by Jay Rubin
Since the announced starting time had come and gone, and it appeared that almost everyone—except the Nomuras—had arrived, Pastor Tom led grace and the eating commenced.
Tom had lost his appetite. He returned to Mrs. Uchida’s blanket, but he remained on his feet, fidgeting and watching for more cars to pull into the park. He would know when the Nomuras arrived: their blue Buick was the most luxurious automobile in the congregation. But fifteen more minutes went by, and still there was no sign of them. Maybe they had just been giving polite answers at the door of the church this morning. More than once, Mr. Nomura had chosen to attend functions at his bank over church activities. There was no questioning their devotion, but still …
Pastor Tom’s inner debate came to a halt when the Buick pulled into the park and came to a stop. As one of the last to arrive, Nomura had few parking spaces to choose from and the car was more than a hundred yards from where Tom stood. The glare of the sun on the windshield prevented him from seeing how many passengers there were inside, and it seemed to take forever for them to alight. Eventually, all four doors opened, and he thought he saw a silhouette emerge from each of them. Then the trunk lid went up and the activity was concentrated at the rear of the car. Finally, when it closed, and the shadowy passengers began to walk this way, there could no longer be any doubt: there were four of them.
Mr. and Mrs. Nomura formed the vanguard, and a rather tall man was walking behind them with the sister. Tom squinted in the glare of the sun, trying to focus on the face, which he soon came to recognize. It was old Paul Morikawa, the Eastside farmer. What was he doing with the Nomuras? Just then, the farmer drew to a halt and, shading his eyes, began to survey the crowd. From far off to the left, shouts arose, and Morikawa waved in that direction. He turned, bowed to the Nomuras, handed the bundle he was carrying to the sister, and hurried over to join his family. Of course! Instead of taking the ferry back to Bellevue, he had gone home with the Nomuras, and his family had come over with the food.
Pastor Tom felt glad and confused at the same time. The Nomuras were a trio again, and they were in need of an open patch of ground. No one else here seemed to have noticed the double load that the sister now had to carry. Without thinking, Tom bounded over to them. Mr. Nomura was a step ahead of the women, an expensive-looking camera dangling from his neck.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Tom cried. “Here, let me help you with those,” he said to Mrs. Nomura’s sister, Mitsuko, taking two large cloth-wrapped bundles from her hands. She nodded silently and gave them up. Once his hands were full, Tom noticed that Mrs. Nomura herself was struggling with a much heavier burden, but by then it was too late. “Come,” he said, “we’ve got plenty of room over here.”
He led them to a spot near the blanket that he and Billy were sharing with Mrs. Uchida. A delighted smile on her face, the old woman was tearing strips of white meat from a piece of fried chicken and handing them, one at a time, to Billy, who was too busy eating to notice the arrival of the newcomers. Tom helped Mrs. Nomura spread their blanket, then withdrew to his own. Mrs. Uchida proceeded to offer Tom one food after another, but he had still not found his appetite. Pretending to survey his flock, he stood and scanned the broad picnic grounds, allowing his gaze to drift back to the neighboring blanket as often as possible.
In a simple blouse and skirt, Mitsuko looked even lovelier than before, her slightly tawny complexion radiant in the glow of the sun. Her hair must be very long, he thought, seeing her large chignon. There was a vital fullness about her, a glow that set her apart from the others. Only after Tom’s eyes had made several circuits of the field did he think to check the third finger of her left hand. It bore no ring. He felt his heart give a thump. But what did it mean? Maybe in Japan women didn’t wear wedding bands. Maybe they wore them on their right hands. Mitsuko’s right hand was turned away from him, holding a piece of maki-zushi. She smiled and nodded to her sister, who was yammering in Japanese a mile a minute. But Mitsuko herself did not speak.
Soon Billy finished eating and began rolling around on the blanket. Tom wondered what Billy would do when he saw Mitsuko this time. Mrs. Uchida was teasing the boy with a ball on an elastic band, and he never turned in the Nomuras’ direction. They, instead, were attracted by the child’s lively movements and began to laugh each time he giggled. Mr. and Mrs. Nomura had no children of their own, which was perhaps what made them such enthusiastic supporters of the Sunday school.
