The Ohana Part 14

Two hands grabbed him from behind and slammed his back against the wall.

"Moki, what I tell you?" the man pinning him to the wall said. "I said he was going try go behind."

"Okay, so you was right, big deal," the surly Chinese-Hawaiian kanaka said. Then, turning to George, he said, "My brudda here when figure you go this way. Which goes to show you, no try fool around with us guys. We going find you, no matta what." Grinning, he took a knife out and caressed George's face with the point. "Hey, brah. My brudda here, he like make sure you no can walk. He crazy about his work, know what I mean? He like push your face in, broke your arm, even kill you. But I one nice guy. I say this guy Han, he no mean to not pay back the money to Chong. But it when slip his mind. I say, how 'bout we give him one mo' chance?"

"I was going pay the money back, honest." George felt sweat pour from his brow; he smelled cigar tobacco emanating from the burly man. "I just need time. It's a lot of money."

"I know." Moki hit the side of George's head with the heel of his hand. "You should have thought about it before you when lose your okole. You lost the money, you pay. And no give me c.r.a.p. I know your father when buy land all over town. He one rich guy. Get the money from him."

"I promise, Moki" George said, "I'll have it in two weeks."

"One week," Moki snapped. "See? I one nice guy."

"I'll try."

"No try. Just do. Or I let Da Silva here do what he like. Understand?"

George looked at Da Silva. He was an infamous animal who had a reputation for enjoying people's pain. "Next week," George agreed.

"Okay, let him go," Moki said.

George let out a sigh as the strong hands released him. Without warning, Da Silva grabbed his right hand. He heard a loud, cracking sound; excruciating pain shot through him. He looked down at his two limp fingers and grimaced.

"'Sorry, brah," Moki patted his back. "Da Silva don' believe in letting anyone go for nothing. So he when show you what he can do. He when do that with his left hand. Pretty good, 'ey?" Moki bit down on a cigar and grinned. "See you around, brah."

George wondered what to tell his father now.

George broke the news at home while his father ate his favorite meal of kahl bi and pi bim kook soo with the family.

"Aboji," he said in Korean. "I've joined the navy."

Thin white rice noodles spluttered out of Chaul Roong's mouth. "The navy?"

"What?" Dok Ja's mouth was full of food; she was forced to clamp her lips together.

"That's terrific," Mark slapped him on the back.

His sisters looked at George, then at their father, then back to George.

"I'm leaving in forty-eight hours. I'm going to see the world." Now that he said it, he was pleased with himself. Everyone at the table smiled, except his father.

"Stupid!" Chaul Roong banged his fist on the table and jumped up.

"Why stupid?" Mark asked.

Chaul Roong's eyes blazed. "It's the haole's war! Let them fight."

"But you hate the j.a.panese. I'll be fighting your sworn enemies. I'll be a warrior, like you always wanted me to be."

"What I feel about the j.a.panese has nothing to do with this war," Chaul Roong spat out. "The j.a.panese will lose with or without you. Why should I send one of my sons to be killed in an American war?"

George shook his head. "Would it make a difference to you if I fought the j.a.panese wearing a Korean uniform?"

"Of course!"

"That is stupid!"

Chaul Roong jumped to grab George, but Mark was quicker. He restrained the frail old man. "You dare call me, your father, stupid?"

"You're not stupid, but what you said is stupid. What difference does it make what uniform I wear? Anyway, I'm not Korean. I'm American."

"Not Korean!" Chaul Roong's face turned red as he twisted out of Mark's arms. "Do you think the haoles believe you're American like them? Do you think President Roosevelt in the White House thinks we're American like him? To them, we're just the hired help. Hired help, but we're good enough to die for them."

"If you feel that way, why don't you go back to Korea?" George flung the same sentiment back to his father every time the subject of Korea versus the United States came up. His father had a sentimental fixation on his home country his children didn't share. Couldn't share.

"You waste my time, you no-good gambler." Chaul Roong poked George in the chest with his finger. "Go to war. Die for the haoles, for all I care."

"My son, die?" Dok Ja voice cracked.

His older sister Janet grabbed their mother's arm. "Omoni," she said. "No one's going to die."

Dok Ja shook the hand away. "Girls rubbish. Only sons good."

Janet shrugged at her sister. The family was used to hearing Dok Ja say the words. It was an Asian thing. In Dok Ja's mind, only sons counted in the family. They were the kings and their sisters were told to wait on them.

George glared at his father. "Someday the world will be different."

"I think what you're doing is terrific," Mark said.

"Forget this haole war," Chaul Roong waved his hand in dismissal and returned to his seat. "Let somebody else's son be a hero."

George drew back his chair from the table and looked around at his family. "I leave in two days. Doesn't anyone want to wish me well?"

No one said a word; George knew they didn't want to enrage their father further.

Dok Ja stomped toward the door. "No good boy," she said. "No good boy."

George had never waited in line for food rations, but because he was leaving the next day he shocked his sisters by offering to go for his mother. After he picked up his family's share of food he spied a woman in front of him. She was pregnant and kneeling on the ground trying to gather the rice that had broken through her paper bag onto the ground. Feeling somehow chivalrous, he stooped to a.s.sist her. "Let me help," he said.

