Mari Decides
Lawrence F. Farrar
Late summer 1990. Her name was Mariko. But she preferred Mari; she thought it sounded more American. Twenty-four-years old, of Anglo-Japanese parentage, Mari was in trouble. Abandoned by her husband and denounced by his family, she was driving toward San Diego from Arizona. Once there, she intended to contact another Japanese girl she had worked with in Japan. Mari had come to America with soaring hopes. And, now, everything had collapsed.
If only her mother, Chieko, had cared more for her, she thought, she would never have ended up in this predicament. Her inadequacies blatant, Chieko had raised Mari in a shabby little house on the periphery of the Atsugi Naval Air Station. The stench of night soil penetrated the house from a stagnant open sewer. Adults scorned Mari, and children taunted her for her “western” looks. Mari’s close-cropped brown hair, high nose, and “round” eyes marked her as the child of a white American service member and a Japanese mother. She attended school sporadically. But she honed her survival skills in the streets, defending herself with vituperative language and clenched fists. Trapped in a wretched life, she fantasized about escaping to a better world.
For several years, her mother had welcomed a succession of American “boyfriends” from the base. One of them presumably had been Mari’s father. The men most often turned up at night after closing time at the bar where Chieko worked. Such visitors continued to frequent the house while Mari was growing up. Whenever one of them lingered for an extended period, Mari was sent to stay with one of her bar hostesses “aunties.”
Unsurprisingly, when she came of age, she, too, went to work in the mizu shobai, the labyrinth of clubs and bars that clustered outside the base. It proved to be a tough and demeaning world, one without nuance. The bar girls knew what was expected of them, whether for a “short time” or an “overnight.”
Here, in the Club Black Rose, Mari first encountered Noriko Yamaguchi. Noriko was a round-faced twenty-year-old, with bleached hair, a “nose job,” and layered makeup. Drawn together by their fascination with American movies, the two often talked of escaping their miserable life, of traveling to the United States, a wonderful place where they could begin anew. The solution was a calculated one; latch onto a sailor from the base and immigrate to the United States as his wife. Other girls had done it, and, eventually, so did Noriko and Mari.
Noriko left first, wed to a gum-chewing, pimple-faced twenty-two-year-old named Charley Edgerton. When Charley received his discharge, the couple settled in San Diego where Charley found part-time work at an ESSO station. Noriko’s letters to Mari brimmed with optimism.
However, when Mari married Ralph Gifford, a twenty-three-year-old serviceman, and accompanied him to Phoenix, life in the US turned out to be not as wonderful as Noriko had portrayed it. Ralph never landed a job. Beer bottles littered the floor of their cramped apartment and cigarette butts spilled out of the ashtrays. Ralph drank heavily and relied on slaps and punches to communicate his displeasure with things Mari said or did. After six abuse-filled months, Mari’s lanky would-be-cowboy abandoned her. His parents rejected her altogether, told her to “go back to your own country,” and handed her a ticket to Japan. Don’t come back.
Mari found herself alone, her English barely adequate, her education minimal, and her knowledge of how best to survive in the United States limited. Fortunately, a scrap of paper with a phone number linked her to Noriko in San Diego. Ralph had left behind their battered ’82 Oldsmobile sedan, and Mari did not hesitate to take advantage of her recently acquired driver’s license. After an unnerving trip, Mari arrived at the run-down San Diego apartment house where Noriko and her husband lived.
Mari’s twenty-four years had treated her cruelly. She herself had sometimes been cruel; you had to be. People forced to live as she had invariably become damaged. Her mother’s inadequacies had been many, but, most of all, Mari realized the woman simply saw her daughter as a burden. Despite her early troubled life, Mari still wanted to believe she was not a bad person.
She aspired to a fresh start in America and to gaining a sense of belonging. Yet on the very day Mari arrived in San Diego, Noriko sought to disabuse her of such hope. Seated in the living room drinking green tea, Noriko declared, “There’s nothing here for people like us. Shikata ga nai. Just the way life is.” Shifting from Japanese to English, she added, “Americans don’t want the likes of us. Charlie can’t find work half the time.”
Charlie lifted his eyes from a Batman comic book. “Yeah it’s tough.”
“What should I do?” Mari said.
“Do you have any money?” Noriko asked.
“Three hundred dollars Ralph’s parents gave me with the airplane ticket.”
“Good. You can stay with us for a while. There’s a cot in that little storage room.”
“Thank you. I do not need a big place. All I have is this small suitcase.”
“What do you have in that furoshiki (a wrapping cloth)?” Noriko said.
“Oh, that? It is just a box my mother kept. Some combs, a watch, a mimikaki (ear cleaner), other odds and ends. There are also pictures of American sailors.”
She opened the box and displayed a dozen photos. Some were of individuals and some group pictures with faces and names circled. “These were men she knew; I think.”
“Let me see those,” Charlie said. He rifled through the photos. “These guys must be out of the service. But San Diego is a Navy town. Maybe a few were lifers and retired here. Or maybe some just decided to settle in the area after a tour of duty. Who knows? Anyway, a few could be living around here.”
Mari and Noriko considered him with puzzled expressions. So what?
“Hell, Mari, one of them could even be your old man.” Charley delivered a smirky grin.
“I do not understand,” Mari said.
“Look. I’ve got an idea,” Charley said. “Gotta check some phone directories. Fill you in when I have more info.”
Two days later, he returned from the building office lofting a piece of notebook paper. “Did a little research. Looks like four or five of the people in these pictures live in the San Diego area. Can’t be sure, of course.”
The two women continued to be puzzled.
“I do not understand,” Mari said again. She had disliked Charley almost immediately.
“This could be a sweet deal,” Charley told them. “Heard about a real case like this once. Mari, you show up at a guy’s door. You tell him you’re his daughter. Show him your mother’s picture. Tell him you missed having him in your life. Now, your old lady is sick and broke, and you’re heading back to Tokyo to take care of her. You promise you’re not going to drag his name through the mud or anything. But any help would be appreciated. I figure, even if they smell a rat, they’ll be ashamed and want to keep your existence out of the limelight. If you get what I mean. The guy hands over some cash or some valuables, and we split.”
