by Mariko Nagai
but it flies out like impatient Horse.
WATERMELON THIEF
Asa and I walk home from school—
the fields on both sides of us
bulging with an almost
ready harvest of watermelons
and potatoes, cabbages and tomatoes.
We walk through fields of lettuce—
wheat heavy with husks,
and that’s when we see him:
a Manchu boy in rags holding
a watermelon as big
as his own head.
I yell, Thief, thief!
I start toward him
with my bamboo spear raised high
just like I was taught,
and he takes off like a rabbit
with the watermelon held
above his head,
a boy dirty and small,
not much older than Asa.
“Natsu-chan, he’s taking our watermelon!”
Asa yells loudly.
I whack him with the spear
and he falls, still holding
on to the watermelon,
and he screams, “Riben Guizi,”
Japanese devil!
I kick him. Asa screams even louder,
“Natsu-chan, kick him.” Then,
“Don’t hurt him!” and he sputters,
“Japan’s going to lose
and when they do, I’ll kill you!”
He lies like a Chinese, and I kick
him for it. I kick him again and
again and Asa kicks him, too
but as quick as a rabbit,
he jumps up, still holding the watermelon
to his chest, and scampers away.
I run after him but he’s gone,
somewhere in the field.
“I hope we didn’t hurt him
too much,” Asa says,
as she kicks a rock,
but my face still burns
like the chimney in wintertime,
my heart beating fast: he’s a liar
he’s a liar, but his words,
Japan’s going to lose
are ringing in my head,
swirling and buzzing
like big fat mosquitoes that keep
whining in the middle of the night,
and they just won’t go away.
WALK OF DEFEAT
White hens peck
the invisible worms
and seem to laugh
at me as we walk
by Auntie’s house.
I kick them
and they fly away
in surprise.
“You no good girl!”
I hear Auntie’s voice
ringing out from her hut.
“I know it’s you, Natsu Kimura!
I’m going to tell
your pa!” And I stick
my tongue out at her.
Asa sticks her tongue
out as well; then pulls it back
quickly, “Don’t. Auntie’ll tell
Tochan, and then, we’ll be
in real trouble.” But I already feel
a little better, not too much,
but good enough
to feel that I beat Auntie’s
hens into submission.
THE SEA OF GOLD
I straighten my back.
The wheat is almost ready.
Two more days,
and we will be busy
with the harvest.
Tochan seems miles
and miles away,
his back bent—
the only thing I can see
is his straw hat
moving up and down
above the sea of gold—
and Asa at the edge
of the field, chasing after
birds that are trying
to land on this golden ocean.
I move my arms left,
right, parting the waves
of gold, I swim
through the sea of gold,
I swim closer and closer
to Tochan and Asa.
LIES TOLD LATE AT NIGHT
I lick the tip of the pencil again,
about to start another letter,
when I feel Tochan watching me.
The shadow from the lamp is making
his chin waver but his eyes are steady.
He says, “You look like your mother
when you do that. She loved to write
letters, and she would always lick
the tip of the pencil, just like you do, before
she began. Do you remember?”
And I nod, though I can’t tell him
that I don’t remember Kachan that much.
Moments are what I have—
how she would tell me stories,
how she would stand by the well
to crank the handle to bring up the bucket—
but the only face of Kachan I remember
is the photo on the altar, where she is smiling,
and she’s never moving in my memory,
like everything I remember
about her is a series of photos.
Six years is a long time to be gone:
Kachan’s been gone half of my life,
and all of Asa’s life.
I lie to Tochan so that he doesn’t get sad,
I lie to Tochan because I know he misses her,
I lie to Tochan so I can will myself to remember.
A MESSENGER IN THE NIGHT
The knock on the door
came late at night.
The knock came
as we were already
asleep atop ondol,
the heated floor
in the shape of the Chinese
character for river—
three parallel strokes:
Tochan to the left,
Asa in the middle,
and me to the right.
After the knock came,
Tochan got out of the bedding
with a gun in his hand,
and when he opened the door,
the settlement secretary
stood there, the hint
of autumn wind swirling
into the house,
making me shiver.
