But as time wore on, the baby didn't seem to move, and when her mother finally looked, she could see nothing. No head, no hair, no movement at all. There was just endless pain, until Hidemi was almost out of her mind with it by morning.
And as though he sensed that something was wrong tins time, Masao came to the shoji screens several times and inquired how she was doing. His mother-in-law always bowed politely and assured him that Hidemi was fine, but at first light, he noticed that even the old woman was looking frightened.
“How is she now?” he asked, looking haggard. He had been worried about her all night, and he wasn't sure why, but he somehow sensed that this time was different. Last time, there had been an atmosphere of calm about the two women bustling in and out of the labor room. This time there was only Hidemi's mother, and he could feel throughout the night that she wasn't pleased with her daughter's progress. “Is the child not coming?” he asked, and she hesitated, and then shook her head, and then he horrified her with his next question. “May I see her?”
She was about to tell him that he couldn't come in, but he looked so determined that she didn't dare say it. She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, and then stepped aside, and what he saw in the room behind her terrified him, as he hurried toward Hidemi. She was only half conscious, and moaning softly. Her face was gray, and she had bitten down so hard on the stick her mother had given her that she'd bitten through it. He pulled it gently out of her mouth, and felt her belly tighten beneath his hand, as he tried to ask her some questions. But she couldn't hear him. And when he looked more closely, after another minute or two, he saw that she had slipped into complete unconsciousness and she was hardly breathing. He had no medical degree, and he'd never been at a delivery before, but he was certain, as he looked at her, that she was dying.
“Why didn't you call me?” he snapped at his mother-in-law, terrified by what he was seeing. Hidemi's lips were faintly blue and so were her fingernails, and he wondered if the baby was even still alive within her. She had been in labor for hours, and she was obviously in serious trouble.
“She is young, she will do it herself,” her mother explained, but even she didn't sound convinced, as he hurried out of the house and ran to the neighbors' house. They had a telephone. He had long since wanted to put one in, but Hidemi always insisted they didn't need one, and in an emergency they could always get a message at the neighbors'. He ran to them now, and called the hospital, which he knew he should have taken her to despite all her protests. They promised to send an ambulance for her as soon as possible, and Masao berated himself for not insisting she go there in the first place.
When he got back to the house, it was an interminable wait for the ambulance to come, and Masao simply sat on the floor, rocking her back and forth in his arms like a baby. He could feel her slipping away from him. And through it all, the terrible tightening of her belly continued. Even her mother seemed helpless now. All the little tricks and old wives' tales had been useless. When the ambulance came for her, her eyes were closed, her face was gray, and her breathing was the merest thread to life. The doctor who had come for her was amazed that she had come this far.
They put her quickly into the ambulance, and Masao asked his mother-in-law to stay with Hiroko. He didn't even take the time to bow, he just left with Hidemi and the doctor. The doctor said very little to Masao in the ambulance, but he checked her constantly, and finally just before they got to the hospital, he looked up and shook his head at Masao.
“Your wife is very ill,” he said, confirming Masao's worst fears. “I don't know if we can save her. She has lost a great deal of blood, and she's in shock. I believe the baby is turned the wrong way, and she has worked for many hours. She's very weak now.” Nothing that he said came as a surprise, but it sounded like a death sentence to her husband.
“You must save her,” he said savagely, looking like a samurai and not the gentle soul he was. “You must I” He refused to lose her.
“Well do everything we can,” the doctor tried to reassure him. Masao looked half mad, with his hair disheveled and wild eyes full of grief for Hidemi.
“And the baby?” He wanted to know it all now. They had been so stupid to stay at home. It was so old-fashioned and ignorant, and he didn't know why he had let her convince him. And now look at what had happened. More than ever, he was certain that the old ways were dangerous, or even fatal.
“I can still hear a heartbeat,” the doctor explained, “but only a faint one. Do you have other children, sir?”
“A daughter,” Masao said distractedly, staring at Hidemi in wild-eyed desperation.
“I'm sorry.”
“Is there nothing you can do now?” Masao asked. Her breathing seemed even fainter and more labored than it had when the doctor arrived. She was slowly losing her grip on life, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. He felt rage and despair wash over him, as the doctor answered.
“We must wait until we get to the hospital.” If she lived that long, the young doctor thought. He doubted now if she'd even survive the operation she needed to save her life and the baby's. It was almost hopeless.
They careened through the streets in the ambulance, and finally reached the hospital after what seemed like an interminable journey, and Hidemi was rushed away from him, still unconscious on a gurney. He wondered if he would ever see her alive again, and he waited alone for what seemed like hours, as he thought of the two brief years of their marriage. She had been so good to him, so loving in countless ways. He couldn't believe that it might all end now, in a single moment, and he hated himself for getting her pregnant.
He waited two hours before a nurse finally came to him. She bowed low before she spoke, and he had a sudden urge to strangle her. He didn't want obsequities, he wanted to know how his wife was.
“You have a son, Takashimaya-san,” the nurse told him politely. “He is very big and very healthy.” He had been a little blue when he was born, but he had recovered very quickly, unlike his mother, who was still in a grave state in surgery. The outcome did not look hopeful.
