Naomi Hirahara

>> Chapter 7

Greg Shishido slowly awoke. His head first felt like it was filled with cotton balls, and then bang—searing pain, lightning bolts shooting through his brain. He cursed in the darkness, perhaps too loudly because a cool, bony hand quickly covered his mouth. His eyes adjusted to the low light. Peering into his face was an old Nikkei man, his head completely bald. He was so gaunt that his cheeks were sunken in, a skeleton man. Where was he? He struggled to remember. He had gone to that motel to see where Jorge Yamashita lived. He had opened ...

>> Chapter 6

The door opened, allowing a sliver of sunrise to temporarily blind the boy holding a gun in the corner of the Oxnard hotel room. The boy, Carlos Yamashita, squinted and aimed at the silhouette of a thin man in the doorway. Carlos was ready to shoot when the man tumbled forward and collapsed onto the frayed rug. He stayed down and a few seconds later, Carlos could hear the squeak of Bisabuelo’s wheelchair.

“Boy, put that down,” hissed Bisabuelo, quickly wheeling himself into the hotel room and closing the door. In his lap was a long bamboo ...

>> Chapter 5

For weeks after Haru’s baby brother Kei was born, the Shishido household was both loud and quiet at the same time. Loud from the baby’s crying but quiet as if secrets were being muffled in the corners of their dirt floors. Haru herself tried to stay out of her parents’ way. She thought that they would be happy, joyous that there was finally a new member in their family after waiting for so many years. But Mama would often break down as she nursed Kei, and Papa, instead of doting on his new son, spent most ...

>> Chapter 4

Carlos Yamashita knew that the old man was practically blind to begin with, but since the three of them had arrived in California, Bisabuelo’s sight had worsened. He still stayed alone in the neighboring hotel room, which was more than fine with Carlos. As soon as Bisabuelo awakened in the morning, however, he would call Carlos and his father’s room. Usually Father had left for work already, so it would be up to Carlos to answer the phone by the first ring. If he waited until the second, or ay dios mio, the third ring, Carlos ...

>> Chapter 3

Phyllis Hamakawa felt the scent of the incense wash over her as the Buddhist priests chanted, groaning almost like summer cicada. The whole sanctuary in the new church seemed to pulse as the line of black-suited people, friends and strangers, either embraced her or bowed in front of her. A few feet away was Baa-chan in her oak casket, her hands, speckled with age spots, carefully arranged as if she were clasping them together. She was in her favorite gray dress. A woman my age should never wear bright colors, Baa-chan would say to Phyllis whenever she brought ...