“It’s still early. I hope so.”
“Lowering the draft age to eighteen doesn’t show much faith in the negotiations,” Ruth noted.
There was a sharpness in her tone Rachel had heard only once before.
“I think the Army just wants to be prepared, Sis.”
But this only seemed to raise Ruth’s hackles.
“Eighteen years old, Ralph?” she said. “Horace’s son Jack is nineteen, he could be drafted tomorrow—you think he’s ready for that?”
Gingerly Ralph replied, “There were guys in the 442nd who were only eighteen, nineteen years old, and they served with distinction.”
Ruth countered, “‘Served’ or ‘died’?”
Ralph frowned. “Both.”
“So they’re too young to drink but not too young to—”
“Dai,” Etsuko said gently, “Rachel did not come all this way just to hear you and Ryuu argue about politics.”
Ruth was suddenly embarrassed by this very un-Japanese breach of decorum in front of a guest.
“You’re right, Okāsan,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Rachel … Ralph. I just … worry about Jack, you know? All the nephews.”
“So do I, Sis. So do I.”
Rachel admired Etsuko’s graceful handling of the situation, even as she made a mental note that despite what Ruth had told her, her daughter was clearly not “over” all the wounds the war had inflicted on her family.
* * *
The next day, in a quiet moment together in the living room, Ruth asked her makuahine whether she had done any traveling other than these trips to California. “Just back to Moloka'i. For a visit,” Rachel said, trying to keep her sadness over Catherine’s death out of her voice. “But Sarah and I are taking a cruise to Hong Kong next year. I’ve wanted to see China ever since my father brought me a pair of Mission dolls when I was four.”
Rachel reached for her purse, took out an envelope. “You asked me in your last letter if I had any photos of my Kalaupapa family.”
“Oh yes, I’d love to see them!”
Rachel took out a handful of old, sepia-toned photographs. She handed one to Ruth. “This is my father, Henry, at my wedding.”
Ruth gazed into the smiling eyes of a tanned Hawaiian man in his fifties, his broad face aglow with pleasure. Beside him was Rachel, young and beautiful in her hand-sewn wedding dress, and her groom, Kenji, in a dark suit. Henry Kalama looked like a good man, a loving man; Ruth wished she could have met her grandfather. “He looks almost as happy as you do.”
Rachel smiled seeing her father’s face. “Papa was very happy I’d found someone. He loved me so much, and I adored him. When the Board of Health put me on the boat to Moloka'i, I thought I would die at the thought of never seeing Papa again. But he visited me at Kalaupapa, even though the trip back then wasn’t easy or cheap. He would have lived there if the authorities had allowed it.” Her smile faded. “This was the last time I saw him.”
“I see a lot of him in you,” Ruth noted.
“Thank you. I like to think that’s so.” Rachel handed her daughter another photo. “You’ll enjoy this one.”
Ruth laughed as she took in a snapshot of two terriers looking eagerly up at the camera, big dog-smiles on their scruffy faces. This was a later, color photo, and Ruth could see their markings—one was mottled black and white, the other mixed with a light brown—and their big brown eyes.
“The salt-and-pepper one is Setsu, the tricolor is Hōku,” Rachel said.
“Do they have some beagle in them?” Ruth asked.
“Yes, they were the product of a mixed marriage.” Ruth laughed at that. “They brought us such joy,” Rachel said wistfully. “So much spirit and energy. And digging! I could never plant a garden because they’d dig a hole to China before anything even sprouted. But they were so loving and loyal. At the wake, Hōku never left Kenji’s casket, guarding him to the very end.”
“They’re adorable.”
“I still think of them every day.” She took out another photo. “And these are my Bishop Home friends. I think I was sixteen here.”
This was a formal, posed photo of young Rachel, as yet showing no signs of leprosy, standing amid three rows of girls, in uniform dresses, ranging in age from eight to eighteen. Many smiled despite open sores on their faces. Rachel had forgotten that Catherine was in this picture too, she and Sister Leopoldina flanking their young charges. Rachel felt another pang of grief but fought it, trying to keep her tone light:
“That’s me, right here. Beside me is my best friend, Francine.” Ruth saw a short Hawaiian girl with black, pixie-cut hair and a mischievous grin. Her left hand was contracted into a claw, as Rachel’s right hand was today. “She was a jockey in horse races after Kalaupapa got a racetrack.”
