Gaia Girls Way of Water Page 4

  “Why?”

  “Why? Why! See!” He started circling and smoking again. “You so American! Why this? Why that? Don’t matter why! You like you mother! Why I have to be married? Why I have to listen to you? Yoko no say thank you, just why!”

  The way he said it made Miho angry. He spat her mother’s name out like it was the pizza he obviously didn’t want. Without thinking, she took two steps toward him. She was almost as tall he was and he took one step back.

  “Don’t talk about my mother that way!” Miho yelled. She clenched her Hokusai hand into an angry fist.

  From the hall came a rattle and a gurgle and then, with a wet whoosh, water began to gush out of the bathroom! Ojisan yelled, but at least it wasn’t at her. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and began yelling into it. He pulled towels from the closet and tossed them to Miho.

  She began to mop up the water. It seemed to be boiling up out of the toilet. She was grateful for the distraction. Focusing on the water cooled her anger. Ojisan forgot about her as he got busy yelling into the phone. Maybe he’ll forget to keep yelling at me! Ojisan opened the apartment door and stood in the hallway, waiting. Miho kept mopping and wondered how on earth this man could be related to her happy, loving mother.

  When the building repairman came in, Ojisan grabbed Miho by her shirt collar and simply said, “Come!” They left the watery mess in the apartment and headed down to the streets of Nagoya.

  8

  Tomorrow We Go

  Ojisan took them next door to the A-1 Bento Box. He pushed Miho into a chair and marched to the counter to order. His deep, seething anger was so great; Miho imagined she could see steam rising off his head. He came back with two boxes containing different foods in little compartments. He tossed a pair of chopsticks on the table and sat down.

  He was muttering in Japanese under his breath and shoveling food into his mouth. He didn’t look up at Miho. Finally he stopped, laid his chopsticks across the box, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he looked up at Miho, he looked five years older.

  “I apologize. I still angry with my sister.”

  Miho’s eyes widened. This must be why he never came to visit or called or anything.

  “Why?” Miho whispered, wondering what her mother could have done that was so bad.

  Ojisan’s mouth pressed tight again and his cheeks reddened. Miho realized what she had said, ducked her head and began prodding at her bento box.

  “No why!” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes again. “I businessman.” He finally said. “I have no wife. This not good for me. Not good for you.” He began to poke at his bento box too.

  They sat this way for a while, each poking at their food and their thoughts.

  Ojisan sighed heavily and said, “Tomorrow we go to Goza.” He put his hand up just as the word “why” started to escape Miho’s lips. She clamped her mouth shut. “It is O-bon. O-bon is festival for the dead. Three days, you pack clothes.” He paused, “No ask why. You sleep—tomorrow we go. ”

  That was the last thing he said to Miho. They went back to the apartment in silence; Ojisan went into his room and closed the door. Fresh smoke, if cigarette smoke could ever be called fresh, seeped out from under his door.

  Miho lay wide awake with worry and wonder and jet lag. She worried about how she could ever live in this gray box with this stinky, angry uncle. She worried that she would always be a tall gaijin, unable to hear or speak Japanese properly. And, she wondered about Goza. She let her mind dwell more on Goza because wondering about something completely unknown was easier than worrying about what she already knew.

  She saw a telephone book and retrieved it, hoping there was a map that could show her where Goza was. In the back of the book, she found it. Ise Bay dropped away from Nagoya in an almost teardrop shape. At the bottom, on the southwest end of Ise Bay, a thick peninsula of land pushed out, the Ise-Shima Peninsula.

  The peninsula stretched out into the Pacific Ocean, and all along its curve there were small bays and inlets, and towns with names like Toba and Ise. As the peninsula curved back around toward the mainland, it made an extra little hook. Miho turned the map sideways. There, curling over, much like her Hokusai wave, was a strip of land. Inside that strip was Ago Bay and at the tip sat Goza. Miho couldn’t stop smiling. Her wave wish made at the docks today had come true! She was going back to the sea!

