as attractive as Miriam. She was by no means over-sexed. To the contrary she would be classed as a "hypo" among her racial sisters. She was nevertheless lonely. She was a teacher, a respectable person in a gossipy countryside. Eligible young men were scarce and she did not relish being tied down as a wife to a country swain. She had to watch her step and do nothing impulsive. Yet emotions kept her vaguely restless. Nights were long: the cool Trade Wind rustling the green fronds of coconut palms, the bright moon, and the distant strumming of ukulele and guitar, made her homesick for the life of Honolulu and its people. The lot of a young country teacher was not without its handicaps.
"Sadao, will you stay after school please. I have something I should like to have you do for me." So he remained after two o'clock alone with his teacher to draw pictures for story lessons for the following day. It occurred once or twice every week. One afternoon he was drawing the scene depicting Washington crossing the Delaware while Miriam added color with crayons. Working side by side, she was conscious of a certain vague excitement. She tried to suppress it but it was not unpleasant. Intent on his work of making a faithful copy of the general in the open boat Sadao was aware of his body touching his teacher's. He was frightened and bashful and he squirmed away. Her reactions were different and she could contain herself no longer.
"Sadao, I have some candy for you. Let us take a rest—plenty of time and there is no sense in overworking ourselves." So saying, she beckoned him to come to her desk after she seated herself in the chair. He was hesitant to take the proffered candy. Laughingly, she grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of her and forced him to sit on her chair between her thighs, holding on to his body as if in an embrace. He was quiet and as still as a mouse. She was excited but afraid. An electric shock raced through her body up and down her spine. The physical contact was pleasant: the beardless face was smooth against her cheek. This sensation was different from that experienced when she was in the passive role of a woman.
"Have some candy," and she pushed a piece of her favorite hard candy into his mouth. He was very uncomfortable, but dared not refuse. Obediently he received the candy between parted lips. The sensation was a ticklish one but no more meaning could be perceived by this half-grown man. Her hands went to his forehead, brushing his hair back and to his ears. Still no response was experienced by the boy other than a squirming uncomfortableness. Sadao was extremely happy when Miriam agreed that they should contine work on the drawing.
As Christmas drew near, the classes began preparing for a simple ceremony before school closed for vacation. The blackboards on the four walls were to be decorated with drawings appropriate for the season. The three wise men on camels led by the guiding star and the scene of the stable and manger were drawn. As the final touch, a Santa Claus riding a sleigh drawn by six reindeer was to ornament the front blackboard. In the midst of her class, Miriam announced, "I am leaving you all alone for a short while. I am going back to my cottage for a post card of Santa. While I am gone, you must all be quiet and read your lessons. I don't want to have Miss Smith in the next room complain of your noisiness later on. Now, Sadao, you come along with me to select a good picture of Santa Claus."
The teacher's cottage was an ordinary cottage with a parlor, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. She entered her bedroom and motioned to Sadao to follow. Awkwardly the boy stood by while she opened her trunk and produced a bundle tied with a red ribbon. It was a collection of Christmas cards that she had received in previous years. She sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for him to sit next to her. Then putting an arm about his shoulders, she began to examine each card carefully, evaluating each for its appropriateness. He was earnestly scrutinizing each picture with an inborn sense of artistic appreciation, apparently oblivious to the olfactory seductiveness emanating from the teacher. The shades were drawn to shut out the noon-day sun. They were alone. But it was not to be . . .
As he grew older and understood more of life, Sadao had cause to regret his adolescence, but his memory of Miriam Kealoha was always a pleasant one long after she left the plantation for another district. Even after she was caught in a scandal that forced her to resign from the teaching profession, Sadao always cherished her memory.
In 1912, when Sadao was thirteen, he was sent to Honolulu to acquire a big-town education and to learn the Japanese language. His parents found their son was becoming too Americanized and could hardly speak Japanese, in spite of the years spent at the plantation language school. The Japanese school, where an hour a day was spent devoted to the language of the mother country, could not stem the natural tendency of the second generation children to converse in the language of their country. This seemed to indicate a gloomy future for Sadao as far as his folks were concerned.
To the Aratas, no man could get above the common herd unless he was equipped with an education that would put him above the level of his contemporaries. In a community predominantly Japanese, the English language was important, but it alone was not enough. If proficiency of the prevailing language was the sole requisite for success in life, then Orientals were out of luck. Those born where English was spoken at home were the most qualified. But in a cosmopolitan community, anyone armed with the command of two or more languages was sure to be rewarded with an important job. For interpreters and liaison officers, such attainments were in demand on the plantations and in the big commercial houses and banks of Honolulu. The American executives were also loud in demanding such qualified men.
Aside from the concrete social and pecuniary advantages to be derived from a Japanese education, the parents longed to see their son pick up some Japanese traits prized by all compatriots--faithfulness to tradition of "Giri and Ninjo," a peculiarly Japanese custom of moral obligation or indebtedness to acts of kindness or social ties that at times may demand a sacrificial response in terms of material or even life. It was a code of honor gradually evolved in the centuries of an inbreeding civilization of a hermit nation. To persons of the first generation, the happy-go-lucky, self-centered, irresponsible tendencies of their offspring were sources of worry and concern. To them, a man is measured in the degree of responsibility he takes in his uttered promises and in his willingness to devote himself to communal welfare--not the egotistic betterment of one's lot alone. From this viewpoint the family must be the unit of society and as such stand or fall together: in contra-distinction to the individualistic way of looking after oneself alone, which was the attitude of the Hawaiian community.
As a successful grocer of the countryside, as a leader of the Japanese community of Makaweli, Seikichi Arata had his prestige to look after. The Consulate General in Honolulu appointed him, without compensation, to help fill out applications from the illiterate, to interpret orders, and in general help the official Japanese representative keep the immigrants orderly. He was involved in all the major activities of the plantation and was consulted about anything that happened, good or bad. Nothing would enhance his position more than to send his son to Honolulu. It would set him aside as a far-seeing man, as a well-to-do personage in the eyes of his friends. To his own selfish interests, there was the promise of perpetuating a prosperous line of Aratas in the land of his adoption.
A Japanese High School in Honolulu had been operated for the past five years and the pick of the students from the country schools were heading for Honolulu. The school taught advanced Japanese, and was headed by well-educated teachers. The students attending this school attended the American School in Honolulu as well. Thither proceeded Sadao in September 1912.
Prologue
April 8, Sunday Honolulu
AT BREAKFAST, DR. MINORU MURAYAMA met his mother. She was now in her late seventies but well preserved. Like many women of her race, she did not put on weight as she grew old. Gray haired and straight backed, she was able to move about freely and was a great help to the family. Only the wrinkles in her face revealed that she no longer was young, but even these seemed to be at a standstill since her husband's demise four years ago.
"When did you last see Mr. Arata, I mean the elder Arata who used