“And my wife?” Masao asked, holding his breath in silent prayer.
“She is very ill,” the nurse said, bowing again. “She is still in surgery, but the doctor wished you to be informed about your son.”
“Will she be all right?” The nurse hesitated, and then nodded, not wanting to be the one to tell him that it was unlikely.
“The doctor will come to see you soon, Takashimaya-san.” She bowed again and was gone, as Masao stood and stared out the window. He had a son, a little boy, but all the excitement, all the joy, was dispelled by the terror of losing the baby's mother.
It seemed an eternity before the doctor came to him. In fact, it was almost noon, but Masao didn't know it. He had completely lost track of time. The baby had been born at nine o'clock, but it had taken another three hours to save his mother. But they'd done it. She had lost frightening quantities of blood, and the doctor explained with regret that this would be her last child. There wasn't even the remotest possibility that she could have another. But she was alive. They had saved her, though barely. He explained that she would have to rest for a long time, but he felt certain that eventually, as young as she was, she would be healthy, and useful to him.
“Thank you,” Masao said earnestly, bowing low to him, as tears stung his eyes and filled his throat. “Thank you,” he whispered again to the doctor, and to all the gods he prayed to. He would have been lost without her.
Masao never left the hospital all day, although he called his neighbors to tell his mother-in-law that Hidemi was all right and they had had a little boy. And after he'd done that, he went to see his son. He was a fat cherub of a child, and Hidemi had already told him months before that she wanted to call him Yuji. She hadn't even chosen a girl's name this time, for fear that picking one might mean she would need one.
And then finally, at the end of the day, they let him see Hidemi. He had never seen a living woman look
so pale, and they were still giving her transfusions, and assorted medications intravenously. She was groggy from the painkillers they'd given her, but she recognized Masao the moment she saw him, and she smiled as he bent to kiss her. He almost wished she would blush so he could see some color in her cheeks again, but at least she was alive, and so was their baby, and she was smiling.
“You have a son,” she said victoriously. At what price glory.
“I know.” He smiled at her. “I have a wife too.” To him that was far more important. “You frightened me very badly, little one. No more of your old ideas. It's too dangerous to be so old-fashioned.” He had realized more than ever that day how much he loved her.
“We'll have the next one here,” she said amiably, and he didn't contradict her. It was still too soon to tell her everything that had happened. But having only two children was no tragedy to him. They had a boy and a girl, she had done her duty by him, and she could retire with honor.
“I have enough with you, and Hiroko, and Yuji.” It felt sweet saying his name. He was so new to them, but it felt good to include him.
“Who does he look like?” she asked softly, clinging to Masao's hand, unaware of how close to death she had come. But he was well aware of it and he knew he would never forget the terrors of the night before and that morning.
“He looks like a little samurai, like my father,” Masao said, grateful again that they had both been spared.
“He must be handsome and wise like you, Masao-san,” she said, drifting slowly back to sleep, still holding on to him, very gently.
“And sweet and kind like his mother,” Masao whispered, smiling at her. He knew that he would cherish her forever.
“You must teach him English,” she said softly, and he smiled, laughing at himself for once. “And we will take him to California to visit his cousin,” she went on, woozy from the drugs, but busily planning their son's future.
“Maybe hell go to college there,” he said, playing the game with her. “Or maybe Hiroko will…. Well send her to Takeo at Stanford.” But this time Hidemi smiled as her eyes fluttered open again.
“She's only a girl….” Hidemi corrected him. “You have a son now.”
“She's a modern girl,” he whispered as he bent close to his wife. “She will do everything Yuji can,” he said, with eyes filled with dreams, and she laughed at him. He was so crazy with his modern ideas and plans for all of them, but she knew just how much she loved him.
“Thank you very much, Masao-san,” Hidemi said awkwardly in English as she drifted off to sleep, holding her husband's hand.
“You're welcome, little one,” he answered her more fluently, and settled down in a chair to watch her.
Chapter 3
NO!' HIDEMI said forcefully. It was an old argument between them, and one she absolutely refused to give in on. “She's a girl, not a man. She belongs here, with us. What good will it do to send her to California?” Hidemi adamantly refused to send her daughter away to college.
“She's almost eighteen years old,” Masao explained patiently for the thousandth time in a year. “She speaks English very well, but she will benefit enormously from at least a year in the States, if not longer.” He wanted her to do all four years of college there, but he knew that for the moment, Hidemi was not ready to let her do it. “It will improve her education, open up her ideas, broaden her horizons. And my cousin and his wife will take good care of her.” They had three children of their own, and lived in Palo Alto. But Hidemi knew all of that, and she still didn't want to do it.
“Send Yuji next year,” she said stubbornly, as he looked at her, wondering if he'd ever win the argument. It was really something that he wanted for Hiroko. She was very shy, and very traditional, in spite of her father's revolutionary ideas, and he thought it would do her good to leave Japan for a while. It was Yuji who really wanted to go, who was dying to spread his wings, and who was so much like him.