“Congratulations,
you have been called
by His Majesty our Emperor
to serve the Empire,” he said,
but he did not smile.
His hand shook as he pulled
out the akagami, the draft
notice. “You are to report
to the settlement office the day after
tomorrow with all your weapons,
food, and your horse,”
he said, looking down.
Tochan just stood there.
My heart beat so loudly.
After thousands and hundreds
of heartbeats, Tochan bowed
deeply. “Thank you
for the good news. I’m honored
to serve His Majesty the Emperor
and our glorious Empire of Japan,”
and he saluted smartly,
the way he used to when he was
joking, just like he said he had
to do when he was drafted
a long time ago when there was
no war. He said he hated
the army except that he was never hungry
like he was at home.
Only this time he wasn’t joking.
This time it was serious.
I should’ve been happy
that Tochan was called to serve.
But why is it that even after
so many hours, even after Tochan
and I went back to bed, that I can’t sleep?
I feel something heavy
on my chest, like someone is
stepping on it and I can’t breathe.
But I know I’m not the only one:
I hear Tochan moving, tossing
&n
bsp; and turning. Asa lies there
with her mouth slightly open.
PROMISES TO TOCHAN
Tochan calls Asa and me
to sit in front of him.
“This is very important,” he says,
and opens the old military backpack.
He takes things out one by one:
the family registry form,
birth certificates,
deeds to the house and land,
passports for three,
dried umbilical cords, family seals,
the black lacquered tablet
with Kachan’s otherworldly
name beautifully written in gold ink,
Kachan’s ring and small gold
fillings he had kept after she died,
postal saving books, family photos.
Then he pulls out the handgun
from under the pillow and puts that
in the bag. “Repeat after me,”
he says, and makes us repeat
the address of his family in Japan.
“Remember this,” he says.
“If anything happens, grab
the bag and run as fast
as you can and find Auntie.
There’s a chance that our settlement
may be attacked.”
“By whom?” Asa asks.
Tochan looks at Asa, then me,
like he’s trying to figure out
how to say things he doesn’t know
how to answer. Then, “It may
be the Chinese. It may be
the Soviets. It may be the Americans.
Go to Auntie’s. She will take you two back
to Japan if something happens.”
He pauses and looks straight into my eyes.
“And if there’s no one left,
you need to stay together and go
back to Japan on your own.
You know how to use the gun
but use it only when you have to, Natsu.
Asa, you have to
listen to your big sister,
you two have to stick together,
no matter what.” He stares
at us, making us submit to his order.
We stare back. I nod. I understand.
TIGERS TRAVEL ONE THOUSAND LI AND BACK
With a red thread and a needle,
I sew a stitch, then tie a knot
on the back. I’m not sure who
Tochan will be fighting.
I sew another stitch.
Not the Soviets; they’ve signed
the treaty with His Majesty
the Emperor, promising not to fight.
Each stitch follows
the outline of a tiger
I drew on a cotton fabric.
Not the Manchurians—
why would Tochan fight
them when we’ve been
their friends ever since
Manchuria was created
fourteen years ago,
five races as one.
Senninbari—needles
of a thousand people—
a good-luck charm every
soldier is supposed to keep.
Not the Americans;
they aren’t here yet.
Tigers can travel one thousand li
and back, they always come back.
Like Tochan, who will travel
one thousand li and come back.
So who is Tochan
supposed to fight?
THE NIGHT PUSHED AWAY
The room is slowly turning white.
The night is slowly being pushed
back to where it came from.
Auntie’s cock crows once,
then twice, singing of the morning
just around the corner.
Asa is curled up and Tochan lies
with his arm around her.
I make my last stitch
and the tiger moves in the light.
MY MIND LIKE THE RUNNING HORSE
My mind doesn’t stay still.
I can’t sit still.
The sun rose all too
early, and I hear
Tochan get out of bed
like any other morning,
and Asa sucks on her thumb
and Tochan tries to pull it out,
but Asa keeps pushing it back in
and he smiles and lets her be,
just like any other morning,
like all the mornings in the world.
Tochan raises his eyebrows,
like he’s asking me a question,
“Did you sleep at all?”