“This sounds very difficult,” Mari said. “What if they say no? What if they call police?”
“If they say no, that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Just say you made a mistake. Leave right away. Anyway, like I said, they’re not going to want to call attention to their own badass behavior in Japan. Main thing is you get the hell out of there. Before they have time to think things through. I’ll be waiting somewhere close.”
“It is scary,” Mari said. “I cannot do this.”
“The hell you can’t. You’ve tricked men before. You’re perfect for the part; half Japanese, half white, right age, everything.” Those men all served at the base at roughly the right time.
“I think we will be caught.”
“You need to do this for the three of us. Otherwise you’re on your own.”
It was true. Mari had hardly led a blameless life. There had been plenty of deceptions on her part. Still, despite Charley’s assurances, his scheme made her uneasy. Whether from fear of getting in trouble or from a nascent sense of morality, the result was the same. She did not want to do it.
“But, what will I say?”
“We can practice. I’ve got four names with addresses right here on this paper.”
“I do not think this is a good idea.”
“You got a better one?”
~ ~ ~
Awash in apprehension, Mari approached a modest, tile-roofed bungalow in El Cajon. The pungent scent of gardenias filled the air. Well-trimmed shrubs flanked the entrance.
Outfitted in a brown skirt and pale white blouse and wearing dark glasses, Mari rehearsed her introduction. She shifted her weight from one high-heeled shoe to the other. When the door opened, the homeowner, a middle-aged man, appeared. He had thinning gray hair and slope shoulders. Plain-looking, pale, and short, he seemed as weary as the old cardigan he had on.
“Are you Mr. Owen Stubbins?” Mari said.
He nodded.
“My name is Mari Nakamura. I believe I am your daughter.”
He seemed startled; uncomprehending. “There must be some mistake. I’ve never been married. Never had any children.”
Mari removed her glasses. Her mixed parentage seemed obvious. “My mother was Chieko Nakamura.”
The name resonated. “Chieko? Chieko was your mother? But I never knew she . . .” Stubbins looked stricken. “It was so long ago.”
“May I come in?” Mari said. “I have dreamed of meeting you for a long time.”
Stubbins hesitated. “Well, okay. I don’t have many visitors.” He had a gentle, almost shy voice.
Mari stepped into the living room, and Stubbins gestured to a slip-covered easy chair. He, in turn, seated himself on a worn looking two cushion sofa. Save for a cheap wall-hanging featuring a tiger, and two California mountain scenes clipped from a calendar, the walls were
devoid of decoration. The well-worn Persian carpet, its blues, oranges, and creams all faded, had seen better days. Clearly, Mari thought, the man led an unpretentious existence.
She reached into her purse and retrieved a photo. “I think this is you with my mother, when you both were young.”
Stubbins seemed taken by the photo. But he also exhibited suspicion. “Why have you come now; so late?”
“A chance came to me to visit my San Diego friend.”
I always dreamed you wanted us. And America seemed such a wonderful place. I made big mistake and married American Navy man. We lived in Arizona. He was mean. Now, he ran away, and his parents were little-minded. They did not want me.”
“How did you find me?”
“Mama had your name and picture. I looked in the telephone book. And there you were.”
“And what next?”
“I am going back to Japan in two days. Mama is very sick. And we have nothing.”
Eyes closed; Stubbins peered back through the scrim of years. He seemed to summon up a well-tended memory. “Those were the best times of my life.”
“You have good thought?”
“I wanted to marry your mother,” Stubbins volunteered. He seemed swept by nostalgia. “But the brass put up obstacles. I was a nobody. And I lost my nerve.”
Mari could hardly believe how easily the man appeared to accept her story. He came across as so sincere. He also exhibited manifest kindness. She could not help but like him.
Stubbins reminisced about his Japan days. And Mari described her childhood, albeit in a selective telling. She realized her apparent distress disturbed him.
He shook his head in sympathy as her story unfolded. “You’ve surely had a difficult life. Perhaps I could help you; some money?”
Mari took a gamble. “Oh, no. Finding you is enough.” Charley had warned her that if she behaved too eagerly, Stubbins might become suspicious.
They chatted a bit longer, Stubbins paying close heed to all Mari had to say.
When Mari appeared about to leave, Stubbins said, “Couldn’t we meet just once more. Perhaps for lunch tomorrow? There is a Chinese restaurant three blocks over. Nanking Garden. How about it? Twelve thirty.”
“You are so kind. I will come tomorrow. But I can only stay a little while. I must prepare for my trip back to Japan.”
Stubbins radiated happiness as he saw her off. “Tomorrow then.”
When they met the next day, Stubbins poured out a stream of long-suppressed emotions Mari’s visit had triggered. He declared his life to be an empty one, an incomplete one. She would never understand how finding her had brightened his days. While they happily slurped noodles, they talked of movies she liked, the food they each enjoyed, and her life in Japan and in the US. However, they avoided more than passing reference to her mother. Both recognized there were things he likely preferred not to know.
“I think I would like to have a daughter,” Stubbins said. “I know I would be happy if you were in my life.
She smiled behind her hand. “Such nice words.”
“Mari,” he said, “I am not a rich man. But I have something set aside. And I want to help you and your mother.” He’d stopped at his bank that morning. He now handed her an envelope. It contained a cashier’s check for $10,000.
Mari produced genuine tears.
Her reaction moved him, and Stubbins emphasized once again how much meeting her had lifted him up.
She first declined and then accepted the envelope. “I promise to write from Japan. You are a wonderful man.”
She rolled down the window of the taxi Charley had arranged. She bowed as the vehicle drove away. “Goodbye, Papa.”
Initially, Stubbins had not impressed her. But he’d treated her with respect and seriousness, something she yearned for. He had demonstrated kindness and generosity; it seemed they responded to each other’s needs.
~ ~ ~
The con had worked; far better than they had imagined; $10,000 better than they had imagined. And now, back at the apartment, Charley made ready to try the ploy with a new target.
