“Oh Helen,” Mrs. Ekubo said, “you dated in the day. Well, who didn’t you date? There was Tomate, then Eiji, then Yozo, then Katsu, then …” She fumbled for the memory. “Now who was that? I forget his name.”
“That’s beside the point.” Mrs. Aka shifted in her seat.
“She didn’t marry any of them,” suggested Mrs. Nendo.
“Who’s getting married?” Mrs. Ekubo exclaimed, then she leaned over the table and said, “Katsu would’ve been a good catch. Missed that opportunity.” She shook her head.
“How is it,” asked Mrs. Nendo, “that we all ended up widowed?”
Mrs. Ekubo bristled. “I was never actually widowed. I divorced him. Then he died.”
Mrs. Nendo forked the buttery crust of her potpie and sighed, “Maybe in the stars.”
“Oh rubbish.” Mrs. Aka pushed aside her cobb salad. “The other day, Anne suggested that Fuyuchi boy and she are a thing.”
Mrs. Nendo said, “That’s old news, Helen. He’s at the house every other day. And so is his group.”
“What are you and Walter doing about it?”
“Walter?” The Girls giggled.
“They sing a cappella for him,” Mrs. Nendo offered. “So talented. So cute.”
Mrs. Ekubo dabbled her lips with her napkin. “Michi, maybe Helen is right. Could be a problem, these prancing boys in the living room.”
“Problem?” Mrs. Aka threw the gauntlet on the table. A folded piece of lined paper unwrapped itself into a letter.
Sugar Pie Honey Bunch:
As you know, we got a contract to be the warm-up for the Wonders, and we go on the road in a few weeks. It’s a commitment of at least six months going across the country and then, who knows, maybe the world, but along the way we might eventually get a better deal. My sister Sophie and the Admiral are getting married, so my folks will let her go with us. And Ahab’s sister Fanny is also thinking of coming along after a while, to be with First Mate Jimmy. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you come with me? Maybe we could meet somewhere along the way. New Orleans? New York? Paris? You know you’re my girl. Darling, darling, will you stand by me?
I am forever,
Your Captain
“Curious,” said Mrs. Nendo. “Who’s this written to?”
“Who’s Captain?” asked Mrs. Ekubo.
“Oh, that’s Fred Fuyuchi,” Mrs. Nendo answered.
“And who’s the Admiral?” Mrs. Ekubo scrutinized the handwriting, then queried, “Ahab?”
“What does it matter? It’s written to Anne!” Mrs. Aka threw up her hands.
“Anne? Are you sure?”
Well, that was the end of that. Fred must’ve heard it through the grapevine and lost his mind. And then it was eight years later.
If you were eighteen, living your entire life in a provincial community, graduating valedictorian from a suburban high school in the sticks of outer L.A., with a free ride to Sarah Lawrence, would you go off with a cover band with one single that got some airtime on KGFJ, even if Wolfman Jack growled it into recognition, even if First Mate Jimmy had poetry flowing from his fingers into original songs and the Captain was the J.A. answer to Motown, and even if it were an international tour headlined by all-stars the Wonders? O.K., a missed opportunity. Just saying. Truth is, even with the Summer of Love just around the corner, it would’ve been a knuckleheaded thing. Mrs. Aka and the Girls knew what they knew: no no, you can’t hurry love.
So check this out: Anne went on to college, double majored in biochemistry and comparative literature, did a year abroad at the Sorbonne, joined the Peace Corps in Ecuador, then got an advanced degree in public health and did fieldwork in Senegal and Cameroon, translated and copublished numerous articles in international journals of public health and epidemiology, wrote a collection of short fiction set in Dakar, married and divorced an African diplomat, and by year eight, fluent in four languages, was traveling internationally for the World Health Organization for the prevention and study of tropical diseases.
