Suribachi: A Samurai Daughter's Story

By Chica Tadakuma Sugino

Born in Japan from samurai lineage, Chica Tadakuma Sugino was raised by a wet nurse and brought to America as a young girl on the aspirations of a father chasing after the American dream. Suribachi is the autobiographical story of her remarkable life. It is the story of how culture, immigration, war, racism, faith, family, and love intertwine and impact one fiercely determined individual. It is a story built on traditions, hope, struggle, success, loss, and new beginnings. It chronicles Chica's life beginning in Japan, coming to the United States, and navigating daunting challenges in a new country. She experiences cultural clashes and enigmas as she learns a new way of life and thinking, juggling Japanese values and traditions with those of America. Growing up under the shadow of a beautiful and talented older sister, Chica nonetheless nurtures her own strengths and strives to excel. Her father's various money-making schemes, involving Chica and her sister, lead to an estranged relationship with him. Forced to return to Japan as a young adult, Chica encounters being a foreigner in the land of her birth and finds faith through the kindness of an American missionary. She eventually returns to America with a heart of forgiveness and reconciliation. Suribachi is one woman's personal story, unique, yet familiar in the emotions expressed and experienced by us all. LeeAnn Shigekawa, Granddaughter

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645594208

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sangenya

As I swept the pine needles down the steps, three flowing figures were almost right before me. I stood in awe, transfixed, as though angels from heaven had descended as in Hagoroma, the Noh drama Mama often chanted. They were too shimmery for anything else. Then they smiled at me without even covering their mouths, graciously showing their teeth.

I was so flustered by this unearthly vision that I dropped my broom and scampered up the stone steps. On my stomach I peered cautiously from between the iris and the overhanging chrysanthemums. They must have heard my heart thumping for they looked up at me with their limpid blue and green eyes like rocking pools of water on elephant leaves.

"Ohayo, ohayo go-zai-mas [good morning]," they chorused.

I was surprised, flustered, and delighted.

"Ohayo gozaimas," I returned, bowing.

"Sa-yo-na-ra. Say-yo-NA-ra." [Good bye.] They waved as they disappeared into the brush toward our lake.

"Sayonara," I called after them. Then I let out a big sigh. So tense had I been. I had often seen villagers and students pass to picnic at our lake, but never before had I seen Caucasians. I rushed to the porch where Mother was.

Mother, Mother, I yelled excitedly. Did you see them just now, those foreigners pass by?

Who passed by? She looked annoyed, for I had not even said, Excuse me.

Excuse me, Mother. Three foreigners. They were so picturesque. Their skirts were frilly like petunia petals, and the most beautiful feathers fell from their hats like waterfalls over their shoulders. It is true what Father wrote. Everything except the face was covered, even their hands. And what long necks! How must Father feel to be living among such people every day?

Perhaps you will find out for yourself soon. She smiled, pausing. Then I noticed her eyes were wet as she gazed far out on the bay.

Mother, if we go straight from the bay, will you reach America?

Yes, way, way beyond, five thousand miles. Do you wish to go where Father is? she asked, her mellow eyes looking at me tenderly. I never tired of looking at her.

Oh, yes, I want to be with Father so much. Everybody has a father at home. I don’t even remember him, but no one I know looks so great as he.

"Sah. She stalled, looking at me. But she couldn’t evade my searching, waiting eyes. It’s been a long time, neh."

As though to herself, she murmured, I suppose neighbors wonder because I have received no mail for such long time. I must write again and ask your father to call us, yes, as soon as possible.

To go to America? How soon? I asked, clapping my hands.

Now, now, I only said I will write to ask him. Don’t say anything to anyone, I don’t want to spread gossip.

Then I asked timidly, Is it bad to ask why I was always left behind? Was it because I’m not pretty like Sister? I almost choked.

Why, whoever told you such a foolish thing, Kachan? Sensing my envy for my sister, she hurried to explain, "When your father was sent to Formosa to reorganize the railroad that had been ruined by the war, you caught malaria, and so we sent you to the mainland to have a better chance of recovery.

