of Honolulu. The American executives were also loud in demanding such qualified men.
Aside from the concrete social and pecuniary advantages to be derived from a Japanese education, the parents longed to see their son pick up some Japanese traits prized by all compatriots--faithfulness to tradition of "Giri and Ninjo," a peculiarly Japanese custom of moral obligation or indebtedness to acts of kindness or social ties that at times may demand a sacrificial response in terms of material or even life. It was a code of honor gradually evolved in the centuries of an inbreeding civilization of a hermit nation. To persons of the first generation, the happy-go-lucky, self-centered, irresponsible tendencies of their offspring were sources of worry and concern. To them, a man is measured in the degree of responsibility he takes in his uttered promises and in his willingness to devote himself to communal welfare--not the egotistic betterment of one's lot alone. From this viewpoint the family must be the unit of society and as such stand or fall together: in contra-distinction to the individualistic way of looking after oneself alone, which was the attitude of the Hawaiian community.
As a successful grocer of the countryside, as a leader of the Japanese community of Makaweli, Seikichi Arata had his prestige to look after. The Consulate General in Honolulu appointed him, without compensation, to help fill out applications from the illiterate, to interpret orders, and in general help the official Japanese representative keep the immigrants orderly. He was involved in all the major activities of the plantation and was consulted about anything that happened, good or bad. Nothing would enhance his position more than to send his son to Honolulu. It would set him aside as a far-seeing man, as a well-to-do personage in the eyes of his friends. To his own selfish interests, there was the promise of perpetuating a prosperous line of Aratas in the land of his adoption.
A Japanese High School in Honolulu had been operated for the past five years and the pick of the students from the country schools were heading for Honolulu. The school taught advanced Japanese, and was headed by well-educated teachers. The students attending this school attended the American School in Honolulu as well. Thither proceeded Sadao in September 1912.
Prologue
April 8, Sunday Honolulu
AT BREAKFAST, DR. MINORU MURAYAMA met his mother. She was now in her late seventies but well preserved. Like many women of her race, she did not put on weight as she grew old. Gray haired and straight backed, she was able to move about freely and was a great help to the family. Only the wrinkles in her face revealed that she no longer was young, but even these seemed to be at a standstill since her husband's demise four years ago.
"When did you last see Mr. Arata, I mean the elder Arata who used to be in Arkansas?" questioned the doctor.
"Let me see. Not lately anyway. I think it was at father's funeral. Unless there is something like that happening, we do not often see each other. Is there something wrong?" Her mental faculty was very keen.
"Yes. Last night he had a heart attack and is now at the Kuakini Hospital. I hope he makes it, but it is hard to know at this stage just how he will end up."
"Now, that was a fine man. You got to know him in Arkansas didn't you? I first met him when I landed in Honolulu as a bride almost sixty years ago. Mrs. Arata was on the same boat coming over. We four went to Waikiki to see the aquarium. His wife is dead, my husband is gone for four years, and now he is sick. Maybe not to recover. Looks like I am the last to survive of the four carefree youngsters from Japan that picnicked at Waikiki that day." Minoru looked up and searchingly gazed at his mother. It was not like her to talk sentimentally of the past.
While his father, Torao Murayama, was alive, Minoru used to spend many hours listening to the stories of the early plantation days on the North Hilo coast and probe into the obscure aspects of the contract labor days that he could not understand. When he was fortunate enough to meet any oldtimer among his patients, he spent extra hours gathering more information. Much of his boyhood, he remembered comparatively well. He sat in deep reverie as this was a Sunday morning and he could loaf.
CHAPTER 8
Farm life in Japan
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD, Napoleon Bonaparte had risen and fallen and Europe was in the grip of a fierce struggle for a realignment of powers. In the New World an infant nation was in the throes of putting her house in order over states rights and the burning question of human rights to freedom. What about the hermit kingdom of Cipangu, the fabled land of Marco Polo?
In the fertile plains of Kumamoto in Kyushu, southwest Japan, Torao Murayama's ancestors had lived as sturdy peasants, tilling the rice patches in the rich delta regions of the Midorikawa. On the hilly sides of the Peninsula of Uto they had their village homes for countless generations. The nation was in hermetic seclusion and everything seemed to be at a standstill. After three centuries of continued peace, the warrior caste had lost its original initiative, physical prowess, endurance, and every martial aptitude that had set this class apart and had permitted its ascendancy over the peasantry in the remote past in feudal history.
In the main, long accustomed to life of leisure and bureaucratic office work, the samurai had degenerated into peaceful citizens delving in the gentler arts of music, tea ceremony, and dancing, rather than pursuing the Spartan ways of their fierce ancestors who had lived by the sword. The hegemony of the Tokugawa Shogunate over the island empire was numbered. Revolutionary sentiment was strong among the lower stratum samurai who were destined to continue in their downtrodden life should the status quo continue. Young blood clamored for the restoration of the emperor to his rightful office as sovereign in fact, as well as in name. It was a convenient rallying point for the dissidents. It had mass appeal, especially to the underprivileged artisans and peasants. Thoughtful shogunate officials saw the words of doom concerning their future written on the wall.
The external pressure of the Russians from the north, iron fleets of America, England, and the Dutch pounding at the gates of the southern seaports, hastened the downfall of the then existing government by climaxing the struggle of the conflicting forces within the country. But this foreign threat merely hastened the end of the feudal system, for inevitable doom was imminent. Attempts to save the system were naturally made, but the core of the feudal system was like a termite-eaten edifice. Leaders saw through the danger and attempting to reenforce the structure at the eleventh hour, tried blood transfusion in its literal sense. Infusing new blood of sturdy young peasant sons of superior stock was the only solution to prolong the failing tide of destiny.
Thus, Lord Hosokawa of Kumamoto looked among his peasantry for young, dependable soldier material. Edicts were promulgated to recruit second and third sons of farmers and artisans who wished to seek advancement in life in the profession of arms. It was to be a lifelong job with prospects of attaining rank of the samurai and privileges appertaining to it. It was a tremendous opportunity for those who qualified. Examinations as to physical, mental, and moral stamina were most rigid. To have passed this obstacle was an attainment of incalculable merit, for it meant "passing" over into a higher, more respected caste than the one they had been born into. Since the law of primogeniture prevailed and all or most property holdings passed to the eldest male child, the lot of the second and other sons was not enviable. Only in wealthier families did they have any chance for a decent existence. The best they could do was to become adopted into childless families or marry into families blessed only with girl offsprings. But the future prospects of the man married by such an arrangement was not always smooth sailing. A hen-pecked husband is not a happy situation in any community, and a wife with a large dowry was apt to "wear the pants in the family." There was a saying therefore: "If you have three pints of rice polishings to your name, never become an adopted son."
These volunteer soldiers were, therefore, the pick of the land. The rejuvenation of the governing class was thus belatedly attempted. Sadaki Mayeda was among these and by his knack of getting along with people he was soon promoted to the rank of the present-day sergeant and was stationed at Kyoto when the restoration of the emperor came. Japan was split into two camps on the question of opening its country to foreign commerce. The Tokugawa group was willy-nilly forced to accede to the demands of the foreign powers,