HISTORICAL FICTION By Michael G. Malaghan
Sunday brunch at the Takayama home that February was a dismal affair, with no one more disappointed than Haru. She believed in the promise of America, and now this.
“What did I tell you about the whites?” said Hiromi. “The killing of a nonwhite by four whites is called an ‘honor killing.’ They are demanding that the murderers go unpunished.”
Haru sighed, her eyes roaming over all six children. In a voice sounding more defeatist than her family was used to, she said, “I confess that I never suspected the degree of loathing haoles feel toward us, seeing us only as their racial inferiors. Buddha knows how hard I’ve worked to raise you all as good Americans.”