We were like refugees from three different countries who, amid the chaos of war, had somehow fled to the same island.
(I)
I bought tickets for a direct flight to Hawaii and took Toji and Megumi there overnight.
At two in the morning, Kyoto time, we were sitting on the plane.
A soundproof curtain divided economy and first class into two entirely separate worlds.
The moment the curtain closed, the murmurs of the crowd became a muffled wash of white noise.
The three of us occupied this private space carved out by money. Compared with the people beyond the curtain, we were astonishingly quiet.
When I told Megumi we were flying to Hawaii that night, he was sitting on the hotel sofa, staring absently out the window.
I repeated myself twice before he answered softly, as though waking from a deep dream.
The room had been dim then, with only a warm-toned lamp on the table doing its utmost to provide some light.
The light and shadows flickered, and I couldn't make out his expression.
As the plane climbed, turbulence sent it shaking violently.
Over the intercom, the captain explained in a low, steady voice that the shaking posed no danger.
Even so, it was difficult to remain calm when your safety rested inside a tin can suspended 9,600 meters in the air.
As the shaking continued, the soundproof curtain could no longer keep out the cries of passengers whose nerves had snapped.
I tossed the complimentary earmuffs to Toji. Just as I was about to take out another pair for Megumi, the boy did something unexpected.
He raised his hands and covered my ears.
His hands were small and almost burning with warmth.
His hands couldn't block out the noise around us, but the pulse beating in his wrists drowned out every other sound.
I lowered my eyes to look at him.
He was a child, but he was also a teenage boy.
Behind the child's clear, innocent eyes lay the worries of the teenage Megumi Fushiguro.
I reached out and covered his eyes. I couldn't untangle his worries yet.
(II)
A six-hour flight and a nineteen-hour time difference. We went from midnight in Japan to morning in Hawaii.
Time seemed especially kind to Hawaii. Everything here moved slowly.
Outside the airport, the sky was already bright.
I habitually planned for every eventuality. Even when I acted decisively, I came prepared.
The guide and interpreter I had booked in advance stood at the exit in crisp suits, holding the information I had sent ahead. They looked utterly out of place amid Hawaii's riot of colors.
This was a distinctive feature of the Alohilani Resort. They adhered to the principle that guests who paid the highest prices deserved the highest standard of service. Even their attire set them apart, firmly rejecting those tacky yellow-and-green floral shirts.
The guide was highly professional and exceptionally good at reading people. Rather than launching into an endless introduction to Hawaii, he quietly led the way. As for the interpreter, I had hired a Japanese man named Furuya Sō.
Mr. Furuya was an engineer posted to Hawaii for work, probably in his early forties, with dark skin and bright eyes. He wasn't on the Alohilani Resort's list of interpreters. I had contacted him privately.
Every part of the U.S. was far too free. Freedom often came with unpredictable disasters. I needed a reliable interpreter to accompany Megumi and Toji, neither of whom spoke the language.
We took a speedboat to Honolulu, on Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands.
There, we transferred to a private car and headed to the hotel.
As we passed a beach, Mr. Furuya explained, "This is Waikiki Beach. It's the most popular Hawaiian beach among tourists."
The window opened, letting the salty, damp sea breeze into the car. I eagerly looked toward the beach where I could say goodbye to the past, only for my expression to turn icy.
The sand that glittered like flecks of gold in the posters really did exist. I just had to peer between feet of every skin tone to see it.
The azure sea was real, too. But with crowds in colorful swimsuits surging into the water and soaking shoulder to shoulder, that stretch of ocean looked exactly like a bowl of mutant bean porridge.
I closed the window, my face expressionless.
Ah, why hadn't I realized that even in Japan, the real thing could look nothing like the photograph...?
No, Hawaii was in the U.S. But those promotional posters had been displayed in Japan, hadn't they? Didn't that tranquil, dreamlike sea and beach count as misleading consumers?
Seeing me close the window, Mr. Furuya paused, then offered some reassurance. "Well, there's no helping it. This is Hawaii's most iconic beach. It's peak season all year round. But you needn't worry too much. The hotel has a private beach."
I understood and stopped looking outside. Toji, however, was sitting in the front passenger seat with his window open, propping his chin on his hand as he enjoyed the sea breeze.
As the breeze gently lifted and lowered his hair, my little pang of disappointment slowly faded, too.
After we entered the hotel and checked in, Mr. Furuya gave us a booklet he had prepared in advance, listing the resort's special activities and attractions.
After some thought, I decided to do something separate from Toji and Megumi.
It was enough for us to remain connected in spirit. When it came to personal preferences, I firmly believed in leaving one another alone.
After discussing it, we agreed that Mr. Furuya would go with Toji. Megumi didn't have any particular activity he wanted to try, so he stayed with me.
I went back to the room and changed into a plain, long-sleeved top and shorts. When I came out, only Megumi remained.
He had changed into a top and shorts in matching colors and was sitting on the sofa with his back perfectly straight.
I walked over, sat beside him, and picked up the booklet.
Sunbathing, surfing, diving, speedboats, and even seaplanes.
