Daughter of Moloka'i

by Alan Brennert

  The next morning the family enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the hotel’s Banyan Court Lānai, under the spreading green canopy of the hotel’s fifty-seven-year-old banyan tree. Everyone was happy with the food, especially Peggy, who loved her hotcakes with macadamia nuts and coconut syrup.

  Ruth sipped her coffee, marveling at how the restaurant and banyan tree had seemingly grown up together, accommodating one another’s needs. She watched the morning sun peek through the tree’s tangle of branches. It was so beautiful here; so serene. She had no conscious memory of going to Waikīkī Beach as a child, though Etsuko told her that she had; but there was still a comforting familiarity about the sweet fragrance of orchids and jasmine and the salt breeze off the ocean. Now she knew why Etsuko missed Hawai'i.

  “Okāsan,” Ruth said, “would you like to go to Chinatown today? Frank and the kids want to stay at the beach, so it’ll just be you, me, and Rachel. Maybe we can do a little shopping afterward.”

  “Oh yes, that would be wonderful. To see Kukui Street again.”

  “Etsuko,” Rachel cautioned, “there’s still a Chinatown here, but it’s not necessarily the one you remember. A lot’s changed in thirty years.”

  “I understand. It is just for—what is the phrase?—‘old time’s sake.’”

  After breakfast, Ruth drove, as Rachel navigated, to the streets 'ewa of Fort Street and what remained of Honolulu’s once-thriving Chinatown. Ruth parked and they explored the area on foot. There were some newer shops and markets here—China Silk House on Fort Street, Chinese Bazaar on Nu'uanu Avenue—but these were unfamiliar names to Etsuko. The fish market near A'ala Park was still operating, the reek of the day’s catch still competing with the sweet smell of soap from nearby laundries. But she searched in vain for the Chinese Mission School, Komenaka’s General Store, or any of the family groceries she’d frequented.

  The shabby condition of the buildings, the flaking and fading of their paint, discouraged her even more, as did the relative quiet. She recalled Kukui Street as bustling with conversation and commerce in at least three languages. The silence saddened her.

  “Okāsan. Look,” Ruth said suddenly.

  Etsuko stopped. They were standing in front of a two-story building with a barber shop and grocery store on the first floor, shaded by yellow-and-white awnings from the sun; the second floor was fronted by a long plantation-style lānai. “Isn’t this where … Papa’s store was?” Ruth asked.

  Etsuko looked up at the building’s street number: 216.

  “Oh!” she cried. “You’re right. How did I not recognize it?”

  “I can’t believe I did,” Ruth said, pleased and surprised by these fragments of her past that were surfacing from some deep fathom of memory. “Does it look like anyone’s living up there?”

  Rachel looked up at the windows. “Hard to tell in this light.”

  Etsuko went around the corner of the building and into the alleyway behind it. Here their furo bath had stood awaiting Taizo at the end of a long workday; now there were clotheslines strung across the alley, adorned with shirts, trousers, dresses, and a pair of white underwear flapping like a surrender flag in the breeze. “It would appear, Goldilocks,” Etsuko joked, “that the three bears are at home.”

  Then Etsuko’s gaze fell onto something else—something that astonished and delighted her.

  “Oh, Dai. Look,” she said.

  Standing next to the rear entrance to the shop was a five-foot-high plumeria tree whose branches brimmed with star-shaped yellow blossoms.

  Etsuko went to the tree, cupped a cluster of flowers in her hands as if she were holding faerie dust, and breathed in their rich perfume.

  “I planted this when we first moved here,” Etsuko said proudly. “It was just a cutting, but look at it now!”

  “Do you want to knock on the door?” Ruth asked. “See if we can go inside and take a look?”

  Etsuko considered for a moment, then shook her head and smiled.

  “No, I don’t wish to impose. We enjoyed many happy years here; I hope the present tenants shall as well. It is enough for me to know that I left something of beauty behind and that it has thrived. I am content.”

  * * *

  After Chinatown, Ruth, Rachel, and Etsuko shopped for clothes in local stores like Take’s at Waikīkī and Gem’s of Honolulu, and in a souvenir shop Ruth bought a bottle of the coconut syrup that Peggy liked so much.