"When we returned the next year, you refused goat’s milk and grew thinner and thinner, so we had to send for your wet nurse, Okame. Your father’s next assignment was Hokkaido. The doctor said, ‘It’s cold like Siberia,’ and so you were left again. We returned a year later, but soon we left for Tokyo. We took you with us, but when Sister Sadako was born prematurely, we had to send you to Takata Auntie’s to lighten the maid’s work. Then your brother Taro was stricken with cholera. The loss of his only son was a great blow. It was after that that your father decided to go to America.

"Back at Sangenya, we found that you had become a real ojosan [miss], a model for the village girls, thanks to Takata Auntie’s training. She paused. Now do you understand why you were not always with us?"

I nodded, my eyes brimming.

And, Kachan, just because Okame, the servant cuddles you with abandon, it does not mean she loves you more than we do. Being samurai means self-control. Now, practice your calligraphy.

As I sat smoothing out the sand, she continued. However, it is becoming more important that girls be educated. Recently I read that some daughters of peers are being sent abroad to study. Besides, she reminded, girls with simple looks must have an extra education.

Yes, Mother. I bowed. I knew that I had to strive extra hard, that is, if I was to grow up as a desirable wife and not be a shelved, old maid. I even heard it in my dreams. If you are not beautiful, your accomplishments must be superior.

Sitting atop my thick cushion, I looked at the i-roha [Japanese poem] in my sandbox. It looked like as good as a copy.

Oh, that is much better, but practice a little more. Then you will be the best when you enter school.

I must have pouted a little for she quickly warned, Kachan, charming manners can outshine a handsome face. Remember that. A common face with a pleasant personality is preferred to a vain beauty.

Yes, Mother. I bowed. But may I put out my feet? They are tingling so.

Already? You may stop for today. Now go and help Grandmother ball yarn.

I found her at her loom in the guest room that opened out on the opposite yengan [inner courtyard porch]. I loved Grandmother’s enveloping arms, though I only felt them in bed on especially cold nights.

Grandmother, I began, sitting on the yengan, my legs dangling over the edge. I just saw three Caucasians, and they were holding their skirts in the back instead of the front. Isn’t that funny? Have you seen the foreigners?

Yes, a few times. Those Caucasians must be from the Girls’ Mission in the village. No other foreigners would dare come through these bamboo thickets. Those Caucasians are not afraid of any wilderness.

Grandmother stopped and looked at me patiently. There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said, Come in and tell me all about them while you help me unwind yarn.

I could hardly hold down all the thoughts that were bobbing in my head as I sat before her with the skein over my hand I began. Aren’t foreigners the strangest-looking people? They have such fuzzy, kinky hair. But they didn’t look cranky like kinky-haired people are supposed to be. And their noses! I want my nose to be tall, but I wouldn’t want mine as tall as that. They were huge like giants in the fairy book. And their eyes. They were blue-green like the cat’s. And, Grandmother, I added excitedly, Mother is writing to Father to call us all to America. Aren’t you happy? We’ll all be going to America soon.

No, Kachan [diminutive for Chica], I must stay in Sangenya and wait for your return in splendor of golden tapestry.

But, Grandmother, why? Won’t you be so lonely without us in these mountains?

Ten generations of Komines have lived here. Each loyally served his feudal lord and added to the width and depth of these estates. Your grandfather was instructor to the feudal lord. Sangenya stands today, a beautiful landmark because I stayed guarding it during the War of Restoration. How will I explain myself to your ancestors if anything should happen to this house and mountains while everyone is away?

War of Restoration. Meiji Era, no longer Samurai.

With what country was the War of Restoration?

"It was not with another country. When the white barbarians came and threatened war if Japan did not open the country to trade, it was necessary for Japan to be under one head, the Emperor. That meant the feudal lords would have to give up their individual power. Many did not want to, so they fought it out until the Emperor’s power was restored.