Then there was Fred. With an associate’s degree in musicology from the local community college, the Captain took his free spirit and the PersuAsians on the road, surprising audience after audience that oriental guys could sing and dance like blacks. Baby, let’s cruise away from here. The open American road was a revelation, and, one by one, the group parted ways. One day, Sophie and Kenji the Admiral disappeared into the NYC subway system and emerged in Chinatown, where Yellow Power really got a hold of them. On the southside of Chicago, Harvey aka Ahab let the music take his mind and fell for my girl. But before that, somewhere in the middle of nowhere Iowa, First Mate Jimmy checked into a program for poetry; by his side arrived sweet Fanny, because no cornfield was that high, that low, or that wide. As for Fred, he didn’t just sing the stuff, he lived it in many an encounter, breaking hearts and losing them too. However, in the day, there were only two ways to avoid getting shipped out to die in Vietnam; since marriage wasn’t an option, Fred took Cal Berkeley. Not that Fred spent much time in the classroom. There was free speech to attend to, freedom summer in Mississippi, the March on Washington, fasting with the United Farm Workers, breakfast with the Black Panthers, unionizing Chinatown garment workers, draft counseling, Marxist-Leninist-Maoist study groups, nonviolent protests, sit-ins, and jail time. Fred finished in poli-sci and criminology, then took on Boalt Hall, passed the California bar, and joined the Asian Law Caucus. Oh mercy, mercy me. No, no, no. My, my, my. Time passes us by.
What’s eight years? Time flies. So get ready. Get ready.
Predictably, the Girls were there waiting just outside LAX International. Anne could see them over her luggage as she pushed the cart around the corner and out of customs. Coming and going they were always faithfully there, prim and proper, their hairdos and hair color always exactly the same, but this year, Anne noted, they were all wearing pantsuits. Mrs. Aka was the most stylish, her purse and shoes matching. Mrs. Nendo had probably put on some weight, and Mrs. Ekubo was holding a box of mochigashi from Fugetsu-Do. Recognizing Anne, the Girls jumped around, waving excitedly. Their excitement always transcended the difficulty of having three nisei moms, parsing out their positive attributes—wise, cuddly, spoiling. Hugs all around.
“Where’s Dad?” Anne searched around, already chomping on mochigashi.
“Oh.” Mrs. Nendo smiled. “Liz took him to get his hair cut.”
“It’s a surprise.” Mrs. Ekubo waved around the remainders of Fugetsu-Do.
Mrs. Aka clarified, “Walter doesn’t know you’ve flown in for his birthday.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Nendo chirped. “We’ve kept it a secret.”
Mrs. Ekubo studied Anne, who had arrived in jeans, but said, “Dear, you’ve cut your hair. It’s lovely, this new style.”
“He might not recognize you.” Mrs. Nendo looked worried.
“Oh nonsense.” And Mrs. Aka led them away to her capacious Cadillac. “Let’s get Anne home. She needs to rest.”
“Jetlag,” Mrs. Ekubo commiserated. “The last time I returned from Tokyo, it took me two entire weeks to feel normal.”
Derailing an encounter after eight years is the work of fiction, but you know the details. Anne’s younger sister, Mary, and her husband, Chuckie Nezuyabu, had a household of kids. Chuckie’s sisters, Luisa and Henrietta, came around to babysit, chatter, and remind Mary of her happy solo days. However, remaining solo wasn’t an option; Luisa and Henrietta required dates. So, when Mary found out Fred Fuyuchi was still single and his old crew was back in town, she staged a party for her dad Walter’s birthday with ballroom dancing, featuring the original PersuAsians. Besides, everyone should be reminded of Mary and Chuckie’s fabulous wedding.
“Surprise!” announced Mrs. Nendo, as Anne, in a stunning deep-blue gown, walked up to her dad.
As Mrs. Nendo had supposed, Walter gazed with interest and pleasure at the lovely woman approaching him without at first recognizing her until she exclaimed, “Dad, happy birthday!”
O
f course, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen his daughter in eight years. She was constantly jetting in and checking in, and hadn’t he met her exhusband, that African? That was years ago. It was just that Anne was out there globe-trotting, and he had no interest in traveling to some backward place with disease and mosquitos, where she might be. He preferred National Geographic. He stared as if seeing his second daughter for the first time.
Mrs. Aka moved forward balancing a martini, her eyes sparkling, and pecked Anne’s cheek. “Gorgeous!” She pulled out the fluffy toothpick with the olive on the end.
On cue, the band began with a waltz, and Mrs. Aka nudged Walter, who took Anne’s hand with practiced overgraciousness. “May I have the honor of this first dance?”
From the stage, Fred Fuyuchi watched Mr. Kikukatana and Anne glide over the dance floor. He was suddenly distracted by Luisa Nezuyabu, who had climbed the stage to his side and grabbed his hand. “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?” she pouted, leading him down to the floor as the music ended. The music would eventually evolve into the fox-trot, the cha cha cha, and swing. Mr. Kikukatana exchanged Anne for Mrs. Aka, and yes, they did the fox-trot. He took turns with Mrs. Nendo and Mrs. Ekubo dancing to the cha cha cha, and then swing. Then, Mrs. Aka pulled Walter away dramatically for the tango. The couple stared at each other with trained hostility, strutting intensely forward and backward, their cheeks so searing they could have, between them, fried an egg.
