Brazil-Maru

by Karen Tei Yamashita

  There’s pounding at the door. The police rush in like crazy men. Guilherme doesn’t know where to go. He rushes to the back. I open my closet, and Guilherme gets under the bed. Then I get in my bed. Guilherme never even breathes. I pretend to sleep. The police rush in. They see me sleeping in the closet. They pull me from the bed, but I am not Guilherme. I sit up on the bed and light a cigarette. I blow rings. They look at the mango grove on the closet walls. They laugh and leave.

  Guilherme is gone. Teru and Kasai will not say where, but he has gone far away. Teru is like my mother; she sits in her kitchen and cries. She says she spent the war alone with three children while Kasai was in jail in Japan. Guilherme was the youngest. Now he is gone.

  Guilherme said that “the people” work hard, but they are slaves. People cannot work hard and get nothing to eat. One day “the people” will get angry. You cannot keep them down. I thought about this. I never worked hard; I always got something to eat. Nowadays, I don’t care much about eating if I can get a smoke. The dead woman in the street was “the people.” Maybe she got angry. Maybe not. They don’t want me at Kantaro’s place. Now I am here. This is not Japan. This is not Esperança.

  Kasai doesn’t talk much. He takes off his thick glasses and closes his eyes. He is thinking about Guilherme.

  Instead of sleeping like I usually do, I woke up when the sun came up. I went to Urashima’s to work. Urashima’s truck was there. He was surprised to see me, but he said, “Genji, pull these sacks off the truck.” There was a big gaijin carrying the big sacks on his shoulders. The sacks were filled with beans. I got into the truck to pull off one sack. I pushed it to the edge of the truck, but I could not put it up on my shoulders. The gaijin came and picked up the sack. He picked it up like it was a pillow and dropped it on my shoulder. I took two steps with that sack. All of my bones sort of folded into a pile under the sack. The gaijin and Urashima, Urashima’s kids and the people on the street who saw, all laughed. A weakling, they said. What did they expect? I was not the people.

  I hear Teru asking Kasai how I can stay in the closet smoking all day. “He will start the closet on fire,” she says. “You can see the smoke coming out from under the door.”

  At night, Guilherme is not there. Television is not the same. It’s not the same.

  Teru told Kasai that the neighbors are complaining. Dona Carmen next door said she saw me looking in her window at night. She heard that the neighbor across the street noticed someone peeping in his window at night, so he called the police, thinking it was a robber. But Dona Carmen said it must be me. She said she wasn’t going to tell anyone, but Teru and Kasai should do something about it.

  I still had some money. I went to Urashima’s and got three boxes of cigarettes. Then Kasai put me on the bus to Esperança.

  Ritsu cried when I came home, but my old man wouldn’t talk to me. I sat in the house and smoked and smoked, day after day, staring at all the paintings on the walls. Ritsu had them hanging everywhere, and there were big piles in all the corners. Then I remembered the rags and the alcohol at Ogata’s place. I took the big piles of paintings from the corners. I took everything off the walls. I took down all the mango groves, the chicken coops, Haru’s vegetable garden, the dining hall, young Kantaro, old Kantaro, my old man, the laundry, the girls’ dormitory, the water tower, everything. I put it all outside in a big pile with rags and alcohol. I was down to my last cigarette. That was all it took. Flames everywhere. Orange, gold, yellow, green flames. Ritsu ran out screaming, running around like a chicken without a head, pulling the paintings away. Stamping on the fire. Stamping with her bare feet. I ran around and around the fire. I had the old man’s penknife. I saw the woman in the plaza again. I saw her blood. She was the people. I was the people. I stabbed my breast. Stabbed. Stabbed. Stabbed. Flames. Fire. Pain. Pain. Bleeding flames like my paintings. Flames. Flames. Flames.

  CHAPTER 20:

  Dance

  They wouldn’t let me kill me. I couldn’t carry a bag of beans, but I surprised them all. It took six of them to hold me down. I could tell they were afraid. My old man. Karasumori. Even Kantaro. Afraid of the knife. Afraid of my blood. Red like mulberry juice. Thick like clay. Shiny like oil paint. Only Tsuneo wasn’t afraid. He grabbed me from behind. He held my arm. Tsuneo held my arm.

