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(excerpt)
Papa served the Korean people who labored in the sugarcane fields of Kauai by traveling all around the island: Lihue, Hanamaulu, Kapaa, Kealia, Kilauea on the wet side and Puhi, Koloa, Eleele, Makaweli, Kekaha on the dry side. The Korean families were only one, or two, or three in each of these plantation towns, except in Kapaa which had about ten Korean families.
Papa had to travel every Sunday to conduct services or to minister to practical needs in these towns except for the first Sunday of each month when services were held at the Kapaia Church. Then I had to drive to collect families without cars to come to church and to drive them home after church service and after a grand luncheon prepared by Omma. Omma worked a week to buy and prepare the luncheon for 50 to 75 guests, but on Christmas and Easter, service and luncheon were for as many as 150 men, women and children. For these holiday luncheons, Omma did the purchasing and much of the chopping. The ladies came early to finish the chopping and to cook while service went on in the church. One long table was set inside the house and two were set outside in the garden between the church and the house. People sat in turns at benches to partake of the luncheon.
For many children, these holiday luncheons would be the best eating for the year. The luncheon was a Korean feast: sliced beef, short ribs, and chicken marinated in Korean sauce——shoyu, vinegar, sesame oil spiced with ginger and garlic—and a variety of seasoned vegetables that Omma had cooked and stored in the icebox during the week, rice dumplings in seaweed soup, rice, and kimchee. Omma was physically tiny, less than five-feet tall but she had the strength and endurance of ten men. Omma was like forever, a warm good-for-hugging miracle worker.
Papa did not have enough money to serve the Korean people who earned $22 monthly working for the plantation. Papa received $70 monthly for his ministry and additional stipends from the Rice, Wilcox, and Isenberg families of Kauai. Papa’s ministry was not only inspirational spiritual messages, Papa had to give practical help to Koreans in distress like sickness, loss of jobs, immigration and police troubles, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Papa used most of his income for his ministry and was always short on cash for the family’s daily needs. That is why Omma asked Joshua and me to work summers in the cane fields. Joshua was twelve and I was ten when we began working in the cane fields.
Omma woke Joshua and me at 4:30 a.m. Omma had to fight for my pillow, which I hugged tightly. The pillow and I slept together, Omma would say, “please” about three times without separating me from my pillow. It was just a warning for her next step. Omma put her hand under the blanket and rubbed her fingertips on the bottom of my feet. My feet bottoms have 110-volt tickles. I cannot stand the tickling of my feet bottoms. I had to clutch my legs and let go of the pillow.
Then I awoke, ready to do a man’s work. I washed my face, brushed my teeth with forefinger and salt, put on my precious long pants to protect my legs from the saw-edged cane leaves, long-sleeve shirt (ugh) to protect my arms, a straw hat with string straps, and then looked over my trusty bare feet. I gulped a cup of hot chocolate and off I went marching side by side with Joshua, each of us carrying a sharp hoe in rifle position and a carry-on lunch can to join our Kapaia gang down by the hanging bridge.
It was five o’clock; the night was still dark. Stars were bright and moonlight helped us see our way up the trail to the main road and then to the Hanamaulu train station almost two miles away. The train left at 5:30 and carried us to the proximity of the day’s work. We then marched another ten to fifteen minutes to the location of the cane field.
Some nights we did not go to the train station or truck station in Hanamaulu. Instead we marched directly to cane fields on the road to the Waialua waterfalls. Marching on the Waialua mountain road was more fun than train or truck except where the Waialua Road began at the main road near Kapaia town. Right at this intersection to the right of the Waialua Road, when marching up to work, was an old almost abandoned cemetery. We were all afraid to march past the cemetery. Stories told us that neglected and unhappy dead arose from their graves to snatch small boys. We heard that the unhappy dead shot white fireballs up into the air from their graves. Doug, the small Japanese from across the river, said, “My uncle, he saw real ghosts. They chased after him. My uncle, run like hell. He almost get caught; he was real scared.
Before walking up the Waialua Road, we had begun with talk story, laughing, and arguing in Kapaia town. When we suddenly realized that we were coming to the cemetery, every mouth that was open did not make even one tiny sound. No can talk. The walking group became smaller because the guys on the right tried to get on the left side. Protection was to let the ghost catch the guy nearest to the grave, so jostling began.
Doug was on the right; he started to walk fast so that he could cut in to the left. He failed because we kept up. Doug made an abrupt stop and fell behind and into the left side. Kazu was now nearest to the grave.
Kazu yelled, “I no scare ghost,” and began running ahead. Everyone ran. When Kazu was tired, he stopped running. Kazu said, “Why you guys run? I no scare ghosts. I run for feel good.”
Doug said, “You bullshit. You make me scared more than ghosts.”
Vincent said, “Kazu scared of ghosts. Me, I not scared. I only keep up.”
I turned back to look at the cemetery. I yelled, “White fireball. I see white fireball; white ghost coming.”
Nobody spoke; everybody ran.
After this ghost experience, we detoured past the cemetery because no can tell when the ghost come out to catch little boys.