Read Online How to Be an American Housewife by Margaret Dilloway - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Dilloway
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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whole maid staff put together.” She grinned, showing her missing front molar. “You wanted out of Ueki.”
I shook my head. “He’s married, Shigemi. I want to get out of Japan, not only Ueki.”
“An officer will never marry you,” Shigemi scoffed. “Take what you can get, when you can get it.”
She was probably right. I should be using my looks to get me somewhere, not working as a housecleaner. I leaned against the sink. “I would have been lost if that gardener hadn’t interrupted.”
Shigemi recoiled like I’d slapped her. “That gardener spoke to you? He’s Eta!”
Eta, or burakumin, were the untouchable in Japan. As leatherworkers, who touched dead animal hides, Eta were the lowest of the low, set apart this way by the vegetarian Buddhists. A simple explanation for something very complicated.
Japan had had an official caste system for many years, but it was outlawed in 1871. However, like other caste systems, it persisted. After the system had been thrown out, people privately made lists of Eta families. When you got married, your parents checked to see that your fiancé wasn’t an Eta.
Shigemi chuckled at me, potato peels flying. “These Americans don’t know any better than to hire Eta. The Eta think they can work their way up, now that the Americans are here.”
I took off my apron and tossed it at her face. “It’s not worth me working here, Shigemi. I quit.” I’d find a job somewhere else. There was plenty going on in Kumamoto City. I was no scarlet woman.
I left by the back door and started walking toward the road. The gardener came running up beside me, pushing a wheelbarrow full of roses. “Fine day for a walk, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully. I ignored him. Then his foot hit a hole and he tumbled over, sideways, into a bush. The roses slid out after him.
Forgetting he was Eta, I held out a hand for him. He grasped it firmly in his own, which was lean, tan, and hard. Shocked, I pulled my hand away.
“You are marked now,” he said gleefully. His hat had come off and left a ring around his forehead. His face was unlined and handsome, with sparkling black eyes, a strong chin, and a lean nose. He looked vaguely European, not like an untouchable. Besides, I corrected myself, untouchables looked like everyone else. “Ronin, at your service.”
A ronin was a samurai without a master. Fitting. I smiled and discreetly wiped my hand on my dress. “Shoko.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a bow. “And where are you headed in such a hurry? Quit your job already, eh?”
I blanched. “I have another,” I lied.
“Of course, it’s not hard for a girl like yourself to get a new job just like that.” He snapped his fingers. He righted his wheelbarrow and threw the roses back into it. “But if you are so inclined, I happen to know that the Kumamoto Hotel is hiring.”
The Kumamoto Hotel had a lot of foreign business in those days. That wouldn’t be a bad place to work at all, I mused. “Thank you, Ronin-san.”
He looked at me as if I’d kissed him. “You’re welcome.” He watched me walk to the gate. I felt his eyes on my hips burn like a touch. My face reddened under my makeup. I turned around and gave him a little wave. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t see him again. He raised his hand in return.
WHEN I WAS A CHILD we would sometimes see Eta living in the little encampments they had lived in for generations. “Who are they?” I asked when we passed by.
“Don’t look at them,” Mother told me. I stopped asking.
When I was three, while I waited for my mother at the fish market, an old man approached me with a toothless grin and petted my shiny black hair with a leathery hand. Mother had screamed so loud that I wet my pants. “Dirty Eta,” she hissed. “Get away.” She scolded me for letting him get so close. “You don’t want to be tainted, do you? You can’t get rid of an Eta touch.”
It wasn’t until during the war that mother changed her
I shook my head. “He’s married, Shigemi. I want to get out of Japan, not only Ueki.”
“An officer will never marry you,” Shigemi scoffed. “Take what you can get, when you can get it.”
She was probably right. I should be using my looks to get me somewhere, not working as a housecleaner. I leaned against the sink. “I would have been lost if that gardener hadn’t interrupted.”
Shigemi recoiled like I’d slapped her. “That gardener spoke to you? He’s Eta!”
Eta, or burakumin, were the untouchable in Japan. As leatherworkers, who touched dead animal hides, Eta were the lowest of the low, set apart this way by the vegetarian Buddhists. A simple explanation for something very complicated.
Japan had had an official caste system for many years, but it was outlawed in 1871. However, like other caste systems, it persisted. After the system had been thrown out, people privately made lists of Eta families. When you got married, your parents checked to see that your fiancé wasn’t an Eta.
Shigemi chuckled at me, potato peels flying. “These Americans don’t know any better than to hire Eta. The Eta think they can work their way up, now that the Americans are here.”
I took off my apron and tossed it at her face. “It’s not worth me working here, Shigemi. I quit.” I’d find a job somewhere else. There was plenty going on in Kumamoto City. I was no scarlet woman.
I left by the back door and started walking toward the road. The gardener came running up beside me, pushing a wheelbarrow full of roses. “Fine day for a walk, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully. I ignored him. Then his foot hit a hole and he tumbled over, sideways, into a bush. The roses slid out after him.
Forgetting he was Eta, I held out a hand for him. He grasped it firmly in his own, which was lean, tan, and hard. Shocked, I pulled my hand away.
“You are marked now,” he said gleefully. His hat had come off and left a ring around his forehead. His face was unlined and handsome, with sparkling black eyes, a strong chin, and a lean nose. He looked vaguely European, not like an untouchable. Besides, I corrected myself, untouchables looked like everyone else. “Ronin, at your service.”
A ronin was a samurai without a master. Fitting. I smiled and discreetly wiped my hand on my dress. “Shoko.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a bow. “And where are you headed in such a hurry? Quit your job already, eh?”
I blanched. “I have another,” I lied.
“Of course, it’s not hard for a girl like yourself to get a new job just like that.” He snapped his fingers. He righted his wheelbarrow and threw the roses back into it. “But if you are so inclined, I happen to know that the Kumamoto Hotel is hiring.”
The Kumamoto Hotel had a lot of foreign business in those days. That wouldn’t be a bad place to work at all, I mused. “Thank you, Ronin-san.”
He looked at me as if I’d kissed him. “You’re welcome.” He watched me walk to the gate. I felt his eyes on my hips burn like a touch. My face reddened under my makeup. I turned around and gave him a little wave. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t see him again. He raised his hand in return.
WHEN I WAS A CHILD we would sometimes see Eta living in the little encampments they had lived in for generations. “Who are they?” I asked when we passed by.
“Don’t look at them,” Mother told me. I stopped asking.
When I was three, while I waited for my mother at the fish market, an old man approached me with a toothless grin and petted my shiny black hair with a leathery hand. Mother had screamed so loud that I wet my pants. “Dirty Eta,” she hissed. “Get away.” She scolded me for letting him get so close. “You don’t want to be tainted, do you? You can’t get rid of an Eta touch.”
It wasn’t until during the war that mother changed her
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