  The hospital was far away. Almost as far as the Liberdade. Everything inside was gray like television. Everything. Even the sheets were gray. Even the sky between the bars. Even the liquid in the tubes going into my arms. Even the bandages. Even the needles. Even the pills. Even the food. I couldn’t move. They strapped my legs, my arms. They strapped my head down. They strapped my mind down.

  My old man came with his long beard, but then I thought who’s that old man? I just stared.

  He said, “Are you feeling better?”

  I said, “Funny, you speak Japanese too? No one here speaks Japanese.”

  He said, “Your mother wanted to come, but you know how it is. It’s a long way, and besides, she’s got no shoes to wear.” The old man was wearing wooden clogs. Hand-carved. He didn’t have shoes either. “What should I tell your mother?”

  “How long have you been speaking Japanese?” I said.

  “Your mother sent these,” he said. “They said you can eat anything.” He tore the paper around the package. He put three big mangos on the sheet. We both stared at the mangos. The only things that weren’t gray. He took out his penknife. The blood was washed off, but his hand shook. He spread the paper on his lap. He took a mango and cut it along the seed. He cut away the orange-purple skin. He said, “Very ripe. Very sweet. Good crop this year. Ritsu saved you the best.”

  “This is not Japan,” I said.

  The old man nodded.

  “You got a smoke, old man?” I asked.

  He shook his head. He folded the penknife and put it back in his pocket. He picked up an orange piece of mango pulp with his fingers. He held it near my lips. The juice dripped on the gray sheet, on the gray bandages.

  I opened my mouth.

  The Kojimas came back from São Paulo to visit. Haru and all the aunties made a big to-do. They cooked all day. They made sushi. They killed a lot of chickens. Kantaro never paid them for our land. Mizuoka must have paid them. Some people said that the co-op paid them. Mizuoka screwed up the money. Where did the co-op money go? Everyone blamed Mizuoka. The Kojimas looked old and tired, even though they were retired and living good in São Paulo. Haru kept putting food on the table in front of the Kojimas. Kantaro stood up and made a speech. He cried about how the Kojimas had helped us. How the Kojimas had offered friendship when other people turned the other way. We could never repay their generosity. It was a matter of our history. This for the sake of Esperança. The Kojimas took responsibility for the future of Esperança. Someone who came to the party said, yeah, what is Kantaro’s is Kantaro’s and what is yours is also Kantaro’s.

  Kantaro said Takehashi, Terada, and those good-for-nothing others don’t have dreams, don’t have vision. No imagination. Stingy. Always worrying about money. Always busy saving. Saving. Worker ants with no culture.

  Kantaro has a disease. Parkinson’s. Kantaro was always left-handed. His left hand shakes like crazy. He spills his soup and makes a mess. Haru has to come and wipe it up. “Uno-san,” she yells at him. “What’s this mess? Do I have to feed you now?” He takes this medicine—cortisone. He sits around sulking. Someone said God is punishing Kantaro for slapping and beating up so many people, even Grandpa Naotaro. And Kanzo too. Even Shiratori and Hatomura. My old man tried to tell him that it must be from his old baseball days. It was that left-handed pitching, he said. Thinking about baseball made Kantaro sulk more.

  Then Yae came back. She just walked in. It was true what Hatomura said. Yae had been in Japan. She got a job in a coffeehouse in Tokyo. Now she had new clothes. She had new hair. She wore makeup. She had things dangling from her ears. Jiro almost didn’t recognize her, but Kantaro knew right away. His hand started to shake like
crazy. Kantaro said to Jiro, “Your daughter. Look. She’s back.”

  Jiro wanted to cry. Tears came down, but he didn’t want Kantaro to see. He tried to look angry.

  Yae came with this man called Shintaro Uguisuyama. He is big and tallish with bushy hair that won’t stay in place. He has a loud laugh. Uguisuyama owns the coffeehouse in Shinjuku where Yae got a job. “He’s my boss,” she said.

  Kantaro’s hand kept shaking. Uguisuyama said, “Your hand is shaking. Parkinson’s?”

  Kantaro said, “I take cortisone.”

  Uguisuyama said, “Cortisone’s good for sex.”

  Kantaro paused. This was good news.

