Kevin parked the car and opened the passenger door for his wife. For Amaya, one of the biggest inconveniences of being pregnant was exiting an automobile. She had to slide toward the door then get out sideways like an over-sized duck. She swung her feet to the ground, pushed on the seat, and latched onto Kevin’s arm. With acute embarrassment, she saw that her in-laws were standing at their front door watching.
Even though they were out in public, she was grateful that Kevin put his arm around her. As she approached her in-laws, she didn’t know what to do; shake hands or hug them. And what should be her facial expression? Should it be serious? If she smiled too widely, would it be seen as a sign of disrespect?
Kevin’s father was smiling. “Amaya, how nice to see you!” He extended out his arms. Perhaps, Amaya thought, he wanted to give her a two-handed shake.
She stopped directly in front of him and bowed. “Mr. Littleton, thank you for having us. I hope you are well.”
From his laughter, she realized that she had made a mistake. He encircled his arms around her. “Here in the Midwest, we give hugs. And please call me Steve. Or better yet, Dad.”
She opened up her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It took all of her concentration to realize that Kevin was talking. “Thanks, Dad, but in Japan it would be unthinkable for a younger person to call an elder by their first name. They might refer to him as shuuto or genkun, which means honored father, but that would be about it.”
Kevin’s father looked at his daughter-in-law. “Well, most honored seems a little over-the top, so I guess genkun will have to do.”
Amaya turned to Kevin’s mother and bowed. The woman bowed slightly in return, but Amaya did not discern friendliness in her face. “Hello, Amaya. Welcome.”
Most of the small talk and dinner was a blur; questions about the baby, some polite inquiries about Japan. Amaya drank water, the others wine. Kevin and his mother kept up a nonstop conversation. Amaya noticed that Kevin’s father was mostly silent. She was thankful that her in-laws didn’t ask about the baby’s name. She wondered if Kevin had warned his parents in advance.
She searched for a topic that might bring her father-in-law into the conversation. “What is it like to run a farm as big as this one?” she said.
From the darkness that came across his face, she knew immediately that she had made a mistake.
Kevin’s father lightly fingered the spoon lying on his napkin. “I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “It’s been tough.”
“How bad, Dad?” Kevin asked. “Might as well tell me the truth.”
“Bad enough that if it doesn’t rain soon we might not get in the crop. It’s been dry every spring when we expect rain. What’s going to happen during the summer when it’s supposed to be dry?”
Amaya couldn’t believe that she had brought up the painful topic and had inadvertently caused this man, who she hardly knew, discomfort. She searched for a way to resolve the situation.
“Perhaps you need to try Hana Taue,” she said quietly.
Kevin’s father looked up. “Hana what? The only Hana I know is Hanna Montana from the television show.”
She smiled even though she didn’t understand the joke. “Hana Taue,” she repeated. “InJapanit is a ceremony we conduct every June for a good crop.”
Her father-in-law seemed interested. “How does it work?
She tried to recall the ceremony. “In the Hana Taue, the entire village travels to the Shinto temple and asks the priest to intercede to the Ancestor Gods for a good rice planting and a successful growing season.”
“Gods?” Kevin’s mother said. “You people pray to more than one God? Are idols involved, too?”
“Hush,” his father said. “I want to hear this.” He turned back to Amaya. “Please, go on.”
“After the prayers are said, the priest blesses the seeds. Then two girls who have been selected and who are wearing special costumes are given the raisu za-men, the rice seedlings to carry. Everyone walks to a field where the girls give the seeds to two farmers chosen for a sacred planting.”
“Then what happens?” Kevin’s father asked.
“Then we all go home and drink sake.”
Everyone laughed. Kevin squeezed Amaya’s hand under the table.
“I love it,” his father said. “Especially the sake part. Do you think we could do a Hana Taue now?”
Kevin’s mother spoke up. “Here? In Indiana? Stephen, have you lost your mind?”
His features hardened. “The only thing I’m losing is my farm. Hell, I’m willing to try anything if it will bring rain.”
He turned to Amaya. “Could you do the ceremony for us today?”
Amaya thought she had missed another joke. Perhaps they were having fun at her expense.
“It would be impossible, she said. “First, the ceremony is for rice. You don’t grow rice here. Next, there is no Shinto temple, no priest. And there are no girls to don the special costumes and carry the seeds to the fields.”
“We have corn seeds,” Kevin’s father said. “InIndiana, seeds are seeds. If the gods aren’t choosy, I’m not. We got fields just a quarter mile down the road.” He smiled at his daughter-in-law. “And we have a bona-fide Japanese maiden who is perfect for pulling the whole thing off.”
He took her hand in his. “Will you do a Hana Taue for us?”
Amaya looked at Kevin and saw him mouth the word “please.”
For Amaya, what followed was surreal; a drive to the fields, her father-in-law giving her some corn seeds and her offering them to the ancestor gods.
Not remembering the proper prayers that she had learned in childhood for the Hana Taue, she instead intoned “kyunenju taihen osewa ni narimashita” which was the Japanese New Year’s blessing, and planted the seeds.
If Kevin realized what she was really saying he didn’t let on.
When they said their goodbyes at the door, Amaya bowed to her mother-in-law and then to Kevin’s father. He stopped her in mid-bow and hugged her closely. “I apologize if I am making a cultural mistake,” he said, “but here in America a daughter does not bow to her father.”
He let her go and looked into her eyes. “Please forgive me if I am being rude, but I have to ask. I’ve never heard of the name Amaya. Does it mean anything in Japanese?”
Amaya shyly looked down. “It means night rain.”
About Richard Luftig
