Excerpts from "I've Always Loved You"

In the Imperial Palace, Tokyo:
MOTHERS-IN-LAW and daughters-in-law sometimes don’t get along. Such
was the case in the emperor’s family, where his hawk wife pitted herself
against his dove mother. Though Japan allegedly teems with ten thou-
sand kami spirits who reside in the rocks, fields, and trees, their holy
presence could not save the emperor from the struggles of these two
strong women.

He feared his mother, adored his wife, Nagako, whose patriotic
haikus stiffened his resolve to fight with greater ferocity. However, his
mother, Teimei Kogo, Dowager Empress Sadako, took a resolute antiwar
stand. She dreaded the Americans and believed they would crush Dai
Nippon. When she wasn’t lecturing him, her thin, dry lips trembling, she
sent him haikus around themes of the traveler who seeks the seed of the
green tree of peace or a moment of peace as a bar of gold. Worse, she
called everything he did a “stupid mistake.”

He would point out that the pride of conquest united the Empire
of Japan, and added that Westerners did not learn the customs of oth-
ers, befriending only each other. Now Shinto priests migrate through
the empire teaching Dai Nippon’s ancient ways. Asia for Asians.

Instead of agreeing, she’d stare at him with hostile black smudge
eyes that unnerved him.

He called her the world’s “most ungrateful mother,” while she re-
ferred to him as “delusional.” They scowled at each other, he with his
thick eyebrows, she with her delicate arches.

Supposedly no insults existed in the Japanese language, only infi-
nite degrees of apology, but the dowager empress forgot this courtesy
when speaking to her son. When he replied, she crossed her arms to sig-
nify boredom. What an anomaly she was in a country where a tiny
breach of courtesy prompted the apology, "Moshi wake gazaimasen, if
you please, my transgression is unforgivable, and I wish I were dead.”

After encounters with his mother, the emperor rolled round crim-
son rubies in his hands like worry beads to calm himself. She thought of
herself as Japan’s true ruler, and schemed with her snickering sycophants,
which created yet another morass of problems.

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Today, she paid him a rare visit, and he wanted to palliate her,
especially after the Midway news. He presented her with a magnificent
Burmese necklace of egg-sized emeralds and rubies. Did she thank him?
No, she said she would have one of her advisors sell the necklace for
money to spend on her peace efforts, and added she doubted that her son
obtained it in an honorable way.

He pictured the advisor selling the necklace, pocketing the proceeds,
and telling his hoax of a mother that every penny would go to printing
her haikus on fine paper, and offering them to worthy Japanese homes.

In Hirohito’s opinion, the sly American president, operating under
a “constitutional dictatorship in time of war,” actually had far more
power than the Emperor of Dai Nippon did.

After she left, dusk arrived. Bats flew in circles around the imperial
palace, and new guards arrived, bearing lanterns. Dark, sealed people,
they swerved in tandem. The emperor brooded within. The palace
seemed somber to him at this time of day. Its post and lintel construc-
tion made the interior quite dark, so large screens with burnished gold
backgrounds covered the walls.

Even the sumptuous sliding wood panels, carved and lacquered in
bright colors, seemed to absorb the scarce light. Still, he liked them, as
they illustrated myths and historical triumphs of the Yamato family.
Tonight, however, past glories couldn’t cheer him. The Americans had
avenged Pearl Harbor at Midway. He insisted that his people never hear
about Japan’s first significant defeat in more than three centuries. He
would have to camouflage it for propaganda purposes into a triumph
and issue an imperial rescript praising his Midway victors. Then he
would crush the barbarians before another summer replaced plum
blossoms with leaves.

Beginning with Midway, the imperial commanders tried to explain
Japan’s deteriorating military position to Hirohito, only to hear lectures
on botany by way of reply. As the war progressed – or regressed, from
Japan’s perspective – they became frantic, but the emperor refused to
discuss surrender. When it came to native intelligence, his commanders
reminded him of the nearly decerebrate shishigashira in the palace ponds.

56
In California:
At home, Mom seemed gloomier than ever. As time went by, she
missed Daddy more, not less. He was the powerful connection, and
being without him again took its toll. Confusion burrowed in and
marked a mood whose changing face kept her off balance.

She wrote in her diary:

“I think of my childhood as if trying to recall a book I read or a
movie I saw. But Frank – I remember him with such intensity it some-
times makes me nauseous. Lately I fight a need to be alone. The thought
of seeing anyone besides my family feels like staring into an overhead
light. I try to keep my hope, since without it, I’d be on the next train to
oblivion. I know that.”