  “Yae and I are getting married,” Uguisuyama said right away. He didn’t even ask. He said, “No weddings. I haven’t got time for that. Tomorrow, we’re going back to São Paulo. I want to see Rio and then Buenos Aires, the Iguaçú Falls. Then I’m taking Yae to Paris and London. It’s time Yae saw the world.” Then he laughed a big laugh.

  Jiro’s mouth hung open, but Kantaro’s hand stopped shaking. “One day here is not enough time to visit us. You see how simply we live, but this is Yae’s humble home. We are a big family, and we have been worried about Yae in Tokyo by herself. We have all missed her. Yae is a brave girl, and we are very proud of her success in meeting such a good man as yourself.”

  Uguisuyama agreed and laughed again. “I’m a businessman, Uno-san. I’m used to assessing situations quickly, making quick decisions. I have a knack for learning more and faster about things than most people. I have already been scanning your operation, and frankly I think you could use my expertise. Don’t be offended if we only stay one day. I’ll bring Yae back whenever she wants. We’ll be back again.”

  Kantaro said, “Yae is lucky to find such a bright young man. Yae was always different from the other girls. She has a mind of her own.”

  Meanwhile, Yae went off on her own. Kanzo was driving the tractor in. He saw Yae. They stared at each other. Kanzo got off the tractor. His straw hat had the same hole it. His clothes were dirty. His nails were black. He said, “You’re back.”

  Yae said, “It was hard to leave, but I did it. I came back to show you that you can do it.”

  “We are different.”

  “I didn’t forget you,” Yae said.

  Kanzo nodded.

  “I’m getting married.”

  Kanzo suddenly looked pale. He shuddered even though he was sweating from his work. He nodded again.

  “I didn’t forget you,” Yae said again.

  Kanzo walked away.

  Yae went to see the dance studio Kantaro had said to build. The dance studio had mirrors and stereo music. All this for Fuyuko’s classes. The girls came in from the field. They changed into those tight black suits. They got excited. They wanted to know what it was like to escape.

  “Yae-chan, no one else could do what you did.”

  “I want to get married to a handsome man like him, Yae-chan.”

  “Did you marry for love? Kantaro says we must all marry for love.”

  “But no one comes here to love!”

  “We will all die here and never find anyone to marry.”

  “Yae-chan, I envy you.”

  “Hanako has two babies now. Are you pregnant yet?”

  “What about Hatomura? Where is he now? How I miss his classes.”

  “Yae, I wish I could go with you, but I could never go. No, I could never leave.”

  Fuyuko got angry. She pretended that Yae didn’t have new clothes and things hanging from her ears. She did not like this talk. “You are all late today,” she said. “All this nonsense about finding a husband. We need to practice for our tour. This is an opportunity that people who have left Kantaro’s will never have.”

  The girls are called the Uno Dance Troupe now. The Nambei Publicity Management Agency came to talk to Kantaro and Fuyuko. They said Japan wants them. Japan wants to see country girls from Brazil dance modern ballet. They had a list of cities in Japan. Tokyo, Osaka, Kobe, Kyoto. Even I have heard of these cities. They had a list of theaters. Everyone wanted Kantaro’s girls. The shows would be sold out. The shows would pay for everything. Kantaro would go to Japan too. He would go to Japan to tell our history, to tell about our struggle. Everyone would be impressed. They would see the girls dancing in those tight suits. They would be impressed.

  Fuyuko is training the girls every day. She is working on a new piece with Brazilian jazz music. She is writing to her old teachers in Japan. When she goes back to Japan, she will show everyone. But first, the girls are going to São Paulo to dance. They are going to the Liberdade.

  I heard Junichiro Shiratori finally went away to America, but then he came back to Brazil again. When he came back he was still skinny and his shoulders still folded, but he was in disguise. He had long hair and wire spectacles and jeans with legs like skirts. The Uno Dance Troupe posters were all over the Liberdade. Shiratori must have seen the posters. Probably he remembered Akiko and their spot in the cornfields.

  Akiko is an old lady now, maybe forty. Maybe she is still beautiful. I can’t tell, but that’s what they say. Anyway, Tsuneo, who’s now just twenty, must have felt sorry for her. He was still mad at Kantaro for hitting Hatomura’s moon face. He apologized to Kantaro for hitting him with the stick, but he was still angry. He told Akiko that he wanted to go to São Paulo to find Hatomura. Masao Hatomura was a good teacher, he said. Akiko agreed. Tsuneo asked Akiko if she didn’t want to go with him to find Hatomura.