“I do not want to do this anymore,” Mari said. “He was a nice man.” Stubbins response had touched her. He was good to me, she thought.
“Hey, he’s got plenty,” Charley said. “Think he’s going to miss 10,000?”
“What we are doing is not right.”
“When did you get so religious? Come on. We’re on a roll. You’re a natural. It’s a great sob story.”
Mari turned away. “$10,000 is so much money.”
“Look, Mari, we’ve only got two more names to check out. Turns out our number four guy is dead. We have to give them a shot. If it’s no go, you can take your share and do whatever.”
“What can I do?”
“Beats me. Go back to Japan. Get a bar job outside Miramar. Whatever the hell turns you on.”
And Noriko, too, pressured her to do as Charley asked. In the end, immersed in feelings of guilt and fear of discovery, Mari felt unable to resist.
~ ~ ~
Kendrick Peckham lived in a stucco duplex just a block from the bay, close enough that squadrons of keening gulls circled above the place. From time to time they were drowned out by the roar of planes flying in and out of Lindbergh Field. It was already a hot day, with the sun burning away the morning smog.
Mari spotted Peckham weeding a patch of marigolds that hugged the base of the building. A smallish, wrinkled man, he had on shorts, and an unbuttoned short sleeved shirt. Prominent white socks extended up from battered tennis shoes and hugged spindly legs. Tufts of gray hair forced their way out from under a baseball cap. His lips tarnished by tobacco, everything about him seemed run down. Mari guessed him to be about fifty, although he seemed older.
Dressed modestly as before, Mari crossed a parking area toward the building’s entrance. Peckham exuded suspicion as he studied her through gold-rimmed spectacles. He put down his clippers and, hands on hips, confronted her.
“Something I can do for you?”
“Are you Mr. Peckham?” she said.
“Yeah.”
She wasted no time. “My name is Mari. I believe you are my father. You knew my mother in Japan. Her name is Chieko.”
He shook his head. “Never heard of her. I don’t know what you are up to. But you picked the wrong person.”
“Maybe this picture will help you remember her. You were both very young.”
When Mari extended her hand with a photo, Peckham’s face stiffened. He waved the picture away. “Doesn’t prove anything,” was all he said. It was a group photo with half a dozen faces circled.
“My mama showed me that picture many times. She said you didn’t want us. But I always hoped you would.”
“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Best thing for you is to be on your way.”
“Please look at picture. It has your name on the back. Mama made circle.”
“Okay. Then you’d better get going.” He repeatedly cleared his throat.
“Please look.”
This time, Peckham accepted the photo. He rubbed his eyes and gave every appearance of examining it closely.
“Nope. Never met her.” But Mari detected an involuntary tremor of recognition.
“It has your name,” she said again.
“What of it? It’s been a lot of years since I was stationed in Japan. It’s hard to remember. Anyway, I wasn’t one of those guys who hung out in the bars. No, sir. Not me.”
Mari sensed her approach made him uncomfortable. Indeed, he almost seemed afraid of her. His manner was nervous, and he avoided eye contact.
Peckham confirmed her perception when he said, “You have to leave. My wife will be home soon. She’s always asked questions about my time in Japan.”
Mari nodded. “I am going back to Japan soon. Mama is not well. And we are very poor. Perhaps you could help a bit. I will not contact you again.”
“If you’re so poor, how did you show up here?”
“Is sad story. I was married to American serviceman. He ran away.”
Arms folded, for a time, Peckham stood sullen and silent. Then, he said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the cops. How about that?”
Mari guessed he was bluffing. He would prefer that neither his wife nor the authorities learn of her visit. An expression of guilt assailed him when he looked at the picture.
“Even if it was true that I was your father, it doesn’t mean anything now. All these years later.”
“I hoped you would be a kind man. I am sorry to have disturbed you.” She turned as if to leave.
Peckham fumbled for his billfold. “I don’t know what your game is. I don’t even know if you’re who you say you are.” He displayed both irritation and resignation. “Here’s fifty dollars. But if you come here again, I’m serious. I’ll call the police.”
Mari offered a slight bow, thanked him, and walked quickly to the street. Charley waited nearby for her in the car.
“This is not a good thing we are doing.”
“Hey. We got enough money for cigarettes and a few brewskis.”
~ ~ ~
Two days later, Mari made her way up a cracked sidewalk through a trash-littered-yard; a broken wicker chair, a rusted lawn mower, an inoperable motorcycle, random cans and bottles. She rapped on the door of a flat-roofed, house, it’s feeble blue-green paint faded and peeling. The door opened, and Everett Burleigh peered out.
Unshaven, crew-cut, wearing a grubby undershirt, and beat-up jeans, standing there, Burleigh seemed an ominous presence. A big man, wide-shouldered, thick necked, and tough-looking. he oozed vulgarity, and tattoos embraced his arms.
“Well, hello there, little lady. What can I do for you?”
It struck her he had a face like a kabocha (a Japanese pumpkin). It was a face saturated with menace. She hesitated, and then blurted out the now familiar words, “I think you are my father.”
Her words elicited a crooked grin, revealing Burleigh’s bad teeth.
“First time I heard that line. What are you selling?”
“I am not selling anything. You knew my mother when you were at Atsugi.”
“Oh yeah? Which one was she? I knew quite a few of them little dollies; if you catch my drift.” He winked. “Was she the one used to get up on the table and . . . His questions came loaded with inquisitive prurience.
“This is her picture. Her name is Chieko. I have wanted to meet you for a long time.” Mari could hear the television set running inside the house.
“Can’t say I remember her.”
“Please look picture again.” Unease settled over her like a futon (Japanese quilt).
“Now ain’t that something. You’re telling me I had a kid. Could be. You’re one sweet-looking piece of. . .”
The way he looked at her generated spasms of discomfort. Her skin crawled. Why had she let Charley talk her into this?
“Why don’t you come in, honey? I was just having a beer. You can tell me all about why I should think you’re my kid.”
“My mother is not well. And I am going back to Japan. We are very poor. Anything you give us would help. Anything.” She began to retreat.