Finally, Mr. Nomura seemed determined to join in the fun. “Hey, Billy,” he called, “Look at this!” He held up his camera as if it were something that Billy could have.
Billy turned from Mrs. Uchida, intrigued, his blue eyes sparkling, his platinum blond hair pointing off in all directions after his energetic roll on the blanket. On all fours, he began to crawl toward the wide-eyed Mr. Nomura, but just as he was about to reach out for the camera, Mr. Nomura grabbed him and began tickling him in the ribs. Billy laughed at first, but soon was squealing in agony. Tom glanced uneasily at Mitsuko, who had stopped smiling and was trying to catch her sister’s eye. But Mrs. Nomura was laughing as hard as her husband. With knit brows, Mitsuko looked at Tom, but when he did not move, she stood and snatched Billy from Nomura’s hands. Immediately, Billy wriggled loose. As he ran to his father, he turned to glare with tear-filled eyes at his torturer.
Seeing Mitsuko, he stopped in his tracks. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, he walked back to her, took her hand, and pulled, indicating that he wanted her to sit on the blanket. She obeyed, folding her legs beneath her, and he calmly sat on her knee, still holding her hand.
“Maki,” he commanded, which caused the adults around him to exchange puzzled looks—all except Mrs. Uchida, who retrieved another maki-zushi from the basket and handed it to him. He tore into it. Everyone laughed, and Mr. Nomura snapped a picture of Billy in Mitsuko’s lap.
Tom went off to oversee the church Boy Scout fellowship hour, and later he helped Reverend Hanamori with the devotional songfest. Then the children’s athletic events could begin.
Midway through the three-legged race, Tom realized what an easy time of it he was having. He had not seen Billy since leaving him with Mitsuko. Ordinarily, the boy could abide Mrs. Uchida just so long, after which he would become restless and start crying for his father.
As the poplars began to stretch their long shadows over the field and the breeze turned from cool to chilly, the festivities closed with a brief service of praise. “Look to the Lord for guidance,” Pastor Tom concluded before the hushed crowd. “We have to live day by day more like Christ so we can be closer as the people of God; sharing, caring, and bearing one another’s burdens. Praise the Lord that we all will have a part in His vision.”
“Praise the Lord,” echoed several of the congregation, and the cry was taken up by all: “Praise the Lord!” Hands touched, heads bowed. In the deepening dusk, Tom saw golfers across the road, men of his own race, peering at this gathering of Japanese with expressions of open disgust. Looking down upon his close-knit community standing here in the shadows, Pastor Tom knew once again that it was for them, these special people, that he had been called by God.
The crowd then turned to the final cleanup. They folded blankets, and a crew of men went into action, ridding the tables and grounds of whatever scraps of paper or food had been left behind. Even Mr. Nomura, who usually kept aloof from such lowly tasks, rolled up his sleeves and helped. Mitsuko and Billy, holding a grocery bag between them, were picking up stray scraps and tossing them in.
“Thanks for watching Billy today,” Tom said to her. “It was a great help.”
She bowed and said with a clarity that surprised him, “I enjoyed myself, also.”
It was the most he had ever heard her say at once, and her English sounded fine.
“Where did you learn English?” he asked.
“At mission school,” she replied.
“Well,” he said, searching for more to say, “we must … talk some ti
me.”
“Yes,” she answered with a faint smile. This woman possessed a deep calm that seemed to radiate from somewhere behind her eyes.
“All right, young man,” he announced to Billy. “Time to go.”
Still clutching the paper bag, Billy simply ignored his father and went on hunting for trash.
“Billy …”
Billy shook his head.
“We’ve got to go now, son. Say goodbye to—”
Tom realized he didn’t know what to call her. “Mitsuko” would be too familiar, and he didn’t know her last name.