“We can send Yuji too, but this would be an unforgettable experience for Hiroko. She'll be safe there, she'll be in good hands. And think of all that she'd learn.”
“A lot of wild American habits,” Hidemi said disapprovingly, and Masao sighed in despair. She was a wonderful wife, but she had very definite, and very traditional, ideas about their children, particularly their daughter. Hiroko had been schooled in every possible ancient tradition before her grandmother died the year before, and Hidemi herself continued all of them with meticulous precision. They were important, certainly, but there were other things Masao wanted Hiroko to learn, that he thought were more important, particularly for a woman. He wanted her to have all the same opportunities as Yuji, and in Japan, that was far from easy. “She can learn English here. I did,” Hidemi said firmly as Masao smiled at her.
“I give up. Send her to be a Buddhist nun. Or call a go-between and find her a husband. You might as well. You're not going to let her do anything with her life, are you?”
“Of course I am. She can go to university here. She doesn't have to go all the way to California.”
“Think of what you're depriving her of, Hidemi. I'm serious. Can you really live with yourself, doing that to her? Think of the experience she would have there. All right, never mind four years of college. Send her for a year. One school year. It would be a year she would treasure for the rest of her life. She'll make friends, meet new people, get new ideas, and then she can come back and go to university here. But she'll never be quite the same again, if she goes … or if she doesn't.”
“Why do you have to make it my responsibility for cheating her out of an opportunity? Why is it my fault?” Hidemi pouted.
“Because you want to keep her here. You want to keep her comfortable, hidden in your skirts, safe in our little world, shy, and old-fashioned, and totally tied up by all the useless traditions your mother taught her. Set her free, like a beautiful little bird. Shell come back to us…. But don't clip her wings, Hidemi, just because she's a girl. It's not fair. The world is hard enough for women.” It was a fight he had long championed, and one his wife didn't entirely agree with. She was perfectly satisfied with her lot in life, in fact, as his wife, she enjoyed a great many freedoms. But she also knew it, and she wasn't entirely deaf to what he was saying, or the voice of her own conscience.
It took another month of soul-searching and arguments, but eventually Hidemi conceded. One year, or more if Hiroko truly loved it, but she only had to go to San Francisco for a year. And Takeo had gotten her into a small but academically excellent women's college in Berkeley called St. Andrew's, and Masao swore she would be safe there. It was a long time to be away, but Hidemi had to agree, though grudgingly, that it was an exciting opportunity for her—though why women had to go to university, and one that far away, was beyond her. She never had, and she had had a wonderful life with her husband and children.
Even Yuji thought it was a great idea, and he could hardly wait for the following year, when he was hoping to apply to Stanford. But in the meantime, he thought his sister was really lucky to be going to California. The only one who didn't share his enthusiasm, other than Hidemi, was Hiroko.
“Aren't you pleased your mother agreed?” Masao asked her confidently, thrilled with his victory when Hidemi finally capitulated and agreed to let Hiroko go to San Francisco. It had been a year-long battle. But Hiroko was silent and hesitant, though she assured him that she was very grateful She looked like a little doll, with tiny features and graceful limbs. She was even lovelier and more delicate than her mother. But she was also even shyer than her mother had been, and unlike her father, with all his forward ideas, Hiroko was naturally old-fashioned. She took great comfort in it, and had a genuine fondness for all the old ways and traditions. Her grandmother had given her a deep respect for them, but beyond that she was just very comfortable with domestic pursuits and the most ancient of traditions. She was traditional Japanese to her very core, far more so than even her mother. Over the years, Hidemi had developed a deep respect for a numb
er of Masao's modern concepts. But Hiroko showed no interest in any of them. She was just a very old-fashioned girl, and the last thing she wanted was to spend a year in California. She was only doing it to please her father. And it seemed a terribly high price to pay to show her respect for him, but she would never have defied him.
“Aren't you excited?” he asked again, and she nodded, trying to look enthused, but failing. And as he looked at her, his heart sank. He know his daughter well, and loved her deeply, and he would rather have died than make her unhappy. “Don't you want to go, Hiroko?” he asked sadly. “You can be honest with me. We're not trying to punish you. We want to do something important for your future.” It was also a considerable financial drain on them, with his professor's salary, but they really felt it was a worthwhile sacrifice to make for their children.
“I …” She struggled with the fear of being disobedient to him, as she lowered her eyes and battled her emotions. She loved them so much, and her brother too, that she hated to leave them. “I don't want to leave you,” she said with big eyes filled with tears. “America is so far away. Why can't I just go to Tokyo?” She raised her eyes to his, and he almost cried as he saw them.
“Because you will learn nothing there you can't learn here. In fact, it is better for you here than in the big city. But America …” he said, his own eyes filled with dreams. He had never been there, but he had wanted to go all his life. For twenty years he had read his cousin Takeo's letters and wished he could have been there. Now it was a gift he wanted to give his children, the ultimate gift, the only one he would have wanted. “You only have to go for a year, Hiroko. One school year. That's all. If you hate it, you can come back here. A year isn't such a long time. You can do that. And maybe you'll like it. Yuji might even be there your second year, if you stay. You'd be together.”
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