THE FRIEND

Dr. Sadao Hoki woke in the early morning to the telephone's cry, shrill as a newborn baby. Still half asleep, he pressed the receiver to his ear and heard Tsuri's voice, breathy through the crackle of static. "Doctor, please come quickly, something is wrong with Yumi."

When Sadao arrived, he found Yumi seated in a bamboo rocking chair upon an indigo cushion near the window, swaying gently back and forth. The golden light of sunrise spilled through the cedars, shadows dappled across her closed eyes. Her belly strained against her light blue blouse, unbuttoned partway down, revealing the tautness of her pregnancy over the waist of her brown circle skirt. Dark opal hair hung loose over her shoulders, damp strands clinging to her temples. At her side an older woman dabbed a cloth against her forehead while a younger one knelt beside them, holding a bucket of cold water.

Yumi opened her eyes as he entered and tried to wave them all away. "Sadao-sensei, I did not mean for you to walk all this way at this hour. It's nothing, truly. They make too much fuss. I tried to tell them not to call you, but Tsuri would not hear it."

"It is no trouble," Sadao said. He did not mention the two-hour walk in the dark, or the cold that had stiffened his fingers.

"Sadao-sensei, have you met Tsuri's mother, Hatsu, and his sister, Eiko?" Yumi asked, then turning her face up to the older woman, who wore a traditional kimono, her gray hair oiled and pinned in the old way. "This is the doctor I was telling you about, the one I used to work for, who studied in America."

"The one trained by the enemy?" Hatsu asked. "The Americans killed my boy, my Ichiro, you know," she said, looking at Sadao with her arms folded, chin slightly quivering.

Sadao sighed. "Yes, I had heard that, and I am sorry for your son. If it means anything, he was a hero. I do not care for the Americans any more than you do. But what I practice is not American medicine. It is modern medicine."

"What good is a dead hero?" Hatsu asked. "I would rather have my child." And to that Sadao silently agreed.

"Then why did you save that wounded American and let him go during the war?"

Blood drained from his face so fast he felt dizzy. The room tilted sideways even though it stayed still. He looked at Yumi and put a hand over his face.

"No, Yumi didn't say anything," Hatsu said. "It's the talk of the villages. They won't say it to your face, but I will."

"I am a doctor," Sadao said. "I could not let him die."

"Please, Mother, Sadao-sensei is a good man. The war is over and none of us can change the past," Yumi said, grabbing Hatsu's hand.

Eiko came over and lifted a wooden tray from the low table, a bowl of miso and rice only just picked at, the chopsticks laid across the rim. She carried it from the room. When she returned she brought in a steaming basin of water and set it on the table where the tray had been.

"I knew you would want to wash your hands, Sadao-sensei," Yumi said. "I asked Eiko to have hot water and soap ready for you."

"My thanks, Yumi, and to you, Eiko," Sadao said, bowing briefly to them both. He set his medical bag beside the basin and put his hands into the water, which burned against the numbness before the warmth spread through them as he worked the soap between his palms.

"Hana sends her regards. And the children miss you very much. Jiro and Mizuki have asked after you. The house just hasn't been the same since you left."

"Oh, I miss them so," Yumi said. "They must be getting so big now."

"They are," Sadao said. He dried his hands on a plain-weave cotton towel and opened his bag. "Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

Hatsu set the cloth down in the bucket. "She has been having pains since midnight and cannot stomach any food."

"Well then, shall I see what I can do for her?" Sadao asked, then bowing to the women he said, "With your permission, I will begin my examination."

He drew out his thermometer first, shaking the mercury down. Yumi opened her mouth without being asked. While she held it under her tongue, he reached for her wrist, finding her pulse. He pulled his tarnished brass pocket watch from his vest and counted, watching the second hand sweep around the face. When he removed the thermometer and read it, he nodded. "The pulse is steady and your temperature is thirty-seven degrees Celsius." He looked over at Hatsu, who stood squeezing her hands together, clasping and unclasping them. "She does not have a fever."

