by Kay Hadashi
“Kenzo is the oldest brother,” Dwight said. “This is his house, our meeting place whenever the family has something to discuss.”
Gina made a point of shaking his hand. “You never said a thing to me about who you are. I thought you were a handyman the family hired to work on the house.”
Kenzo smiled as though he was enjoying the trick he’d played on her. “I wanted to get to know the person staying in our house.”
“You never asked me any questions. You put me to work instead.”
“Never asked you to work on the roof, but you volunteered, just like with the hot water tank and the electrical wiring.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “Good enough for me.”
Gina scratched her head. “Okay, I’m a little bad with remembering names. I’m already lost with who’s a Tanizawa and who’s here to make me even more nervous?”
They all laughed. One young woman came over to her, introduced herself as Dwight’s wife, and took the bottle from Gina. “I’m nobody you have to remember for now, but I know how a corkscrew works. It won’t help you remember our names, but it won’t matter so much after a glass of wine.”
Dwight took over again. “Kenzo is the oldest son, followed by me, then Millie, then Kyle, and Harry is the youngest. He’ll get here a little later. All the others are either in-laws or cousins here for the burgers and dogs. Don’t worry about them.”
“I guess I should’ve brought more wine,” Gina said, still wondering exactly why she was there. Just then, a glass was put in her hand by Koni, Kyle’s wife.
“There’s no shortage of this. The wives bring their own to drink, and the husbands bring beer. Which is a waste, because most of us are a bunch of boring teetotalers.”
“She hasn’t met Harry yet,” one of the women said. “Or his latest girlfriend. What’s her name again?”
“Need a Rolodex to keep track of them,” Koni said.
Gina was beginning to enjoy her visit. This crowd wasn’t all that much different from her family back in Cleveland. “To keep track of his girlfriends?”
“To keep track of the latest one’s names.” Koni forced an insincere and slightly tipsy smile. “That seems to change as often as her hair.”
“I never have seen her roots,” someone said. “Anyone know her natural color?”
“Yes. Clairol,” Koni said, laughing.
The crowd broke up, with the kids there going off to explore a trail of some sort, a couple of the men starting barbecues, and most of the women retreating to the shade of the house. Like always, Kenzo disappeared. Dwight stuck with her, though, when she went to a low rock wall with a view of the valley.
“This is a beautiful view. The mountains in the background on one side, the ocean in the other direction, and the city below.”
“See anything familiar?” he asked.
“I haven’t been here long enough to be able to recognize landmarks.”
“The tall buildings are Waikiki, of course. And the Ala Wai Canal and golf course next to it. Just a mile away on the other side of this valley below us is the university. Notice anything about what’s directly below us?”
She wouldn’t have recognized the estate except for the two large water tanks nearby. She saw the new roof of the house lost in the trees, and the circular driveway that roamed past the various gardens of the estate, and the shallow hole that would eventually become the koi pond. She could just spot one side of the little bridge, most of it hidden in the trees that covered the stream.
“Wow, seeing the estate from up here, it looks like I’ve done nothing at all.”
“That’s actually good for us, Gina.”
“Why? I’ve barely scratched the surface. Which is something I need to talk to you about. Or Millie, whoever is running the project in the background.”
“We don’t want to be in a hurry with this project. We want it to be done right. Initially, we talked to several local landscape architects who wanted to bring in heavy equipment and level the place before starting all over with something new. Then we got your proposal.”
“Yeah, my proposal from Hades. I had no reason to send you that proposal. I’m from Cleveland. What do I know about the tropics? I barely have any experience in landscape as it is.”
“That’s why we wanted you. We’re hoping you go about the job thoughtfully, even hesitantly. We figure you’ll be careful trying to preserve whatever is already there.”
“That’s how I’m trying to approach it, but I don’t know if I’m being successful or not. Really, I’ve been meaning to talk to Millie about dropping out of the project so someone more qualified can take over. Even Felix, the foreman, would do a better job of understanding what you want and then rebuild your old gardens.”
“You might not entirely understand our situation, Gina.” Dwight seemed concerned about something. “Your family name is Santoro, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re Italian?”
“By heritage, yes. On my father’s side, we’ve been in America for four generations. My mother came to America from Italy to marry my father.” She explained how Santoro is more of a Spanish name, but had become fairly common in the Po Valley region of Italy in the last couple hundred years. My sister likes to tease me that I’m more Italian than our mother, while Ana’s very American like our father. I don’t see it, though.”
That brought some worry to Dwight’s face, until Millie came out and nodded to him.
“We have one more Tanizawa for you to meet.”
“You have one more brother, the youngest, right?” Gina asked. “I think I heard the name Harry?”
“Eventually, but he’s not here yet.”
Dwight led Gina back into the house to one wall in particular in the living room. There were several pictures on the wall of the same people she’d just met but in younger days, along with that of a woman. There was also a small shrine of some sort on a sideboard, with several sticks of incense smoldering. Inside the shrine were another picture of the woman, and an old black and white picture of a couple in Japanese kimono. There was also a plate with a pyramid of oranges, a bowl with rice, and a small plate with wrapped candies. In the middle of everything was a ceramic cup with a clear fluid in it.