“Money? Is that it? Sure, I can give you a couple of twenties. Why don’t you come on in? I’ll go get my wallet. You can wait inside.” He reached for her arm.
Mari wheeled and ran back to where Charley had parked around the corner.
She clambered into the car. Charley leaned back listening to the radio. Bobby McFerrin trilled his way through “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Mari worried, and she was not happy. She felt as if Burleigh’s shadowed presence had trailed her to the car.
“I was frightened. He is a bad person.”
“Well,” Charley said, “You can’t win ‘em all.”
“I will do this no more.”
“You’re right. We didn’t do so good with these last two. But I’ve been thinking. Maybe we can come up with some story and have another try at Stubbins.”
“No.”
He shrugged and displayed an expression of blank indifference. “Hey, I was just thinking out loud.”
~ ~ ~
That night on her cot, Mari pondered her experience with the three men. But it was Stubbins who dominated her thoughts. He’d been kind, something she had experienced from few men. Charley was right. Stubbins likely would not miss the money. Still, she didn’t feel good about their trick. She had not led a righteous life. But what they had done to Stubbins bothered her. She was touched by unfamiliar feelings.
Over morning coffee, Charley explored ways they might tap Stubbins one more time. He described him as an easy mark. “Maybe tell him you sent the money to Japan but missed your flight.”
The unfairness of this proposal gnawed at Mari. Stubbins had been good to her. For someone who had so often made wrong choices, the notion of doing something positive produced an unusually warm feeling. She thought and thought. Charley and Noriko had provided her place of refuge. She owed them. But her image of Stubbins was especially positive. She wanted to do right by him.
At two in the afternoon, she got into her car and headed for El Cajon. She pulled up a block from Stubbins’ place and sat in the car listening to the radio, thinking about her next move. Roy Orbison crooned away. “Oh, Pretty Woman.” Mari wanted to be a pretty woman. She wanted to be a good woman. But she felt like neither.
What could she say? How might she gain his forgiveness? And, then, she settled on an approach that all too often evaded her. She could tell the truth. She would tell all, return the money ($4,500) she had received, and then . . . and then was the hard part; she did not know what might follow. How would Stubbins respond. How would Charley and Noriko respond when they learned their scheme had been revealed?
Mari had grown up tough and untrusting. Yet, somehow, Stubbins generosity and humility had struck a responsive chord. In a sense, she and Stubbins each bore the other’s suffering. She experienced an empathy toward the man, unlike any she’d felt toward any other human. And she knew she had hurt him. She herself felt pain, the pain of regret, and she wanted to repair the hurt she had inflicted.
~ ~ ~
Mari hesitated at the door and nearly turned away. Finally, she summoned the courage. She rapped softly. When there was no response she rapped more loudly’
When Stubbins opened the door and saw her, an expression of surprised happiness swept his face.
“Mari. I thought you’d gone. Come in, come in.”
She entered the room and, eyes downcast, took a seat. He sat opposite on a leather recliner.
“Mr. Stubbins, I have come to say sorry.”
“Sorry? I don’t understand. Please relax. I was just making some toast. Would you like a piece of toast?”
“No thank you. I have no appetite.”
“I am glad to see you again, Mari. I even went to the airport looking for you. I did not know what became of you.”
She continued to look away. “Mr. Stubbins, I am not a nice person. I came to tell you. We played a trick on you.”
“A trick?”
“Yes. My story was not true. My mother is not sick. She is dead for a long time. She never said you were my father. I was not on my way back to Japan. It was all a story.”
“Some things you said seemed strange, but . . .”
“It was Charley’s idea. Him and Noriko.”
“Who is Charley?”
“He is husband of my friend, Noriko. Used to be Navy. I have been staying at their place.”
“He said we could fool you, and you would give us money. I am sorry, Mr. Stubbins. You are nice man with a good heart.”
“Mari, I thought it might be a scheme of some kind. But do you know what? I don’t care. I did know your mother. And I believe you really could be my daughter. I like the idea. Very much.”
“I am so sorry,” Mari said again. “I want to give back money I got.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “This is 4,500. Charley kept the rest.”
“The money doesn’t matter,” Stubbins said. “What matters is that you have done the right thing.”
“Mr. Stubbins, I have so much shame.” She could tell her distress troubled him.
“I’m sure you were under great pressure from this fellow, Charley. Surely you won’t go back to them.”
“No. I am running away from him and his wife. Charley will be angry I told you. But he will not tell anybody. Afraid to be caught himself.”
“I have no interest in those people. But what will you . . .?”
“Please take money. Then, I will go.” She again tried to hand him the envelope.
“No, Mari. I do not want the money. And I do not want you to leave. I would like to help you.”
“I do not think so, Mr. Stubbins. I am a soiled person. This will always follow me.”
“You’ve had a rough start. But you are young. You can use the money to find a place to live. Maybe go to school. Get a job.”
“It is too late,” Mari said. “I cannot be good person you hope for.” Moisture dimmed her eyes.
Stubbins ignored her words. “If you need a sponsor; if you need more money, I can help you.”
“I want to think I am your daughter,” Mari said. She had decided to assume he really was her father. And maybe that was enough.
The temptation to accept Stubbins’ offer; the temptation to stay, pulled strongly. Maybe acceptance would afford a chance to at last move from insecurity to security. But the likelihood of making it work seemed a derelict hope. She feared her husband would locate her and make demands, especially if he found out about the money. Even Charley and Noriko might pursue her. Somehow, she thought, she would do something more to hurt Stubbins. She did not merit his further consideration. She could never be the good person he deserved.
Having delivered her confession, she said, “Now I must go, Mr. Stubbins. You are a good man. I will always remember you.”
He again urged her to reconsider, but she was determined to leave.
As she stood in the open door, he said, “Where will you go? You can still change your mind.”
“Maybe San Francisco. Maybe Hawaii. I do not know. I will write you letter.”
“I will wait to hear from you, Mari. Maybe you will change your mind. You will always be welcome.”
“I know. Goodbye, Papa,” she said. Mari went to her car and drove away.
Perhaps she really would write to him. Perhaps.