“You had a racetrack?” Ruth said, amazed.
“Yes, Mr. McVeigh had it built after he became superintendent. He believed we should live and enjoy life, not just wait for death. He did more for Kalaupapa than any man since Father Damien.” Rachel pointed out a half-Chinese, half-Hawaiian girl with long black hair: “This is Emily, and behind her, that’s Cecelia”—Ruth saw a bright-eyed Filipino girl—“and this is Hina. She was from ‘topside’ Moloka'i, and one Saturday night she led us all on a … well, ‘jailbreak’ is the only word for it.”
“You broke out of Kalaupapa?”
“Yes, but only for the night,” Rachel said with a grin. “We went to a party in Kaunakakai. We were young and rebellious, Hina’s friend was having a party, and we were damned if we weren’t going to go to it!” She laughed as she recalled, “It took us hours to climb the pali and another hour by wagon to get to Kaunakakai. At the party Cecelia—oh God, I haven’t thought of this for years—Cecelia got absolutely stink-eyed and we had to practically pour her into the wagon to take us back to the pali.” Ruth laughed at the image. “Mother Marianne caught us coming back, but she was so astonished that we had come back that she let us go without even a punishment.”
“Why did you go back?” Ruth asked.
“There was some debate about that at the time. But in the end it was worth it for the look on Mother’s face.”
Rachel gazed at these faces from her youth and thought of the other friends who hadn’t lived long enough to be in the photo: Josephina, Hazel, Noelani, Bertha …
“All of them gone now. They passed away and I lived to see a cure. Why? I was no different from them, no better. Why was I spared?” Her voice was soft, but even after all these years she still grieved for them. “Why did the ma'i pākē take my brother Kimo after a year, and here I am, still standing at sixty-three? Why did I live when they all died?”
Ruth winced at the sudden anguish in her voice and gently put a hand on hers.
“I don’t know why, Rachel,” Ruth admitted. “I’ve asked those kind of questions too. I was raised Buddhist, but as I grew older I found it too … fatalistic. Whenever someone died I was told, ‘Everything is impermanent.’ When Frank asked if I’d consider becoming Methodist, I did it partly for his family and partly to see if Christianity held any better answers for me. But whenever I asked those question of my minister, he would just say, ‘God has His reasons,’ and that didn’t seem like a very good answer either.”
Her fingers closed gently around Rachel’s deformed hand.
“Why did you live? Maybe so your grandchildren could know their tūtū. So I could know my mother, and you could know your daughter. I don’t know why some people die and others don’t. I’m just happy you didn’t.
“And you know what? I think your friends at Bishop Home would be happy too—happy that one of them finally made it out, like you did when you all went to that party.”
Rachel thought of her friends—saw them again in that rickety old wagon going to Kaunakakai, their faces bright with the exhilaration and delight of being free—and she smiled, knowing that Ruth was right. She heard Emily and Hina and Cecelia, cheering for Francine as she won a horse race—and cheering for Ra
chel even now. They had been with her all along.
Chapter 17
1954
The Pan Am Strato Clipper Golden Gate was a double-decker colossus of the air that flew higher than any commercial plane before it—25,000 feet—and faster too, San Francisco to Honolulu in just nine and a half hours. The amenities were grand, even the “thrifty” Rainbow Service where Ruth and her family enjoyed comfortable reclining seats and a sumptuous breakfast, lunch, and seven-course dinner. There was even a cocktail lounge on the lower level for those who wanted some conversation or tropical drinks.
The price was steep—$255 per passenger, or $1,275 for the whole family—but that included hotel accommodations and was comparable in cost to a windowless cabin, no bath, on a lower deck aboard a Matson ocean liner. Two years ago Frank had been promoted to superintendent of Sunsweet’s Plant #1, and with Ruth’s income and a lot of scrimping and saving, they were able to splurge on airfare. The trip was being made as much for Etsuko, who longed to see Hawai'i for what could be the last time, as it was for Rachel, who happily flew from Maui to spend nine days with them all.