"The result was the beginning of the reign of Emperor Meiji and end of the feudal system. About three hundred feudal lords with their samurai retainers were abolished. That is when all samurai, like your grandfather and father, lost their subsistence. They had to find new ways of making a living. Many samurai lost their severance pay in their first business venture. The samurai could no longer kill up to three farmers without punishment. Then the tradesmen got a chance to get even with the heretofore haughty Samurai, who were now blundering businessmen.

But there were many benefits. A public-school system was started. Compulsory education began for all children. Before, only samurai could study.

Why, Grandmother?

"Because the farmer did not need it. All he had to do was to till the soil and take his crops to the feudal lord. During this War of Restoration, the enemy came plundering and burning, causing everyone to flee before them. I had sent your mother and all the young people away. Soon a group of soldiers arrived and were greatly surprised to find me alone, unprotected.

"‘Madam,’ said one of the soldiers, ‘we have orders to set fire to this estate. Please leave.’ He waited while I sat immobile. ‘I must order you to leave at once,’ he repeated.

"Then I replied, ‘While my menfolk are away fighting, this house and estate are in my care. I cannot live to admit that I allowed it to be burned and lost. So if you must burn, then burn. I shall burn with it.’ They left to take counsel and never returned. Sangenya means three estates. The others were all burned down. Ours is the only one left."

Grandmother, weren’t you afraid?

"No, every samurai daughter was trained to defend herself with a halberd and her honor with a tanto [small dagger]."

"What is a tanto?"

"It is a small sword for hara-kiri [suicide] when honor is at stake."

Was Mother trained too?

"Yes, Grandfather insisted, even though times had changed and there was little likelihood of its use. She and Auntie were each given an heirloom tanto. What you need to remember now as a daughter of a samurai [warrior during feudal Japan] is that honor is more than life."

Sangenya Grandmother

How brave my grandmother was. I felt so secure with her. She was like the big ancient pine in the front yard, its outstretched gnarled arms protecting and shielding Sangenya from the strong winds sweeping up from the bay. I looked up at her lovingly, feeling overwhelming pride.

In the days of your grandfather, how these hills rang with the echo of samurai gallantry, she mused. Her eyes roved slowly at the camellia-bowered crags toward the target range. In the deep silence I could almost recall the tread of sandaled feet marching up the hillside, the sharp intonation of the rifle practice and the gay laughter of merriment that followed.

Now let us go to the kitchen. There we put on our sandals. From the rafters hung dried codfish, seaweeds, and sardines. I looked yearningly at the keg of black sugar on the high shelf. Grandmother took it down, put a chunk on a bamboo leaf, and folded it into a cone. Now a reward for a good girl.

*****

Sister came home for the summer vacation. It was the first time she and I were together since Tokyo days, and we were like friends. Mother invited several relatives, and we sat enrapt while the professional storyteller entertained us with heroic tales of famous warriors.

The serenity of Sangenya was often broken by the lilting tunes of the flutist. The medicine man brought sepuri [digestive herbs], Korean carrots, and first aid salves packed in clam shells.

It was a wonderfully festive time. I was to be enrolled at the village school in April.

Suddenly in February, the Russo Japanese War broke out. Our mountain range resounded all day long with bugle calls. One could feel the thud of marching feet at the nearby fortress as all the young and able-bodied went in loyal service to the kingdom and the Emperor.

I must do something to help even though I am a woman, said Mother, for both my husband and brother are away and cannot serve. Thus she went to the village and found the maimed, the half crazed, and others who had been rejected, and brought them to work on the estate.

With lunch tied around her waist, she left daily to supervise these men to make kindling from the brush growth and thin the bamboo. When the wages had been paid, there was three hundred yen for the war effort. The Emperor sent her three nested sake bowls with the imperial crest in gold. It was in the midst of all this excitement that I was enrolled at the Village School, for I had become six years old in March.