Lawrence F. Farrar
Late summer 1990. Her name was Mariko. But she preferred Mari; she thought it sounded more American. Twenty-four-years old, of Anglo-Japanese parentage, Mari was in trouble. Abandoned by her husband and denounced by his family, she was driving toward San Diego from Arizona. Once there, she intended to contact another Japanese girl she had worked with in Japan. Mari had come to America with soaring hopes. And, now, everything had collapsed.
If only her mother, Chieko, had cared more for her, she thought, she would never have ended up in this predicament. Her inadequacies blatant, Chieko had raised Mari in a shabby little house on the periphery of the Atsugi Naval Air Station. The stench of night soil penetrated the house from a stagnant open sewer. Adults scorned Mari, and children taunted her for her “western” looks. Mari’s close-cropped brown hair, high nose, and “round” eyes marked her as the child of a white American service member and a Japanese mother. She attended school sporadically. But she honed her survival skills in the streets, defending herself with vituperative language and clenched fists. Trapped in a wretched life, she fantasized about escaping to a better world.
For several years, her mother had welcomed a succession of American “boyfriends” from the base. One of them presumably had been Mari’s father. The men most often turned up at night after closing time at the bar where Chieko worked. Such visitors continued to frequent the house while Mari was growing up. Whenever one of them lingered for an extended period, Mari was sent to stay with one of her bar hostesses “aunties.”
Unsurprisingly, when she came of age, she, too, went to work in the mizu shobai, the labyrinth of clubs and bars that clustered outside the base. It proved to be a tough and demeaning world, one without nuance. The bar girls knew what was expected of them, whether for a “short time” or an “overnight.”
Here, in the Club Black Rose, Mari first encountered Noriko Yamaguchi. Noriko was a round-faced twenty-year-old, with bleached hair, a “nose job,” and layered makeup. Drawn together by their fascination with American movies, the two often talked of escaping their miserable life, of traveling to the United States, a wonderful place where they could begin anew. The solution was a calculated one; latch onto a sailor from the base and immigrate to the United States as his wife. Other girls had done it, and, eventually, so did Noriko and Mari.
Noriko left first, wed to a gum-chewing, pimple-faced twenty-two-year-old named Charley Edgerton. When Charley received his discharge, the couple settled in San Diego where Charley found part-time work at an ESSO station. Noriko’s letters to Mari brimmed with optimism.
However, when Mari married Ralph Gifford, a twenty-three-year-old serviceman, and accompanied him to Phoenix, life in the US turned out to be not as wonderful as Noriko had portrayed it. Ralph never landed a job. Beer bottles littered the floor of their cramped apartment and cigarette butts spilled out of the ashtrays. Ralph drank heavily and relied on slaps and punches to communicate his displeasure with things Mari said or did. After six abuse-filled months, Mari’s lanky would-be-cowboy abandoned her. His parents rejected her altogether, told her to “go back to your own country,” and handed her a ticket to Japan. Don’t come back.
Mari found herself alone, her English barely adequate, her education minimal, and her knowledge of how best to survive in the United States limited. Fortunately, a scrap of paper with a phone number linked her to Noriko in San Diego. Ralph had left behind their battered ’82 Oldsmobile sedan, and Mari did not hesitate to take advantage of her recently acquired driver’s license. After an unnerving trip, Mari arrived at the run-down San Diego apartment house where Noriko and her husband lived.
Mari’s twenty-four years had treated her cruelly. She herself had sometimes been cruel; you had to be. People forced to live as she had invariably become damaged. Her mother’s inadequacies had been many, but, most of all, Mari realized the woman simply saw her daughter as a burden. Despite her early troubled life, Mari still wanted to believe she was not a bad person.
She aspired to a fresh start in America and to gaining a sense of belonging. Yet on the very day Mari arrived in San Diego, Noriko sought to disabuse her of such hope. Seated in the living room drinking green tea, Noriko declared, “There’s nothing here for people like us. Shikata ga nai. Just the way life is.” Shifting from Japanese to English, she added, “Americans don’t want the likes of us. Charlie can’t find work half the time.”
Charlie lifted his eyes from a Batman comic book. “Yeah it’s tough.”
“What should I do?” Mari said.
“Do you have any money?” Noriko asked.
“Three hundred dollars Ralph’s parents gave me with the airplane ticket.”
“Good. You can stay with us for a while. There’s a cot in that little storage room.”
“Thank you. I do not need a big place. All I have is this small suitcase.”
“What do you have in that furoshiki (a wrapping cloth)?” Noriko said.
“Oh, that? It is just a box my mother kept. Some combs, a watch, a mimikaki (ear cleaner), other odds and ends. There are also pictures of American sailors.”
She opened the box and displayed a dozen photos. Some were of individuals and some group pictures with faces and names circled. “These were men she knew; I think.”
“Let me see those,” Charlie said. He rifled through the photos. “These guys must be out of the service. But San Diego is a Navy town. Maybe a few were lifers and retired here. Or maybe some just decided to settle in the area after a tour of duty. Who knows? Anyway, a few could be living around here.”
Mari and Noriko considered him with puzzled expressions. So what?
“Hell, Mari, one of them could even be your old man.” Charley delivered a smirky grin.
“I do not understand,” Mari said.
“Look. I’ve got an idea,” Charley said. “Gotta check some phone directories. Fill you in when I have more info.”
Two days later, he returned from the building office lofting a piece of notebook paper. “Did a little research. Looks like four or five of the people in these pictures live in the San Diego area. Can’t be sure, of course.”
The two women continued to be puzzled.
“I do not understand,” Mari said again. She had disliked Charley almost immediately.
“This could be a sweet deal,” Charley told them. “Heard about a real case like this once. Mari, you show up at a guy’s door. You tell him you’re his daughter. Show him your mother’s picture. Tell him you missed having him in your life. Now, your old lady is sick and broke, and you’re heading back to Tokyo to take care of her. You promise you’re not going to drag his name through the mud or anything. But any help would be appreciated. I figure, even if they smell a rat, they’ll be ashamed and want to keep your existence out of the limelight. If you get what I mean. The guy hands over some cash or some valuables, and we split.”
