Silent Honor (2 page)

“I don't need a hospital. My mother and my sister will come to help me. The baby will be born here. We'll call a priest if we need one.”

“You don't need a priest, little one, you need a doctor.”

She didn't answer him. She had no desire to be disrespectful, nor to heed him. And when the time came, she cried bitterly as he argued with her fiercely. Her mother and oldest sister arrived in June, as planned, and stayed with them. Masao didn't mind, but he still wanted her to see a doctor and have their baby in the hospital in Kyoto. But it was obvious to him that Hidemi was afraid. She didn't want to go to the hospital, or to see a doctor. Masao tried in vain to reason with her, and to convince her mother that it would be better for her. But Hidemi's mother only smiled and treated him as though he were eccentric. She herself had given birth six times, but only four of her children were living. One had died at birth, and another from diphtheria when still a baby. But she knew about these things, and so did Hidemi's sister. She had two babies of her own, and she had helped many women when their time came.

As the days passed, Masao realized that he wasn't going to convince any of them, and he watched with dismay as Hidemi grew larger and more tired in the heat of the summer. Each day, her mother made her follow the traditions that would make her delivery easier. They went to the shrine, and they prayed. They ate ceremonial foods. And in the afternoons she went on long walks with her sister. And at night when Masao came home, he would find Hidemi waiting for him, with tasty delicacies prepared, always anxious to be with him, and serve his needs, and hear whatever news he told her. But the only news that interested him now was about her. She seemed so tiny, and the baby so large. She was so young and so frail, and he was desperately worried about her.

He had been so anxious to have children with her, but now that the moment had come, he was terrified that a baby might kill her. He spoke to his own mother about it eventually, and she assured him that women were made for such tasks, and that she was sure that Hidemi would be fine, even without the benefit of a modern hospital or a doctor. Most women throughout the world were still having their babies at home, despite Masao's insistence on the advantages of being different.

But he grew more uneasy each day, until finally, late in July, he came home in the afternoon to find the house seemingly deserted. She wasn't waiting for him outside, as usual, nor was she in their room, or at the small brick stove in their kitchen. There was no sound anywhere, and he knocked gently on the room occupied by his mother- and sister-in-law, and there he found them. Hidemi had already been in labor for hours, and she lay there silently, in agony, with a stick between her teeth, writhing in pain as her mother and sister held her. There was steam in the room, and incense, and there was a large bowl of water, and Hidemi's sister was trying to wipe her brow as Masao glanced into the room and then backed away, afraid to enter.

He bowed low, turning away, reluctant to offend any of them, and asked politely how his wife was. He was told that she was doing very well, and his mother-in-law came swiftly to the shoji screen that served as a door, bowed to him, and closed it. There had been not a word or a sound from Hidemi, but from the little he had seen of her, she looked awful. And as he walked away, he was tormented by a thousand terrors. What if she was in too much pain? If she died of it? If the child was too large? If it killed her? Or if she lived, and she never forgave him? Perhaps she would never speak to him again. Or what if she hated him for what she'd been through? The very thought of it dismayed him greatly. He was so much in love with her, so desperate to see her sweet, perfectly carved face again, he almost wished he could enter the room where they were and help her. But he knew that all of them would have been hysterical at the mere thought of anything so outrageous. A birth was not a place for a man. Any-where in the world, a woman in labor was not to be seen by her husband, and surely not in his world.

He walked slowly through their garden, and sat down, waiting for news of her, forgetting completely to eat, or do anything. And it was dark when his sister-in-law came quietly to him, and bowed. She had prepared sashimi and some rice for him, and he was startled when she offered it to him. He couldn't understand how she had left Hidemi to take care of him, and even the thought of eating repulsed him. He bowed to her, and thanked her for her kindness, and then quickly asked about Hidemi.

“She is very well, Masao-san. You will have a handsome son before morning.” Morning was still ten hours away, and he couldn't bear the thought of her being in pain that much longer.

“But how is she?” he pressed her.