Billy was not going to give him the chance to find out. “No! Pick up more.”
“Let’s go, son,” said Tom, kneeling to lift the boy in his arms.
Tom easily scooped up his little body, but the child would not release the paper bag, which tore, spilling its contents on the ground.
“Sorry,” said Tom, putting Billy down again and gathering the scraps. “I hope to see you next Sunday.”
Mitsuko nodded silently.
Tom picked Billy up one more time and took a few steps in the direction of his car, but there was an explosion of kicking and screaming in his arms.
“Hold on now, Billy.” Tom’s voice deepened in anger. He grabbed Billy by the armpits and shook him. “Stop it!”
The boy’s hysteria only increased. “Mitsu!” he screamed. “Mitsu!”
Before Tom realized what was happening, Mitsuko was by his side. She reached up and pulled the boy from his hands.
“That’s very kind of you, but he’s got to learn not to act this way.”
Tom reached for his son, but Mitsuko turned her back on him and began walking slowly in circles, cradling the boy and singing softly to him.
“Really,” said Tom, following after her helplessly. “I’ll take him home now.”
Mitsuko turned and looked at him intently. “I will come,” she said.
“What?”
“I will ride your car. Billy will sleep.”
“But …”
“Please wait.” With Billy in her arms, Mitsuko hurried off to where the cleanup crew was working. Tom could make out Nomura’s white shirt in the gloom. A moment later, she was back. “He will follow us.”
“No, really,” insisted Tom. “It’s too much trouble for all of you. And Billy should learn not to behave this way.”
Mitsuko smiled knowingly. “Tomorrow teach him,” she said. “I take care of him today.”
Her upturned eyes caught the fading glow of the sun. He seemed to feel the light from her eyes entering his own. There was nothing more for him to say.
Billy was quiet now. Mitsuko put him down and they proceeded to gather together the remaining scattered bits of paper. Tom thought of joining the men’s cleanup crew, but they were stuffing the last of the trash into barrels and beginning to disperse into the darkness. Nomura saw him and came running over.
“We take Billy home now,” he said.
A few minutes later, Tom was driving up Rainier Avenue, Billy asleep in Mitsuko’s arms in the back seat and Mr. and Mrs. Nomura following in their blue Buick. Tom glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw how tenderly Mitsuko looked down at the sleeping child.
“Before,” he said, breaking the silence. “I mean, when I was telling Billy to say goodbye …”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t know what to call you.”
“I am Mitsuko.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “Billy can call you that.”
“Yes,” she said.
She was being no help at all.
“What I mean is, what is your last name?”
“Ah, I see. My name is Fukai.”
“Good. Then I can call you Mrs. Fukai.”
She said nothing in response.
“Is that all right?”
Still she said nothing. Billy moaned, and she began singing to him again in a near whisper.
Tom stopped for the traffic light at Dearborn. When he checked the rear-view mirror, he found Mitsuko’s eyes looking into his. He averted his glance, but when he looked again, her eyes were still there.
“I am not Mrs. Fukai,” she said. “I am only Mitsuko. I have no husband.”
6
PASTOR TOM COULD HARDLY wait for the Sunday school committee meeting to end. In the three days since the church picnic, Billy had been making life miserable both for him and for Mrs. Uchida, and he hoped that Mrs. Nomura could help them.
But on and on Mrs. Suzuki whined about textbook repairs, reading her report word-for-word and biting her lip whenever anyone asked her for a clarification. Finally, when it was over, Tom asked Mrs. Nomura to remain for a few minutes and showed her into his office.
Yoshiko Nomura eased her plump, little body into the yellowing wooden armchair facing his desk and looked at him expectantly.
“Now that I’ve asked you in here,” he began, “I’m not sure I know how to say what I want to say.”
“What is it, Pastor Tom?” she asked, her dark brows drawing together.
“Well, it’s about your sister,” he replied, watching her reaction through his wire-rim glasses. “Is she busy? I mean, how is she spending her time in Seattle?”
