Читать книгу Hawaii End of the Rainbow - Kazuo Miyamoto - Страница 18

THE RECRUITING AGENTS OF AN EMIGRATION company went from village to village in Kumamoto Prefecture, painting a rosy picture of distant Hawaii. They were trying to get farmers to sign up for work in the sugar cane fields. Laborers were to work ten hours a day in the hot sun. But there was a day of rest every seven days, and certainly this was an improvement over farms in Japan, where only on national holidays, Bon, and New Years would work automatically cease. As long as there was work, it had to be accomplished far into the night. No conception of work hours was entertained. Of course there were days of rest, off and on, depending on the weather.

"You young fellows should think of the future. Hawaii is in that part of the world where there is no winter. Spring all the year around. No warm clothes needed. After a contract of three years, you can do as you please. Hawaii is not crowded like Japan and you will make plenty of money. If you wish to return to Japan, you can do so after three years. But I tell you, once you get there you will not want to return to this hard-to-exist-in country of ours."

"But mister, is Hawaii not a barbarous country, so different from our homeland?"

"What of it? It is not as far away as Tenjiku (India). No wild head-hunters are there to molest you. I know because I talked to those who went there in early Meiji years and returned with hard-earned cash. Think of the wages! Why, in one month you will earn what you can make in one whole year slaving in the rice paddies." Many men from the villages and towns were persuaded to sign up for this eventful journey and adventure; each had his own reason.

Thus on a slow, self-propelled steamer, the SS China, which belched out black smoke, ninety emigrants from different parts of western Japan embarked at Nagasaki. Torao Murayama found himself among these people. At Yokohama, two hundred more were taken aboard and of these forty were women. It became cramped and crowded. The diet was monotonous and unpalatable. Board was a contract business and the enterprising steward was out to make money, feeding the passengers subsistence rations only. Every day it was pink or black beans, small dried fish, dried chopped turnips cooked with canned salmon, miso soup that barely smelt of miso, and a measured amount of rice.

Usually in such a crowd, to pass ennui, there would be organized entertainment amongst the passengers; but not with these people. They were too seasick or too hungry to stir out of their bunks.

Twenty-two days without a bath! Everyone began scratching. Fleas everywhere. The clothing was what they had had in the village: kimonos of tough home-spun kasuri (design of white specks on black or blue background) and the quasi-western attire of momo-hiki (tight fitting trousers).

But the day came when the sea birds from Hawaii visited the incoming ship. A bath for the steerage passengers was announced, but it consisted of live steam from a hose. Even for those who boasted of their ability to remain in the hottest mineral springs of their province, this unusual bath made them hesitate, and they decided to postpone cleansing their bodies until they landed.

"Let us have a funeral for the lice."

"What do you mean?"

"We shall dump our underwear when we land and call it the water burial of our fellow travellers from Japan. I am sure they will not be welcomed at Honolulu."

The sea was rough, and the small steamer rolled and pitched incessantly for three weeks until the bare mountain called Diamond Head met the immigrants' eager gaze. But to land and enjoy the city was not to be their lot. They were herded via the long six hundred foot bridge to the Immigration Station on Sand Island. There was a large, ramshackle building called by the Japanese sen nin goya which literally meant "a large house capable of accommodating a thousand people." It was in the center of an enclosure. Next to it was a smaller compound where the quarantined cases were held. A large, tall chimney over a brick building was a crematory to dispose of the deceased.

After the long voyage, the feel of ground under the feet was welcome. The luxury of a shower with fresh water was met with huzzahs, even though it was in cold water.

"All you newcomers line up for inspection!" yelled the Emigration Company's official. He assembled the new arrivals on the bare ground in front of the building. "No sickness was found among you fellows by the quarantine doctor and so you will soon be assigned to different plantations. Until then, rest and take it easy. Make yourself at home. I am available every day to look after your wants if you need me." He was a humorous man of thirty or thereabouts and according to rumor a veterinarian and master of the English language.

There were about two hundred that had been waiting at this station for their dispersal to outlying islands. To pass their ennui, nothing was done, at least in an organized way. Soon however, an impromptu talent show was held and it was an instant success. It was a hilarious three hour show and a self-appointed master of ceremonies kept the meeting well balanced. Each ship contingent knew its artists and there seemed to be a friendly rivalry among the three shiploads already there. The latest arrivals on the SS China soon got into the spirit and produced comedians, singers, and dancers from their midst. Folk dances and country songs of each province were richly represented and a spirit of camaraderie was born among all.

Sand Island was barren of vegetation. It was situated to the left of the channel that led into Honolulu Harbor, dredged for ocean liners. The side that fronted the harbor was a mud-containing sandy shoreline, and the part that fronted the Pacific Ocean extended to the breakers beyond a stretch of coral reef. When the wind veered to the south the humidity was high, much like the summer days of Japan. During the day, the sun's reflection on the sandy surface made the atmosphere hot, in spite of the breeze that came from the mountains.

Without anybody taking visible leadership, a wrestling tournament began. Young muscular men were aching for a chance to let off steam. Improvised loin cloths served as fundoshi like the "malo" of the natives. The arena was a circle on the sandy ground, a relic from former contingents and sojourners, and a match was soon in full swing. A referee, or gyoji, soon found himself deciding each tussle. A comedian bellowed forth in a sing-song refrain the name of the contestants. The gallery of spectators were shouting encouragement and clapping their approval of a dexterous throw. They groaned, swayed, and sweated with the evenly matched contestants. It did not take long to end each contest. To win, one had to either throw his opponent to the ground, push him out of the ring, or force him to touch the ground first when both their bodies were headed for a fall. To touch the earth with a hand or a knee once the contest started, spelled defeat.