As they approached Honolulu, Etsuko peered out the window excitedly. “Oh, from the air O'ahu is even lovelier than I ever knew!”
All the islands Ruth was able to see were beautiful, covered in lush greenery, ringed by exquisitely clear turquoise waters, huddled together in a vast, forbidding ocean. Ruth had never realized before how truly remote they were: half a million Americans living in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
On landing, Ruth stepped into the moist, hot tropical air, her hair tossed back into her face by a cooling trade wind, and was startled to find it—familiar. There was a sweet floral scent carried on the wind that was like the forgotten perfume of an aunt only dimly recalled. She had not expected to remember anything. Among her handful of memories of Hawai'i was one of Ralph walking her protectively to her new school; previously that memory had always been flat, one-dimensional, like a movie playing in her mind. Now it turned tangible as she recalled the balmy touch of the wind, the humidity in the air, the quality of light itself. Now the memory felt whole.
“Look! There she is!” cried Peggy, waving.
Rachel was part of a small crowd waiting for arriving passengers behind a chain-link fence. She wore an aloha-print dress and stood beside a Hawaiian woman with garlands of pink-and-white flower leis draped over her arm. As the Haradas passed through the gate, the woman proceeded to drape a plumeria lei around each of their necks.
“Aloha!” Rachel said as she hugged Ruth. “E komo mai—welcome!”
The heady fragrance of the lei jogged something else in Ruth’s memory. “Didn’t we have flowers like these once?” she asked Etsuko.
“Yes, in back of the store on Kukui Street we had a yellow plumeria plant. I tried growing one in Florin but it was too cold.” Etsuko looked around her with a smile of wondrous delight. “So many more houses on the mountains! And this airport was not even here when we left in 1923!”
“Hiya, tūtū,” Donnie said warmly as he embraced Rachel.
“My God, look at these keiki,” Rachel said wonderingly. Sixteen-year-old Donnie was as lanky and handsome as his father, and fourteen-year-old Peggy, as tall and beautiful as Ruth. “You’re almost too big to be called keiki!”
Peggy hugged her too. “Grandma, I’m so happy to finally be here.”
Following Rachel’s directions, Frank drove their rental car onto Nimitz Highway, the most direct, if hardly picturesque, route to Waikīkī—but the kids didn’t care, they were thrilled to be anywhere this new and different. They drove through a screen of wind-blown palm trees on both sides of Kalākaua Avenue to their destination: the Moana Hotel.
Waikīkī’s first luxury hotel, opened in 1901, the Moana—Hawaiian for “open sea”—was also second to none in Old World charm and hospitality. From the moment the Haradas drove up to its portico entrance they were made to feel special by the staff (as all guests were). Their comfortable, tropically decorated rooms had an ocean view, motivating Donnie and Peggy to unpack, change into bathing suits, and half ask, half declare, “Time for the beach?”
The adults were happy to change into their swimwear—all but Rachel, who wore a sundress and closed-toe sandals—but on the way to the beach, they stopped by the Kama'āina Bar for some mai-tais after the long trip. Prodded by impatient offspring, they were finally herded toward the Moana’s choice oceanfront location. Beachgoers had flagged their pieces of paradise with gaudy umbrellas; in the distance the green caldera of Diamond Head crouched like a stone lion at the far end of Waikīkī.
Donnie and Peggy dove enthusiastically into the surf.
“Wow, this water is warm!” Peggy called out. “You sure this is the same ocean we have back in California?”
“A few degrees south makes a big difference,” Rachel called back.
“The tradewinds are as cool and soothing as I remembered them,” Etsuko said happily, looking out from beneath a wide-brimmed hat.
Rachel had not been here since moving to Maui and was relieved to see that—while it scarcely resembled the more rural Waikīkī of her childhood—it still retained its beauty. The Moana was one of only eight buildings on the beach: the Waikīkī Tavern; the windowless back wall of the Waikīkī Bowling Alley; the Surfrider Hotel; the Outrigger Canoe Club, famous for launching the career of Olympian Duke Kahanamoku; the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, in whose palatial pink buildings Rachel once briefly stayed; the Halekūlani Hotel; and the old Wilder family beach home. At the 'ewa end of the white crescent, only a thick grove of coconut palms covered Cassidy’s Point.