  The next day they drove to Hanauma Bay, an extinct volcanic crater whose south wall had been eroded by ocean waves, creating an underwater refuge teeming with exotic marine life. Rachel would have dearly loved to join Ruth, Frank, and the kids in the water, but though she wore a bathing suit, she just sat on the sand with her feet covered, keeping Etsuko company.

  After an hour, Donnie emerged from the water, suitably impressed. “This place is incredible! The coral comes in so many different shapes—some look like trees, some like flowers, some like human brains—and in so many colors! And I didn’t touch a single one, tūtū, just like you said.”

  Rachel smiled. “Your ancestors would be proud. There’s an old Hawaiian saying: ‘The land is the chief, man is its servant.’”

  Donnie considered that. “Does that include the ocean?”

  “Yes. Haleola told me that to ancient Hawaiians, the 'āina—the land, sea, and air—were all interconnected. The 'āina provided all the basics of life, and so they respected and cared for it.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go in the water?” Peggy asked Rachel.

  “I wish I could, but it’s hard to swim with my feet like this.”

  “Then use my fins.” Peggy held out her mask, snorkel, and swim fins. “And they’ll cover your feet.”

  Rachel tried to recall the last time she’d been in the ocean. Years ago …

  “C’mon, tūtū,” Donnie said. “You know you want to.”

  Rachel took the snorkeling gear from Peggy and grinned.

  “Anything for my mo'opuna.” But as she took off her sandals she felt a thrill that had nothing to do with her grandchildren.

  Gingerly Rachel walked down the sand and into the water, and when it was waist-high she put on the swim fins with her good hand. Then she leaned back and let herself float, kicking a little to propel herself backward. Like most Hawaiian children she had learned to swim before she could walk, and now the waters washed over her like the welcome embrace of an old friend.

  On shore, Etsuko and the keiki cheered as Rachel waved to them.

  Rachel turned over in the water and reentered a glorious kingdom of color, life, motion, sensation. A school of yellow tangs swam swiftly past her, as if late for an appointment. Blue-and-black striped butterflyfishes nibbled on plankton on the rocky bottom, as an electric-blue unicornfish munched on a strand of seaweed. Rachel gently kicked herself forward to take in the brilliantly hued array of coral below her. Haleola once told her the names of all of these and she was pleased to find she still remembered: huge mounds of yellow lobe coral, pāhauku puna; a beautiful purple-blue mushroom coral, ko'a kohe; treelike branches of black coral, ēkaha kū moana. It all came back to her, the feel of being gently rocked by the waves, the weightless delight of flying above mountain ranges of coral. She took a deep breath and, as she had done so often in her youth, jackknifed her body, and dove to the bottom. The fins propelled her down as if her feet had no infirmity at all. She hovered above the elegant black coral and saw, wedged between its branches, a speckled orange scorpionfish sleeping the day away. She looked around her, at the breathtaking topography of this magical realm beneath the waves. She felt wonderful. She felt at home. She felt young.

  * * *

  The next day, at breakfast, Donnie and Peggy were still talking about Hanauma Bay and asking their tūtū about all she saw. Finally, after the keiki left for the beach, Rachel leaned in to Ruth and said, “I have a surprise for you today. Somebody wants to meet you.”

  “Here? Who?”

  “Someone who knew you a lo
ng, long time ago. Her name is Sister Mary Louisa Hughes.”

  This was a surprise. “She’s the nun who helped you find me?”

  Rachel nodded. “She worked at Kapi'olani Home, and you were her favorite. When I told her you were coming to Honolulu, she mentioned she would dearly love to see you again. Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all,” Ruth said. “I don’t remember her, but then, I didn’t remember what Papa’s store looked like until I saw it again.”

  Soon Ruth was driving up twisting roads to the lush Mānoa Valley, where green mountain slopes sheltered residential homes as well as many private and public schools. It was one of these, St. Francis School on Pāmoa Street, that they sought. Ruth drove onto the grounds, away from the girls’ school and toward St. Francis Convent.

  “She’s in Room 117,” Rachel said as they made their way down the carpeted corridor, a younger nun passing by with a nod and a smile. Rachel knocked twice; Ruth felt unaccountably anxious. The door was opened by a short, stocky woman in her seventies, her broad, open face cowled by the white veil of her vocation. It took her only a moment to recognize who was on her doorstep.

  “Oh my heavens,” she said. “Rachel! And … Ruth?”

