Hiram Upright’s Life Choices

This page is best read after you finish Hiram Upright and the Good Time Feelin’.

The novel Hiram Upright takes us across America and into Hiram’s life choices. But the printed “The End” of the story is not the only possible conclusion to this tale. On the final page, Hiram is pondering the good time feelin’ that launched him on this journey. He wonders how much of the Illinois heritage he still carries with him, and how much he has changed as the result of his travels and experiences. A wide range of possibilities are open to Hiram.

The story poses a challenge to readers to reflect on their respective journeys, and the various paths they can take. The poet Robert Frost wrote that he took the path less traveled. On the final page of this novel, Hiram has a number of paths to consider. The book intentionally leaves Hiram’s final decision open-ended, so readers can weigh the various options.

The last sentence of the book finds Hiram wavering between several forms of the good time feelin’—caught up in the California haze of incense while reflecting on the Illinois experiences of religious ecstasy. Let’s return to the “end” of the story, and explore three other possibilities (codas) for Hiram to pursue:

Coda One: Return to the Good Time Feelin’
Coda Two: Rejection of the Good Time Feelin’
Coda Three: Rejuvenation of the Good Time Feelin’

We pick up the story again on the last pages, as Hiram takes the path of return to the Good Time feelin’.

Ike surprised us with a phone call.
“Hiram, I wanted you to know. Dad died. We don’t have all the details. He and the Painter woman split, but still stayed in touch. She contacted us, because she wanted to file for Dad’s social security benefits as a common-law wife and mother of his child.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“Hiram, Mom never claimed Dad’s social security benefits, did she?”
“Oh, no, she was too proud. So . . . I guess you can tell the Painter woman to claim whatever she can. That will be up to her if she can receive survivor’s rights as a common-law wife. Uh, you don’t know anything more about Dad’s passing?”
“Very little. He and his live-in moved to Idaho, where he died suddenly.”
“Idaho! I guess that’s about as far away as he could get from Illinois. That’s where he was buried?”
“Yeah, a local minister offered a brief graveside service.”
“When was this?”
“About a month ago.”
After the phone call, I filled in Belinda.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you were on the outs with your dad, but . . . what do you plan to do?”
“Not much I can do. It’s too late.”
I went out for a long walk, trying to get my head together. That evening, after supper, when Belinda and I stood in front of the altar and offered incense, Belinda said, “Here’s one more stick.”
I took the stick with trembling hands. She guided my hands and the incense to a burning candle. As I turned to place the incense in the vase in front of the altar, the words of Mother echoed in my head: “Maybe you can’t forget, but you can forgive.” As I gazed at the statues of Amida and Koyasu Kannon, their compassionate faces granted me inner peace.
The sun streaming through a west-facing window sent shafts of light that reflected off the golden Koyasu Kannon and almost blinded me. This reminded me of the time in Hanavan when I sat on a log behind the shed and prayed to Jesus, facing the setting sun, and for the first time got the good time feelin’ on my own, outside of church.
I pressed the rods of incense into the sand of the vase before our Buddhist altar, realizing this was my act of forgiving Dad. With my hands holding the incense, I felt the spiritual presence of the Savior in my fingers, like when Jesus reached out and raised my hands in the Hanavan Baptist Church.
Belinda stood behind me, embracing me tightly. “That was the right thing to do, Hiram.”
“Yes, maybe I couldn’t forgive my father when he was alive, but in death we should be at peace.”
As the incense smoke spiraled into the butsudan and then swirled up to the ceiling, I felt Mom’s and Haruko’s presence and shared approval. Maybe Dad would reject this gesture, but I agreed with Belinda. It was the right thing to do.
A peace settled over me. A peace I had not known since a teenager in Havana. I had forgiven Dad, and we were back in harmony. And like Mom and Reverend Poole had told me, unless you forgive others, God will not forgive you.
After that redeeming experience, I realized my life had changed. Leaving high school, I had left behind Hanavan and much of my downhome roots, but I could never run away from my Illinois upbringing.
I looked around San Diego for a Baptist church that had services like I had known at First Baptist in Hanavan. While singing and praying, the members raised their hands in praise. I raised my hands tentatively, and felt the good time feelin’ enter my fingers and travel down my arms, filling my body with the rapture of the holy spirit.
Belinda was glad I had forgiven Dad, but she could not share my return to the good time feelin’. On Sundays when I went to services at a Baptist church, she stayed home with Felicity.
We continued to light incense every night and meditate together. Belinda said, “You should be part of the good time feelin’ you grew up with. It’s enough for you and me to share the tranquility of meditation we have developed together.”