Frank and Ruth joined the kids in the ocean, which was warm as bathwater. Ruth felt a gentle swell pass under her and took in the dazzling white beach fanning out on either side of her. The warmth of the water, the briny smell of the sea, the brightness of the sun, and the blue clarity of the sky—Hawai'i truly engaged all of one’s senses.
After an hour they all came out of the water to rest. Frank, sitting in a beach chair and looking out to sea, suddenly blinked. “Was that mai-tai more potent than I thought, or does anyone else see what I’m seeing?”
Ruth looked out to sea and saw a dark-skinned figure not just standing but playfully pirouetting on a long, fire-engine red surfboard. Even more remarkably, at the forward “nose” of the board, sat …
“My God,” Ruth said, “is that a dog?”
A small brown-and-white dog was, in fact, perched calmly on the board’s nose, smiling happily.
“Oh, sure,” Rachel noted casually. “That’s Sandy. He’s famous.”
“Sandy? Is that the dog or the guy behind him?” Frank asked.
“Dog. Surfer is Joseph Kaopuiki, but everyone calls him Scooter Boy. You want to meet them?”
“You know him?” Peggy asked.
“When I was living in Honolulu, I liked to come here and watch the surfers—it brought back good memories. I became friendly with a few of the beachboys: Chick Daniels, Poi Dog Nahuli, Scooter Boy … come on.”
She escorted the Haradas down to where Kaopuiki was shouldering his impressively large board—fifteen feet long—as Sandy shook off seawater.
“Scooter!” Rachel called.
Scooter was a slender part Hawaiian in his mid-forties. “Rachel? Hey, where you been, haven’t seen you in a long while.”
“I moved to Maui to live with my sister,” Rachel explained. “Scooter, I’d like you to meet my daughter and her family.”
Sandy sniffed Ruth and Peggy, instantly pegging them as suckers for a dog, allowing them to stroke his wet matted fur and scratch behind his ears.
“How did you teach him to surf?” Ruth asked.
“Like I teach everyone. He’s a smart little guy, picked it up fast.”
“Could you teach me to surf?” Peggy blurted out.
“Peg,” Frank said, “I’m sure Mr. Ka—Scooter has better things to…”
“Be glad to,” Scooter said, “for Rachel’s 'ohana.”
Frank asked, “She’s only fourteen, is it safe?”
“I started surfing a lot earlier than that,” Rachel said, “and as good as my papa was, he wasn’t a master waterman like Scooter.”
“Hey,” Donnie piped up, “how do I learn to use one of those canoes?”
Scooter nodded toward the turquoise building next door to the Moana. “Outrigger Club Services can set you up. Ask for Sally Hale, she’s in charge.” He turned to Peggy. “Come on, let’s get you started and onto that board.”
* * *
After showing Peggy how to go from belly-down to popping up on the board, Scooter had her paddle out to the first break, turn around, and wait for a wave. They were small swells, and Peggy actually managed to hop to her feet on the first try and ride a wave for all of four seconds—before she fell off the board into waist-high waters. This only spurred her to get back on. Within an hour she was riding waves for close to a full minute before wiping out.
“She has good form,” Rachel noted.
Frank smiled. “She doesn’t get this from my side of the family.”
Rachel beamed with pleasure and pride for her granddaughter.
Later, Frank tried to give Scooter a tip, but he demurred. “Professional courtesy,” he said with a wink to Rachel, who was touched and flattered.
Donnie enjoyed canoeing but complained, “I wanted to take a closer look at a coral reef but the instructor said no, the water was too shallow.”
“He did that because you could’ve scraped the bottom of the canoe on the coral and damaged it,” Rachel explained. “Coral reefs are living creatures, Donnie. They’re hard skeletons that form around tiny animals called coral polyps, and if you step on one, or scrape it, you can kill it.”
“They’re alive? They look like stone.”
“The skeleton is made of limestone, which the polyps secrete. If you want a closer look, you could go snorkeling one day at Hanauma Bay.”
“That sounds great!” Donnie said, and Frank promised to look into it.
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