  Someone said Akiko is a demon. But some people say I’m crazy. Akiko is just stupid. She’s the people too. Still, Akiko’s got some courage, so she told Tsuneo, yes. I hear the girls talk. They say Akiko is getting too old to have a baby. Akiko goes to take care of Hanako’s babies. She holds them like they are her own. She plays with them and laughs and cries.

  Speaking of Hanako, Kōno is very busy working. He is working so hard that he is losing his hair, and his forehead is getting bigger. He is the new chicken expert at Kantaro’s place. My old man retired. Kōno went home to see his mother. I thought he wouldn’t bother to return. But then, he and Hanako had a baby. And Hanako made sure she was pregnant again before he left.

  Kōno went to Japan and met a real chicken expert named Yuwasa. Yuwasa liked what he said about Kantaro’s place. He decided to help us. He sent Kōno back with some of his special chicks and a lot of money. Kōno took his own money and added it to that. Now Yoshifumi Kōno is the Yuwasa Poultry representative for all of South America. Now we are the Uno-Yuwasa Poultry Project. Kōno struts around like he runs everything now. He says he is giving back Kantaro his original dream. He says he will make Kantaro the King of Eggs again. He bought all this equipment. My old man says it’s the newest stuff. New incubators, new feeding pens and these egg-sizing machines so the girls don’t have to sort different-size eggs into different baskets. Kōno says this is the future. This is progress. He’s going to make Kantaro’s place a modern operation. Kōno is running around like crazy. Going here and there. Never stopping. This is all for Kantaro. All for Kantaro. Like my old man. All for Kantaro.

  They took me to the Liberdade for therapy. I sat in the first row at the theater with Kantaro. This was the big Uno Dance Troupe debut sponsored by the Nambei Publicity Management Agency. Kantaro said I could go because I like to watch Fuyuko and the girls practice modern ballet. Even Fuyuko said this is good therapy. “Let Genji come.” Every day, Kantaro and I are watching all the girls slither around the floor in those black suits. But only Kantaro can take cortisone. At the theater, Kantaro got up and talked about history and vision and the Uno Dance Troupe. He talked about cutting down virgin forest and building Esperança out of nothing. And how the old-timers were great pioneers. But I thought only old-timers get to pioneer anyway. I heard this before, so I left. I went to the lobby to smoke.

  Then I saw Junichiro Shiratori. No one recognized him. Like I said, he had long hair and jeans with legs like skirts and these round wire glasses. He wa
s in disguise, but I knew it was him. He was carrying something in a small leather case. Tsuneo was in the lobby too. I saw him watching Shiratori, so he recognized him too. Shiratori went in the theater and sat in the last row. I followed him. I saw him pull out these glasses from his leather case and look through them at the girls dancing. He was looking like crazy. I could see his mouth moving, saying the girls names, “Yo-chan? No. Sachiko?” Trying to figure out who was who. It was a big job. Yo-chan, for example, is pretty big now. Shiratori was looking through his glasses, so he never noticed that Akiko was sitting right in front of him. Suddenly Akiko got up. That’s when Shiratori noticed her. Akiko was going out to the lobby. Shiratori got up too and started tripping over people’s feet. “Excuse me. Excuse me.” He was trying to get out fast, but Akiko got away. Finally Shiratori got to the end of the aisle, but then my old man Befu rushed in.

  Befu looked like he used to when he wanted to beat me up. “You!” he growled at Shiratori. He grabbed Shiratori’s arm and jerked him into the lobby. “You are the one who ruined my son! You have no right to be here! Get out! Get out!”

  Shiratori looked confused. He pushed back his long hair. I wondered what the old man was talking about too. Shiratori didn’t know about them not letting me kill myself. Someone had to take the blame. He kept looking around for Akiko. Looking for the toilets. I looked around too. Tsuneo was gone. So was Akiko.

  Then, Kōno ran into the lobby. His big forehead was in a sweat. He saw my old man and yelled, “Befu! Where is Fuyuko?”

  “Fuyuko? Dancing, of course.” Befu made a face. He was still gripping Shiratori’s jean jacket.