"I need to examine your belly next," he said. "Please, if you would unbutton your blouse a bit more."

Yumi undid the buttons one by one until only her chest was covered, Hatsu's mouth turning down into a hardened frown, the wrinkles around her eyes standing out as she squinted at the doctor.

"Forgive me," Sadao said to her, "but this is necessary."

Sadao knelt before her, pressed his fingers gently around the curve of the belly where it met the pelvic bone. "Where are you feeling the most discomfort?" he asked, and Yumi winced.

"There," she said, breathing through her teeth. "This baby is like a wild tanuki kicking up an earthquake."

"Mmm." Sadao felt the firmness, trying to gauge the baby's position. He stood and reached into his bag for his stethoscope and fitted the earpieces into his ears. Again, looking directly at Hatsu, he said, "My apologies." He reached beneath the cotton of her blouse and placed the cold diaphragm against her bare breast. A shiver ran through Yumi, but she caught his eye and smiled. Beside her, Hatsu's face remained stiff at the strangeness of this foreign medicine, at the impropriety of his touching.

"Your heart is strong," Sadao said after several seconds, withdrawing his hand. He knelt again and placed the stethoscope on her stomach, listening. Moved it and listened again. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. He shifted the diaphragm to another spot, then another, and his eyes went very wide.

Yumi saw the change in his face. "What is it, Doctor? What is wrong with the baby?"

Sadao looked up at her, pulling the stethoscope from his ears. "Nothing is wrong. There is not one heartbeat, but two. You are carrying twins."

"Twins?" Yumi's mouth formed the word as she looked down at her stomach, her hands beginning to redo her blouse's buttons.

"The discomfort you have been experiencing is common in the third trimester, particularly with two babies pressing against your ribs and spine. You must rest when you can and take short walks when you are able. I am sure your appetite will return soon. The next few weeks will be difficult, but you are strong and both heartbeats are healthy."

Yumi turned to Hatsu, laughing. "Twins, Mother! I told you there was nothing to worry about." The old woman sat down heavily on the floor beside the chair, a whoosh of held breath escaping her. Eiko came forward and placed both hands on Yumi's belly, her mouth opened in the shape of an “O” and her eyebrows stretching upward. "Oh, thank you, Sadao-sensei, thank you! This is such wonderful news. Tsuri will be so happy!"

"Never hesitate to call," Sadao said, gathering his instruments and placing them back in his bag. "I will be here for the delivery. Both deliveries," he corrected himself. Behind him as he left, the women gathered around Yumi, the room filled with voices, all of them speaking at once.

Outside the house, Tsuri sat among a small circle of men from the village, mending a large Manila hemp net while they waited for the results of the doctor's visit. As Sadao stepped through the doorway, Tsuri was already on his feet approaching him.

"Congratulations, Tsuri! You are going to be the father of not only one child, but two. Yumi is having twins. She and the babies are in good health, though she's a bit sore from twice the kicking."

Tsuri's mouth dropped open and he staggered backwards. Two of the younger boys rushed over to prop him up and slap him on the back. A gray-haired man at the net let out a low whistle while another exclaimed about such good fortune.

Sadao looked at the circle of men and saw what he always saw in these coastal villages now: grandfathers with their sun-burnt faces and rope-scarred hands teaching young grandsons how to tie the knots, how to weave the shuttle through the mesh, the generation between them eaten by the war beast that had consumed the country. They were fathers grieving for their sons and sons longing for their fathers, both missing the same man. Tsuri's older brother Ichiro had been promised to Yumi, but he had not returned from the war, and so she had married Tsuri instead. It was terrible that so few men of Yumi's age had come back, Sadao thought. In recent years there had been more births, and babies were returning to the villages. Children were a blessing, and to Sadao, waking before dawn and undertaking the two-hour trek to the village for that reason was important, even if it was only to offer reassurance.

