Nam Le - The Boat

I am in the Fifth Division on the hill again when some boys cry out from the river. The water is cool and the leaves are green. The stones by the water are covered in moss. There are more than fifty types of moss in Father's garden. The shadows are large and cool. He is always alone there. I like the sound of water running over the stones. Father says the water is singing of impermanence. I am thinking of sweet potatoes and eggplants and squash. There is great excitement because some boys have caught a dragonfly. It is bigger than three thumbs. It is an Emperor's dragonfly, boasts Takai. Is it a female? It is a female, says Takai. He ties it with flax to a cherry branch and the dragonfly spreads its four wings and moves them so fast they look like they do not move at all, and holds them so wide they look like they hold every color-colors of pine oil and wet stone and metal. Don't blink now. We come close and hold out the captive prisoner and sing, Konna dansho Korai o, adzunza no meto ni makete, nigeru wa haji dewa naikai . . O King of Korea, are you not ashamed to flee from the Queen of the East? I try hard to remember the folktale. A male dragonfly comes immediately over the water. Someone catches it and we laugh happily, passing it from hand to hand.

When I was your age, Mother says, I liked nothing more than to dive into the KyobashigawaRiver from the streetcar bridge. We played there all summer, my sisters and I. Then the city installed lily-of-the-valley lanterns in the Hondori shopping district. We would walk back and forth for hours, never looking down, and when it turned to night it was like walking under a curved ceiling of moons. Smoke from the chestnut grills rising like clouds. There were lights on at night? Yes, child of my heart. They are gone now, of course, they were metal. But then, you could walk under the moons all through the night, all the way from Nakajima to Shintenchi, where there were shops and movie theaters and music halls and cafés and restaurants.

Tell me of when you met Father. When I met Father, we went to the Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall to watch a tap-dancing concert. Afterward we went to a restaurant where they played jazz on a gramophone. It was music straight from heaven. Happy and sad at the same time and no one knew how to dance to it. The water is cold. Hiroshima is the city of rivers, Father says. Seven rivers run through it, each with a kami . You don't become a kami until you die, little turnip. Let's go, Mayako. She is wet, says Tomoe. The wind makes the water cold. Now the sky has changed color. Mrs. Sasaki will punish her, says Tomoe. No swimming in your clothes, says Mrs. Sasaki. Masachan got the pneumonia and went to the clinic in the city and did not return. Tochiki and Akira and his friend with the small ears were taken by Mr. Sasaki back to the city. Maybe they were naughty too. I will come later, I say. I think: When my clothes are dry. When I was your age, Mother says. It feels like a long time since the last Visiting Day. Do without until victory! Then you become one of the eight million kami . I will tell Mrs. Sasaki you are digging pine roots for dinner, says Tomiko. The light is changing into the color of our watercolors and on the blue hills a bird cries hoo hoo . Farmers hear that, says Father, and they know it is time to plant the millet. He teaches me the name: awamakidori . The wind is loud now. There are kites above me in the watercolor sky and everywhere the sound of cicadas. Father teaches me the difference between the sounds. That is a B-24. That is a B-27. And that is a B-29. Father went to China and served the Emperor with unquestioning loyalty and hurt his legs and now he serves the Emperor as a priest in his Shinto Shrine in the city. The shadows are large and cool in the garden. You are like Matsuo, your brother, he says. Big Brother is wearing a khaki uniform with a rifle in his hands and a dagger on the right side of his belt. Father sighs as if I have been naughty. And you are like your sister too. Kanai anzen : may our family be preserved. You do not have to stay here, Mayako. I look around. There are maples and pines and cherry trees and small green hills and stone basins with running water and nanten shrubs with red berries. If you have an evil dream, you can whisper it to the nanten first thing in the morning and it will never come true. There are yellow peonies and irises with flowers like purple tissue paper and lotuses with leaves like cups. There are rocks with more than fifty types of moss. I like it here, I say. Yes, I know you do, says Father.

Do without until victory! I am under a gingko tree and behind it the sky is darker, the color of dry dirt. I will walk and dry in the wind. The watercolors are gone. Takai's friend tried to eat the watercolors and was punished by Mrs. Sasaki. I imagine the smell of potatoes, with spices. Butterburs and horsetails. It has been so long since the last Visiting Day. Yukiyo and Tomiko were angry because Mother did not follow the rules and brought me luxurious food: two pears, and rice with red beans, and sesame seeds mixed with salt. Their mothers did not bring so much. I give them sesame seeds to chew. Where is Big Sister? I ask. Sumi could not get a travel certificate, says Mother, even though she is eligible for evacuation. She tells you to work hard on the farms to help with the food shortage. Yes, I will. Sumi is a loyal subject, says Mother. In the day she is mobilized and at night she works at the munitions factory. I see her in the rain with her face shining. Father does not look at her. She tells you to remember the way of Bushido. Mother sleeps with her head on the summer clothes she brought for me. Now they are wet, and cold against my skin. The wind is loud. That night the room is full of darkness and whispering. Her hair smells of chrysanthemum and pine oil and as I sleep I try to keep the smell in my nose. The Emperor sits on the Chrysanthemum Throne and is our Father. Flowers fall from the sky. My eyes are heavy and Mother stands next to the truck. The other mothers are already inside the truck, crying. I want you to have this. Look here, says the man with the rabbit teeth. The sky is green like the leaves of the plum tree before night. I stand in the middle and sitting on my left is Mother in her best kimono and sitting on my right is Father in his white joe with his headgear and standing behind me is Big Sister in her designated nametag and armband and headband from the Volunteer Corps. We look into the box. Mother is holding the photograph of Big Brother in front of her stomach. Father has one hand on the bronze statue of Kannon, Goddess of Mercy. Don't blink now. But everything turns white — the box disappears — and I blink. I have been naughty. It's only the magnesium flash, says Father. He laughs at me and says, Don't worry. The air feels like it wants to rain. The clouds are green. The military mail service sent this back with the last letter, says Mother. I want you to have it. I look down at the photograph. Big Brother is not at the confidential place? I ask. When I look up Mother smiles strangely at me and I see she is crying. Your brother is safe now, she says. She steps onto the truck. Many of the children are crying. I do not cry. Now, by myself on this cold hill, in the night wind, I cry. Mother.

Mayako? I think Mrs. Sasaki will punish me but it is not her. It is Mrs. Tamura, another teacher from my old elementary school in the city. She comes sometimes and sings and tells folktales. She was strict at the school but she is nice here at the Temple. Mrs. Tamura comes out to the front of the Temple and says, What's wrong? Someone else brings me a bowl. It is Mr. Sasaki.

I am late and cannot weigh the bowls to choose the heavier one. Forgive me, I say, I want to go home. But you are safe here. Forgive me, my sister says it is safe in the city. Your mother and father want you to be here. It is the order of the prefecture and the government. Forgive me, I want to serve thé Emperor and be a shattered jewel. The two faces, in the shadow, could belong to anyone. Mayako, says the woman, there will be another Visiting Day soon. Eat, says the man. I press my hands together. Kanai anzen : may our family be preserved.