“This sounds very difficult,” Mari said. “What if they say no? What if they call police?”
“If they say no, that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Just say you made a mistake. Leave right away. Anyway, like I said, they’re not going to want to call attention to their own badass behavior in Japan. Main thing is you get the hell out of there. Before they have time to think things through. I’ll be waiting somewhere close.”
“It is scary,” Mari said. “I cannot do this.”
“The hell you can’t. You’ve tricked men before. You’re perfect for the part; half Japanese, half white, right age, everything.” Those men all served at the base at roughly the right time.
“I think we will be caught.”
“You need to do this for the three of us. Otherwise you’re on your own.”
It was true. Mari had hardly led a blameless life. There had been plenty of deceptions on her part. Still, despite Charley’s assurances, his scheme made her uneasy. Whether from fear of getting in trouble or from a nascent sense of morality, the result was the same. She did not want to do it.
“But, what will I say?”
“We can practice. I’ve got four names with addresses right here on this paper.”
“I do not think this is a good idea.”
“You got a better one?”
~ ~ ~
Awash in apprehension, Mari approached a modest, tile-roofed bungalow in El Cajon. The pungent scent of gardenias filled the air. Well-trimmed shrubs flanked the entrance.
Outfitted in a brown skirt and pale white blouse and wearing dark glasses, Mari rehearsed her introduction. She shifted her weight from one high-heeled shoe to the other. When the door opened, the homeowner, a middle-aged man, appeared. He had thinning gray hair and slope shoulders. Plain-looking, pale, and short, he seemed as weary as the old cardigan he had on.
“Are you Mr. Owen Stubbins?” Mari said.
He nodded.
“My name is Mari Nakamura. I believe I am your daughter.”
He seemed startled; uncomprehending. “There must be some mistake. I’ve never been married. Never had any children.”
Mari removed her glasses. Her mixed parentage seemed obvious. “My mother was Chieko Nakamura.”
The name resonated. “Chieko? Chieko was your mother? But I never knew she . . .” Stubbins looked stricken. “It was so long ago.”
“May I come in?” Mari said. “I have dreamed of meeting you for a long time.”
Stubbins hesitated. “Well, okay. I don’t have many visitors.” He had a gentle, almost shy voice.
Mari stepped into the living room, and Stubbins gestured to a slip-covered easy chair. He, in turn, seated himself on a worn looking two cushion sofa. Save for a cheap wall-hanging featuring a tiger, and two California mountain scenes clipped from a calendar, the walls were
devoid of decoration. The well-worn Persian carpet, its blues, oranges, and creams all faded, had seen better days. Clearly, Mari thought, the man led an unpretentious existence.
She reached into her purse and retrieved a photo. “I think this is you with my mother, when you both were young.”
Stubbins seemed taken by the photo. But he also exhibited suspicion. “Why have you come now; so late?”
“A chance came to me to visit my San Diego friend.”
I always dreamed you wanted us. And America seemed such a wonderful place. I made big mistake and married American Navy man. We lived in Arizona. He was mean. Now, he ran away, and his parents were little-minded. They did not want me.”
“How did you find me?”
“Mama had your name and picture. I looked in the telephone book. And there you were.”
“And what next?”
“I am going back to Japan in two days. Mama is very sick. And we have nothing.”
Eyes closed; Stubbins peered back through the scrim of years. He seemed to summon up a well-tended memory. “Those were the best times of my life.”
“You have good thought?”
“I wanted to marry your mother,” Stubbins volunteered. He seemed swept by nostalgia. “But the brass put up obstacles. I was a nobody. And I lost my nerve.”
Mari could hardly believe how easily the man appeared to accept her story. He came across as so sincere. He also exhibited manifest kindness. She could not help but like him.
Stubbins reminisced about his Japan days. And Mari described her childhood, albeit in a selective telling. She realized her apparent distress disturbed him.
He shook his head in sympathy as her story unfolded. “You’ve surely had a difficult life. Perhaps I could help you; some money?”
Mari took a gamble. “Oh, no. Finding you is enough.” Charley had warned her that if she behaved too eagerly, Stubbins might become suspicious.
They chatted a bit longer, Stubbins paying close heed to all Mari had to say.
When Mari appeared about to leave, Stubbins said, “Couldn’t we meet just once more. Perhaps for lunch tomorrow? There is a Chinese restaurant three blocks over. Nanking Garden. How about it? Twelve thirty.”
“You are so kind. I will come tomorrow. But I can only stay a little while. I must prepare for my trip back to Japan.”
Stubbins radiated happiness as he saw her off. “Tomorrow then.”
When they met the next day, Stubbins poured out a stream of long-suppressed emotions Mari’s visit had triggered. He declared his life to be an empty one, an incomplete one. She would never understand how finding her had brightened his days. While they happily slurped noodles, they talked of movies she liked, the food they each enjoyed, and her life in Japan and in the US. However, they avoided more than passing reference to her mother. Both recognized there were things he likely preferred not to know.
“I think I would like to have a daughter,” Stubbins said. “I know I would be happy if you were in my life.
She smiled behind her hand. “Such nice words.”
“Mari,” he said, “I am not a rich man. But I have something set aside. And I want to help you and your mother.” He’d stopped at his bank that morning. He now handed her an envelope. It contained a cashier’s check for $10,000.
Mari produced genuine tears.
Her reaction moved him, and Stubbins emphasized once again how much meeting her had lifted him up.
She first declined and then accepted the envelope. “I promise to write from Japan. You are a wonderful man.”
She rolled down the window of the taxi Charley had arranged. She bowed as the vehicle drove away. “Goodbye, Papa.”
Initially, Stubbins had not impressed her. But he’d treated her with respect and seriousness, something she yearned for. He had demonstrated kindness and generosity; it seemed they responded to each other’s needs.
~ ~ ~
The con had worked; far better than they had imagined; $10,000 better than they had imagined. And now, back at the apartment, Charley made ready to try the ploy with a new target.