"Thank you, Sadao-sensei," Tsuri said, walking to a large wicker basket where he pulled out a halibut wrapped in wet cloth and held it out to him. "Please, accept this small token of my gratitude for coming all this way."

Sadao accepted the fish with a polite bow. Kaede, the elderly cook, would be pleased since it would spare her a trip to the market.

As Sadao prepared to leave, adjusting the medical bag on his shoulder, he noticed the stillness that hung over the village. Normally when he arrived at dawn he would have heard the distant bustle of boats setting out, but today an abnormal quiet prevailed. Even now there were no boats in the water, no people on the docks unloading a catch or tossing nets.

"I noticed the harbor is unusually silent today," Sadao said. "Why are the boats not out?"

Tsuri wiped his hands on a cloth and looked out towards the sea. "It's because of the king tides, Sadao-sensei. The ocean is too troubled today. Everyone who wants to have his boat tomorrow is staying ashore, mending nets. It's not a day for fishing."

"Then I will keep well away from the shore," Sadao replied.

Tsuri grabbed Sadao by the arm, glancing back at the house where his wife and two unborn babies rested. "Please, Sadao-sensei, be mindful of the fuiuchi no nami, the unexpected waves. They can be exceptionally powerful during these tides."

******

Sadao slipped off his shoes at the entrance to his home, which sat on the rocky crest overlooking the Tsushima Strait. He left his medical bag in the study and went to find Kaede, knowing she would be in the garden tending to her husband's grave and the two smaller shrines of her children that stood on either side. He found her there, carefully pruning back the few dead leaves off the wisteria vines curled about Daichi's grave, their violet-blue blossoms hanging like freshly washed silk, their sweetness a honey-thick musk that mixed with the aloeswood incense burning in the porcelain censer. She hummed an old nursery tune, "Hamabe no Uta," the song of the seashore, placing the clippings into a wooden cat-cart.

For a long moment he stood holding the halibut and watched her. The years showed in her stooped shoulders, in the age spots across her hands as they moved in and out between the verdant oval leaves. There was nothing beneath those two small shrines; there had been nothing left of her children to bring home from Nagasaki. He had told Hatsu that he did not care for Americans any more than she did, and it was true. Hatsu had lost one son to the Americans and Kaede had lost two children and a husband. Why did you save that wounded American? Hatsu had asked, and standing here among Kaede's dead he could not say for certain that his answer had been enough. No parent should have to outlive their child, Sadao thought. As he watched her his throat tightened and he drew a sharp breath through his nose. "Kaede-san," he said softly, holding up the fish. "Yumi's husband has given us this fine catch for attending to her."

Kaede's wrinkles rearranged themselves into a wide smile at the sight of the fish. "Ah, Dr. Sadao, that's generous. This will make a fine meal. Now I can spend the afternoon in the garden instead of on my arthritic feet." She glanced at the wisteria. "Daichi would have been pleased to see them bloom so beautifully this year."

"Yes. He knew what he was doing with them, but I dare say that you too have a deft hand at it."

Kaede laughed and looked at her hands, the knuckles gnarled and bulbous. "I don't think anyone would call these old things deft at anything anymore, but I make do."

"Have you seen Hana?"

"On the veranda," Kaede said. "She began preparing tea when she heard you coming up the path."

Leaving Kaede to her work, Sadao made his way to the veranda where Hana waited with dark tea already poured into red baked-clay cups, the steam whiskers whiffling into the morning air. The sun climbed high in the east, turning the ocean into glittering turquoise that stretched endlessly before them. A salty gust puffed out the scent of kelp and brine against his face.

"How is Yumi?" Hana asked as he sat down in the Western-style chair across from her, sliding a cup over the table toward him with her lacquered nails the color of hibiscus.

