Kayoko Character Analysis

We moved into our new home early in the new year and started on repairs straight away. There were doors to be measured and mats to be ordered. We bought new shutters and installed latches that stopped them from banging in the wind. We replaced our fence with new bamboo stalks, binding them together with rope. We scrubbed the soot from the kitchen, the mould from the bathtub, and the grime from the floors. Kayoko took to the work with a vigour I’d previously only seen in her when she played the koto. She insisted we do everything ourselves. “It’s our first house—it should be just the two of us. We’ll feel more proud this way.” She could be sentimental about such things.

I thought about the situation with Kayoko. I had sent her two letters from Broome, telling her of the new life I had begun in Australia, but I never got a reply. After that, I gave up, convinced she never wanted to hear from me again. But perhaps I had stopped writing too quickly. Perhaps I had not written what she wanted to hear. I tried to think of what Harada would have done. Surely he would have fought for her, even at the risk of shaming himself. Honour, duty, pride—Harada would have sacrificed all those things for the woman he loved.

I stared at Mrs. Sasaki’s face. Her drawn-on eyebrows. The cheeks that had grown heavy with age. The ugliness of this woman who’d come into my house and presumed to know me. She had no idea of the things I had to do each day, the secrets I had to keep. Neither did Kayoko. She didn’t understand the sacrifices I had made to serve our nation—to help ordinary people such as her.

Despite my efforts, everything was in ruins. Why could I never do anything right?

Images crowded my mind. Stan, all alone within the kaleidoscope of sheets. Kayoko in the hallway, her luggage at her feet. It was all so clear to me now: somehow, I always failed the people I cared about. [….] As long as I got to the infirmary in time, everything would be all right.

In the coffee shop, a dark figure came towards me. My heart fluttered when I realized it was Kayoko. She wore navy monpe trousers knotted above her waist and a matching coat. In the unfamiliar clothes, I hardly recognised my wife. Grey threaded her hair. Her cheeks had lost their fullness and her mouth was tight. We sat together, the hum of conversation surrounding us as we shared fragments of our pasts. She smiled when I told her about releasing the lanterns in Broome and the baseball competition at camp. She described the friends she had made at the factory where she worked, assembling munitions parts.

We moved into our new home early in the new year and started on repairs straight away. There were doors to be measured and mats to be ordered. We bought new shutters and installed latches that stopped them from banging in the wind. We replaced our fence with new bamboo stalks, binding them together with rope. We scrubbed the soot from the kitchen, the mould from the bathtub, and the grime from the floors. Kayoko took to the work with a vigour I’d previously only seen in her when she played the koto. She insisted we do everything ourselves. “It’s our first house—it should be just the two of us. We’ll feel more proud this way.” She could be sentimental about such things.

I thought about the situation with Kayoko. I had sent her two letters from Broome, telling her of the new life I had begun in Australia, but I never got a reply. After that, I gave up, convinced she never wanted to hear from me again. But perhaps I had stopped writing too quickly. Perhaps I had not written what she wanted to hear. I tried to think of what Harada would have done. Surely he would have fought for her, even at the risk of shaming himself. Honour, duty, pride—Harada would have sacrificed all those things for the woman he loved.

I stared at Mrs. Sasaki’s face. Her drawn-on eyebrows. The cheeks that had grown heavy with age. The ugliness of this woman who’d come into my house and presumed to know me. She had no idea of the things I had to do each day, the secrets I had to keep. Neither did Kayoko. She didn’t understand the sacrifices I had made to serve our nation—to help ordinary people such as her.

Despite my efforts, everything was in ruins. Why could I never do anything right?

Images crowded my mind. Stan, all alone within the kaleidoscope of sheets. Kayoko in the hallway, her luggage at her feet. It was all so clear to me now: somehow, I always failed the people I cared about. [….] As long as I got to the infirmary in time, everything would be all right.

In the coffee shop, a dark figure came towards me. My heart fluttered when I realized it was Kayoko. She wore navy monpe trousers knotted above her waist and a matching coat. In the unfamiliar clothes, I hardly recognised my wife. Grey threaded her hair. Her cheeks had lost their fullness and her mouth was tight. We sat together, the hum of conversation surrounding us as we shared fragments of our pasts. She smiled when I told her about releasing the lanterns in Broome and the baseball competition at camp. She described the friends she had made at the factory where she worked, assembling munitions parts.