“I do not want to do this anymore,” Mari said. “He was a nice man.” Stubbins response had touched her. He was good to me, she thought.
“Hey, he’s got plenty,” Charley said. “Think he’s going to miss 10,000?”
“What we are doing is not right.”
“When did you get so religious? Come on. We’re on a roll. You’re a natural. It’s a great sob story.”
Mari turned away. “$10,000 is so much money.”
“Look, Mari, we’ve only got two more names to check out. Turns out our number four guy is dead. We have to give them a shot. If it’s no go, you can take your share and do whatever.”
“What can I do?”
“Beats me. Go back to Japan. Get a bar job outside Miramar. Whatever the hell turns you on.”
And Noriko, too, pressured her to do as Charley asked. In the end, immersed in feelings of guilt and fear of discovery, Mari felt unable to resist.
~ ~ ~
Kendrick Peckham lived in a stucco duplex just a block from the bay, close enough that squadrons of keening gulls circled above the place. From time to time they were drowned out by the roar of planes flying in and out of Lindbergh Field. It was already a hot day, with the sun burning away the morning smog.
Mari spotted Peckham weeding a patch of marigolds that hugged the base of the building. A smallish, wrinkled man, he had on shorts, and an unbuttoned short sleeved shirt. Prominent white socks extended up from battered tennis shoes and hugged spindly legs. Tufts of gray hair forced their way out from under a baseball cap. His lips tarnished by tobacco, everything about him seemed run down. Mari guessed him to be about fifty, although he seemed older.
Dressed modestly as before, Mari crossed a parking area toward the building’s entrance. Peckham exuded suspicion as he studied her through gold-rimmed spectacles. He put down his clippers and, hands on hips, confronted her.
“Something I can do for you?”
“Are you Mr. Peckham?” she said.
“Yeah.”
She wasted no time. “My name is Mari. I believe you are my father. You knew my mother in Japan. Her name is Chieko.”
He shook his head. “Never heard of her. I don’t know what you are up to. But you picked the wrong person.”
“Maybe this picture will help you remember her. You were both very young.”
When Mari extended her hand with a photo, Peckham’s face stiffened. He waved the picture away. “Doesn’t prove anything,” was all he said. It was a group photo with half a dozen faces circled.
“My mama showed me that picture many times. She said you didn’t want us. But I always hoped you would.”
“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Best thing for you is to be on your way.”
“Please look at picture. It has your name on the back. Mama made circle.”
“Okay. Then you’d better get going.” He repeatedly cleared his throat.
“Please look.”
This time, Peckham accepted the photo. He rubbed his eyes and gave every appearance of examining it closely.
“Nope. Never met her.” But Mari detected an involuntary tremor of recognition.
“It has your name,” she said again.
“What of it? It’s been a lot of years since I was stationed in Japan. It’s hard to remember. Anyway, I wasn’t one of those guys who hung out in the bars. No, sir. Not me.”
Mari sensed her approach made him uncomfortable. Indeed, he almost seemed afraid of her. His manner was nervous, and he avoided eye contact.
Peckham confirmed her perception when he said, “You have to leave. My wife will be home soon. She’s always asked questions about my time in Japan.”
Mari nodded. “I am going back to Japan soon. Mama is not well. And we are very poor. Perhaps you could help a bit. I will not contact you again.”
“If you’re so poor, how did you show up here?”
“Is sad story. I was married to American serviceman. He ran away.”
Arms folded, for a time, Peckham stood sullen and silent. Then, he said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the cops. How about that?”
Mari guessed he was bluffing. He would prefer that neither his wife nor the authorities learn of her visit. An expression of guilt assailed him when he looked at the picture.
“Even if it was true that I was your father, it doesn’t mean anything now. All these years later.”
“I hoped you would be a kind man. I am sorry to have disturbed you.” She turned as if to leave.
Peckham fumbled for his billfold. “I don’t know what your game is. I don’t even know if you’re who you say you are.” He displayed both irritation and resignation. “Here’s fifty dollars. But if you come here again, I’m serious. I’ll call the police.”
Mari offered a slight bow, thanked him, and walked quickly to the street. Charley waited nearby for her in the car.
“This is not a good thing we are doing.”
“Hey. We got enough money for cigarettes and a few brewskis.”
~ ~ ~
Two days later, Mari made her way up a cracked sidewalk through a trash-littered-yard; a broken wicker chair, a rusted lawn mower, an inoperable motorcycle, random cans and bottles. She rapped on the door of a flat-roofed, house, it’s feeble blue-green paint faded and peeling. The door opened, and Everett Burleigh peered out.
Unshaven, crew-cut, wearing a grubby undershirt, and beat-up jeans, standing there, Burleigh seemed an ominous presence. A big man, wide-shouldered, thick necked, and tough-looking. he oozed vulgarity, and tattoos embraced his arms.
“Well, hello there, little lady. What can I do for you?”
It struck her he had a face like a kabocha (a Japanese pumpkin). It was a face saturated with menace. She hesitated, and then blurted out the now familiar words, “I think you are my father.”
Her words elicited a crooked grin, revealing Burleigh’s bad teeth.
“First time I heard that line. What are you selling?”
“I am not selling anything. You knew my mother when you were at Atsugi.”
“Oh yeah? Which one was she? I knew quite a few of them little dollies; if you catch my drift.” He winked. “Was she the one used to get up on the table and . . . His questions came loaded with inquisitive prurience.
“This is her picture. Her name is Chieko. I have wanted to meet you for a long time.” Mari could hear the television set running inside the house.
“Can’t say I remember her.”
“Please look picture again.” Unease settled over her like a futon (Japanese quilt).
“Now ain’t that something. You’re telling me I had a kid. Could be. You’re one sweet-looking piece of. . .”
The way he looked at her generated spasms of discomfort. Her skin crawled. Why had she let Charley talk her into this?
“Why don’t you come in, honey? I was just having a beer. You can tell me all about why I should think you’re my kid.”
“My mother is not well. And I am going back to Japan. We are very poor. Anything you give us would help. Anything.” She began to retreat.