"Well, considering, and there's news," Sadao said, taking up the tea, the bitter green pleasantly hot on his tongue. "When I listened to her belly with the stethoscope, I heard two heartbeats. She's carrying twins."

"Twins?" A wide smile radiated from Hana's face, and to Sadao it was like watching the sun rise for the second time that day. "What a fortunate day this is. The world is always better off with more children. What a blessing for them. I should go to help her when her time comes since she's been with us through so much, caring for me when I was pregnant with Jiro and then with Mizuki."

"She would be grateful for that," Sadao said. "I've been thinking about Kaede as well. The work here is becoming difficult for her, and I worry that she may not be able to fulfil her duties much longer."

"But we're all she has left," Hana said, her brow creasing. "Perhaps we should find someone to help her. Yumi mentioned last we spoke that she has a cousin looking for work."

"Yes, Kaede must stay with us no matter what. I wouldn't have it any other way. But you are right, she could use a younger set of hands. Perhaps we could build her quarters next to our garden, so she will always be close to her kin," Sadao said.

Hana reached over and placed her hand on his. "I knew I married you for a good reason," she said. "Even when you brought that wounded American into our house during the war, when the servants left and we didn't know if we'd be arrested, I knew you were a man who could not turn away from someone in need."

Sadao set down his cup. "Yumi's mother-in-law, Hatsu, said something to me this morning. About the American."

"What about him?"

"She asked me why I saved him. Why I let him go."

Hana's hand slid off his. "How does she know about that?"

"She says it is the talk of the villages. That everyone knows. They won't say it to our faces, but they say it."

Hana was quiet for a long time, her smile replaced with dark clouds. When she spoke her voice was tight like a clenched fist. "All these years," she said. "All these years they have been talking about us. Smiling at me in the market and talking about me when I turn my back."

"I am sorry, Hana."

"You are sorry." She stood and moved to the railing, her back to him. "You made this choice, Sadao. You brought that man into our home. I stood by you. I washed him. I held the anesthetic while you cut the bullet from his back. And now I learn that every woman in every village along this coast has been whispering about us for the last nine years and you say you are sorry."

He stood and went to her, but she pulled away and turned her face from him.

"Why did you save him, Sadao? Why couldn't you just throw him back into the water?" She was crying now.

Beyond the railing the wind had picked up, whitecaps forming and breaking dazzling white on emerald like tiny knives cutting through the water. Overhead the petrels and shearwaters cried out as they rode the updrafts, waiting for the sea to bring in bounty. His eyes found the small island offshore, barely more than a rock with a few bent pines clinging to it, large waves partially submerging it, and he remembered the wave that had spat the American from the ocean unwanted into their lives. Tsuri's warning about the king tides came back to him then.

"Where are the children?" he asked.

"Daiki is still at school, and Jiro and Mizuki went down to the beach to collect shells," Hana replied through her tears.

Sadao's hands tightened on the railing as he leaned far over for a better view. He looked out at the fiercely sparkling water, then down at the narrow strip of sand below where his children were. His stomach churned and frothed like whirlpools.

"Sadao?"

"King tides, Hana! Fuiuchi no nami," he said, his voice drowning in his throat. "The children are on the beach!"

From below a wail cut through the air, high and thin, Jiro's voice piercing through the scream of the ocean striking the shore.

They looked at each other and without another word both were running off the veranda toward the long stone steps that led down to the beach, Sadao's heart spasming like a wounded hummingbird.

******

The sun hung almost directly overhead, the midday heat pressing down on the small beach where Jiro and Mizuki played. Jiro perched high in a pine tree, lost in his imaginary world, while below him Mizuki scoured the sand for shells, her small hands picking through the pebbles and debris the tide had left behind.

"Jiro, come down!" Mizuki called, looking up at him and squinting against the bright azure sky. "You said you'd help me find the prettiest shells, and they can only be found near the water, not in that tree."

But Jiro was too engrossed in his pretend game. "I am a samurai, Mizuki," he declared. "I must watch for the enemy. Japan depends on me!"