Village School

At the Village School, the first thing we did was to bow to the pictures of the Emperor and Empress. After six years of age, boys and girls sat on opposite sides of the room. The teacher read from the Shushin [ethics book] about heroes who were famous for their valor, loyalty, and devotion to parents. Lessons against waste were stressed.

Japan is a small country. We must not waste even tiny bits of rag or paper, for they are used to make new paper.

We learned a poem, Little Sand.

Chii saki suna no hito tsubu mo

Tsumoreba Fuji no yama to naru

Wareramo tayumazu tsutome nabe

Tsui niwa noboran ano yama ni

Ano mine ni.

Even a single grain of sand

Piled will Mt. Fuji be

If we strive unceasingly

Finally we will climb that mountain

Unto that summit.

Since the National Reader was prepared by the government, I was to hear this quoted all my life. Life at school was one continuous chain of challenges for me. When I brought home my calligraphy with a few characters circled in red, I complained, Mother, my brush is so worn. I cannot write decently.

She challenged, A poor brush is good enough for a poor writer. A good writer can show life and force regardless of the point of the brush. Get the best mark in class, and I shall buy you the best brush in class.

I’ll show her, I said to myself.

A few weeks later, I looked up to see the teacher holding up mine as the best before the admiring class. Six words had triple red targets, and two had double!

When I laid my triumphant copy before Mother, she smiled and said, That is very fine. I shall take you to the village store and let you buy your new brush. Your father will be so pleased.

*****

At recess, Taka-chan and I played with homemade bean bags, tag, and hopscotch. As she had to stay home on Saturday to watch her baby sister, I asked Mama if I could go to the dairy farm to play with her.

Grandmother spoke up, "Shu ni maji wareba, akaku naru." Mix in vermillion and stain red.

Then Mother said, No, Kachan.

Why, Mother?

I will explain when you are older.

(Class distinctions were rigidly embraced. I could go to school with Taka but not play with her.)

*****

One day, Mother said, These children must be prepared to go alone to the village, through these dark mountain paths. Emergency bides neither time nor day. You two will sleep three nights in the rifle house alone.

They are so young, pleaded Grandmother.

Who else will go? Suppose you become sick or fall? These are samurai children.

Just the thought of it was terrifying. Summer mornings found bear footprints, and a hornet’s nest hung in the eaves. It stood one hundred yards above our house, but Sister and I submitted without a murmur. We learned to be brave. We were samurai.

Preparations

When the war ended suddenly in September, Father wrote, Get a private tutor to teach the children English, American if possible. Then another letter from Papa. Be prepared to sail at any time. Passage to America is booked way ahead, but I am trying to get cancellations.

Great was our joy! Can’t tell when the passage might come, said Mother. She decided not to go with Auntie on a shopping tour to Kyoto. Instead she took us to the village festival. Grandmother dressed me in my new kimono with wide obi [sash]. The brightly lit booths dangled with toys. Mother bought some colored paper to make origami [folded paper] birds. Grandmother bought me a bright red darumasan [doll that cannot be tipped over], saying, "Be like this darumasan. See, it never stays fallen no matter how it is pushed." A life lesson.

*****

I looked at the lanterns Umekichi had hung on the eaves and asked, Mother, do they have Obon Festivals in America?

"Sah, I don’t know."

Maybe we should take some lanterns so brother’s and sister’s spirits can find us. Just then I spied Goro as he emerged from the bamboo grove. Here’s Goro. Must be news! I exclaimed.

Might be the tickets, said Sister excitedly. Goro came panting and presented the furoshiki [large square silk used to carry items].

Thank you, Goro-san. Rest a bit, said Mama as she unfolded the furoshiki. Don’t go back empty-handed, Goro-san. Go to the shed and let Umekichi prepare a basket to take back. Mama’s face was now wreathed in smiles as she looked at the big white envelope with lots of foreign stamps. She cut the small end and let the contents fall. Handing Grandmother the tickets, she began to read the letter.