“Money? Is that it? Sure, I can give you a couple of twenties. Why don’t you come on in? I’ll go get my wallet. You can wait inside.” He reached for her arm.
Mari wheeled and ran back to where Charley had parked around the corner.
She clambered into the car. Charley leaned back listening to the radio. Bobby McFerrin trilled his way through “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Mari worried, and she was not happy. She felt as if Burleigh’s shadowed presence had trailed her to the car.
“I was frightened. He is a bad person.”
“Well,” Charley said, “You can’t win ‘em all.”
“I will do this no more.”
“You’re right. We didn’t do so good with these last two. But I’ve been thinking. Maybe we can come up with some story and have another try at Stubbins.”
“No.”
He shrugged and displayed an expression of blank indifference. “Hey, I was just thinking out loud.”
~ ~ ~
That night on her cot, Mari pondered her experience with the three men. But it was Stubbins who dominated her thoughts. He’d been kind, something she had experienced from few men. Charley was right. Stubbins likely would not miss the money. Still, she didn’t feel good about their trick. She had not led a righteous life. But what they had done to Stubbins bothered her. She was touched by unfamiliar feelings.
Over morning coffee, Charley explored ways they might tap Stubbins one more time. He described him as an easy mark. “Maybe tell him you sent the money to Japan but missed your flight.”
The unfairness of this proposal gnawed at Mari. Stubbins had been good to her. For someone who had so often made wrong choices, the notion of doing something positive produced an unusually warm feeling. She thought and thought. Charley and Noriko had provided her place of refuge. She owed them. But her image of Stubbins was especially positive. She wanted to do right by him.
At two in the afternoon, she got into her car and headed for El Cajon. She pulled up a block from Stubbins’ place and sat in the car listening to the radio, thinking about her next move. Roy Orbison crooned away. “Oh, Pretty Woman.” Mari wanted to be a pretty woman. She wanted to be a good woman. But she felt like neither.
What could she say? How might she gain his forgiveness? And, then, she settled on an approach that all too often evaded her. She could tell the truth. She would tell all, return the money ($4,500) she had received, and then . . . and then was the hard part; she did not know what might follow. How would Stubbins respond. How would Charley and Noriko respond when they learned their scheme had been revealed?
Mari had grown up tough and untrusting. Yet, somehow, Stubbins generosity and humility had struck a responsive chord. In a sense, she and Stubbins each bore the other’s suffering. She experienced an empathy toward the man, unlike any she’d felt toward any other human. And she knew she had hurt him. She herself felt pain, the pain of regret, and she wanted to repair the hurt she had inflicted.
~ ~ ~
Mari hesitated at the door and nearly turned away. Finally, she summoned the courage. She rapped softly. When there was no response she rapped more loudly’
When Stubbins opened the door and saw her, an expression of surprised happiness swept his face.
“Mari. I thought you’d gone. Come in, come in.”
She entered the room and, eyes downcast, took a seat. He sat opposite on a leather recliner.
“Mr. Stubbins, I have come to say sorry.”
“Sorry? I don’t understand. Please relax. I was just making some toast. Would you like a piece of toast?”
“No thank you. I have no appetite.”
“I am glad to see you again, Mari. I even went to the airport looking for you. I did not know what became of you.”
She continued to look away. “Mr. Stubbins, I am not a nice person. I came to tell you. We played a trick on you.”
“A trick?”
“Yes. My story was not true. My mother is not sick. She is dead for a long time. She never said you were my father. I was not on my way back to Japan. It was all a story.”
“Some things you said seemed strange, but . . .”
“It was Charley’s idea. Him and Noriko.”
“Who is Charley?”
“He is husband of my friend, Noriko. Used to be Navy. I have been staying at their place.”
“He said we could fool you, and you would give us money. I am sorry, Mr. Stubbins. You are nice man with a good heart.”
“Mari, I thought it might be a scheme of some kind. But do you know what? I don’t care. I did know your mother. And I believe you really could be my daughter. I like the idea. Very much.”
“I am so sorry,” Mari said again. “I want to give back money I got.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “This is 4,500. Charley kept the rest.”
“The money doesn’t matter,” Stubbins said. “What matters is that you have done the right thing.”
“Mr. Stubbins, I have so much shame.” She could tell her distress troubled him.
“I’m sure you were under great pressure from this fellow, Charley. Surely you won’t go back to them.”
“No. I am running away from him and his wife. Charley will be angry I told you. But he will not tell anybody. Afraid to be caught himself.”
“I have no interest in those people. But what will you . . .?”
“Please take money. Then, I will go.” She again tried to hand him the envelope.
“No, Mari. I do not want the money. And I do not want you to leave. I would like to help you.”
“I do not think so, Mr. Stubbins. I am a soiled person. This will always follow me.”
“You’ve had a rough start. But you are young. You can use the money to find a place to live. Maybe go to school. Get a job.”
“It is too late,” Mari said. “I cannot be good person you hope for.” Moisture dimmed her eyes.
Stubbins ignored her words. “If you need a sponsor; if you need more money, I can help you.”
“I want to think I am your daughter,” Mari said. She had decided to assume he really was her father. And maybe that was enough.
The temptation to accept Stubbins’ offer; the temptation to stay, pulled strongly. Maybe acceptance would afford a chance to at last move from insecurity to security. But the likelihood of making it work seemed a derelict hope. She feared her husband would locate her and make demands, especially if he found out about the money. Even Charley and Noriko might pursue her. Somehow, she thought, she would do something more to hurt Stubbins. She did not merit his further consideration. She could never be the good person he deserved.
Having delivered her confession, she said, “Now I must go, Mr. Stubbins. You are a good man. I will always remember you.”
He again urged her to reconsider, but she was determined to leave.
As she stood in the open door, he said, “Where will you go? You can still change your mind.”
“Maybe San Francisco. Maybe Hawaii. I do not know. I will write you letter.”
“I will wait to hear from you, Mari. Maybe you will change your mind. You will always be welcome.”
“I know. Goodbye, Papa,” she said. Mari went to her car and drove away.
Perhaps she really would write to him. Perhaps.
