In such an environment, children grew up as Hawaiian citizens—Neo-Pacific nationals—as some preferred to designate them. Many had half a dozen strains of blood running in their veins, but the pure stock felt the same way. A healthy sort of camaraderie that lasted to manhood sprang up among the boys and survived the change in the world's outlook. It was a result of mature experience and judgment.
Sadao Arata was no exception and he grew to be a strapping youngster with a mode of thought typical of this growing generation. Just as vegetation grows smoothly and rapidly, man matures rapidly in the sub-tropics. Some girls begin menstruating at nine or ten. This is a phenomenon not only encountered among the Hawaiian natives, but among second generation girls whose cousins in colder latitudes would not reach adolescence until fourteen to sixteen.
An episode without any sequel occurred at this time and its meshes threatened to involve young Sadao. Miss Miriam Kealoha was a Chinese-Hawaiian school teacher who had inherited the good features of her dual ancestry. In her, harshness in her original ancestral strains were softened and moderated and produced a harmonious blend in her charming personality. Of medium height and seductively beautiful, her large, dreamy eyes, characteristic of the Polynesians, enhanced her loveliness. Used to urban life with much entertainment and many friends to make life exciting, existence at a Kauai district school was tame and monotonous, especially to a full-blooded young woman in her prime.
Among her pupils, she noticed at once the artistic inclination and aptitude of Sadao Arata who not only could sing well, an accomplishment so dear to Hawaiian hearts, but could draw remarkably well in spite of his lack of training. Lacking this talent herself, it was not long before she asked the assistance of twelve-year-old Sadao to illustrate stories and biology lessons. Well developed for his age on account of his constant outdoor life and vigorous exercise, Sadao was a young man in stature, but the somatic portion of his development outdid his germinal cells. As far as his sexual life was concerned, he was relatively retarded in spite of the climatic factor. In this respect he was different from the other children who matured early. His artistic temperament also tended to paint the universe in beautiful colors and human relationship in childish romanticism. His dream world was of the knights of old and fairy-like damsels were to be looked at, but beyond reach. The inner urge was not there. Libido as yet lay dormant within this half-developed man.
Miriam Kealoha had had an escapade or two during Normal School days. Few maids of Polynesian blood ever escaped being involved in such romances in their late 'teens and early twenties: especially one as attractive as Miriam. She was by no means over-sexed. To the contrary she would be classed as a "hypo" among her racial sisters. She was nevertheless lonely. She was a teacher, a respectable person in a gossipy countryside. Eligible young men were scarce and she did not relish being tied down as a wife to a country swain. She had to watch her step and do nothing impulsive. Yet emotions kept her vaguely restless. Nights were long: the cool Trade Wind rustling the green fronds of coconut palms, the bright moon, and the distant strumming of ukulele and guitar, made her homesick for the life of Honolulu and its people. The lot of a young country teacher was not without its handicaps.
"Sadao, will you stay after school please. I have something I should like to have you do for me." So he remained after two o'clock alone with his teacher to draw pictures for story lessons for the following day. It occurred once or twice every week. One afternoon he was drawing the scene depicting Washington crossing the Delaware while Miriam added color with crayons. Working side by side, she was conscious of a certain vague excitement. She tried to suppress it but it was not unpleasant. Intent on his work of making a faithful copy of the general in the open boat Sadao was aware of his body touching his teacher's. He was frightened and bashful and he squirmed away. Her reactions were different and she could contain herself no longer.
"Sadao, I have some candy for you. Let us take a rest—plenty of time and there is no sense in overworking ourselves." So saying, she beckoned him to come to her desk after she seated herself in the chair. He was hesitant to take the proffered candy. Laughingly, she grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of her and forced him to sit on her chair between her thighs, holding on to his body as if in an embrace. He was quiet and as still as a mouse. She was excited but afraid. An electric shock raced through her body up and down her spine. The physical contact was pleasant: the beardless face was smooth against her cheek. This sensation was different from that experienced when she was in the passive role of a woman.
"Have some candy," and she pushed a piece of her favorite hard candy into his mouth. He was very uncomfortable, but dared not refuse. Obediently he received the candy between parted lips. The sensation was a ticklish one but no more meaning could be perceived by this half-grown man. Her hands went to his forehead, brushing his hair back and to his ears. Still no response was experienced by the boy other than a squirming uncomfortableness. Sadao was extremely happy when Miriam agreed that they should contine work on the drawing.
As Christmas drew near, the classes began preparing for a simple ceremony before school closed for vacation. The blackboards on the four walls were to be decorated with drawings appropriate for the season. The three wise men on camels led by the guiding star and the scene of the stable and manger were drawn. As the final touch, a Santa Claus riding a sleigh drawn by six reindeer was to ornament the front blackboard. In the midst of her class, Miriam announced, "I am leaving you all alone for a short while. I am going back to my cottage for a post card of Santa. While I am gone, you must all be quiet and read your lessons. I don't want to have Miss Smith in the next room complain of your noisiness later on. Now, Sadao, you come along with me to select a good picture of Santa Claus."
The teacher's cottage was an ordinary cottage with a parlor, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. She entered her bedroom and motioned to Sadao to follow. Awkwardly the boy stood by while she opened her trunk and produced a bundle tied with a red ribbon. It was a collection of Christmas cards that she had received in previous years. She sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for him to sit next to her. Then putting an arm about his shoulders, she began to examine each card carefully, evaluating each for its appropriateness. He was earnestly scrutinizing each picture with an inborn sense of artistic appreciation, apparently oblivious to the olfactory seductiveness emanating from the teacher. The shades were drawn to shut out the noon-day sun. They were alone. But it was not to be . . .
As he grew older and understood more of life, Sadao had cause to regret his adolescence, but his memory of Miriam Kealoha was always a pleasant one long after she left the plantation for another district. Even after she was caught in a scandal that forced her to resign from the teaching profession, Sadao always cherished her memory.
In 1912, when Sadao was thirteen, he was sent to Honolulu to acquire a big-town education and to learn the Japanese language. His parents found their son was becoming too Americanized and could hardly speak Japanese, in spite of the years spent at the plantation language school. The Japanese school, where an hour a day was spent devoted to the language of the mother country, could not stem the natural tendency of the second generation children to converse in the language of their country. This seemed to indicate a gloomy future for Sadao as far as his folks were concerned.
To the Aratas, no man could get above the common herd unless he was equipped with an education that would put him above the level of his contemporaries. In a community predominantly Japanese, the English language was important, but it alone was not enough. If proficiency of the prevailing language was the sole requisite for success in life, then Orientals were out of luck. Those born where English was spoken at home were the most qualified. But in a cosmopolitan community, anyone armed with the command of two or more languages was sure to be rewarded with an important job. For interpreters and liaison officers, such attainments were in demand on the plantations and in the big commercial houses and banks