last Sunday, when he returned to Puli in the early hours. The night he left I was awakened by a voice in the wind that sounded so much like Franklin’s I got up from bed to look out the window just as Koji’s truck drove off. It’s funny how the mind can play tricks, yeah. And still I’ve had this nagging feeling follow me for the past week.

  It’s Sunday morning again. I take the eggs out of the icebox, along with a slab of bacon and a loaf of sweetbread to make breakfast for Koji and Daniel. The rain suddenly splatters against the kitchen window and I hope it passes quickly so that we can work outside later. We often spend the morning after breakfast cutting branches and pulling weeds, taming the wildness that’s my yard. I smile at the thought. I slice the bacon and lay the strips down sizzling across the hot cast iron skillet. A moment later, the savory aroma of frying bacon fills the kitchen. For years now, ever since Nori found out Koji came down from Puli on Sunday mornings, she insists on giving me more bacon than I need. “Fair trade for the mangoes, yeah,” she says.

  Nori’s generosity is boundless. I know a basket or two of mangoes isn’t a fair exchange, since I give her mangoes from the tree every year, anyway. Little has changed between us since we were young girls. And maybe that’s what she means, we give and take, finding balance through the years. We’ve always taken care of each other, from her stormy childhood through Franklin’s disappearance to raising our boys together. We’re closer than sisters. Not born to be, yeah, Nori likes to say, but chosen to be.

  * * *

  The kitchen hums with activity, the crackling and sizzling, percolating sounds of breakfast being made. It’s something I’ve done a thousand times, but this morning it feels new. I wipe my hands on my apron and begin slicing a papaya. Daniel sleeps through it all, the hard sleep of a growing boy. He’s almost eleven and already tall and thin like his father. The table is set, three plates, and a bowl for Daniel’s cereal. I lay the crisp strips of bacon on a plate and crack the eggs into a bowl. As soon as Koji arrives, I’ll scramble them the way he likes, thickened but still runny.

  I don’t hear a sound from Daniel’s room so I take a moment to sit down and savor a cup of coffee. Not long after that I hear Koji’s truck
pull into the driveway. I immediately stand, smoothing my apron. It’s become a habit for me to walk out to the front porch to meet him. When I open the door, I’m greeted by a gust of fresh air smelling of wet earth, ginger, and plumeria now that the rain has stopped. In a few hours it’ll be hot and muggy again.

  Koji takes his time getting out of his truck. Usually by now he’s already making his way toward the porch. I watch him sitting there, wondering if I should walk down to see if everything’s all right, when the door to his truck finally swings open. I already know something’s wrong, seeing his slow, deliberate movements. I hurry down the steps to meet him, and that’s when I see the angry greenish-yellow bruise on his cheek, the stiff and awkward way he’s walking, his bandaged hand hovering over his stomach.

  “What happened?” I ask, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “Razor’s dead,” he says softly.

  “What?” I see his eyes tearing. He suddenly looks older, tired. “How?” I ask.

  “He was run down last Monday night. They’ve been trying to keep it hush-hush, yeah. No one was allowed to leave the plantation until today.”

  My stomach drops. No wonder I hadn’t heard anything. “After a meeting?” I ask.

  How many times did Nori and I warn him to be careful? “You’re not invincible,” I’d said, the last time he came to visit. Razor smiled, flexed his muscles. “Am, yeah,” he said, ever endearing before adding, “Promise I’ll watch out.” I can’t imagine no longer hearing his easy laughter and his bad jokes that filled any room he walked into.

  Koji’s face is pale with grief and he nods and winces in pain.

  “Were you there?” I ask, seeing how hurt he is.

  Koji shakes his head. “I ran into an old friend.”

  All of this makes no sense. Razor, dear Razor is dead, and Koji wasn’t there, but he shows up looking as if he’s been on the losing end of a fight. “I don’t understand. Did you get into a fight with this friend?” I ask.