I rub my tired eyes. I want
this morning to last
as long as it can.
A PRAYER RICE
I put the freshly cooked
rice, burning hot,
in my hand
and make it into a ball
the size of the biggest
potato with both hands,
pressing, saying a prayer
with each press:
Tochan, stay safe.
Tochan, come home soon.
And a rice ball comes out of a prayer,
and I line them up
in my lunch box,
three of them just like us:
Tochan, Asa, and me.
THE ELDEST SON
I take tea out to the barn
like Tochan does
every morning.
But this morning
he’s getting Horse ready
for a journey. The air at this hour
carries a hint of fall
still a distance away
but crawling closer
like the last chime of the school
bell when you are late.
He turns around
and smiles and takes
the cup from my hand.
I put my hand on Horse
as she nuzzles her cheek
against my head.
“Tochan, take care of her,”
I tell him, and he laughs,
“She’ll probably take care of me.”
He turns away and takes a brush
to Horse’s back. Heartbeats
translate into seconds,
into minutes passing,
and the time only goes forward.
Suddenly, he says,
“You can ride Horse like a boy
and you can farm like one, too.
You’re like the boy I never had.
Now that I have to leave,
you are the chonan—the eldest son.”
Something stings my nose,
and I look away so that he won’t see
my eyes welling up,
“I need you to be strong.
I need you to be brave.
No matter what.”
All I can say,
so that the tears won’t fall,
is “Tochan, fight well,”
and I hand him the senninbari,
my stitches uneven and big.
His face seems to crack,
like the glass window during the coldest
winter nights, and he says,
“You’re old enough
to understand when I tell you
that I may not come back.
Be strong, Natsu.
You’re the only one
who can look after Asa.
You’re the only one who can take
her back to Japan.”
And he pulls me close to him
and holds me tight.
He smells of the late-summer prairie
and the Manchurian soil
and cabbages and earth
and sleep he didn’t have.
“I promise I will come find you,
no matter where you are
in the world, I will find you two,”
he whispers, “I’ll come back alive.”
Horse stomps her hoof.
I bury my face in
Tochan’s chest
to stop the time from moving forward.
MR. SOLDIER, MY TOCHAN
We walk toward
the school, Asa riding,
Tochan leading Horse
while I walk next to him.
“Be good,” Tochan tells Asa.
“You must listen to Natsu-chan,
because Tochan has to go to war.”
And Asa claps her hands
and then salutes,
“Mr. Soldier!”
Tochan laughs and salutes.
The sky seems to widen
with his laughter
and I wish this walk
will never ever end.
WHAT TOCHAN TAKES WITH HIM TO THE WAR
Three rice balls in my aluminum lunch box;
a senninbari I had made for good luck and for speedy homecoming;
a photo of me and Asa;
a bag of carrots for Horse;
Asa’s drawing: Tochan, Asa, and me sleeping in the shape of the river;
a little pouch with a strand of Kachan’s hair;
a rifle and all the ammunitions;
a water canteen;
a rucksack with his fur coat rolled up inside;
Horse;
a photo of Kachan;
my prayer and love.
LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR
The schoolyard is filled
with all the neighbors.
There’s Masa-chan and her father,
short and bundled up in a fur coat
though it’s sweltering hot.
There’s Kazuo’s father,
tall, his bald head glistening
with sweat. There’s Yoshiko’s brother
who can carry a colt on his back
and walk to the next settlement and back he’s so strong.
There’s Taro, Auntie’s son, and Auntie scolding
him as she always does, and as always, he is smiling
like he’s not really hearing a thing.
There are fathers and brothers
standing, milling about with their rifles and horses.
There’s Toshio passing out
Japanese flags he drew on papers.
There’s the settlement leader with a clipboard,
counting heads and calling out names.
I stand close to Tochan and hold his hand,
big, warm, and hard like Horse’s hooves.
Everyone is saying good-bye.
Everyone is saying, Fight well for the country.
Everyone is saying, Long live the Emperor.
I’m supposed to say, like my teachers taught me,
Be brave and kill as many enemies as you can,
but these words don’t sound true,
though I’ve written them dozens
and hundreds of times to soldiers I don’t know.