Fifty Words for Rain(105)

I tell him that he is the cure to all my sorrows and I kiss his face until he shows me his rare, elusive smile.



* * *





December 3rd, 1939

This is the worst day of my life.

I have seen the doctor, and he has confirmed my very worst fear.

I am with child.



* * *





January 9th, 1940

I cling to hope. Or, more honestly, to denial.

I tell myself that the doctor was wrong. For he was not my usual doctor, but some fool who would never recognize me, clear across town. He might have been trained in a back alley for all I know. He might have been wrong.

But I have not bled since October. My breasts are full and sore. My belly is tender and I am sick with every sunrise.

I am no blushing maiden. I am a married woman with a child already.

I know what this means.

What I must decide now is what I will do about it.

I know of sinful things. It was an open secret in Paris among the artists and musicians. Everyone knew where you could go, where you could find doctors—or people claiming to be doctors—who would solve these sorts of problems. Beautiful young women were advised as to where they could go to avoid being forever shamed.

But everyone also knew that some of those girls never came back.

I can’t do it.

Not because I fear for my life, but because this child is part of the man I love. And I cannot bring myself to harm any part of him.

This child will have his skin. There is no hiding it. I cannot pass it off as trueborn, as sluts have been doing since the dawn of time. And I think that I would do this if I could, as shameful as it is, if it would keep me with my son.

But that path is closed to me.

And so if I must have this child, then there is really only one option. I am three months now, and soon my belly will show, for all the world to see. My husband knows I have not shared his bed for months. My father would have me killed for this.

The choice is obvious. Unspeakable, unbearable, but obvious.

I have to go.



* * *





February 11th, 1940

My heart is ripped from me.

I have kissed Akira goodbye, and I will not see him again for years. Perhaps not ever. If he grows to manhood and does not forgive me for this betrayal, I will never see my son again.

This child sits low in my belly and I am poisoned with hatred for it. I think my hatred will kill it, and then I hope so, and then I hate myself for my own thoughts and I can do nothing but cry.

James—for I can say his name, now that I am out from under my husband’s roof—James is my only comfort. He says he won’t think of going back to the military now. He’d rather be marked a traitor and a coward than leave me. I tell him he could never be a coward and that I am a traitor too, so he is in fine company.

We live together at last, as if we were a poor married couple and not a pair of sinful adulterers.

I have brought us as much wealth as I could carry, and all my jewels, so we will not want for things when the baby is born.

We are renting a little cottage by the sea in the middle of nowhere, far from Tokyo. This is one of the the smallest islands in Japan, and this is the smallest village on the island. I could barely find it on a map when I was looking for a place for us to hide.

They will be looking for me.

It is better for us all if they never find me.

James is tender towards me. He pats my firm belly and tells me to be of good cheer, that this child is a blessing and that I will get my son back one day soon. He really believes this. He still thinks we can get my son and get back to America and live a happy life once things have died down.

He does not know my family.

Good thing, for if he did, he would be dead.



* * *





July 13th, 1940

I have given birth to a little girl.

It was a long and difficult labor, and I was near death by the time it was finished.

Akira was much easier. Already, she is proving difficult.

James is besotted with her. He wants to call her Norine, after his grandmother, which I think is quite terrible.

Besides, this baby is a Kamiza. Though she is only a bastard, she too will have a part to play. She too will have a destiny that is tied to mine, that is tied to all my cursed family. I know it.

She will have a proper name.

I will name her Noriko, and we will call her Nori.



* * *





September 2nd, 1940

James is not well. He is growing too thin, and he has coughing fits that cause him great pain. Sometimes he coughs up flecks of blood, and I am terrified that he has caught some disease in that filthy hovel he was living in.

He laughs at me and insists that he doesn’t need a doctor. He has me bring him our daughter and he hoists her high into the air and tells her she is the most beautiful little girl who was ever born.

She cries more than Akira did, and she is difficult to feed. She is tiny, not big and strong as he was, and her face is always red.

She has a ridiculous amount of hair that I have no idea how I will manage.

But she does have lovely eyes. She has her father’s eyes.

It’s not her fault about Akira. This is what I must tell myself, this is what I will tell myself forever.

Poor little girl, it is not her fault.