“You’ve probably figured out we’re Buddhists. This is our family shrine where we burn incense and make little offerings to remember our ancestors.”
“It’s lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it. Is the lady your mother?”
“Yes. She passed quite a few years ago.” He got the small framed snapshot of the couple in kimono. “These are our grandparents. This was taken when they were still in Japan, right before they came to Hawaii. They’re the ones who first started the farm.”
“The estate where I’m working?” she asked.
“That’s right. O-jii-san—Grandfather—built that house with the help of the new friends he made during the journey on the ship coming here. My father grew up in that house, and my brothers and Millie and I spent a lot of time there as kids. Once our dad was old enough, he built this house, which is where my brothers and Millie grew up. After our mother passed, Dad moved back into the old house, but he eventually couldn’t take care of the place or himself. That’s when he moved in here.”
“I thought this was Kenzo’s house?” Gina asked.
“It is, now. This place has almost as much history as the house down in the valley. Eventually our father got remarried and had another son. That’s Harry. He grew up in this house long after me and the others had left.”
“Oh, he’s a half-brother.”
Dwight nodded. “To us, he’s more of a distant cousin, almost a full generation younger than us. We really don’t have much to do with each other, other than when he blesses us with his presence at a family barbecue.”
“Who’s Reiko? I thought she was a relative?”
“Another half-sister, to us and to Harry. Even though she’s a lot younger than even Harry, and we never got to know her mother even whi
le she was married to our Dad, she’s closer than Harry. Much more of a sister than he could ever be a brother.”
Every family has its secrets, was all Gina could think.
She wondered about Harry’s mother, where she might be, but saved that piece of gossip for another time. She was on overload already. “That’s why you don’t want the house in the valley torn down and something modern built in its place? Too much family history there?”
“Dad can’t seem to let go of the place. All he talks about is the registered historical status he hopes to get for the estate.”
“I still don’t understand why you hired me? Wouldn’t someone more familiar with Hawaii and Japanese history be better qualified to do that project?” she asked.
Dwight ignored her question when he stepped over to another display on the wall. This one had a picture of a young man in a military uniform in one frame, and several medals in another frame. One other frame held a commendation. “This is our father.”
She quickly read the commendation from World War Two, and found the name of Tanizawa. The face in the old picture was similar enough to Dwight and his siblings that she’d be able to pick him out in a police lineup.
“His unit was made up of all Nisei Japanese from Hawaii and the mainland. Very brave group of men. Not many of them left.”
Gina wasn’t sure of what to say. “So, he’s…”
“Dad’s in the other room. He’d like to meet you.”
“Oh.” She did some quick calculations to figure the man’s age. He had to be close to a hundred years old if her math was right.
“He’s been watching you this week from the patio with great interest. Oh, not spying on you, just to see what you’re doing down there. He doesn’t get out of his bedroom much anymore, mostly in the mornings when it’s still cool and the patio is in shade.” Dwight took Gina to a large bedroom. Inside was an old man in a wheelchair, his lap covered with a small blanket. “This is my father, Bunzo Tanizawa.”
Gina shook the man’s hand bent with time and arthritis. She had to lift it and set it back down again. “Hi, Mister Tanizawa. My name is Gina. It’s very nice to meet you.”
He nodded for her to sit in the chair next to his.
“Santoro-san, yes?” he said in a deep but quiet voice.
“That’s my family name. Please call me Gina.”
He took a long look at her face. She still had a Band-Aid on her cheek where Kenzo had cut her lid. “Been in a fight?”
“You might say that.”
“Win?”
“Not this time.”
“Keep your fist away from your face. No need to punch yourself.”
Gina chuckled, realizing he was a lot more right about that than he realized.
“The others say you’re from Italy.”
“I was born in Cleveland. My mother is from Italy, though.”
“What part?” he asked.
“Abruzzo. It’s on the Adriatic Coast of Italy, straight across the country from Rome.”
The old man didn’t seem happy with her answer. “Where are Santoros from?”
“My father’s family is from northern Italy, just south of the Alps.”
He made eye contact again. “You been there?”
“Not yet. I want to visit the family village someday.”
“In Po Valley?”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess.”
Dwight took over again. “When my dad was in the US military during World War Two, his unit fought the Germans in the Po Valley. There’s a small town there that’s very personal to him for some reason.”
The old man spoke with Dwight in Japanese for moment, allowing Gina a moment to process what she was hearing. It dawned on her then that she was there that day to apologize for whatever the Italians had done to the old man during the war so many decades before. It was a terribly unfair thing to ask of her, but her pay was coming out of his family’s pocket.
“My dad wants to talk with you alone for a while.”
Gina watched as Dwight left her alone with the old man in a wheelchair, the bedroom door closing behind him. She didn’t know what to say once they were alone.