“Very well. She is full of joy to be giving you the son you desire, Masao-san. This is a joyful time for her.” He knew better than that and couldn't bear the pretense of what she was saying. He could imagine Hidemi in unbearable pain, and the thought of it was driving him crazy.

“You'd best go back to her. Please tell her that I am honored by what she is doing.” Hidemi's sister only smiled and bowed, and then disappeared back to her bedroom, while Masao strolled nervously through the garden, and completely forgot the dinner she had made him. There was no way in the world that he could have eaten. And what he had wanted to say to her, but of course couldn't, was to tell Hidemi that he loved her.

He sat alone in the garden all night, thinking about her, and the year they had shared, how much she meant to him, how gentle and kind she was and how much he loved her. He drank a fair amount of sake that night, and smoked cigarettes, but unlike his peers, he didn't go out with his friends, or go to bed and forget her. Most men would have retired, and been pleased to hear the news in the morning. Instead, he sat there, and paced from time to time, and once he snuck back to the room where she was, and thought he could hear her crying. He couldn't bear the thought of it, and when he glimpsed Hidemi's sister again later on, he asked if he should call a doctor.

“Of course not,” she snapped, and then bowed, and disappeared again. She looked distracted and busy.

It was dawn before his mother-in-law came to find him. He had had quite a lot to drink by then, and he was looking slightly disheveled as he smoked a cigarette and watched the sun come up slowly over the horizon. But he was frightened instantly when he saw the look on his mother-in-law's face. There was sorrow there, and disappointment, and he felt his heart stop as he watched her. Suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He wanted to ask about his wife, but just seeing the look on his mother-in-law's face, he knew he couldn't. He just waited.

“The news is poor, Masao-san. I am sorry to tell you.” He closed his eyes for an instant, bracing himself. Their moment of joy had turned into a nightmare. He had lost them both. He just knew it.

“Hidemi is well.” He opened his eyes and stared at her, unable to believe his good fortune, as his throat tightened and his eyes filled with tears that many men would have been ashamed of.

“But the baby?” This time he had to ask her. Hidemi was alive. All was not lost. And how he loved her.

“Is a girl.” His mother-in-law lowered her eyes in grief that her daughter had so badly failed him.

“It's a girl?” he asked excitedly. “She's well? She's alive?”

“Of course.” Hidemi's mother looked startled by the question. “But I am very sorry….” She began to apologize, and Masao stood up and bowed to her in elated excitement.

“I am not sorry at all. I am very happy. Please tell Hidemi …” he began, and then thought better of it. He hurried across the garden as the sky turned from peach to flame, and the sun exploded into the sky like a bonfire.

“Where are you going, Masao-san? You cannot …” But there was nothing he could not do. It was his home, and his wife, and his baby. He was law here. Although seeing his wife at this point would have been highly improper, Masao had no thought of that at all, as he bounded up the two steps to their second bedroom, and knocked softly
on
the shoji screens that shielded her from him. Her sister opened them instantly, and Masao smiled at her, as she looked at him with eyes full of questions.

“I'd like to see my wife.”

“She cannot …She is …I …Yes, Masao-san,” she said, bowing low to him, and stepping aside after only a moment's hesitation. He was certainly unusual, but she knew her place here, and she disappeared, and went to the kitchen for a moment to prepare tea for him, and join her mother.

“Hidemi?” he asked softly as he entered the room, and then he saw them. She was lying peacefully, wrapped in quilts, and shivering slightly. She was pale, and her hair was pulled back off her face, and she looked incredibly lovely. And in her arms, tightly wrapped so only the tiny face showed, was the most perfect child he had ever seen. She looked as though she had been carved out of ivory, like the tiniest of statues. She looked just like her mother, although, if possible, she was even more beautiful, and he gazed down at her in wonder as he saw her. ‘Oh … she is so beautiful, Hidemi-san…. She is so perfect….” And then he looked at his wife, and saw easily how much she'd been through. “Are you all right?” He was still worried about her.

“I am fine,” she said, suddenly looking very wise, and a great deal older. She had crossed the mountains from girlhood into womanhood that night, and the journey had been far more arduous than she'd expected.

