Up from the Sea
Page 5
all the way to Mars.
Someday he wanted to play
for Samurai Blue.
I trained hard because I wanted
to make Dad proud,
to make him stay.
MOM AND DAD CHEERED ME ON
from the sidelines,
brought onigiri and tea,
carried buckets of ice to
dip our towels into
when it was hot and humid.
After games,
they took me out
for ramen,
tried not to argue,
said they loved me
even when we lost.
ONE DAY DAD WENT TO THE PINE FOREST
to play guitar
and sing.
But he didn’t
come back.
At first I didn’t worry—
Mom said
he’d be back.
He sometimes stayed
for hours,
but he always
came back.
He’ll be back
soon,
Obaachan assured us—
he always
comes back.
WE KEPT ON
when snow frosted
the pine needles in winter
and cherry blossom petals
fell to the streets in spring
and fireworks bloomed like flowers
over the hilltop in summer
and Mom’s oysters came up for harvest
and Ojiichan took his boat
out for mackerel
in autumn.
But season
after season
Dad didn’t
come
back.
MY WORLD BECAME ONE SMALL BALL—
I could
make it
spin at will.
I could toss it
into the air.
I could
catch it
midflight,
kick it
to the stars,
block it
with my body,
make it
fly.
I poured all
my hope
into that
ball—
a tiny
globe
between my
feet—
the one thing
I could
always make
come
back.
I DREAMED OF HEARING DAD
on the radio,
imagined telling Shin and Ryu,
That’s my dad,
turning up the volume loud.
But I never heard his voice
across the airwaves
or anywhere at all.
All I heard was
Mom,
singing in the shower:
If you love someone,
set them
free.
IT HURT TOO MUCH TO HOPE,
so after a while
I buried
the parts of me
that were like him.
When Mom spoke to me
in English,
I answered back
in Japanese.
I wore hats to hide
my light-brown hair.
I put away
my soccer ball,
and with it
all my dreams.
*1 In the Japanese school calendar, graduation is held at the end of March.
*2 natsukashii—expression of a feeling of nostalgia or fondness when experiencing something for the first time in a long time
*3 Hafu—somebody who is half Japanese. The word Hafu comes from the English word half, indicating half Japanese, half foreign. The label first became popular in the 1970s, but many consider it diminishing.
*4 Double—term coined in the early 2000s as an alternative to Hafu to describe biracial kids, emphasizing the “double good” of being from two cultures
*5 kaki furai—breaded, deep-fried oysters
IT’S BEEN FORTY-NINE DAYS
since
the tsunami
swept through our town.
Forty-nine days—
that’s how long
it takes the souls
of the departed
to leave this world.
I haven’t given up hope
that Mom
will come back,
that Ryu’s still
out there,
somewhere.
But we need
to send
the spirits off.…
I CARRY A RED SNAPPER
in both hands
as Shin and I walk
through the forest
up to the shrine
to pay our respects.
How did Keiko get it?
Someone must have
brought it to her
at the shelter.
Now Shin and I bring it
up the mountain—
Keiko’s become a hikikomori*1
and won’t go out.
We place my grandpa’s favorite fish
on the altar,
and everyone laughs.
Even on such a solemn occasion,
Keiko’s made us smile.
I offer Mom
green tea KitKats.
I bring a glass of Nikka whiskey
for Ojiichan,
adzuki bean mochi and
stewed pumpkin
for Obaachan.
Foods I once
took for granted,
now a feast.
We put Obaachan’s ashes
into the earth
and I say good-bye.
DOWN BY THE BROKEN BRIDGE
we make origami boats,
float them out
on the river
to
send our loved ones’ spirits
safely
to
the other
side.
SAFE TRAVELS,
Mom, Ojiichan,
Obaachan.
At least
you’re up
there
in heaven
together.
I’m down
here
on Earth
alone.
MY LITTLE BOAT
drifts
aimlessly,
like the days
that go by
without word
from Dad.
I FINALLY GIVE IN
and play soccer
with Guts, but only
because he asks me
for the thousandth time,
just won’t take no
for an answer.
I’M PLAYING SOCCER WITH GUTS
and his friends
when Taro storms up,
face as red as a tengu*2 spirit.
How can you be out here
having fun
when people are suffering?
he shouts, arms flailing.
The kids trip
over themselves
to get away.
Stupid foreigner, he spits.
Never were
a team player!
IN A SECOND
I’m on top of him,
and we’re rolling
on each other
like wild dogs,
tearing
at each other’s
ill-fitting
donated
clothes.
Shin’s dad
jumps in,
pulls us apart.
We know you’re
under stress,
but you have
to set an example,
he says.
I don’t want
to be
an example!
I shout.
Haven’t I
been through enough
already?
Taro breaks away,
runs off,
What happened?
Shin’s dad asks.
I shake my head.
I don’t know.
Taro’s always had it
in for me.
Shin’s father shoots me
a sideways look.
Really?
I swear!
Okay. Try to calm down.
He puts a hand
on my shoulder
almost as quickly
as I flick it off.
I’m shaking.
My lip trembles.
I try not to cry.
Let it out,
Shin’s dad says softly.
I shake my head no.
I can’t.
You have to, he says.
What you hold in
will eat you up.
Then let it eat me, I say.
Let me feed the monster.
Let it have a feast.
You’ll make yourself sick,
he says.
Good! I shout.
Then maybe
I’ll just
die.
The palm of his hand
finds my cheek,
hard.
It stings
so bad.
I’m shaking
all over.
You want to know what I feel?
I shout.
I hate myself.
Okay?
