Rachel sighed.
“Nine days later, Kalaupapa’s superintendent, Lawrence Judd, called to tell me that Crossen’s body had been found floating in the waters of 'Awahua Bay. He might’ve been drunk, or it might’ve been a suicide. Maybe both. All at once I felt a different kind of weight. I still do.”
Ruth was astonished by everything she had heard but managed to say, “But … you don’t know that you were the reason he did that!”
“Just some kine coincidence, eh?” Rachel said, lapsing into Hawaiian pidgin for emphasis. “A nice thought. But I know.”
“Even so, you could never have foreseen he’d kill himself.”
“No, I couldn’t. And if I had the chance to do it over again, would I still do it?” She looked unflinchingly at Ruth and said, “I don’t know. You understand? You see now what anger does to you, where it can take you?”
Rachel took Ruth’s hand in hers and said, “Today it just got you some cuts in your hand. Tomorrow, who knows?”
Ruth said softly, “They killed him. The Army killed him.” And she poured out the story Nishi had told her. Rachel winced at the details, as bloody and brutal as what Crossen had done to Kenji.
“I’m so sorry, Ruth,” Rachel said, squeezing Ruth’s hand. “That’s a terrible burden to have to bear. But there’s a word in Hawaiian that might help you bear it: kala. It means ‘to forgive’ but also ‘to let go.’”
“How the hell do I forgive the bastards who murdered my father?”
“You don’t. I never forgave Crossen for murdering Kenji. But I finally forgave myself—for not being able to prevent it. Let go, Ruth. Kala.”
Ruth wept, not just for her father but for herself, the daughter she had wanted to be, the one who could rescue him the way he had rescued her.
Sumimasen, Otōsan, she apologized. Sumimasen. She could not save everyone she loved. But she could, and would, save Etsuko from this.
Chapter 19
1960–1961
The house was too damn quiet. Ruth stood in the living room, longing for one more indoor baseball game with Donnie, Peggy, and Max. She felt a twinge of loss, even two years later, thinking of Max. She consoled herself with the knowledge that he had lived a long life—eleven years—for a dog his size, and that he had been loved every day of that life.
The kids, of course, were a happier matter, as much as she missed them. After two years of pre-veterinary classes at the University of California at Davis, Peggy had been accepted to their School of Veterinary Medicine. She had studied hard and spent the summer between freshman and sophomore years working with large animals on Horace’s farm in Florin. Don graduated from San Jose State with a B.S. in Biological Science and was accepted to the Scripps Institution of Oceanography—affiliated with UC San Diego—for its Master’s Program in Marine Biology. Tuition at public universities in California was free, but Frank and Ruth were nevertheless both working overtime to pay the registration fees and room and board.
“Dai, I’m ready to plant.”
Etsuko, in gardening gloves and apron, entered the room carrying a small cellophane bag with a plant cutting inside.
“This was very thoughtful of Rachel,” Ruth said. Etsuko had wanted a tropical plant that could survive in a colder climate; Rachel’s sister, Sarah, had suggested a bird of paradise, and Rachel sent a cutting from their own garden.
“Yes, I wrote her that it will provide our garden with both a touch of Hawai'i and a warm reminder of her.”
They went out to the garden, where Etsuko kneeled down, the arthritis in her knees keenly protesting. Ruth was hefting a large bag of mulch out of the house. Etsuko opened the cellophane bag and took out a three-inch length of tuber sprouting a fan of green leaves.
Ruth deposited the bag of mulch on the ground beside her mother.
“You’re sure it doesn’t get too cold in San Jose for these things?”
“It’s true they grow best in warmer climates,” Etsuko said, taking up her spade, “but our winters are relatively mild; mulch should provide enough insulation from the cold. Should temperatures drop below freezing, we can cover the plant with burlap to protect against frost.”
Etsuko happily dug a shallow hole, placed the cutting in it with the crown of leaves pointing upward, then backfilled the hole with topsoil. “Rachel recommends watering it twice a week and feeding every two weeks,” Etsuko said, adding, “I am so glad, Dai, that you saw fit to make her part of our lives. Knowing her has enriched us all, in one way or another.”
Etsuko dipped her hand in the mulch and began spreading it lightly around the base of the plant. “Did you know the bird of paradise is also called a crane flower? Because its blossom resembles the head of a crane.”
“I remember the paper cranes we had back in Florin,” Ruth said. “Weren’t they supposed to be good luck?”
“Yes. In Japan the crane is revered—legend says it lives a thousand years and brings good fortune and longevity to a home. We had to burn those paper cranes on December 7. And bad luck quickly followed.”
Etsuko started to get up—only to find her head spinning like a beigoma, a child’s top. What was happening to her?
“Dai—” she started to say, before a wave of nausea struck her.
Her legs buckled and she collapsed into darkness.
* * *
What seemed like only a moment later, Etsuko opened her eyes to find herself in a strange bed, wearing a thin cloth gown, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around her left arm. At her bedside were Ruth, Frank, and Dr. Higuchi, all of whom appeared relieved to see her eyes open.
“What happened?” she asked. “I—I was just in the garden.”
“That was an hour ago, Okāsan.” Ruth took her hand. “You lost your balance and fell. You were unconscious, I had to call for an ambulance.”
“Oh no,” Etsuko said, her face showing its first flush of color. “Did the neighbors see me taken away? What must they have thought?”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Etsuko,” Jim Higuchi told her, “and Ruth was right to call the ambulance. What do you recall happening?”
“I—I started to get up from my gardening and my head began spinning. My legs collapsed under me. That is all I remember.”
“Have you felt short of breath at any time recently?” Higuchi asked.
“No.”
“Yes, she has,” Ruth said. “Okāsan, every time you climb the stairs to the second floor you’re out of breath, remember?”
“Only for a few moments,” Etsuko objected. “It’s nothing.”
“Have you experienced any chest pains?” Higuchi asked.
“No,” she answered truthfully.
“Your blood pressure’s high,” Higuchi said, “and listening to your heart I heard an irregular rhythm. It could just be stress-related, but I’d like to get an electrocardiogram and a chest X ray to be sure.”
“This is silly. There is nothing wrong with me. I just had a dizzy spell.”
“Okāsan, please, do as the doctor suggests,” Ruth implored.
The concern in her daughter’s tone outweighed Etsuko’s unvoiced fear; she agreed to the tests. But being out of bed for even half an hour tired her, and after the tests she fell asleep as soon as she was back in her room.
When she awoke, Ruth and Frank were sitting by her bed. They called for Dr. Higuchi, who came in a minute later and sat down.
“This is going to sound worse than it is, Etsuko,” he said, “but you do have an irregular heartbeat, and the chest X rays indicate a partial blockage in the left side of your heart. Technically you’re in the early stage of congestive heart failure, but don’t let that alarm you. You haven’t experienced any chest pains and we’re going to do our best to keep it that way. Your condition can be managed effectively with rest, medication, and small changes in diet. If you take care of yourself, you can continue to live a good long life.”
“How long?” Etsuko asked warily.