  Reflexively, Sister Louisa stepped forward and embraced Ruth, who tried not to betray her discomfiture.

  “Oh, Ruth,” the sister said happily, “it’s so good to see you again!”

  Ruth was chagrined to discover that nothing about this woman—her face, her voice, even her touch—seemed at all familiar.

  Louisa put some coffee on to brew and produced teacups from a cabinet. “I was so sorry,” she told Rachel, “to hear about Sister Catherine. I can’t remember where I put my shoes some mornings, but I still vividly remember the night she came to Kapi'olani Home with Ruth. She said to me, ‘Sister, I would count it a great favor if you would do something for me.’ I said of course, what? She said, ‘Take care of her?’ And her voice broke as she said it, broke with love and with the heartbreak of having to give you up, Ruth.”

  Ruth could hardly fail to be moved by this. “I wish I had met her—well, I did meet her, but I was a little too young to remember.”

  “Of course. Do you remember the Home? Do you remember the cow?”

  “The cow?” Ruth said blankly.

  “We had a cow from a nearby pasture that regularly came by to graze on our lawn, and one day you went out to greet her. ‘Hi, cow!’ you said.”

  Ruth laughed. That sounded like something she would have done, but she didn’t feel it the way she had felt the memory of Papa’s store or the aroma of plumeria; it was just a story being told to her by a nice old woman she couldn’t recall to save her life.

  “You loved all animals, especially—” Louisa stopped, as if accidentally stepping off a walkway into a briar patch, then went on, “On your sixth birthday, I gave you a toy cow.”

  “I remember that cow!” Ruth said excitedly. “I had it with me in Florin. I used to sleep with it.”

  Louisa seemed pleased by that. She served them coffee and asked about Ruth’s life in Florin. Ruth relaxed and told her about the farm, about her brothers, about meeting Frank. She skipped over the war and brought out photos of Donnie and Peggy from her purse. Louisa took the snapshots and smiled. “Oh, they’re beautiful, Ruth. You must be so proud.”

  They chatted about Ruth’s life and her meeting Rachel, and despite her lack of recollection, Ruth felt a growing warmth for this kind-hearted woman.

  Finally, after an hour, Louisa stood and said, “Well, you probably want to get back to your family. Thank you for coming to see me, Ruth. It’s so good to know that you grew up healthy and happy and loved. God bless you.”

  “God bless you, Sister,” she said, hugging her, “for taking care of me. You and Sister Catherine both.”

  Driving back to Waikīkī, Ruth had to admit she didn’t recall “Sister Lu” or Kapi'olani Home. “I don’t understand why I should recall the scent of a flower and not this woman who obviously loved and cared for me.”

  Rachel considered that. “I think you remember your family’s store because that was a place of great happiness for you. An orphanage, even when one is looked after by a loving nun, is not usually a happy place. I grew up in one too, and even though I had friends, it still wasn’t home. Home, for you, started the day Etsuko and Taizo adopted you.

  “But whether you remember her or not, you made an elderly woman very happy today.” She added, smiling, “Make that two elderly women.”

  * * *

  After several days of sightseeing—including 'Iolani Palace, home to Hawaiian royalty before the kingdom was overthrown by greedy haoles and later annexed to the United States—the seventh day of their trip found them all back on the beach, ready to go into the ocean when they heard:

  “Mr. Harada?”

  A bellhop, his uniform looking somewhat outlandish on the beach, approached them. “Yes?” Frank said.

  “There’s a phone call for you, sir. You can take the call in the lobby.”

  “Probably somebody from work,” Frank said, and left.

  But when he returned several minutes later, his expression had turned somber.

  “What’s wrong?” Ruth asked.

  “It was Betty Oda.” Betty was the teenage daughter of their next-door neighbors, who was looking after the pets. “She had to take Snowball to the vet.”

  Peggy’s alarm was immediate. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She wasn’t eating for the past few days, and today, when Betty came over to clean the litter box, she found … blood,” Frank said grimly.

  “Oh God,” Peggy gasped.

  “Dr. Nealey says she has tumors—cancer—in her stomach.” Frank was at pains to say the words. “He says she may only have a—day or two left.”