“You should have let me take you to the hospital,” he said anxiously, but she only shook her head in answer. She was happy here at home, with her mother and her sister, and her husband waiting in the garden.

“I'm sorry she is only a girl, Masao-san,” Hidemi said with genuine emotion, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. Her mother was right. She had failed him.

“I am not sorry at all. I told you. I wanted a daughter.”

“You are very foolish,” she said, daring for once to be disrespectful.

“So are you, if you do not think a daughter a great prize …perhaps even far greater than a son. She will make us proud one day. You will see, Hidemi-san. She will do great things, speak many languages, go to other countries. She can be anything she wants to be, go anywhere she chooses.” Hidemi giggled at him. He was so silly sometimes, and it had been so much harder than she'd thought, but she loved him so dearly. He reached out and took her hand in his, and bent low to kiss her forehead. And then he sat for a long moment, looking with pride at their daughter. He meant everything he had said to her. He didn't mind at all that they had had a daughter. “She is beautiful, like you…. What shall we call her?”

“Hiroko.” Hidemi smiled. She had always liked the name, and it was the name of her dead sister.

“Hiroko-san,” he said happily, looking from his wife to his child, and engulfing them in the love he felt. “She will be a thoroughly modern woman.”

Hidemi laughed at him then, beginning to forget the pain, and then she smiled, looking suddenly a great deal older. “She will have a brother soon,” she promised him. She wanted to try again, to do it right for him the next time. No matter what he said, or how wild his ideas were, she knew she owed him more than this girl, and that there was nothing more important in life than bearing sons for her husband. And one day, he would have one.

“You should sleep now, little one,” he said softly, as his sister-in-law brought in a tray with tea for them. Hidemi was still shaken from the loss of blood and the shock of all she'd been through.

Hidemi's sister poured tea for both of them, and then left them alone again. But Masao left the room a few minutes later. Hidemi was very tired, and her sister needed to tend to the baby, who was stirring.

His mother-in-law went back into the room then too, and pulled the
fusama
screen to divide the room and give Hidemi privacy. Masao walked through his garden, smiling to himself, prouder than h2 had ever been in his entire life. He had a daughter, a beautiful little girl. She would be brilliant one day. She would speak English perfectly, and perhaps even French, and German. She would be knowledgeable about world affairs. She would learn many things. She would be the fulfillment of all his dreams, and just as he had told his wife, she would be a completely modern young woman.

And as the sun rose in the sky, he smiled up at it, thinking what a lucky man he was. He had everything he wanted in life. A beautiful wife, and now a lovely little baby daughter. Perhaps one day he would have a son, but for now, this was all he wanted. And when he finally went back to his own room to sleep, he lay on his futon and smiled, thinking of them …Hidemi …and their tiny daughter …Hiroko….

Chapter 2

T
HE EARTHQUAKE
that leveled Tokyo and Yokohama in the first week of September that year rattled Kyoto as well, but not as badly. Hiroko was seven weeks old by then, and Hidemi clung to her, terrified, when the quake struck, and Masao hurried home to find them. There had been considerable damage in the town, but their house withstood the shock fairly well. And it was only later that they learned of the total devastation of Tokyo. Most of the city had been leveled, fires blazed, and for weeks people wandered the streets, starving, and desperate for water.

It was the worst earthquake in Japan's history, and for weeks afterward Masao talked about leaving Japan and moving to California like his cousin Takeo.

“They have earthquakes in California too.” Hidemi had reminded him quietly. She had no desire to leave Japan, no matter how great the risk there. Besides, Masao had just been promoted. But he didn't want to risk his family, now that he had one. To him, they were far more important.

“They don't have earthquakes as often there,” Masao had snapped at her, unnerved by everything that had happened. He had been terrified for her and the baby. And for weeks they were horrified to hear stories about what had happened to relatives and friends in Tokyo and Yokohama, and the surrounding towns around them. His cousin Takeo's wife, Reiko, had lost both her parents in Tokyo, and other friends had lost relatives as well. It seemed as though everyone in Japan was affected.