Sujata Massey - Shimura Trouble

“That’s a tough situation for you, isn’t it?” My father said. “If you want to get the land back, for nostalgic and emotional reasons.”

Edwin looked as if he thought my father was deranged. “Of course I want to sell to him. I want to get the property, and then sell it. I mean, that’s what my fadduh wants to do. Right?” He shot a look at Uncle Yoshitsune, who only raised his white eyebrows.

“It would be good for your whole family, economically,” Uncle Hiroshi pronounced. Money was the one thing he understood.

“Uncle Edwin, how will it be possible to sell the land if your father doesn’t have a title?”

“We can prove it other ways. The evidence is all around.” Edwin waved his hand around as if the proof was floating somewhere above the dining table. “You see that I’m a simple working man. I never had the funds to hire a lawyer. A good lawyer would have won the case.” Edwin looked at me again. “Your ex-fiancé, he went and helped complete strangers for free! He could still help us. “

“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” I said tightly, and noticed both my father and Aunt Margaret look at me with concern.

“We must bring out the truth, quick as possible. And I’m willing to make it worth everyone’s while,” Edwin rasped. “Since Hugh apparently isn’t an option, we’ll have to hire a real-estate lawyer from one of the good Queen Street firms. Somebody better than the last guy, Bobby Yamaguchi. I’ll need you guys to help me with the retainer; they charge you thousands, just to get started. Whaddya think, Hiroshi? You a money guy, right?”

Uncle Hiroshi nodded, and after looking at him, I saw my own father and Tom nod as well. The family wouldn’t let each other down, even if it was heading straight for disaster.

Taking a deep breath, I spoke. “Uncle Edwin, I’m deeply sympathetic, but I’m concerned that this might actually be a personal matter handled better by you and your father.”

“I give you this promise.” Edwin was looking at the men in my family, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “You get me the legal help to fix this situation and then I’ll flip that land to Mitsuo Kikuchi for a price even more than it’s worth-you know me, I can be persuasive. And we’ll split the proceeds three ways-my family, yours-’ he nodded at my father-‘And yours.” A final nod to Hiroshi and Tom.

“This could be a lot of effort and expenditure for…” I cut myself off, not wanting to be rude enough to say ‘nothing’. Instead I continued, “How do you know the property’s value?”

“I ordered a commercial appraisal earlier this year. You can see the paperwork, if you like.”

“Yes, please,” Tom and Uncle Hiroshi said, almost in unison. Margaret jumped up and hurried into another room, coming back with a small sheaf of papers. After Tom and Uncle Hiroshi studied it, they passed it to my father, and then it was mine.

I scanned the appraisal. 1 Kalama Street was a ratty-looking shack in the midst of weeds, and a line of type below listed it as a rental property owned by Pierce Holdings. The appraised value was five million dollars, which the appraiser had calculated based on the prospect of selling the cottage as a teardown property.

“You can go out there, see it yourself. Me, I got a court order to stay away from the place, so I can’t go there anymore.” Edwin turned to look directly at the men at the table. “So how about it? Do you want to help us? If I’m being too pushy, let me know. We’re family.”

To my surprise my father said, “I think we’d like to think about this…challenge you have presented. May we give you our answer in a few days?”

“Of course!” Edwin sounded aggressively jovial. “I didn’t mean to surprise you with too much news at one time, but you are just here for just a month. We got to use our time well.

No, I thought to myself. It’s not about using our time well. It’s about using us, period.

I BROKE THE law right away the next morning, by heading across the Pierce fields for my run. Everything I’d learned about the Pierce Holdings in the last day had predisposed me to dislike, and I seriously doubted the lands manager would shoot a small woman in a red running bra and purple shorts, if he came across me. I prepared an innocent response, in case I was confronted, but I was not. I saw nobody there, or in the plantation village, and I fairly swaggered into Aloha Morning and downed a bottle of ice-cold Fiji water while I waited for my latte, feeling the sweat cooling against my almost-bare back. It had been a wonderful run, largely because of the absence of traffic. The only car I’d had to watch out for had been a speeding Mercedes driving through Kainani, and I’d just let it pass.

On this, my second full day on the island, I felt myself falling into a routine. At the coffee shop I’d exchanged the shaka sign with Kainoa when I’d walked in; he’d grinned but remained in leisurely conversation with customers lounging on the lanai. While I waited for my coffee order to be made by a young, bleached-blond Asian surfer boy, I ambled around the shop, looking at the various things for sale. In addition to surfboards and macadamia nuts, there was a clothing section selling Hawaii-themed T-shirts, sarongs, board shorts and swimwear.

“You plan to swim home?”

I jumped at the sound of Kainoa’s voice. He was right behind me, with a paper cup in one hand. “Here’s your latte. I had Joe make it with a double shot, no extra charge.”

“Thanks.” I saw his eyes go to the small crocheted bikini in my hand. “Don’t tell me you’ve got nuns in a convent going blind making these?”

Kainoa laughed. “My cousin Leila crochets them, hanging out in her backyard while the kids play. They sell here and on the beach at Haleiwa, where of course the price is twenty per cent higher.”

“Cute, but a bit too young for me.” I put the bikini down, glad that my three-year-old Speedo was still serviceable. “So, where’s Charisse?”

“Didn’t show up.” Kainoa shrugged. “Second morning this week it’s happened. If she gets in, I’m going to have her give the espresso machine a good cleaning-I can’t handle this place all on my own, you know? And about the bikini, just take it home, yah? Forget your age, which is what, twenty-six?”

“Thirty. You’re a very good salesman,” I said, smiling despite myself.

“It’s not the only thing I’m good at.” His eyes held mine for a moment. “What are you doing tonight? I’m going over to a club on the North Shore, nice little hangout where Jack Johnson used to play. I hear he’s back on the island, which means he might even stop in and jam.”

“What a nice invitation.” I paused, thinking how I could rebuff him without causing offense. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go. Family obligations.”

“You got kids?” His thick eyebrows rose.

“No, but I’m caring for my father. He had a stroke recently, so I’m working on his physical therapy and diet every day, and I don’t like to leave him alone at night.” I’d poured it on a little heavy, but I didn’t want Kainoa to ask me out for another night. “My morning run is the one thing I do for myself, and I treasure it.”

Kainoa followed me over to the bar, where I decided to use a squeeze bottle of local honey instead of my usual sugar. He said, “All right then, I can take a hint. So how you getting along with your Hawaii relatives? Is your uncle still chasing waterfront property dreams?”

“He is-and no matter how lolo or annoying he may be, I’m sympathetic. So many Japanese-Americans lost property during the war. There are heartbreaking stories throughout California, where I grew up.”