I hate you
and this town
and everyone here!
Shin’s father puts his
hands across his heart,
as if each word
is a body blow.
Well, what did he expect?
He’s the one
who hit me,
said, “Let it out.”
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…
he says, upset.
Go away! I shout.
Kai…, Shin’s dad says, softly.
The way my mom
used to say it.
Kai.
It means ocean.
Mom named me that
to anchor me.
GO AWAY!
I RUN UP THE HILL TO THE MOUNTAINS,
the place Dad always went.
Why do I end up
hurting everyone
I care about,
and why does it
hurt me most?
I try to remember
calming breaths
Coach Inoue taught me,
but even those
are gone.
I NEVER SHOULD HAVE
touched that soccer ball,
never should have played with Guts,
never should have
let my body remember
what I’d tried
so hard
to forget:
The day a brand-new soccer ball
arrived from America
after my dad
had been gone a year.
How excited I was
that he’d finally
remembered me.
But then a photo of Dad
fluttered out—
Was that his new wife?
It was clear
he’d replaced
his old dreams—
no more room
for me.
I GUESS I COULD TRY TO TRACK HIM DOWN.
A couple of years ago,
I found him once on Facebook—
at least I think it was him.
I didn’t have the nerve to make
a friend request.
What if he ignored it?
What if he said no?
Couldn’t do it.
NIGHT FALLS,
and I realize
I’ve been gone
for hours.
When I go back to the shelter,
Keiko rushes up
talking a mile a minute
about some guy named Kenji
who came to see me.
I don’t want to see him, I mumble.
Whoever he is.
Yes you do!
No I don’t!
It’s the tenth anniversary of
9/11…
What’s that got to do with me?
I stop, think—
New York. Dad.
Then she says in English,
You’d be with
other orphans.
What? I blink.
Other islands? Huh?
Orphans.
I’m not
an orphan!
It’s the first time
I’ve heard the word
applied to me,
and I want
to rip
it off.
KEIKO LOOKS STRAIGHT AT ME,
unlike most girls,
who look away.
My anger
doesn’t scare her,
and that makes
my anger small.
Are you going? I ask.
I’m not going anywhere,
she says, stomps her foot
on the wooden floor.
That way, Dad will know
where to find me
when he comes back.
Oh, I sigh.
You have to go
for both of us,
she says.
I WISH
I could,
wish I was the person
Keiko thinks I am,
but I’m just not
strong enough.
I shake my head.
Keiko’s eyes
turn to glass,
like they did
that day in March.
She thinks I’m a loser.
She’s right.
Fine! she says, storming off.
Be that way!
Taro Nishi shoots me a look
from the corner,
where he’s pretending to read a newspaper.
And then he smiles.
I want to smash his face in.
Shin tries to calm me down.
I want to push him away, too.
He’s my best friend!
What’s wrong with me?
That’s when I know
I can’t stay here anymore,
pretending Shin’s family
is my family,
wishing everything
was okay.
EVERYONE’S WISHING THESE DAYS—
strips of colored paper
hang from bamboo stalks
for Tanabata,
the one time of year
two star-crossed lovers can
meet in the sky.
It’s the one time each year
wishes might actually
have a chance to come true—
but for the first time ever,
I have no wish.
THE LITTLE KIDS HAVE LOTS OF WISHES.
Keiko gathers them around,
tells them of the legend,
tries to give them hope.
Princess Orihime wove her beautiful cloth
by the banks of the Milky Way.
Her father, the Sky King,
loved her art.
She worked hard to please him,
Keiko says.
Hikoboshi, a cowherd,
lived on the other side
of the river.
They fell in love
and married.
They were so happy
that Orihime forgot all about her weaving
and Hikoboshi let his cows
roam wild.
The Sky King got mad,
separated them
on opposite riverbanks.
Orihime begged the king
to let them meet again.
I jump into the story,
act like the Sky King,
put on a scary face.
The king agreed,
but only for one day a year—
the seventh day
of the seventh
month—
and only if his daughter
finished her weaving, I say.
The kids’ eyes are wide, waiting.
Keiko and I take turns.
Orihime kept her promise,
but when the two tried to meet,
they couldn’t cross the river—
the bridge was gone, she says.
A flock of magpies
heard Orihime’s cries,
made a bridge with their wings,
I jump in.
Keiko says,
But if it rains on Tanabata,
the magpies won’t fly,
won’t fight against
the water.
The last words are mine:
And the princess
and her cowherd
have to wait another year.
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WISH FOR?
I ask the kids.
I’m going to wish
for Tanabata,
Guts says.
At first I think
he’s being clever,
but then
I understand.
Tanabata won’t come
if it rains.
Ever since the tsunami,
the weather
has been strange—
like the Earth
doesn’t know
what season
we’re in.
Pray for clear skies tomorrow,
Keiko says,
steepling her fingers together
at her heart.
The kids close their eyes,
faces pinched
in concentration,
wishing.
I start praying, too.
These kids
can’t afford
to have their wishes
rained away.
HOW WILL THE COWHERD AND HIS WEAVER MEET
on Tanabata
if the bridge
is gone?
There’s no more bridge
across the skies.
No more bridge
across the river
where Dad first taught me
how to swim.
No more bridge
across the river
where Shin, Ryu, and I
used to catch crayfish
and skateboard.
Everything
between the river
and the coast
is gone.
RYU WAS STRONGER
than Shin
and me
put together,
and now
he’s gone,
too.
Remembering Ryu,
I pray some more.
IT DOES NOT RAIN ON TANABATA—
seems like Orihime
and Hikoboshi
and all the other people