“Your father will be worried when he sees us starved like this,” said Keiko as the two packed a few more things in their suitcases. Emi had been almost completely packed for the last week, desperate to finally be off the boat. She wondered if she would be able to stay on deck when Japan finally came into view or if the desire to be on familiar dry land might impel her and hundreds of others to jump off the boat and try to swim ashore.
She turned to sit on her straw bed, as beds were the only place to sit in their cabin. As soon as she was somewhat comfortable, and her mother next to her, the door opened and Chiyo came in. Emi had stopped bothering to smile at Chiyo now that the trip was almost over, as the older woman had become much more unpleasant on the Teia Maru than she was on the Gripsholm. If the Japanese coastline didn’t lure Emi into jumping ship, she thought, the prospect of getting away from Chiyo surely would.
“Oh, you’re both here,” Chiyo said as she closed the door behind her. “I was just finishing my lunch on deck when I thought how sad you must be, Emi, now that we’ve almost reached Japan. I know how you feel more comfortable around gaijin. Now that one cook on the Gripsholm, the young one with the blue eyes, he reminded me a bit of the boy you had the affair with in Crystal City,” she said, dropping her packet of cigarettes on the bed. “I imagine you miss him. The boy from Crystal City, not the Gripsholm cook.”
To Emi’s surprise, her mother responded before she did, her voice calm but resolute.
“Kuriyama-san, I do think this arduous journey is going to your head. You are speaking as if you have some intimate knowledge of my daughter’s life, which you do not. We have just been unlucky enough to have to room with you for nearly three months and this must have you thinking that you know certain things about our lives. But let me take this opportunity to correct you. You do not know a thing about my daughter, or me, other than the positions we sleep in. If you are entertaining the idea that it would be amusing to spread wild rumors about Emiko when we are back in Japan, I will take this opportunity to remind you that we are not returning to the Japan we used to know. People, especially ordinary people, are so powerless when a country is at war, and they wouldn’t want to find themselves in an even more difficult situation just because of a rumor they’d taken pleasure in spreading. So, Kuriyama-san, what was it again that you said about my daughter?”
Chiyo looked at Emi with disdain and frowned at both of them. “I said that it was an honor rooming with her for the last eighty days and that I will cherish the next three.”
“What a thoughtful thing to say,” said Keiko, standing up. “Emiko and I were just going to go take some air. I’m glad we were able to see you before we left the room. Have a pleasant afternoon.”
Emi and her mother left in silence and walked up to the most private part of the deck near the roaring engine. Emi turned to her mother and started to cry.
“No,” said Keiko. “You can’t. Not here.”
“Then where?” Emi asked, sniffling. “In our shared room? In one of the two bathrooms that have a line of a dozen people or more night and day? Where can I cry, mother?”
“You can’t cry at all, Emiko,” said Keiko. “Not over a woman like that. And besides, you know what she is saying is true. You did have an affair and you can’t expect the bad apples of the world to ignore it. You made your choice and you are living through the consequences.”
Emi wiped her eyes and managed to swallow the rest of her tears. “It was stupid of me, I know. Careless. But Christian, he was the only good thing that happened in over a year.”
“I know,” said Keiko. “But it’s often the things you enjoy that have the most devastating consequences. Come,” she said, turning to walk inside. “Let’s not speak of it anymore. You can’t undo it, and from the sound of it, you wouldn’t want to anyway. It’s been a long time since I threatened someone. It felt rather good. Let’s just hope it works. And never, ever mention Christian Lange to your father.”
“When have you ever threatened someone before?” asked Emi, ignoring her mother’s last warning. It went without saying that Norio Kato was never to know the details about her time in Crystal City.
“Women,” she said to Emi, “have fascinating lives before they become mothers. Perhaps I was a little bit different before I married your father and had you. A little more daring.” She looked at her daughter and smiled. “A little more like you.”
On the last three days of the trip, the weather cooperated and Emi and her mother decided to sleep on straw pallets on deck instead of in their room with the Kuriyamas. “Better to be cold than to be insulted,” said Keiko as she reached for her daughter’s hand.
“It is,” said Emi. “And I suppose we should enjoy being outside, without worrying about bombs dropping on our heads. Here, we just worry about rain.”
CHAPTER 21
EMI KATO
NOVEMBER 1943
Unlike in New York, where everyone had appeared happy to see them depart, some hurling insults at them as easily as they might toss a flower, coming into port in Japan was a heartening experience. The dock was packed with people desperate to reunite with their relatives. Before the passengers on the Teia Maru were close enough to pick out individuals in the crowd, they could see the sea of small flags waving in welcome.
“Perhaps the country will be difficult to live in when we arrive,” said Keiko. “But here, from a distance, it’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is,” said Emi reaching up to fix her hair, caring for the first time in eighty-three days how it looked.
The thrill of returning to Japan was somewhat dampened by the inspection they all had to succumb to after they docked. Eager though they were to disembark and find their families, the passengers had to line up again in their orderly rows under the watchful eye of stern government officials, this time Japanese. Small wooden tables were set all around the deck of the ship and Japanese military men questioned them at length. The small man with a red and white armband assigned to the Katos was astonished to learn that Emi and her mother should have gone back with the diplomatic corps in 1942.
“But why didn’t you come home with your husband?” said the man, looking at their papers.
“My daughter was very sick with tuberculosis. Here, we have her medical papers,” Keiko said, pushing the stack of documents at him, though they were all written in English. “She could not travel. We were banned from the boat in 1942 as they were afraid she would give the ambassador and the other diplomats tuberculosis.” The official took a long look at the yellow and pink papers, then stamped everything with an intricate red stamp before dismissing them to bow to a photograph of the emperor.
“How strange to see so many men in military uniform,” said Emi when they had gathered their belongings, “and to see the military flag, the navy flag instead of our usual one.”
“Things are going to be very different,” said Keiko, walking slowly. “It will not be the Japan that we last saw in 1939. You read your father’s last letter in Crystal City. It’s a blessing that you are not going to school here, as all your time would be spent learning how to be more obedient. Never your strong suit.”