The woman looked up. When their eyes met, she blushed.

"Mariko!"

Mariko's lashes fluttered down. George felt the old schoolboy giddiness return. She looked so vulnerable, he wanted to hold her in his arms and stroke her thick, curly hair. Instead, he scooped up the rice alongside her in silence. When it was safely wrapped in her cotton kerchief, she stood and said, "Thank you."

George noticed the violet shadows beneath her eyes and hollow cheeks. Other than her bulging stomach, she was so much thinner than before. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"I know I look terrible. But I'm okay. You should have seen me four months ago. I was a skeleton," she tried to laugh. "But, the worse is over."

"I should talk to your husband," he joked. "Tell him to take better care of you."

Mary cast her eyes down. "I'm not married." She took a deep breath. "I'm kamikaze."

So she carried a haole's baby. j.a.panese women were dubbed kamikaze after the j.a.panese pilots who destroyed American s.h.i.+ps by flying into them thereby committing suicide for the emperor. In Hawaii, no decent j.a.panese man would date a girl who dated haoles. Any woman who did committed social suicide. "Mariko." George took one of her hands in both of his.

She looked up at him. "It's Mary now. And please don't judge me or pity me, George."

Her beauty and strength struck him. "I won't." He shook his head. "I don't." Silence hung between them. "What about your family?" he finally asked.

She turned away. "As I said, I'm kamikaze."

"How do you survive?" he asked after her.

"Don't worry about me," Mary looked back at him and forced a smile. "I'm all right."

"How can you be all right?"

"George, please don't question me too closely." Mary hugged her rice bag to her chest.

George grabbed her hand and held on to it firmly. "What about the baby's father?"

Mary bit her lip before answering. "I told you. I'm kamikaze. He's haole. He doesn't know about the baby."

"You don't have to have this baby. There are ways ..."

Mary withdrew her hand. "No. It's my baby." She blinked a few times before going on. "At first I wanted to get rid of it, but when I felt it move inside me it became a person. How can I destroy my own innocent baby?"

George's brow knit together. "What will you do, Mary?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I only know I'm going to have this baby."

He wanted to tell her he would take care of her, marry her, and take away her shame. But he knew he couldn't. The specter of the faceless haole intervened. "I s.h.i.+p out tomorrow. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

Mary shook her head. "I don't do well with last nights and good-byes."

George nodded. "Will you write to me? Let me know how you're doing?"

"Why?" she asked.

"A lonely sailor overseas can never have enough letters." He squeezed her hand.

Mary smiled. "All right. I'll give you my address."

He grinned. "Fair enough."

She scribbled her address on a paper. "Take care of yourself, George. You're the only friend I have."

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself and the baby."

"Oh, I will."

George s.h.i.+fted on his feet. "Goodbye, then."

"Can I kiss you farewell?" Mary asked.

"Right here in front of G.o.d and everybody?"

"Why not?" Mary brushed his cheek lightly with her lips. "Good-bye. And thank you."

George put his hand to the cheek and watched her walk down the street until she turned the corner.

Chapter Twenty-one.

Honolulu, 1944 Mary lay between the cool sheets on the narrow hospital bed feeling more alone than ever. Part.i.tioning the cubicles off from one another were sheets so flimsy she could hear everything that went on in the room. Her eyes strayed to the empty chair beside her bed. It made her feel even more alone. Noticing her gesture, the nurse shrugged and said, "Want me to take it out?"

Mary tried to relax. When she did, the pain wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. But then, nothing was as she thought it would be.

Once she'd nurtured dreams of escaping the Big Island to live a cultured life somewhere in the city. An American life where she would have her hair done on Fridays, dine out Sat.u.r.day evenings, attend the movies, ballets, and concerts. Although she was Buddhist, she wanted to dress up in a pretty pastel dress and go to church on Sunday the way other Americans did. It didn't seem like a lot to ask. Yet it had been too much.

An enormous pain ripped through her groin. She arched her back, gasping. Grabbing the base of her belly, she cupped it with both hands and grimaced.

On the other side of the divided sheet, she heard a young girl screaming like a wild animal, "Help me! Oh, G.o.d, I can't stand it. Please help me!"

From another side an older woman calmly said, "Nurse? I think it's time. I feel like pus.h.i.+ng. The baby's coming."

The girl whimpered. "Mommy! Mommy!"

Another contraction shot through Mary. The contractions were closer together now, building up to an excruciating level before tapering off again. Mary checked the clock. She had been in labor for five hours.

The nurse entered. "Time to take your temperature and blood pressure."

Mary inclined her head to the right. "That girl there must be close."

The nurse shook the thermometer. "No closer than you."

"But the yelling..."

"She can't take it," the nurse stuck the thermometer in Mary's mouth then gripped her wrist between tight fingers. Mary watched as she studied her watch.

"Get this baby out of me!" the girl shrieked. "Get it out of me!"