"Now, look into each other's eyes. Take your time, and get started," said the low, admonishing voice of the referee. He held a wooden fan between the faces of the two low-crouching, naked bodies pivoted on all fours. Four eyes glared. With suppressed breath, each was sizing up the other. With the words "get started," the fan was withdrawn and the wrestlers continued to eye each other until the opportune moment for combat was sensed. One had the right to say matta, wait, should he not find himself just ready, or he could delay the fight as a means of strategy. But the spectators booed if the delay was too frequent. Once on their feet, the struggle was indeed fast. There was nothing to grasp except the waist cloth. No judo holds were allowed. The outcome was not dependent solely on strength or weight, for small clever men could vanquish a much bigger man without much trouble. The expenditure of energy was tremendous, for in matter of two seconds to three minutes on the average, an opponent was usually disposed of.

Torao considered himself a good village wrestler, but he soon discovered that in such company there were many who had aspired to becoming professionals in either Osaka or Tokyo, but had failed to make the grade. These failures of the metropolitan sumo wrestling stables were formidable in Hawaii, and were destined to become either semi-professional wrestlers or bouncers and body-guards for gamblers and racketeers.

In groups of twenties and thirties, these recruits were at last shipped to sugar plantations on Oahu or on different islands. Considerable luck accompanied this distribution, for sooner or later they were to find that there was a great difference in the topographical characteristics of the different islands, and more important, the management of the different plantations. Indentured labor of three years, chained to a bleak existence, overrun and driven by merciless slave drivers at the end of a horse whip, was veritable hell. On the other hand, under merciful management in which humanity was a consideration in the achievement of efficiency, life was bearable even though the work was hard under a scorching midday sun. Trade winds eased the burning sun, and cool tranquil nights all the year round assuaged the loneliness of a transplanted life.

Torao's turn came. His companions were mostly made up of fellow voyagers of the SS China and among them were Okawa and Hirano who came from his native village. Twenty young men with their willow trunks were transported to the deck of the SS Kinau. This steamer was a three thousand ton luxury liner of the Inter-island Navigation Company, but in the rough waters of the channels between the islands, the rolling was terrific. Even good sailors fell victims to mal-de-mer and the peasant farmers could not lift themselves from the hard deck on which they were sprawled. Food was out of the question, and perhaps just as well, for there was none available for the passengers. A barrel of poi covered by a gunny sack stood near the stairway. Burly, good-natured seamen with pieces of salt salmon in their left hands, came to dip two fingers of their right hands into the barrel for the pasty substance and deftly slid the food into their mouths. This constituted a snack for them when they returned from their rowing assignment at the way stops. The voyage lasted eighteen hours.

At Lahaina, Maalae, Mahukona, and Kawaihae the steamer stopped to load and unload passengers and cargo. About five in the morning, the Kinau lowered her anchor off Laupahoehoe to disgorge some of her passengers. The Emigration Company official awakened the twenty men to get ready for the whaleboat that was being lowered. The side hatch was opened. Waves were high and with each billow the boat rose and fell. The crest of the wave was utilized to let a passenger step into the craft.

In contrast to the sun-parched Diamond Head and Punchbowl that confronted them at Honolulu, the northeast coast of the island of Hawaii was dripping with moisture and verdure. The half dozen waterfalls that emptied from the gulches of Papaaloa added a beauty scarcely dreamed of even by this group of boys who came from a country that was full of trees.

"What beautiful, gorgeous scenery!"

"It is beautiful and wild all right. Look at the white waves battering against the black rocky shoreline. I hope there is no mishap in our landing."

"Don't worry. Look at the muscles of these native oarsmen. They are big too. I bet they could easily join the professional sumo stables if they were in Japan."

"No, I don't think they could. I heard that these people have weak legs. Without strong legs and a tough back, you can never attain the makuuchi class." This meant the upper strata of professional wrestling.

The boat was deftly steered into a cove where a boathouse was built to receive freight from the boats. Laupahoehoe was a promontory, a tongue of lava flow jutting out into the ocean; a picturesque little fishing village with many coconut trees planted along the roadside and gardens.

A pock-marked little man about five feet two inches with flashing gold teeth, gold rimmed glasses, and well over forty, was there to greet these recruits. He wore a suit in contrast to the majority of Orientals who were in blue jeans. A sparse mustache and his asthenic stooping stature marked him as a scholar rather than a man from a pioneering community of coarse men.

"I am Yamada, from the Waipunalei Sugar Company. You are welcome. Your voyage must have been trying. All these trips are hard because of the small steamers. Anyway, you will not have to take another boat ride for a long time. Two wagons are awaiting you and we shall soon be on our way."

His mild manner and good standard Japanese (Mr. Yamada came from Yokohama), impressed these country bumpkins. In his youth, he was employed by foreign firms in that seaport town in menial capacities and gradually picked up sufficient English to get along. He next boarded a sailing vessel as mess boy and went around the world. As he got along in years, he became tired of sea-life and elected to settle somewhere. Of all the ports he had touched in his wanderings, he felt this mid-pacific station most ideal to spend an easy-going life's eventide. While loafing a few months in Honolulu, he was approached by the sugar planters' association to interpret on some of the plantations. Proficiency in the English language was scarce and commanded a premium. Of all places, however, this gentleman had to be assigned to Waipunalei, the worst of the plantations. It was not an enviable position to be a witness to brutality and then mediate, to settle affairs in the way his employers' wanted, at the expense of his helpless countrymen.