  9

  Goza

  Ojisan stood next to Miho on the train heading south. He was trying to read a newspaper. But the train was so crowded with people heading home for O-bon that he and Miho had to stand and balance and wait for a seat to open up.

  Miho listened to the clickety-clack of the train running on the rails, but kept her attention on her uncle. Any time his eyes looked away from the paper, Miho asked a question.

  Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

  “Ojisan, why do you have to go to Goza for Obon?”

  “Because parents there.”

  Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

  “Ojisan, I thought my grandparents were dead.”

  “Yes, that is why we go for O-bon. They house there.”

  Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

  “Ojisan, do you mean they are buried there, or that their actual house is there?”

  “Their house. My house now.”

  Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

  “Ojisan, why do you live in Nagoya if you have a house in Goza?”

  Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

  Miho waited for her answer.

  “Ojisan,” she began again.

  “Stop! Ojisan, why! Ojisan, why! Miho…” he looked past her and searched for words. He scowled and said, “You should be name, Shizuka! Maybe that help.” He pushed his paper back up in front of his face.

  Shizuka? Miho fetched her phrasebook from her backpack and looked up Shizuka. It meant “quiet.” She got the hint. She leaned around the people seated next to her. Slivers of pale blue kept peeking around the hills and buildings that bordered the rail line, as if the sea were teasing her. It was maddening. Miho imagined she could smell the briny air and hear the call of seabirds; really it was stale smoke clinging to Ojisan that filled her nose and the demanding wail of a baby two rows up that filled her ears.

  People got on and off at each stop. They were all going home for O-bon. Her uncle took an available seat and finally Miho too, could sit down. She continued to study her Japanese phrasebook, reading the words and whispering the phrases back to herself. Miho didn’t mind studying out of school.

  Most of her life she had been home schooled. Her family spent so much time traveling and on boats, it was rare she got to go to a real school. Her parents set lessons and goals and even gave her tests.

  But this was a real-world test! If she was ever going to not be “gaijin” she would need to speak the language!

  The time passed quickly as Miho practiced how to say hello and goodbye, please and thank you in all the different ways the Japanese did. It was important to know the difference between the familiar way, the way you would say something to a friend, and the polite, honorific way. She began to understand why her uncle had been upset at her saying, “Oji,” instead of “Ojisan.” She wouldn’t want him calling her “kid.” When you added “san” to any name or title, it showed respect.

  A lot of people got off at the town of Ise. At a station named Toba, the train nearly emptied. Ojisan sat across from Miho, eyes closed and head rocking gently with the train’s movement. Miho studied his face and saw there the same rising cheekbones and full upper lip as her mother’s.

  Miho knew that she had the same high cheekbones and mouth. She had the smooth, straight, jet black hair her mother did. From her father, however, she inherited slightly pointed ears and a lanky build. Miho was well on her way to having the long legs and arms and thinness of her father. She also had his blue-green eyes.

  Miho looked at her uncle and looked at the handful o
f people sharing their car. Like being tall wasn’t enough, I have these crazy green eyes! Maybe that’s why the lady at the airport said I’ll always be gaijin. Miho frowned at the thought. I can’t change my eyes! She bent back over her phrasebook and studied harder.

  At the next stop Ojisan’s eyes popped open. He looked across at Miho and said, “Kashikojime.”

  “Nani?” Miho said, testing out the word for “What?”

  “Kashikojime.” Ojisan said, rising to pull their suitcases off the top rack. “This end of line—no more stations.”

  Miho wondered how they would get to Goza if this was the end of the line. To her great delight, she found one got to Goza by ferry! When they boarded, Miho started to run ahead and then turned back to her uncle. In her best Japanese, she asked if she could please go to the front. She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t said anything bad by accident.

  The smallest flicker of a smile, hardly a twitch really, passed across Ojisan’s face and made his cigarette jump. He simply said, “Hai.”

  Miho ran to the bow and held the cool rail. She couldn’t help but send back a little “thank you” to the winking, sparkling waves in Ise Bay that had granted her wish to be on a boat again. She thought of one of her father’s favorite poems.

  The sea! The sea! The open sea!