We have seen the printed end of Hiram Upright’s novel in the published book. And we have followed an untraveled path as we went with him on his return to the good time feelin’ in Coda Number One. Now we go with him in Coda Number Two, choosing a very different path, almost diametrically opposed to his return to the good time feelin’.
One possibility for Hiram is to completely reject his downhome good time feelin’. To see how he takes up this very different life trajectory, we pick up the story again on the last few pages of the novel.

Ike surprised us with a phone call.
“Hiram, I wanted you to know. Dad died. We don’t have all the details. He and the Painter woman split, but still stayed in touch. She contacted us, because she wanted to file for Dad’s social security benefits as a common-law wife and mother of his child.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“Hiram, Mom never claimed Dad’s social security benefits, did she?”
“Oh, no, she was too proud. So . . . I guess you can tell the Painter woman to claim whatever she can. That will be up to her if she can receive survivor’s rights as a common-law wife. Uh, you don’t know anything more about Dad’s passing?”
“Very little. He and his live-in moved to Idaho, where he died suddenly.”
“Idaho! I guess that’s about as far away as he could get from Illinois. That’s where he was buried?”
“Yeah, a local minister offered a brief graveside service.”
“When was this?”
“About a month ago.”
After the phone call, I filled in Belinda.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you were on the outs with your dad, but . . . what do you plan to do?”
“Not much I can do. It’s too late.”
I went out for a long walk, trying to get my head together. That evening, after supper, when Belinda and I stood in front of the altar and offered incense, she lit a stick and handed it to me.
I took the rod of glowing incense with trembling hands, and jammed the glowing red tip into the vase of sand.
“No!” I shouted. “I refuse to offer up incense to a good-for-nothing dad. He beat up Mom, gave her a black eye. He abandoned our family, running away with a local bitch, and took with him the rent and grocery money. He didn’t stay in contact, and didn’t show up for Mom’s funeral.”
I hesitated. “Mom said we can’t forget but we can forgive. I have to disagree. I can’t forget, and I can’t forgive. Hell, I can quote Dad. He said there’s no forgiveness in this world, just revenge. My revenge is to snuff out his stick of incense. He can light some incense in the fiery flames of hell.”
Belinda took the extinguished stick out of the vase, throwing it in the waste basket. “I understand why you can’t forgive your dad. He was mean to your family.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep, thinking about how evil my father had been. I reacted to him deserting the family—and putting us at risk of becoming orphans—by retreating into the comforting safety of the good time feelin’. It was this religious security blanket that led me to trust Reverend Poole, and then to take his advice to make Professor Homer Johnson my mentor in polishing my soul.
This blind faith led me to the brink of suicide and murder. Then, escaping from what Dad called the Holy Roller Loonie Bin, I set out on my trek across America to find enlightenment in California.
This cross-country odyssey had the good time feelin’ as its point of departure. It was good for me to recognize this terrible mistake, and to completely remove it from my experience. I told Belinda I was through with the good time feelin’.
“Dear, you have to be true to yourself. You’ve got to live with your past, and pick and choose how you will lead your life. Me, I have to go back to my childhood in a Japanese temple, and sort through the good and bad, and make the best of that upbringing. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to go back and find forgiveness in your heart for your father. You may not want to offer incense for him now, but maybe sometime in the future . . . .”
“I can’t see what lies ahead of me, but right now the good time feelin’ has no part in it.”