I wanted nothing to do with any of them.
I had decided to run away to Hawaii because I wanted to forget the past and start over.
But every one of these activities carried some memory of Yuanli. She and I had once vacationed on a beach in Italy, and I had joined her in trying everything from surfing to diving.
I had reached the end of the booklet and was about to give up on this menu of special activities when an inconspicuous entry on the final page caught my interest.
Ha'opanopano, Hawaiian miracle spiritual therapy.
(III)
"Come, let's all breathe in, nice and deep."
Water vapor drifted through the room. A woman in a blue-green shirt covered in intricate floral and leaf patterns sat in the center, using a weak, airy voice to urge everyone present to feel the energy.
She spread her arms, savored the water molecules in the artificial mist, then solemnly assured the wealthy ladies-everyone except Megumi and me-"I can feel tremendous energy. Energy is surrounding me."
"Come, let's feel this power of the ocean together."
The moment she finished speaking, a speaker concealed behind green leaves in the corner began playing the sound of waves.
The wealthy ladies stood on yoga mats and spread their arms along with her.
I didn't want to do that, so I dragged over two stools and sat in the corner with Megumi to observe the class.
About half a minute later, the woman moved on to the next stage.
She invited one of the ladies to sit in her place and said, "Let me use the ocean's energy to dispel the pain in your heart."
I straightened my back and sat attentively, eager to learn, hoping her methods might reveal some psychological technique I could use to help myself.
The woman poured a little unidentified liquid from a glass bottle beside her. Then she muttered three sentences under her breath and began giving the lady a neck-and-shoulder treatment.
As she kneaded her shoulders, she said, "Ocean energy."
Apparently, saying "ocean energy" once in a British accent wasn't enough. She repeated it in an American accent, complete with the curled r.
The lady receiving the massage had tears brimming in her eyes. Once the treatment was over, she wept openly and said, "What miraculous psychological therapy. Thank you for cleansing me, spiritual miracle guide."
Thunderous applause followed her words, and all seven wealthy ladies present lined up in an orderly fashion to receive ten minutes of neck-and-shoulder treatment apiece.
The class lasted eighty minutes. After everyone else had left, I was still sitting there.
Megumi, who had remained quiet beside me the whole time, tugged at my clothes and whispered in my ear, "Let's go, Yuanli. I've learned this massage therapist's techniques. I'll try them on you when we get back."
I was startled and a little touched, but I couldn't help adding, "Thank you, Megumi. But she's a guide, not a massage therapist."
I patted his back, signaling for him to wait for me at the door.
Once he left, all that remained in the room was the lingering sound of waves and the slightly plump guide.
The woman was Spanish and had distinctive features. Only as she hummed and gathered up the yoga mats did she notice that I hadn't left.
"Child, is something the matter?"
"Could you tell me what this class is meant to do?"
The woman came over and crouched in front of me. "This class dispels pain and makes everyone happy."
"Can you help dispel my pain?" I asked her earnestly.
"How old are you, child?"
"Ten."
"Sorry, child," the woman said impatiently. "I can't dispel your pain, but I can contact the Hawaii Child Protection Association for you."
"What if I said I was eighteen?"
"I'd call the police for you."
The woman tried to pat my head, but I dodged her hand. It hung in midair, leaving her looking a little awkward.
So she adopted a vicious tone. "Listen here, child. This isn't a place for you to mess around. Get out."
I gave her an icy look, turned, and left.
After leaving the room, I took Megumi's hand and went to the hotel reception desk on the ground floor.
A young bellhop attended to me. When he saw me, he came out from behind the counter, crouched in front of me, and asked politely, "Miss Yuan, what's the matter?"
"I want to file a complaint."
"What would you like to complain about?"
"The ha'opanopano Hawaiian miracle spiritual therapy class."
The young man stood, took a form and a pen from behind the counter, and handed them to me. With an air of casual curiosity, he asked, "If I may ask, Miss Yuan, what is the reason for your complaint?"
Without looking up, I said, "That guide threw me out and verbally abused a guest."
After taking the form back, the bellhop looked in confusion at the three sentences I had written in the complaint field. He seemed to be debating whether to give it to the manager.
I took a few U.S. bills from my pocket and handed them to him as a tip.
His eyes lit up. Taking the money, he said with the utmost deference, "I'll give this to the manager right away so they can deal properly with the discourteous staff member. Thank you for your generosity, Miss Yuan."
(IV)
Only after we returned to the room did Megumi ask, "Yuanli, what did that guide say?"
"Get out, and..." And those three Spanish curses she had casually muttered while giving the massage.
If Spanish Mafia members hadn't still been roaming Italy back then, I probably would never have encountered the language. Spanish was far harder than Italian, after all.
Lying flat on the sofa, I felt a little dejected, as though old wounds refused to heal while new ones kept appearing.
I turned to look out the window and quietly consoled myself. At least Toji was having fun, and Megumi wasn't bored.
The thought had barely formed when I heard hurried footsteps, followed by Mr. Furuya's panicked voice outside the door.
"Yes, yes, all right. I'll be there right away. I'm already contacting his family."
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