  The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

  Loud vega and slaty-backed gulls flew alongside the ferry as it began to cross Ago Bay. Miho felt the cool, salty air pass over her skin and shivered with delight. She took deep breaths and felt herself relax a little.

  Scattered throughout Ago Bay were small islands of all shapes and sizes. Ago-wan. Miho reminded herself of the right word for “bay.” She could see other places where the mainland poked out into Ago-wan; hills rolled away from the water and beyond, shrouded in distant blue haze, old mountains squatted.

  Her eyes gathered in what she could see of Goza as they approached. It wasn’t small, but it definitely wasn’t a big town. There were fifty or so boats along the shore and the smell of fish reached out to pull the ferry to shore.

  Miho was, for the first time in weeks, feeling comfortable with where she was. Fishermen and deckhands yelled back and forth to each other as they tied their boats to docks. Small trucks and motorcycles pulling carts, puttered away, loaded with all manner of sea creatures suitable for eating: fish, crab, small squid, shrimp. Miho had been in many places like this one, where the smells of salt and sea and sweat mingled with diesel and dying fish. It was wonderful.

  Miho scampered to catch up with Ojisan. He was striding off the pier with great purpose, puffs of smoke trailing out behind him like an old steam engine. He walked as if he couldn’t wait to get away from the bustle of the docks. They walked uphill on the single road that ran the length of the small peninsula. Miho was breathing hard by the time they reached the top. Ojisan was breathing harder and sweating. Of course, he was wearing a dark suit, carrying two suitcases and had a stinking cigarette dangling from the right side of his mouth.

  As they crested the hill, Miho stopped dead in her tracks. The hill rolled down to the Pacific Ocean and became a wide, sandy beach. Waves could be heard, bringing their tales of the vast deep to the shore. Pelicans flapped in a slow lazy line just off shore and terns wheeled and dipped into the blue. Small lanes branched off the main road and connected the houses that were scattered all along the hillside. Ojisan turned right down a lane, toward the tip of the peninsula. Miho could barely see the shingled roofs and latticed shoji—wood and paper screens—beyond each wooden or bamboo fence that lined the road. At last her Oji turned, opened a tall gate and fished a key from his coat pocket.

  10

  You Ama

  SHOES!” Ojisan barked, as he stepped out of his own loafers and slid his feet into slippers that sat on a low shelf in the small entry room. Miho did the same. “Always shoes,” Ojisan muttered and began to slide back walls. Miho was amazed at the way the small rooms opened up and air began to move through the house.

  In the third room, there was a cleverly made wall of built-in drawers and cabinets. Ojisan crossed this room to the far corner. Miho followed to see what he was doing.

  On that wall was a shelf and on the shelf there sat a collection of objects. Miho recognized a black and white photo of a beautiful, young woman with her chin tilted slightly down and her eyes turned coyly up. It was her grandmother. Also on the shelf was a smaller picture of her grandfather in a smart looking military uniform, a statue of a fat little Buddha, a smooth, pink conch shell, and a bowl with sand in it.

  Ojisan was muttering and pulling his lighter from his pocket. Oh no. He’s gonna stink up this beautiful place! Miho took a deep breath, thinking it would be the last of the clean, tangy sea air that would be allowed in the house. But Ojisan didn’t light a cigarette. He lit a stick of incense and placed it upright in the bowl of sand. He took a step back and pressed his palms together. He made a deep bow and held it for several seconds. Miho did the same.

  She looked around the house and was utterly charmed. The floors were covered, not with carpet riddled with cigarette burns, but with tatami—flat, woven mats. Many walls were latticed with wood and a thick yellow paper. Though there were few glass windows, the light came through the paper and the rooms were bright. Ojisan was now sliding half of a wall back and the house opened to the sea breeze! He slid another wall back to open the space further. He then crossed the room and levered half-sized panels up. The light and the wind now swept through the house and made it feel as open as the deck of a ship. He walked to the far end of the room and slid another wall back. He beckoned to Miho. “You sleep here.” She peered around him into an almost empty room.