She shut her diary, interrogated me, and then Aunt Lenore arrived
in a beige sweater set and skirt, plus pearls. After Mom poured some
coffee for her, she began whining (like she told me not to do). "Pooksie
just came home from playing jacks with the Grim Preacher’s staggeringly
spoiled Belinda, whom she now calls her best friend.”

Aunt Lenore stirred some cream into her coffee. “Is Belinda as bad
as the mother?”

“Need you ask? She looks like Shirley Temple – all dimples – but
bursts into floods of screaming tears if I ever say no to her. Pooksie gives
me these ‘see what a nice child I am by comparison?’ stares and tenderly
takes Belinda’s hand.”

It made me mad when Mom talked about me, especially right in
front of me.

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Aunt Lenore laughed. “Little Miss Good Ship Lollipop. Pooksie
will get tired of her, in my opinion.”

No, I wouldn’t. She had a pet parrot who could say, “Hi, there,
Mama Kingfisher,” and, in her back yard, a pond as green as Lake Mer-
rit. More than that, we had fun playing together. Mom needed to learn
to have fun. It would be good for her.

A week later, Mom peeled a green apple in one continuous spiral
while Jeep curled up in a circle and dozed for a few seconds, moved a few
feet away and dozed a while longer, then repeated the procedure. They
waited for me to come home from school. I was late, and Mom began
to feel ill from stress, as she often displaced her anxiety about Daddy
onto Frankie and me. Finally, I injudiciously came in clutching a kitten,
gray with white paws.

Mom raised her paring knife. “What have you done?”

“Belinda’s mother gave it to me. Isn’t she nice?”

Mom eyed the kitten with loathing. “Belinda’s mother can take it
right back. It has a sneaky expression on its face and will kill the birds in
my garden if it has the chance. Cats are dreadful and the natural enemies
of babies.”

I said crushingly, “My brother’s not a baby anymore.”

“The cat’s glaring at him. Besides, it will run away. They all do.
Temporary shelter and food: that’s all they want.”

“It's just a kitten. And it likes me.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. It will soon grow into
a cat, and the cat will gain the upper hand with you. It would be un-
derfoot all day, pouncing on all of us, shredding the furniture. And adult
cats have bad breath, you know.”

“I thought you said it would run away." Then, to negotiate, I
added, "It can play outdoors with the two cats next door."

“It’s a kitten; they would kill it in no time. Besides, Jeep would
resent the intruder.”

Jeep wagged his tail and began licking the kitten’s fur. I smiled at
Mom.

“OK, Pooksie, I’m the one who resents the creature, and we’re
taking it straight back to Belinda and her mother. Naturally, the Grim

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Preacher couldn’t consider tedious inconsequentials like my raising two
children and a dog by myself.”

“The kitten’s a present for me. And I don’t think you should call
Belinda’s mom the ‘Grim Preacher.’ ”

Mom scowled and put her hands on her hips. “I’m sure Belinda
and her mother will be enthusiastic about having it back. When your
father comes home, he will deal with this sort of thing, but right now I
have to do everything.”

“Daddy will buy me a cat.”

I began to cry, and the kitten began to tremble.

Mom wrapped it in a warm towel, spirited it with Frankie and me
into the car, and drove to Belinda’s. There, the maid approached the car,
and Mom explained her mission. We waited while the maid tried to
decide whether to take the kitten back or not. Then Mom got out of the
car, the kitten escaped the towel, and we departed with the maid still
chasing after it.

I glared at Mom. “I’ll talk about you at ‘share and tell’ tomorrow.”

Daddy on Luzon:
ON THE “BRIGHT ISLAND where the frangipani grows,” Daddy crossed
over into another experience. After an unopposed landing, the Americans
faced devastating bombardment, as Yamashita’s troops opened fire. Mor-
tar shells blew the tops off palm trees, ruined roads, filled the air with
steam and dust. The deafening sounds of weapons enlarged the grand
and terrible events.

The screams of the wounded combined with the “banzais” the
Japanese shrieked at the top of their considerable lungs, and sometimes
they shouted taunts: “Hello, hello. Where are your machine guns?” or
“Surrender, surrender. Everything is resistless.”

Daddy said, “Give me a moment, and I’ll think up a swift, incisive
reply.”