Anne looked on in amazement, and Liz pranced over to her side. “What did I tell you? Dad and the Girls are into ballroom dancing.”
“Great leg work.”
“Great legs.” Liz nodded toward Mrs. Aka, whose spiked heels doubled as weapons.
“Is that you, Anne?”
Anne turned to see Jimmy Mameda. “First Mate?”
“That’s me!”
“Jimmy, I read your book of poetry.”
“I’ve read your short stories.” He looked at Anne meaningfully.
Harvey wasn’t far behind; Anne recognized his uneven stride and nodded at both young men. “I’m sorry about Fanny.”
Harvey put his arm around his buddy Jimmy, who blurted out, “I’m brokenhearted, Anne. She was my everything. I don’t know how to go on living. She was a muse, my best reader. At least she got to see my published collection before—” He choked back a guttural sob.
Harvey patted Jimmy on the back saying, “My sister had a long battle with cancer,” then changed the subject and waved in Sophie and Kenji. “Soph! Admiral! We got ourselves a reunion here. Hey, where’s Fred?”
Fred sauntered forward with both Nezuyabu sisters in tail, Luisa and Henrietta, like backup girls. If, after eight years, he was going to make a reappearance, he did look like a confident ladies’ man.
Anne looked on as if she were back in high school. Let me tell you ’bout the birds and the bees and a thing called love.
Trying to seem distracted, Anne looked across the room and watched a young man strut over to greet her dad. It was Bill Kikukatana, dressed expensively and with the overconfidence of a guy who was the heir-apparent slated to take over the Kikukatana import-export empire. Walter, who always thought him a snotty kid, suddenly warmed to his appearance. Bill was a cousin of a cousin by marriage, or some such long-distance but same-name relationship, but you don’t have to look far to figure out that all J.A.s are, by complicated patterns of ken and camp, related. Of course no one ever said they all looked alike, because Bill was absolutely handsome, and standing next to a radiant Liz, in haute couture, Walter thought, finally, a match made in J.A. heaven. Don’t mess with Bill.
Mrs. Aka pulled Anne from the high school reunion, walking away with her and asking significantly, “Do you remember Bill?”
Bill pushed out his hand to shake Anne’s.
Mrs. Ekubo declared, “Bill has an MBA.”
Bill demurred with a touch of arrogance, “Actually, I have a PhD in business.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Nendo agreed for some reason.
Bill turned to Anne. “I noticed your article in the Journal of Medicine. I happened to be flipping through it and, well, I saw the name Kikukatana. What a coincidence.”
“Do you read the journal?” asked Anne.
“Not really. I was checking the ads for pharmaceutical and medical equipment.” He coughed. “Investment ventures, you know.”
Mrs. Aka perked up. “Oh, Walter, remember I gave you Anne’s article? Did you have a chance to read it?”
Mr. Kikukatana stuttered to life. “Well, I did. Very interesting.”
Mrs. Nendo admitted, “I didn’t understand a thing.”
Mrs. Ekubo took out a Japanese fan and fanned herself. “Anne is just brilliant.”
Bill, attentive to his position, added, “I agree. It’s an excellently researched article. I learned something new about viruses, and I’m sure that Anne has made a critical contribution to the field.” He tapped Mr. Kikukatana on the shoulder. “We Kikukatanas are at the forefront of our professions.” He pretty much gushed himself into pride.
Liz, who’d been forgotten, looked bored. Anne managed a half smile.
Mrs. Aka and Walter Kikukatana both sighed at the very same time.
The microphone on the stage squeaked, and everyone’s attention was turned to the stage, where Mary announced that she had used her special powers to persuade the PersuAsians to reunite for her dad’s birthday. Relieved of being put to shame by nisei ballroom dancing, the sansei in the crowd all cheered and stepped forward onto the dance floor. The PersuAsians all pranced up to the stage, grabbed the mics, and moved into formation. “We want to wish Mr. Walter Kikukatana a happy birthday and dedicate our first song to him!” Father, father. Talk to me so you can see what’s going on. What’s going on.
Then, don’t look back.
Then, reach out, reach out for me
Then, since I lost my baby.