  “Sleep?” she said, unsure if she heard him right. His English was pretty good, but his words were often rounded and clipped and the ‘r’s’ were hard to hear.

  “Hai, nemurimas.” He put his hands together and tilted his head on them to indicate sleep.

  “Ojisan, there’s no bed.”

  “So American,” he muttered as he walked across the room and slid back a door revealing a closet. On the top shelf there was a fat roll. “You sleep futon.This Japanese. Every day, put futon out in air and then put back here,” he slapped the futon. “Every day.” He squinted his eyes at Miho, as if daring her to ask ‘why.’

  He began to pat his pocket in a way that told Miho he was looking for his stinky cigarettes. She sighed, waiting for the click of the lighter and the swirling stench to once again fill her world.

  But once again, Ojisan didn’t light a cigarette. Instead, he put it, unlit, in his mouth and said, “Come.” She followed him through the main room and out the front door. Once on the lane, Ojisan lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply and said, “You must learn to get dinner.” He said this in Japanese, but Miho understood the words. He set off down the lane.

  Just as Miho started to walk after him a strange feeling stole over her, making her legs weak and compelling her to turn toward the sea. Her eyes scanned the sharp edge of the horizon. Then, in this strange new place, she saw something familiar. The smoothness of the water was broken by the rising and falling of rounded backs and small, gray fins. Dolphins! White-sides? Common? Spinners? Miho couldn’t tell from this far away, but she immediately began to count the little puffs, the blows of the sleek mammals, coming up for a breath of air. She counted about forty of them and then tore her eyes away to run after her uncle.

  “Ojisan! Ojisan!” He turned and looked surprised that she hadn’t been trailing along in his puffs of smoke this whole time. “Ojisan, look—dolphins!” Miho pointed out to the pod of dolphins. They were still moving parallel to the shore.

  “Hmmm. Maybe dinner dolphin.” He kept walking.

  Miho stared after him wide-eyed. I must have misunderstood! She ran to catch up again. “Ojisan! You don’t eat dolphins!” Miho laughed, hoping this would clear things up.

  “Hai! Hai! Iruka very tasty!”

  Miho stopped walking again and felt a litt
le woozy. Eat dolphins? Eat the ones that sing and play and talk and tease? Miho had spent so much time watching dolphins, listening to her parents and her parents’ friends talk about dolphins, that she knew they weren’t food; they were friends!

  She wanted to ask Ojisan why anyone would want to eat a dolphin, but he was turning into a small market. “Ohayo!” the woman behind the counter called. Then she squinted at the door, squealed a little and came out from behind the counter. “Kiromoto-san!” She gave a quick bow, never taking her eyes off Miho’s uncle.

  Ojisan nodded crisply in return. He tossed out a quick greeting and turned down the first aisle. The storekeeper began to follow him, peppering his back with Japanese too quick for Miho to understand.

  Miho remained in the doorway. Sitting all the way across the small store, next to another open door, was an elderly man. He was leaning forward on a tall walking stick and looking intently at Miho, so she bowed and said, “Ohayo.”

  He pushed against the stick to lever himself out of the chair and then shuffled over to Miho. His head was topped white, like an old, but great mountain. The sunlight coming through the doorway gleamed through his thin, snowy hair as he looked her up and down. His face was so deeply wrinkled that Miho could barely catch the glint of his dark eyes.

  The buzz of the chattering woman came up the aisle, propelling Ojisan ahead of it. His plastic basket only had a few items and he rounded the corner and set off down the next aisle, his shoulders hunched against the barrage of talk behind him.

  “Hmmmmm.” The old man hummed and continued to look at Miho. Then he nodded and shuffled back to his chair. He used the walking stick to slow his descent.

  The storekeeper and Ojisan came back to the counter. Ojisan bowed slightly to the old man. The old man again pushed against his walking stick, rose, and spoke for the first time.

  “Kiromoto Kazuki.” The old man’s voice was as strong as his small body seemed weak. The voice had a weight to it that commanded the attention of Ojisan, Miho, and the woman behind the counter.