"Enclosed are one adult and two half-fare tickets. You will sail mid-September from Nagasaki on the SS Minnesota. It is the largest steamer afloat, the safest and smoothest. It is due in Seattle on October 6." She paused.

Grandma’s eyes were misty. "You have less than a month for all the farewell visits and the pilgrimage to Ise Jingu [Shinto shrine]."

"I don’t think we’ll have time for Ise (Shinto Shrine), Mama replied. Since we are sailing from Nagasaki, Ise would mean a special trip north. Besides, nowadays… She faltered and looked at Grandma. Well, educated people rely less and less on amulets for protection. They say the priest keep up the belief to keep the pilgrims coming with their offerings. It is a part of their livelihood."

Grandmother folded her hands in her lap. She looked at Mama sternly and said, "The newly educated are like the newly rich. They become heady with a little knowledge. Because your new education cannot explain the miracles, you belittle them. The rise and fall of the tides can be written years ahead. You know very well that the sailors sail their ships by the stars. Can you deny that there must be a great spirit behind such regularity? If you have no time for Ise, at least, please visit the water god in the village for an amulet or I shall not be able to sleep in peace while you are on the water."

Chapter 2

The Concubine: Omasa

Yes, of course. Mama bowed. We’ll also stop by when we go for our farewell to Omasa, the concubine.

Since I had never heard of Omasa, I asked, Who is Omasa? Where does she live?

Mother explained, Omasa lives on a farm on the other side of the valley. You children have never seen her because she is half paralyzed. When you are older, I will tell you more about her.

After that Sister and I waited eagerly for the right almanac day to visit Omasa. What made the trip exciting was that Mama told us, You will wear your new foreign clothes. I want Omasa to have a New Year feast for her eyes. Lying there year in and year out with her farmer relatives, she will never get to see anyone in foreign attire.

On the morning of the visit, we were so excited I could hardly eat. Finish your codfish. You’ll need extra energy for the long trip, said Grandma. Your foreign dress is laid out for you.

Remember what the tailor said, you must put your arms into the sleeve holes first, then slip into the dress. My, my, how nice that looks, she said after she had buttoned my back. I stood fingering the lace running down the front of the challis dress sprinkled with violets and carnations. Come, now for the ribbon. Combing my ruffled hair, she pinned the big pink bow Papa had sent from America. Then Sister and I went to the yengan to put on our shoes.

I don’t think you should put on your shoes until just before Omasa’s house. They’ll get all scuffed on the road, advised Grandma. So we trotted along in our zoris [thongs] and our foreign dresses so light and free, singing the still popular victory song, Nippon katta, Nippon katta; Russia maketa. [Japan won, Japan won; Russia lost (the war)].

As we approached Omasa’s home, Now, both of you, Mama warned, when we get to Omasa’s, don’t talk uselessly. Just be polite and bow. And, Katchan, don’t ask any questions. Remember, better wear your shoes now. Just be careful not to stub them against rocks.

The shoes were pretty but how uncomfortable! We couldn’t walk very fast, but soon we saw a pine grove with a house and several warehouses. At the outer door of the farm house an old but husky woman welcomed us with deep bows. "Welcome, madam. How cute the o-jo-chans [young ladies] are in their foreign dresses. They are like dolls. Omasa will be happy." We followed her in stocking feet through room after room covered with drying mochi [rice cakes]. At last we came to the room where Omasa lay.

Who is it? she asked as she continued to stare at the ceiling.

"It is the young madam from Sangenya with her two ojo-chans [daughters], the woman replied and brought three company cushions from the closet. She placed them so the bed-ridden woman could see us, and helped her turn over. You must be very thirsty," she said, excusing herself.

How kind of you to come so far, Oyone-san, Omasa said softly to Mother. "And this is Omiya-san and O Chica san? How beautiful Omiya-san is. How cute O Chica san. Riki has always told me how intelligent your daughters