Then, la la la la la means I love you.
Then, you really got a hold on me.
Then, I second that emotion.
Then, I was made to love her.
Then, I’m gonna wait till the midnight hour.
And then, the tracks of my tears. This must have been Fred’s last chance, because he searched the crowd for Anne and sang into her eyes. If you see me with another girl, she’s just a substitute. You’ll see my smile looks out of place.
For the finale, “Going to a Go-Go,” Luisa climbed up to the stage again as if she’d been choreographed to dance with the guys. Admittedly Luisa could move, jumping and turning, but at some point, she lunged forward toward Fred, expecting him to catch her, but instead slid forward and off the stage. Kaboom. Unfortunately, Mary complained later, this happened before the cake and all the candles were lit and the happy birthday song. Harvey, who worked as a medic, moved into ER action, managed to jump off the stage and examine Luisa, who looked up groggily, then, eyes rolling heavenward, seemed to see her lights turn off.
You know what happened next. Fred felt guilty at not having anticipated Luisa’s move, but also admitted to himself that he had no desire to catch her flying body. And if he hadn’t stepped aside, she might have banged into the mic held in his tight fist. But what if she died?
The Girls gathered in the hospital waiting room.
“A coma is very serious.” Mrs. Aka shook her head.
“How sweet of that young man, Jimmy,” remarked Mrs. Nendo. “He’s been there every day by her side. Do you know he’s been writing poetry in that notebook of his?”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Ekubo. “I thought he was making medical observations.”
“He looks so despondent,” observed Mrs. Nendo. “I hope his poetry isn’t too sad.”
Meanwhile, Fred paced the corridors. Sometimes Kenji joined him. Sometimes Harvey. One day, the PersuAsians converged around Luisa’s bed and did their a cappella thing: My girl is gone and said good-bye. But don’t you cry. There’s a right girl for every guy. And that was all it took.
Luisa’s
eyes fluttered open, and there was Jimmy Mameda sitting at her side with a notebook full of poems.
Moments later, Anne appeared with a spray of yellow chrysanthemum. Fred jumped up and did a twirl over the hospital linoleum. I’m just a love machine.
No matter what happened after. No matter. Might as well end it here. Eight years is long enough. I’ve been for real, baby.
Omaki-san
Mukashi, mukashi, the war came with planes that dropped bombs and destroyed everything. Not that the planes were anonymous nor were the men who piloted within, but from that distance in the sky, who could know where exactly the bombs fell? Would it have been different had the eyes of the child who pointed upward and those of the bombardier met? In this assumed indifference, many people died, but there were those who crawled away from the rubble and found a way to survive.
Postcard from Bob Hannoki to Charley Hannoki
APRIL 14, 1946 TOKYO
Charley Lil’ Bro!
Arrived in Tokyo. Supposed to be cherry blossom time, and here’s a post pic of the old days. You can use your imagination. Entire neighborhoods blasted away, but we’re here pulling together reconstruction. Weird to be here in uniform with this face. Guess that’s the job.
How’s UCLA treating you? Hope you’re keeping up your schoolwork, buddy.
Bob
Aerogram from Bob Hannoki to Charley Hannoki
FEBRUARY 3, 1947 TOKYO
Charley Bro,
Thot I’d write to you before I let Mom know. Been dating a gal here and planning to get married. Met her in a bar here, but it’s not like how that sounds. She was doing errands for the owner and pouring tea, just trying to get by. It started that I’d pass some cigarettes on to her that she could sell to scrape up something to eat. Then I started to bring K-rations or leftovers from my lunch, and we’d eat together. Thing is she lost her entire family in the war, grandmother, mother, and little sister. Her father and brother were called up, died somewhere out there in the Pacific. She thinks Guam or Burma, but all the letters and documents were lost. She thinks maybe she has some relatives in the countryside, but she doesn’t know. When she visited the village with her mother, she was too young to remember. We went over to see what’s left of her home, scraped around in the char, and this was just before they bulldozed the site clean. Sad story. Now I’m all she has. I don’t want this to sound like she’s a charity case, but she is. Maybe she’s my fate. Irony of getting out of camp and getting drafted to come back to a homeland I never knew and finding it pretty much destroyed. Believe me, I have mixed feelings, but I’ve never felt this kind of tenderness and love for anyone. Well, when you hear it from Mom, means it’s official. Just wanted to be sure you knew the backstory. Got no one else to tell this to.
Sansei and Sensibility Page 18