Shipwrecks (13 page)

She came back after about an hour, poured herself a cup of wine, and sat down near the fire.

Isaku thought something was wrong when he saw his mother's worried expression. Maybe the men had brought bad news about his father. Perhaps his father was already dead. Nervously he moved toward his mother as she started to sip her wine.

‘Did he say anything about Father?'

‘That he's well,' muttered his mother, her eyes fixed on the flames. Isaku felt greatly relieved and sat down by the fire.

‘They said he works so hard that the shipping agency people have their eyes on him. Said your father's a strong man; he encourages other villagers, helps them along. But they said your father's worried about us, hopes we're all well …' His mother took a gulp of wine.

She must be thinking about Teru. Thinking that she had let little Teru die, and feeling that she had let their father down. She must be miserable over her own powerlessness. The wine was her way of drowning her sorrows.

Isaku sat silently, staring into the flames. He imagined Teru, far away across the sea, standing under the water, dressed in translucent clothes, a gentle smile on her face. Teru's death had been beyond his mother's power to prevent and her short time on this earth must have been what her lifespan was destined to be. Yes, she might have died, but being surrounded by the spirits of their ancestors meant that she was not alone as she rested peacefully out there at the bottom of the sea.

‘Father'll be back next spring. We've just got to hold out a little longer,' Isaku said as he put another piece of wood on the fire.

His mother said nothing, but slowly handed him the cup of wine. He felt emotion welling up inside him. This was the first time his mother had shown him any affection since his father had gone into bondage. Isaku sensed that his mother now recognised him as someone she could depend on.

He took a sip of the wine and passed the cup back to his mother.

Isokichi muttered something in his sleep as he turned over. The cup still in her hand, his mother sat staring at Isokichi's face looming pale in the light of the fire.

The sardine season was over, and they started to catch squid. Each household was busy cutting squid and hanging them out to dry. The idleness that had infected the community since they had been blessed with bounty from
O-
fune-
sama
gradually faded away, and the change in seasons seemed to have brought with it a return to normal routine.

On calm days a string of boats put out onto the water early in the morning, and women and children could be seen on the shore looking for shellfish or seaweed. On days when the sea was high, Isaku spent his time working on his boat. One of the men who had returned from servitude came down to the beach, sat on the sand with his stick at his side, and cast his eyes out to sea. Isaku stopped working and walked over to squat beside the man, whose face brightened when Isaku mentioned his father's name. ‘You say my father's doing all right, then …' said Isaku, looking questioningly at the man.

‘He's fine. Your father's made of steel; he never even catches a cold.'

Isaku nodded in reply. ‘I suppose the work must be pretty hard.'

‘That it is, my boy. Bond slaves are bought by the masters, you know. They can do what they like with you. The only thing they're afraid of is that we'll die on 'em and they'll lose their money, so they give you plenty to eat.'

A grimace realigned the wrinkles on the man's face as he recalled the hardships of the work in the port.

‘My dad must worry about us all here.'

‘The only time I heard him say anything about you was when we left the port to come back here. Otherwise he didn't talk about his family. I guess he thinks that kind of family talk
would make the others feel bad. He's doing a really good job looking after the others.'

The man looked out to sea, his grey hair ruffled by the wind; sand blew up onto what remained of his leg. Ten years as a bond slave had taken its toll.

‘Just glad to have come back after
O-
fune-
sama
. I've had some rice, some wine, and even a puff of some tobacco. The village chief told me to take it easy for a while, but as soon as I feel a bit better I want to get out on the water,' said the man with a joyful glint in his eye.

Isaku mused at how happy his father would be if he knew that the village had been blessed by a visit from
O-
fune-
sama
. Indeed, not only his father but all the bond slaves would be glad to know that the families they had left behind had been delivered from starvation.

Several days later the crippled man's companion on the journey back to the village died. His family found him one morning lying stiff and cold in his straw bedding. Whether it had been the feeling of release from his labours or he gorged himself to death, they would never know, but he must have succumbed quietly during the night.

The one-legged man's grief at the wake moved many of the villagers to tears. From the time they had set off from the port, sleeping under the stars for nights on end, until they reached the village, the younger man had looked after his crippled friend, helping him struggle over the mountain passes and through the sheer valleys. No doubt this was fixed in his mind as he clung to the dead body lashed to the funeral post, crying, ‘Why him? Why not me?'

The next day the body was placed in a coffin and carried to the cemetery. The one-legged man made his way slowly up the hill, steadying himself with his walking-stick. As the coffin was engulfed in flames, he crouched down and wept in front of the pyre.

The villagers went into mourning, but some found comfort in the thought that the man had died in his own village. Many bond servants died away from home; this man had been fortunate
enough at least to set foot in the village again and enjoy some time with his family.

As the green mantle around the village deepened in colour and the sun's rays grew stronger by the day, flies swarmed on the lines of dried squid. As was the custom every year, the women went to the neighbouring village to sell the squid, and Isaku's mother joined them. Two of the village elders accompanied the women to sound out whether their village was still the object of suspicion, but on their return they reported to the chief that they had seen nothing unusual.

A tranquil mood came over the village. Occasionally ships sailed by, but the villagers were no longer worried and merely watched them fade into the distance.

As the squid catch started to fall away, the rainy season came, at times with heavy cloudbursts. One day when the sea was rough, Isaku set off early in the morning with Isokichi into the forest behind the village. The sun shone through a slit in the otherwise thickly clouded sky, casting a swathe of bright sunlight on the mountain path. Once they got deeper into the forest they started stripping the bark from linden trees. As there had been no cloth on board
O-
fune-
sama
, all the families in the village were resorting to collecting bark. Isaku's mother had finished making a jacket for his father by early spring that year, and now it seemed she wanted to make something for the children.