“You know a town named Fabbiano?” he asked. He handed over a yellowed slip of paper.
She looked at the name that had been handwritten many years before. “I’m afraid not.”
“In the mountains. Steep, I tell you. Never seen mountains like them before. Everything there built from stone. Walls, houses, pigsties. Everything.” He took a drink of water, his hand unsteady while setting the cup down again. “Already been marching for weeks, fighting almost every day. The Nazis, dirty bastards, were dug in everywhere. Had to push them back into Germany, wherever that was.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Not your fault.” He waved for her to be quiet. “One day in May, really bad day for us, almost end of the war. Advance twenty feet, fall back ten. All day like that. Just about sunset, we fought our way to Fabbiano. No one knew what to expect from that place. Just a little village. Maybe people still there, maybe not. Maybe all dead already. We didn’t know. But the place made from stone, solid rock. Good place to hole up for the night.”
He picked at his lap blanket before taking it off his lap and setting it on the bed. Every movement he made was deliberate, slow, as though it took all his energy to perform. Watching him cope with being in a wheelchair, Gina still didn’t know if she was expected to offer an apology for being Italian.
“Most of those houses were empty. Some had a few people hiding. Two buddies, Yoshi, Fuji, and I went into one place that was dark. I’d been shot, not so bad, but needed first aid.” He lifted his sleeve to display a long scar on his arm. “No more lights in those places, but it was warm. We could smell cooked food. Fuji lit a match. That’s when we saw several faces look back at us.” He smiled a lop-sided grin. “Fuji lit another match, and we aimed our rifles at them, ready to shoot. Didn’t know if they were Germans or who they might be. One of them lit a lantern. Got a big laugh when we saw a father and mother with their two kids. A family had stayed behind. We’d walked in right in the middle of their dinner.”
“I’m glad they weren’t Germans.”
“Us, too. When they sat down to eat, we decided to stay there. Yoshi took first watch at the door, guard duty, while Fuji started to wrap the wound on my arm. The wife said something to the daughter, who came over and did it right. The whole time she worked on my arm, she whispered things and smiled. I hadn’t seen many Italians up close, not live ones, but she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I thought a few things, and hoped she was old enough for me to think those things. Maybe it was because I was so tired, and that she looked a heck of a lot prettier than our medic, but I think my heart fell in love right then.”
Gina couldn’t help but hold the old man’s hand. “What a sweet story.”
“We got out the last of our rations to eat. Wasn’t much. Then the man said something to us in Italian. We didn’t know what he wanted, but he wasn’t getting our rations, that was for sure. But he raised his hands like he wanted to surrender and went to Fuji. Very careful like, he put Fuji’s rations back in their container and set them aside.
“I gotta tell you, all three of us had itchy trigger fingers then, and didn’t like the idea of someone messing with our food like that. We were hungry and needed to eat. But his wife brought bowls of food for Yoshi and Fuji, the same stuff they’d been eating. The daughter brought me a bowl of food. They even gave us little cups of wine. When the daughter brought mine, she sat with me. I didn’t understand a thing she whispered to me, but it sure sounded nice. Never been much of a wine drinker, but it tasted good that night, with her there with me. They were sharing their dinner with us, by golly.”
“It was very kind of them,” was all Gina could think to say. “Did the girl tell you her name?”
He nodded his head slightly. “Sofia. Nobody else said a word all evening. We ate,
the father played with their son, the mother cleaned the dishes, their daughter swept the floor. Maybe there wasn’t much of a difference between friends and enemies that evening, but we got the idea they liked us more than they did the Nazis. When it came time for them to go to bed, they gave us blankets to use, one for each of us, even taking one off their bed. The mother, she was strict with the kids praying to the cross on the wall. They didn’t have much, but they had blankets and food, and that cross on the wall.”
He reached for his cup of water, but it was empty. Gina poured more for him.
“They say to be a good Christian, someone needs to live the life of one, not just pretend on Sundays. I never been in a Christian church in my life, but those guys lived like good Christians. They showed us kindness, shared their food, and gave us shelter for the night.”
“I’m glad you were safe in their home.” Apparently, she was there to hear his story, not to give an apology. “You have a very nice memory of the daughter.”
He smirked and nodded his head toward the window to the patio. “The rest of them don’t know about her.”
Gina made a crossing gesture with her finger on the palm of her hand. “My secret.”
He looked at Gina with wet eyes. “Next morning, not long before light, we had to leave. New assault on the same hill as the day before. We didn’t know how to say thank you in Italian, so we gave the mother a little bow and shook the father’s hand. We told him our names, and he told us theirs. Then at the end, he told us their family name.”
“Do you remember it?” Gina asked.
He nodded. “Santoro.”
“Oh.” Now she understood why he wanted her to work on their project. Even if she was no relation to them at all, she represented the family that had taken him and his buddies into their home and fed them one night many years before. No conditions, no questions asked, just a safe haven from war for a few hours.