Hawaii - James Michener [527]
But what was particularly galling was that the Okinawans were doing even better. Now, an Okinawan, Sakagawa mused in sullen anger as he studied Senaga's restaurant, is a very poor man to begin with, neither wholly Japanese nor wholly Chinese, but making believe to be the former. An Okinawan cannot be trusted, must be watched every minute lest he set his daughters to trick a man's sons, and is a man who lacks the true Japanese spirit. There were few men in the world, Sakagawa felt, lower than an Okinawan, yet look at what happened to them during the war!
Because in the years before 1941 they had not been accepted into Japanese society, they had banded together. Most of the garbage in Honolulu was collected by Okinawans. To get rid of the garbage they kept pigs, hundreds upon hundreds of pigs. So when the war came, and freighters were no longer available to carry fresh beef from California to Hawaii, where did everyone have to go for meat? To the Okinawans? Who opened up one restaurant after another, because they had the meat? The Okinawans! Who was going to come out of the war richer than even the white people? The Okinawans! It was a cruel jest, that an Okinawan should wind up rich and powerful and respected, just because he happened to own all the pigs.
It was with these thoughts that the little dynamiter, Kamejiro Sakagawa, hid among the crowd on Hotel Street and waited to spy upon his daughter Reiko, and as he waited he muttered to himself, "With a haole, in an Okinawan restaurant!" It was really more than ¥he could comprehend.
At five minutes after twelve Lieutenant Jackson entered the restaurant and took a table which smiling Senaga-san had been reserving for him. The officer ordered a little plate of pickled radishes, which he ate deftly with chopsticks, and Sakagawa thought: "What's he doing eating tsukemono? With hashi?"
At ten minutes after twelve Reiko Sakagawa hurried into the restaurant, and even a blind man could have seen from the manner in which she smiled and the way in which her whole eager body bent forward that she was in love. She did not touch the naval officer, but her radiant face and glowing eyes came peacefully to rest a few inches from his. With a fork she began picking up a few pieces of radish, and her father, watching from the street, thought: "It's all very confusing. What is she doing with a fork?"
During the entire meal the little Japanese watched the miserable spectacle of his daughter having a date with a haole, and long before she was ready to leave, Kamejiro had hastened back down Hotel Street to his friend Sakai's store, asking, "Sakai, what shall I do?"
"Did you see for yourself?"
"Yes. What you said is true."
"Hasegawa is taking his daughter out of the barbershop, too."
"To hell with the barbershop! What shall I do about Reiko?"
"What you must do, Kamejiro, is find out who this haole is. Then go to the navy and ask that he be transferred."
"Would the navy listen to me?" Kamejiro pleaded.
"On such a matter, yes," Sakai said with finality. Then he added, "But your most important job, Kamejiro, is to find a husband for your daughter."
"For years I have been looking," the little dynamiter said.
"I will act as the go-between," Sakai promised. "But it will not be easy. Now that she has ruined herself with a haole."
"No! Don't say that. Reiko-chan is a good girl."
"But already everyone knows she has been going with a haole. What self-respecting Japanese family will accept her now, Kamejiro?"
"Will you work hard as the go-between, Sakai?"
"I will find a husband for your daughter. A decent Japanese man."
"You are my friend," Sakagawa said tearfully, but before he left he added prudently, "Sakai, could you please try to find a Hiroshima man? That would be better."
Mrs. Sakagawa had spent the morning at home making pickled cabbage and the afternoon at