We have traversed two alternative paths to Hiram’s career—return to the good time feelin’, and rejection of the good time feelin’. Another possibility for him is to set out on a new track that neither returns to downhome religion, nor directly rejects it. Hiram explored several options for his life commitment. What if Hiram, while avoiding either a return to, or rejection of the good time feelin’, paved a different way to his personal odyssey? Let’s go back to the story in the printed ending of the novel, and see how Hiram might strike out on a new life course.

Ike surprised us with a phone call.
“Hiram, I wanted you to know. Dad died. We don’t have all the details. He and the Painter woman split, but still stayed in touch. She contacted us, because she wanted to file for Dad’s social security benefits as a common-law wife and mother of his child.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“Hiram, Mom never claimed Dad’s social security benefits, did she?”
“Oh, no, she was too proud. So . . . I guess you can tell the Painter woman to claim whatever she can. That will be up to her if she can receive survivor’s rights as a common-law wife. Uh, you don’t know anything more about Dad’s passing?”
“Very little. He and his live-in moved to Idaho, where he died suddenly.”
“Idaho! I guess that’s about as far away as he could get from Illinois. That’s where he was buried?”
“Yeah, a local minister offered a brief graveside service.”
“When was this?”
“About a month ago.”
After the phone call, I filled in Belinda.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you were on the outs with your dad, but . . . what do you plan to do?”
“Not much I can do. It’s too late.”
I went out for a long walk, trying to get my head together. That evening, after supper, when Belinda and I stood in front of the altar and offered incense, she said, “Here’s one more stick.”
I took the rod with trembling hands. She guided my hands and the incense to a burning candle, but I did not light the incense, handing it back to her. I remembered Mother’s words, “Maybe you can’t forget, but you can forgive.” I could not bring myself to summon forgiveness, but neither did I harbor any bitterness and resentment toward Dad.
As I turned to place the incense in the vase in front of the altar, the words of Mother echoed in my head: “Maybe you can’t forget, but you can forgive.” That was fine for Mom, with her downhome religion and homespun piety, but it was not in my heart and mind.
Neither did I want to wallow in bitterness toward the failings of Dad. Let him resolve his fate with the judges in the otherworld.
Belinda lit her incense and said her prayer, then turned to me. “Do you need some time to yourself?”
“You’re right. Let me take a walk and get my head straightened out.”
I set out on a long stroll, my heart filled with strange emotions, my head spinning with recollections and reflections. If I gave up on the comfort of the good time feelin’, but didn’t want to get swallowed up in disappointment and bitterness, what were my options?
I had just left Belinda in prayer before the altar, bathed in incense. That was something I did not have to give up.
And I remembered that when I was in the depths of despair, after almost committing suicide and killing Johnson, when I went to Ike’s place, he gave me a crash course in meditation. Yes, meditation had helped me regain my balance. I didn’t have to give up meditation.
I recalled the beneficial zazen sessions at Hidden Valley Zen Center. I made a decision to call Hidden Valley and ask about another week-long retreat and meditation. Maybe Zen Master Sasaki would give me some worthwhile advice. I chuckled inwardly. No, this time my purpose in going for a meditation session would not be to achieve a mountain high of enlightenment, but simply to straighten out and direct my life.
When I got back to our apartment, Belinda asked, “Do you feel better?”
“Yes, and I have an idea, something that you should be in favor of. I want to go back to Hidden Valley for another week of meditation and reflection.”
“I’m all for that. Just don’t get lost in zazen and think of becoming a priest. If you do, I’ll whack you over the shoulder so hard, I’ll break your collar bone.”

Conclusion

We have looked at three codas, alternative endings to Hiram’s story. But the narrative need not end here. Some wise people have said, “Life is not a destination, it is a journey.” Hiram’s journey continues beyond the pages of the novel. I hope you follow his imaginary passage to other experiences, and that this excursion helps you navigate the realities of your own journey.