  “But she was fine when we left!” Ruth said.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Peggy blurted. “I—I could tell something wasn’t right. You know how she loves to jump up onto the windowsill and sun herself? She stopped doing it last week. I thought she was getting old, I never thought—” The words ended in a sob. “I should’ve known, should’ve said something—”

  “It’s not your fault, Peg,” Ruth consoled her.

  “They—they can’t do anything?” Donnie asked.

  “All they can do is end her suffering,” Frank said gently. “Betty doesn’t know what to do. I told her I had to talk with all of you first.”

  “We can’t just let her die alone!” Peggy said.

  Ruth thought of Slugger. She knew exactly how Peggy felt.

  “I’ll go back,” Peggy said, “to be with her when they do it. She’s been with me every night for the past twelve years—now I need to be with her.”

  “You can’t go by yourself, honey, you’re only fourteen,” Ruth said. “I’ll go with you.” Ruth turned to her makuahine: “I’m sorry, Rachel, but—”

  “I’d do the same thing,” Rachel said. “Go.”

  * * *

  In San Francisco they took a cab from the airport directly to Dr. Nealey’s veterinary clinic in San Jose. One glimpse of Snowball brought tears to Peggy’s eyes: she lay in a cage looking lethargic and weak, eyes closed, a small bald spot on her white head.

  “Oh, Snowball,” Peggy said. At the sound of Peggy’s voice the cat opened her eyes, looked up, and managed a faint miaooww.

  “Can I pick her up?” Peggy asked.

  Dr. Nealey nodded. “Gently. Don’t put any pressure on her stomach.”

  Peggy took Snowball and nestled her in the crook of her arm. “I’m so sorry, baby, I should have known you were sick…”

  “No, Peggy, don’t think that,” Dr. Nealey said. “Animals do their best not to show their pain. In the wild it would be a sign of weakness. By the time you noticed her symptoms, it would have been too late to do anything.”

  “You’re sure it’s too late, Doctor?” Ruth asked.

  “There are too many tumors in her stomach to remove surgically. And s
he’s bleeding internally. All we can do is end her suffering.”

  “Can we have a few minutes alone with her? To say goodbye?”

  “Of course.”

  Dr. Nealey left. Peggy raised Snowball up and the cat managed to brush her head against Peggy’s cheek in one last show of affection.

  “I love you too, Snowball,” Peggy said. “I always have and I always will.”

  Ruth gently stroked the cat’s head. “Our little angel of Manzanar. We needed you as much as you needed us.”

  * * *

  Ruth and Peggy got a ride home from Betty Oda. Betty brought Max over from her house, where she had been looking after him, and he greeted them with a happy bark. But once inside the Haradas’ home he began to seem confused. He followed Ruth and Peggy from room to room, sniffing and poking around as if searching for something. When he got to Snowball’s litter box, he lay down on his haunches and whimpered plaintively. Peggy petted him with tears in her eyes. Ruth called Frank in Honolulu to tell him; he sounded like he was crying too.

  Their exhaustion catching up with them, Ruth and Peggy both napped for a while. When it was time for dinner, Peggy sat down at the table, and a small smile came to her wan face as she looked down at her plate.

  “Hotcakes?” she said in surprise.

  “With coconut syrup.” Ruth put the bottle of syrup by Peggy’s plate. “If we can’t be in Hawai'i, we’ll bring Hawai'i here.”

  Peggy tucked into her pancakes and after a minute said, “Mom? If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I think I know what I want to do, after I graduate high school. I want to be a vet, like Dr. Nealey.”

  Ruth felt a bittersweet rush of pride, gladness, and a little envy.

  “Why would I laugh at that, Peg?” She smiled and squeezed Peggy’s hand. “I think that’s a wonderful thing to want to be.”

  Chapter 18

  1957

  Uncle Jiro, now seventy-seven, with thinning hair and a thickening paunch, leaned back in Frank’s easy chair. “When your aunt and I brought Akira back to Hōfuna in 1946,” he told his audience of Ralph, Horace, and Stanley, “we found the family fortunes in decline. My elder brother Ichirō, who inherited the farm, had died of a heart attack three years before, and his sons had been conscripted into the army. Ichirō’s wife made do with hired labor, barely breaking even. Only one son, Eiji, returned from the war, and so she was broken-hearted as well. I offered to take charge in exchange for room and board. Once Akira had recovered from his injuries he helped with the spring planting, and within two years the farm was again turning a profit.”