He tried to keep his friends alive with humor, joking that he’d seen
MacArthur at battlefields riding in a jeep with Eleanor Roosevelt by his
side. In his diary he wrote:

“Ammunition’s running low. Strikes in the ports hamper trans-
portation and unloading. Oxen-drawn carts loaded with pigs or chick-
ens help move weapons, and water buffalo tote signal equipment for our
field artillery units. A flu epidemic rages, but I won’t catch it. I never get
sick. Guns, blood, noise, and heat. Will I ever again be able to experience
a day without dread? In battle, men learn who they are and what they can
do. The chaos and exhaustion deranges some of them. Their teeth chat-
ter, they scamper around aimlessly. One burrowed into a cave and got
blown up. You figure they’ve gone beyond little lectures on the dream of
peace.”

Night fell, and he climbed into his foxhole with Jim. Feeling the
warmth of a good man next to him made it better. They rotated eating,
sleeping, and watch in four-hour shifts, saying nothing. One word, and
a Japanese might hear and toss a grenade or satchel charges, incinerating
them. Fires were forbidden, so they lit cigarettes with special black
lighters and ate cold K-rations: cheese, crackers, lemonade powder.

After breakfast, Daddy gave the men a pep talk to muster extra


enthusiasm. “Strength under siege,” he would say, “it’s important, and
you men have it.”

His words energized them but could not offset the sight of the
crosses that sprang up every day.

A week after landing, they moved west under heavy artillery and
mortar fire, crawling along, staying clear of each other as if contact
represented danger. Daddy prayed. He kept moving.

One morning the firing subsided for a few minutes, and he wrote
home:

“Thank you for saying the shower will be all mine. I’m sick of not
being able to sing in one. When I return, I’m going to sing until the hot
water runs out, wait for it to reheat, and sing again. I plan to shower and
sing for a year. And hold you, my precious. How long it has been?

“We’re rolling right along. It’s amazing. There’s hardly a Nip stand-
ing around here.

“Today the gulf kicked up, and one LST (landing ship tank)
broached; we lost some pontoon bridge materials, and the rough surf
made unloading impossible. Do you think that slowed us down? Never.

“We secured the Manila railroad and the strategic Route 3 from
Bambam to Mabalcat, sealed off Bataan. Ready to slow down and take
a rest? Not us. We seized Calumpit, crossed the Pampanaga River twenty-
eight miles from Manila, and, to the west, secured Subic Bay. I don’t
mean my battalion did all these things at once. The Sixth Army does
have other battalions, but we’re the toughest.

“As the Seventh Fleet glided into Subic Bay, Filipinos planted Old
Glory on the shoreline, and a brass band played the Philippine and
American national anthems. Filipinos gave the GIs cowrie shells as tokens
of esteem. Remember when Montezuma gave them to Cortez, along
with some feathers? Cortez was so disappointed he arrested Montezuma
and kept him incarcerated until he came up with some gold. Sounds like
something Hirohito would do.

“You’re probably wondering if our K-rations have improved. No!
Tonight’s arrived in rain—drenched cartons that turned the ‘food’ into
soggy mush. Whoever devised them preferred a life of making mistakes
to a life of idleness. Maybe he was a spy. Some day I’ll die of overeating,

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but not here.

“Speaking of, Jim Williams told me the food planners ‘noodle
around with ideas.’ Ideas? How to prevent weight gain ranks first. When
I get home, I’m going to eat like a starved elephant on a peanut farm.

“We’re winning, but revenge is not as sweet as advertised. It’s more
enemies wronging each other, leaving behind hatred. I keep my sense of
humanity by holding to my memories of home: the small beige owl in
our garden, poppies dancing on spring green hills, the pale color and
fine texture of your skin.

“The sky turns from blue to lavender to pink in the sunset. This
time of day always makes me homesick.”

The next day Daddy rode the Bambam River boat, a ride from hell
with Japanese bullets whizzing by the entire time, killing men right and
left, knocking them overboard until they turned the water red.


BIO
A student of Wallace Stegner at Stanford, I got lucky in journalism. Interviewed football's Jerry Rice and John Madden, $ players Chuck Schwab and Michael Boskin, Nobel Laureates Arthur Schawlow (physics) and Michael Bishop (medicine), and NASA SETI's chief Jill Tartar. Even, briefly on the phone, Pablo Picasso. Needless to say, I speed read while cramming for these encounters. Now I've written a story of ww2 in the Pacific. My publisher described it as "A true love story, an intimate, powerful portrait of a family at war. This narrative draws its strength from the contrast between the selfless sacrifice of war and the rosy self-interest of of youth. The contrast of two families in two different worlds comes into play in the form of Western society versus the Imperial East."
S. Robert Foley, USN (ret), former Commander-in-chief of the Pacific Fl;eet, called my story "historically accurate" and "Strongly recommended on a jacket blurb. Critic Amy Lignor wrote, "Every once in a while a book comes along that completely changes your perspective."