When he struggled out of bed each morning, rubbing the crust from his eyes, Jenny was already downstairs making sure the special green tea he loved so much was steeped exactly right, and then opening each of the shades in the home like a quiet little bird. Riku marveled how at day’s end she looked much the same, her dark eyes bright, her cheek still dewy as he bent to kiss her in greeting. He knew, too, that Jenny, the daughter of wealthy jewelers whose parents had escaped Japan before there had been a hint of turmoil, and whose children had been free from the shame of imprisonment, having been born in the Northeast years after the war had ended, was far more than he deserved. He had loved her from the first time she appeared in one of his classes at the university back in San Francisco. Even then he could not take his eyes off the girl with the heart-shaped face, the girl with splashes of rose-color rouge on her cheeks.
Upon hearing the news of his impending marriage to the young woman he had described as a girl with eyes of brilliant coal and hair sleeked back in a bun resembling a scoop of mocha ice cream, Riku’s mother, Airi Shiori, was ecstatic. She had resigned herself to the idea that her only son would be a lifelong bachelor. Riku sighed now, remembering his father’s adage, “No coin has two heads,” that happiness always has another side, for it was shortly after the joyous wedding that he was confronted by two tragedies. First, the loss of his job as a lab technician, and then, worst of all, the death of his mother after a series of small strokes. Airi Shiori’s death was something he would never quite recover from. After all, a boy has only one mother. It was then that Riku was overcome by an illness, an illness of the mind that the family never spoke of. Just like those first few days when he was a young boy, after his arrival at the camp, when he found himself immobile, locked inside his own body without the capacity to speak or focus on anything around him but his own terrors. With time, the panic had passed, but Riku always harbored a secret fear that the feeling would someday return with greater consequences.
But now, after securing a new, more lucrative position on the East Coast and after twelve years of marriage, Riku still could not believe his luck. First came the twin boys, James and Joseph, and two years later, a girl, Abigail. Then in five more years, Leticia—Letty—the baby with the unusual emerald-colored eyes and ringlets of dark hair, arrived. And even though he knew he could never be the typical American father, the kind that coaches their sons’ Little League games or dances with their daughters around the living room, even though he still winced whenever his colleagues would call him “Ricky,” he was proud of his accomplishments in the country that had both punished and rewarded him. He was proud, too, that his children all had American names.
The family had been in the house for just over a year, and that Saturday morning the sun rose high in the sky, alight with flame, looking just like one of the round apricots his father had displayed in baskets around the perimeter of the market. Riku awoke early, watching the first rays sprinkle dots of light over Jenny’s sleeping head.
He would allow her to sleep later than usual so that he could lie awake listening to the soothing silences of the house. After about ten minutes, his bladder urged him out of bed, so he eased his feet into a pair of blue terry cloth slippers underneath the bed and shuffled into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he let the cool water run over his hands into the drain and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks protruded like apples; his face was broad. He knew that if he permitted himself to smile more often, toss back his head and abandon himself to laughter, it would be a face that most might consider warm, even friendly. Something Riku no longer knew how to be.
Still in pajamas and slippers, he padded down the stairs to the kitchen. He opened the small white Frigidaire, pulled out a bottle of orange juice, and poured himself a large glass. He remained standing as he drank it all and then quickly poured himself another glass, taking it outside, where, placing the glass on a leveled patch of grass, he eased himself into a hammock strung between two trees.
What to do? What to do? He hadn’t even told Jenny yet, afraid of what her response might be. It had been only last Monday when one of the directors at the company had called him into his office, placed a hand on Riku’s shoulder, and, grinning, told him that he was to be promoted to department head, so pleased were they all with his work, and in such a short span of time! At first, feeling the hand tighten on his skin, as the words made their way into his brain, Riku relaxed. But just as he was about to offer his thanks, the boss continued. The new position was an excellent one, with more responsibilities, and still another, higher pay scale. It would, however, be a transfer only a few miles from the family’s former home, this time at their center in Pittsburg, California.