Read Online Summer of the Big Bachi by Naomi Hirahara - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Naomi Hirahara
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Lloyd. A hakujin boy.
Last week. Mas sat still, thinking. No matter how bad their relationship had become, Mari would have told him before the wedding. There was only one reason that . . . When? he repeated.
Lil cleared her throat. They wanted it simple. You know, just at City Hall and then Chinese food later. She stared at Mas through her pink-framed bifocals and blinked hard. Come on, Mas said silently. Youre not the kind of lady to twist the truth when youre caught in a corner.
It was as if Lil had heard Mass silent message. All right, Mas. I guess youll find out soon enough. I havent even told Tug. The babys due in December.
Mas swallowed, and remained frozen in his chair. How could she do this and bring shame on the family? thought Mas. The family. What family? There really was no one here in the States. They were like masterless samurai, wandering nomads with no blood ties to anyone here. But precisely because they had no relatives, no prior reputation, the family name was so important. Here, Masao Arai was a blank white sheet of paper. Unknown. Pure. Anything was possible. But once something was written on the paper, it would be irreversible. It was up to just them to create their honor for their friends like Tug and Lil. Somehow, some way, the word would get out that Mas Arais daughter had had to get married. There would be disapproving nods of heads and smirks behind closed doors, while face-to-face there would be those sickening, false smiles. For once, Mas was happy that Chizuko was dead.
He had some dreams for Mari. That he would walk her down the aisle in a proper wedding ceremony, followed by a reception of thick steaks and large glasses of liquor. That she would produce healthy children, their hair jet-black and their faces pale and formless like potatoes. They would visit the house, yelling in high-pitched voices, Ji-chan, Ji-chan, Grandpa, Grandpa. He would teach them how to safely drive nails into wood, how to place bait on a hook, and, when they got older, the best strategy for blackjack.
Now he had to contend with an unplanned grandchild whose father was a poet and, even worse, a good-for-nothing gardener. And what if the baby came out But Mas stopped himself before he went too far. He felt like popping out of his easy chair, yelling and screaming, but instead he quietly listened to Lil go on speaking faster and faster about children and their universal insensitivity, how things were different with young people today. But Mas knew this wasnt about any kind of generation gap. It was about Mas and Mari plain and simple. Mas was tired of surprises and disappointment, and wanted instead to crawl back underneath his crumbled bedspread on his soft mattress.
He was relieved when Tug finally called out from the wire mesh, Mas, old man.
Mas rose slowly but eagerly, seeing a polite closure to his conversation with Lil, and limped over to the screen door, which was now firmly back on its hinges.
The silver hair and beard of the tall man glowed underneath the hundred-watt bulb hanging from the porch. The moths circled his head, creating a haphazard halo. I think I got it. Tug grinned as his thick index finger pressed down on the smooth round doorbell.
It was pitch dark by the time Lil and Tug finally left Mas at the door. Mas stumbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a Budweiser. After taking a gulp, he paused by the sink and looked out the window. For a moment, he imagined two pairs of dark eyes ones he had seen before peering at him. Son of a Mas gasped, and he quickly pulled the curtains together. What, you losin your mind? he thought as he caught his breath. Just nerves, he told himself, but he went from room to room, clicking on the lights and checking every closet, until he finally returned to the bedroom and lay down on his side.
From his
Last week. Mas sat still, thinking. No matter how bad their relationship had become, Mari would have told him before the wedding. There was only one reason that . . . When? he repeated.
Lil cleared her throat. They wanted it simple. You know, just at City Hall and then Chinese food later. She stared at Mas through her pink-framed bifocals and blinked hard. Come on, Mas said silently. Youre not the kind of lady to twist the truth when youre caught in a corner.
It was as if Lil had heard Mass silent message. All right, Mas. I guess youll find out soon enough. I havent even told Tug. The babys due in December.
Mas swallowed, and remained frozen in his chair. How could she do this and bring shame on the family? thought Mas. The family. What family? There really was no one here in the States. They were like masterless samurai, wandering nomads with no blood ties to anyone here. But precisely because they had no relatives, no prior reputation, the family name was so important. Here, Masao Arai was a blank white sheet of paper. Unknown. Pure. Anything was possible. But once something was written on the paper, it would be irreversible. It was up to just them to create their honor for their friends like Tug and Lil. Somehow, some way, the word would get out that Mas Arais daughter had had to get married. There would be disapproving nods of heads and smirks behind closed doors, while face-to-face there would be those sickening, false smiles. For once, Mas was happy that Chizuko was dead.
He had some dreams for Mari. That he would walk her down the aisle in a proper wedding ceremony, followed by a reception of thick steaks and large glasses of liquor. That she would produce healthy children, their hair jet-black and their faces pale and formless like potatoes. They would visit the house, yelling in high-pitched voices, Ji-chan, Ji-chan, Grandpa, Grandpa. He would teach them how to safely drive nails into wood, how to place bait on a hook, and, when they got older, the best strategy for blackjack.
Now he had to contend with an unplanned grandchild whose father was a poet and, even worse, a good-for-nothing gardener. And what if the baby came out But Mas stopped himself before he went too far. He felt like popping out of his easy chair, yelling and screaming, but instead he quietly listened to Lil go on speaking faster and faster about children and their universal insensitivity, how things were different with young people today. But Mas knew this wasnt about any kind of generation gap. It was about Mas and Mari plain and simple. Mas was tired of surprises and disappointment, and wanted instead to crawl back underneath his crumbled bedspread on his soft mattress.
He was relieved when Tug finally called out from the wire mesh, Mas, old man.
Mas rose slowly but eagerly, seeing a polite closure to his conversation with Lil, and limped over to the screen door, which was now firmly back on its hinges.
The silver hair and beard of the tall man glowed underneath the hundred-watt bulb hanging from the porch. The moths circled his head, creating a haphazard halo. I think I got it. Tug grinned as his thick index finger pressed down on the smooth round doorbell.
It was pitch dark by the time Lil and Tug finally left Mas at the door. Mas stumbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a Budweiser. After taking a gulp, he paused by the sink and looked out the window. For a moment, he imagined two pairs of dark eyes ones he had seen before peering at him. Son of a Mas gasped, and he quickly pulled the curtains together. What, you losin your mind? he thought as he caught his breath. Just nerves, he told himself, but he went from room to room, clicking on the lights and checking every closet, until he finally returned to the bedroom and lay down on his side.
From his
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