Mizuki huffed, her lips pouting. "You're always playing these games. You're not a samurai, Jiro. You're just my annoying brother!" She turned away, her attention drawn back to the bits of flotsam amongst the sand. "I am going to the water to look for starfish," she yelled back to him, "and I am not going to share anything I find with you!"

Jiro wasn't listening. His eyes had fixed on a distant figure approaching the beach, a blonde-haired white man whose eyes scanned the horizon, then back up the way he had come, as if searching for something. Jiro had never seen a Gaijin before, but late at night his brother Daiki had whispered to him beneath the covers about their father hiding a wounded enemy soldier in their house when Jiro was still a baby, about how their father's oath as a doctor wouldn't let him turn the man over to the Kempeitai even though it could have gotten them all killed. The man drew nearer and Jiro's body went rigid against the tree bark, his brother's other stories flooding back, the ones about the bombs that had destroyed whole cities, about the morning the news came and the old gardener clutched his chest and fell in the garden while Kaede wept over him, screaming the names of her children in Nagasaki over and over as she held his body. He closed his eyes tight, holding his breath, willing himself to disappear among the pine needles and branches, a hard thudding filling his ears, his body beginning to shake uncontrollably as he thought, This is the enemy of my father.

The white man's steps slowed as he approached the beach, his eyes scanning the coastline. There offshore sat the small island with its twisted scraggy pines clinging to the rocks. As his gaze slid across the horizon toward the island, movement in the water caught his eye and he cupped his hand against his forehead, shading his vision from the sun. Was that someone in the water? He began to run toward the shoreline, ripping off his shirt to expose his pale flesh, kicking off his shoes as he went. 

Jiro's eyes snapped open, focusing intently on the man below. The enemy. He watched as the man's stride quickened, then became a sprint. Then he realized. Mizuki. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was down there, near the water. The enemy has come to kill Mizuki, he thought.

A high-pitched wail escaped his lips as he scrambled down the pine tree, branches scratching at his skin. Reaching the bottom, he turned his gaze toward the half-naked running man, and then his eyes fell upon his sister, Mizuki, clinging to a jagged rock, her tiny body relentlessly battered by the ocean's waves. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything but cry out in howling fits.

The white man reached the water's edge and dove into the churning waves, struggling against the powerful tide. Each wave drove him back, but he fought through toward the small figure clinging to the rock. Finally reaching Mizuki, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her above the swirling waters. He thrashed his way back to shore, brackish water filling his mouth, the salt blinding him, his strength waning just as he was able to touch his feet and stand. On the beach, he laid Mizuki's limp form on the sand, her body unresponsive, unbreathing. Her motionless body was so very small.

He covered her nose and breathed into her mouth, then pushed on her chest as he had once seen another sailor do in the Philippines. The first attempt brought no response; neither did the second. But on the third, Mizuki coughed violently, expelling seawater and drawing in a ragged breath. He flopped over on his back, gulping in air himself, shuddering, quivering.

The sound of feet pounding on the sand drew the man's attention, and he turned to look up the beach. Hana and Sadao, breathless and heaving, hurried towards them. Behind them, Jiro followed, weeping. Hana immediately scooped Mizuki into her arms, both mother and daughter sobbing, Mizuki shivering uncontrollably.

Sadao moved between his family and the white man kneeling on the sand, water dripping down his face. He looked at the man before him, the scar in his side puckered red against his pale flesh, and his eyes widened.

"Sadao?" the man asked, shaking with the cold as he began to stand. "It's me, Tom." His teeth clacking. "Do you remember me?"

The boy, seeing his sister alive, stopped caterwauling and stared at the strange man who had saved his sister's life. In the silence that followed, filled only by the sucking shriek of the hungry surf, Sadao crossed the sand between them and enfolded Tom in his arms. His eyes were wet with his own tears.

"My friend," was all he could say.