Apparently the doctors hadnt paid any attention to the nurse, and Mas understood. Doctors and hospitals were always worried about getting sued; at least thats what one of Mass young doctor customers kept telling him. So if Rikis death had been helped along by someone else, who could it have been? The nurse didnt remember Rikis having had too many other visitors. Even the wife and children had stopped coming around.
You can try to make your case with the hospital, even the police, the nurse said. Ill lose my job if I make too much more of a fuss. But you, an old friend, thats different.
Mas shoved his hands in his jean pockets, thanked the nurse, and left the building.
The next day, Mas knew what to do. He went to the jail early in the afternoon, and left his cigarettes in the Jeep. He brought the sports page to read in line. Finally, he was back in jail, with Yuki looking at him from the other side of the glass.
Yukis skin, even the whites of his eyes, looked yellow and diseased. How long he would survive in jail, Mas didnt know.
Yuki didnt waste any time. I havent told you the whole truth, he said. I didnt tell you about the land.
Your property?
Yuki nodded, his voice now barely above a whisper. I made a deal, he said. With this one development company. Ten million dollars.
Nakane.
Yuki nodded again. Of course, I wouldnt sell it to them while
Obaachan
was alive. I couldnt, anyway. Its all under her name. And she refused to deal with any developers. Shes just like my father: wants to hold on to the land no matter what. But after my father died, money was tight. For both of us.
Obaachan
was too proud, but not me. So I made a deal with Nakane. Hed give me a hundred thousand up front, and Id make sure that the land was undisturbed. Wed put a fence around it. Make sure that no one else had access to it.
Fence?
I know; it didnt make sense. But I agreed. And then I started feeling guilty. What was I doing?
Obaachan
was my only family, and here I was, making deals behind her back. So I changed my mind. I even offered to repay the money in monthly installments. Nothing was on paper, anyhow. Well, Nakane was so angry. Threatened to get rid of me, and
Obaachan,
too. Next thing I know, hes on his way to America to find out about this Joji Haneda in California.
Whyzu dis land so special?
Yuki pressed his hair back. Thats what I thought at first. Its small; can hold only fifty apartment units. And its right by some factories by the water. Who would want to live there?
Wheres dis place, again? Mas listened as Yuki described the location. Ujina. He knew it well. Full of factories back then, pumping out gray smoke while producing airplane propellers and other military equipment. He knew a couple of boys who had lived in the area. Mas pictured the makeshift shacks, the bald lightbulbs lighting up the shantytown at night. Why would such a piece of land be so valuable?
I have some theories, Yuki said. But I cant do anything locked up here. I need your help, Arai-
san
. Can you give it to me?
The last thing Mas wanted to do was make a long-distance telephone call, much less one to Hiroshima. But after a few tries and pressing a series of zeroes and ones, he finally got a funny dial tone that sounded like blips more than rings. About the fourth blip, a male voice came on.
Moshi-moshi, Shine
magazine. Noguchi speaking.
Mas took a deep breath and put all his energy into speaking the most proper Japanese that he could muster. Excuse, is this Noguchi Nobuhiro? Kimura Yukikazus friend?
Yes, who is this?
Ah, Arai Masao. Calling from America.
Whats happened to Yuki? We heard about his trouble; weve been trying to call the police and sheriffs departments, but no one can give us a clear answer.
Ah, yah, hes in some trouble. Needs your help.
Yes, of course, anything. What can I do from way over here?
Mas swallowed before speaking. Land. Haneda land in Ujina.
Where they are hoping to build some new mansions?
Yah, Yuki needs you to do research, find out about that land during World War Two.
So said Noguchi. I believe there were a lot of defense factories in that area.
Ah, yah, well, I think Koreans working and living there, too.
Of course, of course.
Mas could hear the reporter typing on some kind of keyboard.
Ill do some nosing around and then Ill call you back. The reporter jotted down Mass Altadena phone number and then ended the phone call.
About an hour and a half later, the phone rang. Mas had placed the tan telephone on the middle of his kitchen table, right next to a half-eaten rotisserie chicken.
Hallo, hallo.
Arai-
san
? Its Noguchi. Ive consulted with another reporter, and weve discovered something very interesting.
Arais hand grew wet as he held the telephone receiver tight to his ear and heard the
Shine
reporters findings. The conversation was short but fruitful. Mas now understood why everyone was in a rush to find a Joji Haneda in America.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The funeral was set for seven P.M., so that meant Mas and Haruo had to leave by six P.M. Punctu-ality was key for every Nisei, and no one was ever late to a funeral. But Mas was in fact behind schedule. He had called Haruo to go on ahead, so he was surprised to see his friend waiting for him on the porch at six-thirty.
Haruo was wearing a polyester brown suit and thick tie from the seventies. His hair had been oiled and combed back, fresh teeth marks at the side part. Mas could smell a healthy dose of aftershave lotion, probably stored in Haruos family medicine cabinet for decades. Haruo Mukai was looking good enough for a funeral.
As Mas wrapped a skinny tie around his neck on the porch, Haruo held out an envelope.
Whatsu dis?
Koden,
said Haruo.
Koden?
I put thirty in yours. Figured you knowsu Haneda for a long time.
Koden?
Mas felt like laughing. Why help out the very family who was cheating his friends out of millions of dollars? I not gonna give
koden,
he declared. Not gonna give nutin to those people.
Mas, you gotsu history.
It was no use. Mas didnt have time to argue with Haruo.
Betta put your name on back, said Haruo.
Retrieving a pen from the kitchen, Mas wrote in block letters JOJI HANEDA and then the Hanedas old address in Hiroshima.
Mas had not been to Evergreen Cemetery for a few years. They passed Mexican bakeries, closed for the night, and liquor stores, open but windows barred. On the sidewalk, a middle-aged man pushed a small cart, a bell ringing.
He remembered his friend Ichiro Itchy Iwasaki, who had worked a brief time at a nearby mortuary after getting laid off from his job as a janitor at City Hall.
Terrible work, hed told Mas, describing a midnight trip to pick up a 103-year-old woman from a nursing home, weighed down by all her money and paperwork tied around her waist. There was the middle-aged man who had committed suicide in a deep freezer, alongside iced shrimp and Fudgsicles. The most heartbreaking was an infant, not even two months old, who had died in his sleep with a mobile of sheep and clouds overhead.
Itchy, like the other mortuary workers, had had the option to watch a cremation. Might help in explaining it to the loved ones, his boss explained. But Itchy had declined. Hey, this is just to tide me over. Not a career move or nutin.
The cemetery itself still looked the same, except the grass from the outside of the iron gate looked a little brown and sparse. Haruo steered the car into the driveway, following a line of new Hondas and Toyotas tan, light gray, and wine-colored waiting to park near the chapel.
The lot seemed to be filled. Many people come to say good-bye to Haneda, said Haruo, his suit jacket overwhelming his skinny shoulders and arms. He followed a loop in the road lined with palm trees, and parked next to a giant sphere, someones strange grave marker.
