How to Be an American Housewife - Margaret Dilloway [29]
“Mother already said I should not,” I said, sniffing. “I had to get a new roommate because of him.”
THAT NIGHT, I met Ronin in the garden again. It was to be our last time. I was sick of working in the gift shop, and the aircraft carrier, which had all my Americans on it, was due to leave in six months. That was just enough time to get married and settled before they left. I had to think of my family and of myself. I had to stop leading Ronin on.
Ronin sat stock-still in the moonlight after I told him. “Let’s leave tonight,” he said, grabbing my hands. I felt sick and hopeful at once. “We’ll marry and leave.”
“I have no passport,” I said.
“We’ll go to the north, where we’re unknown. I’ll change my name to yours.” Ronin stroked my arm, sending shivers up and down it. “I have no reason when it comes to you, Shoko.” He kissed me, tasting of rice and miso soup, his lips soft as pillows.
With the last of my resolve, I stood up from the blanket strewn on the ground. “I have to go.” From somewhere I heard laughter and music. “I won’t see you again.”
“Wait.” Ronin hugged me, then touched my face with tenderness. I closed my eyes.
Then I gave way to weakness. I should have known I was asking for it, meeting him alone in the garden that way, but I couldn’t say no again.
When you marry an American, it is not to be expected that every person in your family will be happy for you. Some still cling to old-fashioned precepts of Japanese-ness. They may shun you. It does not matter. You have embraced the modern reality of what it means to be Japanese. They are the ones who will be left behind. Remember this, and do not be ashamed.
—from the chapter “Turning American,”
How to Be an American Housewife
Eight
The morning after I said good-bye to Ronin, I went to work in the gift shop as usual. I put him in another part of my mind, behind a locked door. That didn’t stop me from gazing into space a few times that morning, causing my boss to speak sharply to me.
At midday, my brother came into the gift shop. His face was a stern mask, heading into battle. I believed my brother’s greatest regret was that he was too young to have been a kamikaze.
“Shoko.” He already had a headmaster’s voice.
“You look just like Father when you’re mad,” I teased him. “What’s wrong?”
“I must speak to you in private.” His voice was ice.
I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d never seen my brother’s eyes so cold, not even during the war. And pained. “Is it Mother?”
He shook his head and pointed silently to the door. I was so relieved that I followed without my usual smart remarks.
We went up to his hotel room, walking up the three flights of stairs, the sound of our shoes the only noise in the empty concrete stairwell.
Taro shut his door. “Did you think no one would find out? All the staff is talking. Tetsuo told me everything.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” My response was automatic. I did know—Ronin. I sank into a chair.
Damn Tetsuo. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? He owed me more, after what he had done to me. I had thought I was being so secretive. Now I realized it had never been a secret at all. Probably someone saw me with Ronin and had gossiped about it to Tetsuo. Of course he had to stick his big nose back into my business.
“It’s bad enough, running around with Americans. But an Eta! An Eta!” Taro stood over me, his voice angry but not too loud. He didn’t want the whole hotel to hear. “You have shamed your family, Shoko.”
“Taro, I’m sorry. It’s not what you think.” I took a deep breath. “Ronin is a kind, hardworking man. In another life, I would marry him. But I broke it off.”
I told myself this was true. Last night—I had slipped. I had woken, Ronin’s arms around me, in a daze. We were still on the blanket in the garden; I had no idea what time it was. The moon had disappeared, but I could see every star from here to Mars.
“Ronin.” I had pushed at him. He was deeply in slumber, a soft flutter around his lips. “I have to go.”
His eyes were white in the darkness.