“Ah so desu ka,” my father said after a minute. “There are many names, with many different national origins. It’s like a microcosm of the old plantation populations.”
I’d been studying the names my father had pulled out, and the ones I’d come across. Then I saw something that made my skin prickle.
“Otoosan, all the Asian buyers have something in common. Do you see?”
My father looked at the names, and then at me. “I’m afraid I don’t. What is it?”
“Look at the names again-the first names. It looks as if all the Asians to whom Josiah Pierce was selling, during this pre-war period, were women.”
11
WAS THERE SOME significance in the fact that Josiah Pierce had sold property to women? On the long, traffic-clogged ride home, my father pointed out that perhaps the women were widowed or elderly, and had been sold the houses because they could no longer work the fields and live in free plantation housing. I countered that while this was a definite possibility, we had no information about the ages of the women he’d sold to. I didn’t add the secret thought I had-that perhaps these women had been his mistresses. It was a horrible way to think about women, but the situation of a landowner taking advantage of a worker’s wife or daughter was a sad reality, wherever in the world one looked.
Now I was wondering about Harue. My father and Uncle Hiroshi didn’t know why she’d been sent away, but Uncle Yosh had hinted that he knew a lot about it. I knew from personal experience that only children were sometimes treated like confidantes by their parents.
“We didn’t hear much about Harue’s husband Ken from Yosh,” I said. “It’s so unusual that he took her name. We now understand that she was cast out of her own birth family-so why would they allow a laborer to be added to the family registry?”
My father didn’t answer my question, but said, “Take a look to the right.”
I followed his line of vision to a tall plume of smoke ahead. A helicopter carrying a water bucket was heading from the ocean toward it. One of the Leeward Side fires. I wondered if this one was accidental or arson. The traffic was slow, and became a crawl as we approached the old sugar mill town of Waipahu, where orange flames blazed across the hills. Not in my backyard, I thought to myself with relief, and the traffic picked up after we passed the scene.
The security guards at Kainani seemed to know us now, because they waved the car through with a smile and a shaka sign, but there was a short line at the gates to our housing area. As we idled, I noticed that most cars were driven by military, which I deduced from both the drivers’ micro-short haircuts and the Department of Defense stickers on windshields. My attention was distracted briefly by the sight of a chubby young Japanese man walking slowly along the golf course. It was Jiro Kikuchi, and he had something with him-a golf club, which he was dragging along the grass.
“Where’s Calvin?” I asked aloud.
“Calvin’s coming tomorrow,” my father said, missing the point.
“No, I mean that Jiro just walked past and Calvin’s supposed to be monitoring him because of his disorder. Did you see him?”
“No, I didn’t, but what’s this about a disorder? Did Calvin Morita reveal medical information about his patient?” My father sounded aghast.
It was my turn at the gate, so I swiped the fob and was admitted to MacCottage Land, as I’d begun to think of our pretty replica plantation village. After doing so, I replied, ‘Calvin said something about schizoaffective disorder when he was attempting to explain what Jiro did in the pool. What do you know about this condition? Is it like Tourette’s Syndrome, where you can’t control what you say?”
“It’s not remotely like Tourette’s Syndrome, but I don’t care to discuss anything that might seem like a comment on a patient’s condition. And Calvin shouldn’t have done that either.” My father frowned.
“So I don’t have to be fixed up with him, then?” I asked while pulling into our driveway.
Uncle Hiroshi and Tsutomu were relaxing at the teak table on the lanai with frosty bottles of Asahi Super-Dry beer before them. The two of them had the unmistakable redness of a long day in the sun. The Hawaiian sun was too much for all of us-even though I’d slathered myself with sunscreen before running, I knew I had acquired a reddish tinge.
“You two are starting to look Hawaiian Japanese,” I greeted them cheerfully. When they appeared mystified, I added, ‘You’re getting a local person’s tan.”
“Really?” Tom said, looking pleased. “We were only on the golf course two hours today. The realtor picked us up, and then we were quite busy doing research in Kapolei the rest of the time!”
“Tell me while I cook,” I said, starting to take the cooler out of the car. Tom gallantly took it from my arms and I followed him into the kitchen, as did Uncle Hiroshi, who gave my father a glass of water and settled down with him in the living room
“So, I learned about real estate today,” Uncle Hiroshi said. “Prices here are great!”
“Ah, but you’re biased. This is the first or second highest priced housing market in the US,” I said.
“Actually, the realtor explained that the Leeward Side is a bargain,” Hiroshi said. “Here there is more sun, and with it dry, good weather, for a better price, because of the distance from Honolulu.”
“I don’t think this is far at all,” Tom said. “Of course, this area would be more convenient if a train service existed. I wonder about the old days, because I saw old train tracks running through the golf course.”
“I saw them, too. My guess is they were used by the plantations for moving products rather than people,” I said.
“This is not about trains!” Uncle Hiroshi said. “I’m teaching you about real estate. Apparently, Kikuchi Mitsuo, the developer of this resort and father of Jiro-san, who we met yesterday, has bought many small packages of land over the last few years.”
I nodded, thinking this was perhaps a tedious way to put together enough land for a resort, but perhaps the only way. I asked, ‘Why was the realtor so forthcoming with you?”
“He has a colleague in the office who knows one of the holding-out people, a young Hawaiian who believes some things are worth more than money.”
“Kainoa!” I said aloud, and everyone looked at me. “Kainoa is the owner of the coffee shop where I go during my morning run.”
“Ah so desu ka.” Tom looked thoughtful. “Now I finally understand why you enjoy getting up so early in the morning.”
“Hey, stop it!” I made a punching gesture in Tom’s direction.
“Rei can’t seem to be without a boyfriend for even a day,” my father said dryly.
“It’s a shame, because Calvin Morita seems like he won’t have a chance. He might be…how do you say…Mr. Right?” Uncle Hiroshi asked.
“Dr Right,” Tom corrected. “Or should I say Dr Muscles? Otoosan and I saw him outside the golf club restaurant at lunchtime. He drives a Mercedes S Class.”
“I’m interested to hear what you learned from the lawyer.” I looked pointedly at my cousin. “What was his name? Yamaguchi?”
“Bobby Yamaguchi,” my cousin answered, his lips curling around the incongruous first name. “Our conversation was by telephone, and he didn’t have much time, but Yamaguchi-san told me he was sorry he even agreed to help Edwin.”
“Why?” I asked. “Was it because he thought Edwin’s case had no merit?”
“I think so. All he could do was suggest that the letter proving ownership might have been intentionally destroyed, but the judge wasn’t sympathetic. Yamaguchi-san also didn’t care for Edwin’s personality. He found him hard to work with.”
We all exchanged glances then, but didn’t say anything. I guess family loyalty was silencing us even within our small unit.
“We have something to report from our own research today,” my father said as I put the fish in the fridge and began unloading the vegetables and fruit on to the kitchen counter. “Things are looking quite interesting.”