Isaku bundled up most of the bark and lashed it to his own carrying-frame before loading the rest onto Isokichi's back. They stepped out of the forest and set off down the mountain path. The twittering of birds filled the air, and high above them they could hear the song of a nightingale. The sun was still on its ascent, so Isaku felt satisfied that, with Isokichi's help, he had managed to finish earlier than expected.

Feeling thirsty, he thought they should rest on the bank of a nearby stream. He called out to Isokichi, set his load on the path and made his way down the slope, stepping from rock to rock. Before long they heard the sound of swiftly flowing water and saw the stream itself glistening through the trees.

Isaku stopped. He noticed someone by the water's edge. Isokichi had noticed, too, and was peering between the trees. Two people were squatting on the bank facing the stream, a girl with her hair tied up in a knot and next to her a little boy. Isaku felt himself flush. From the look of the girl, it could only be Tami. Isaku could hardly turn back, so he headed down the slope. Tami turned around, as did the little boy; Isaku recognised him as Tami's four-year-old brother. Seeing the distrustful look in the girl's eyes, Isaku forced a smile as he approached. Tami's little brother smiled back, but Tami's steely glare was unchanged. There were two baskets on the ground beside them, full of slender bamboo shoots they had collected.

Isaku squatted down by the stream a short distance away and scooped some water into his mouth. He was so preoccupied with Tami's presence that the water didn't feel cold at all. Isokichi walked over to Tami and her brother and talked with them. Isaku wet the cloth he had hanging from his belt and wiped the sweat from his brow.

‘She's ripped a toenail off,' said Isokichi. Isaku looked at Tami and saw her trying to cool one foot by dipping it in the stream. He ran back up the slope; in a flat area to the left of the path he saw some bushes; he had been there before with his father collecting
otogiris
ō
, and he stepped between the bushes, picking leaves as he went. Scampering back to the stream, Isaku handed the herb to Isokichi. ‘Tell her to rub this between her hands,' he said, ‘then into the wound. It'll stop the bleeding.' Isokichi nodded and took it to Tami. She glanced at Isaku but turned her attention at once to the
otogiris
ō
, rubbing it in her hands, then applying it to her toe. Isaku had looked away.

He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the flow of the water, but at the same time he was keenly aware that Tami and her brother were making their way up the slope.

Isokichi drank some water from his cupped hands, then sat on a rock and dipped his feet into the stream. Isaku wet the cloth once more and roughly washed his face.

That night Isaku lay wide awake in his bed. He kept thinking
of his chance meeting with Tami, how he had given her the
otogiris
ō
to stop her foot bleeding, and wondered how she had felt. That she had rubbed the herb on the wound must mean that she had accepted his gesture as well-meant. That was enough for him. If they had happened to meet with no one else around, in all likelihood she would have taken fright and run away. He thought how each of them having their younger brother with them had provided him with the opportunity to show goodwill to Tami. Indeed, she had been receptive to his kindness.

Isaku had noticed that Tami's figure was becoming increasingly feminine. Although he was only a year younger, she seemed to be maturing at a faster rate. He had dreams of making her his wife, but held little hope of realising them. His eyes glistened wide open in the dark as he sighed again and again.

With the rain showing no signs of abating, the inside of the house felt increasingly damp. His mother made the most of sunny spells and spread their supplies of grain and fish out on a straw mat to dry.

One evening when Isaku returned home, his mother pointed to a new sedge hat lying on the floor. ‘Tami brought it for you. She said it's for something you did for her.' Isaku stared at the hat. No doubt it was for the help he had given her by the stream. He felt himself going red at the thought that Tami was grateful to him.

Embarrassed by the thought of his mother seeing him blushing, Isaku put down his fishing-tackle in the corner of the dirt floor and slipped out the back door. Once outside he stepped over to the tiny stream behind their house and washed his hands and feet. He mused that, in that short time up in the mountains, Tami must have noticed that his hat was battered and torn. Normally the villagers made sedge hats indoors when the snow was thick on the ground, but Tami must have made this one since they had met by the stream.

Without questioning Isaku as to why Tami should be giving him such a gift, his mother busied herself sorting the linden bark, boiling the inner layers and putting it to soak in a stream of
water flowing down from the hills. Turning her spinning-wheel, she transformed it into thread, then sat down in front of the loom.

The sedge hat didn't move from where it had been hung on the wooden post. Isaku wanted very much to wear it, but the prospect of attracting his mother's attention held him back. Not only that: to Isaku this was no ordinary hat but a hat too precious to expose to the elements.

But the light rain on the first day of the saury season was enough for him to muster the courage to grab the hat, securing it firmly on his head by tying the strings under his chin. He felt exhilarated at the thought that he was wearing a hat Tami had made with her own hands.

He stopped the boat and dropped the anchor when he got to Crow Point. First he draped a straw mat over the side, then he let another drift out from the stern. Isokichi was all eyes as he studied what was to him a brand-new way of fishing.

The two of them pressed themselves low as they watched the straw matting drift behind the boat. By the end of the previous year's season, Isaku had more or less mastered grabbing the fish with his hands, but now he felt anything but confident that he still had the knack, and the last thing he wanted was to be shamed in front of his younger brother. For ten days the best he could do was grab two or three fish a day, and some days he couldn't even get one. But gradually his catch increased, and before very long he was bringing home more than a dozen fish a day.

On several occasions, in the evening Isaku had caught sight of Tami carrying a catch of saury home. Tami's father was known for his skill in making dugouts, but he was also quite a fisherman and would routinely bring in large catches of saury for his family. Tami would fill two wooden pails with saury and carry them off the beach suspended on either end of a carrying-rod. Occasionally their eyes would meet, but she would quickly avert her gaze; her expression gave nothing away.