“Well,” Mrs. Nomura began hesitantly, “we took her to see the Pike Place Market, of course …”
Tom smiled, wrinkling the leather of his cheek. “Wait. I’m not putting this very well. You know how much Billy seemed to like her.”
“Yes, and she likes Billy very much.”
“I could see that. She—what should I call her? She told me that her name is Fukai. Miss Fukai?”
“Well … yes, I suppose so. I never thought about what to call her here. She’s Mitsuko—my baby sister, Mit-chan.”
“You pronounce it MEETS-ko?”
“That’s fine, Pastor Tom.”
“You mentioned something about her having lost a child.” The words came out more easily than he had expected, but now he turned his gaze to the black canvas roofs of cars trundling past on Broadway.
“Yes,” she said uneasily.
“If you’d rather not talk about it, we can stop.”
“It’s very painful, Pastor Tom.”
“Well, then—”
“But that’s probably why I ought to talk about it. I don’t know, I haven’t even said anything to Reverend Hanamori. I shouldn’t be like that. This is my church, after all.”
“Indeed, it is. But any time you’re ready will be soon enough.” He watched her eyes grow moist even as she fought back the tears.
“I’m ready now,” she said. “I want to tell this to you.”
She emphasized the “you.”
Tom folded his hands on the big, square blotter that partially hid the stained and pitted desk.
“Mitsuko was married five years ago, in 1934, when she was twenty-two,” Mrs. Nomura began, her soft voice barely audible above the putt-putting of the cars outside. “It was an arranged marriage, of course. Almost all marriages in Japan are arranged.”
“Yes, I know,” Tom answered softly.
“Her husband was from a samurai family. Their ancestors had been warriors for many centuries, and the son went to the military academy. He was an officer, one of the elite. The Fukais—our family—were not poor, but we did not have that kind of history. My parents thought it was a great honor to have a daughter marry into such a family.”
“And your sister?”
“She did as she was told. In some ways, it was a very good match. Her husband was an extremely handsome man, and after one look at Mitsuko he insisted on marrying her. If it had been just the two of them, the marriage might have worked, but there was a lot of pressure on Mitsuko. Her husband was the family’s only heir, and he had to have a son. Even better, he should have many sons to carry on the family’s military tradition. Mitsuko was treated very well for six months, but when it became obvious that she was not going to have a baby right away, things started to change. The mother had always felt
their family was too good for the Fukais, and her pride began to win out over the son’s enthusiasm. Japanese mothers-in-law can be very cruel, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Tom said. “And they do not have to be living in Japan. I have had to counsel many families here.”
“It’s a shame. Even with the love of Christ …”
“Were they a Christian family?”
“No, that was one of the problems. Like me, Mitsuko went to the mission school from the time she was a little girl. Our whole family embraced the Gospel when I was twelve. But when she did not have a baby, the mother-in-law began to scream at her every day to abandon Our Lord. She said it was because of the evil Western religion that Mitsuko could not give her a grandson. She used to beat her. She often wouldn’t let her eat. Mitsuko practically turned into a skeleton.”
“And the son let his mother do these terrible things?”
“He was usually away with his regiment. He argued with his mother whenever he came home and he tried to protect Mitsuko, but then he was sent to the China front. That was in July, the year before last, when the fighting started. He came home for a few days’ leave at the end of the year, and that is when Mitsuko finally became pregnant.”
“At least the beatings must have stopped,” Tom said.
“Well, the mother left her alone, but when the son came back from Nanking, he was not the same man.”
“You mean, he was one of those animals who raped the city?”
Mrs. Nomura sighed and hung her head. “But almost no one in Japan knew,” she said. “The censorship is so strict. Mitsuko only found out the truth about Nanking when she came here. Then she told me she pitied him for what he had done to her.”
“What did he do?”
“Well, by the time he came back, Mitsuko was five months pregnant, but he began to beat her.”
“I don’t understand. He should have been thrilled.”
“It didn’t seem to matter. All he did was drink and shout, and if she said anything, he beat her bloody.”