Seven years had slipped past since Kamikuu had begun her training. She was now thirteen and I was twelve. I continued to carry food to her without fail even on stormy days or when I was burning with fever. And over that time, though the amount increased and the basket grew heavier, the contents never varied, or so it seemed to me. Even so, Kamikuu ate lightly – the days when she finished the food in the basket were so few that I could have counted them on one hand – but I honoured Mikura-sama’s instructions and threw the leftovers into the sea. No matter how tempted I was to steal just a bite, I was so terrified of the consequences that I resisted.
I knew people on the island were starving, and it pained me to be so wasteful. I often felt frustrated with Kamikuu – if I had been her I would have eaten all that was given to me, regardless of whether I was hungry or not. That annoyance sank fast into my heart.
One night a strong damp wind blew long and hard across the island, drenching the trees. It was the kind of wind that the islanders believed foretold the arrival of an unseasonable storm. Whenever we had had great storms in the past, they had been preceded by just this kind of wind. It would suddenly abate, only to be followed by another gale and rain.
I watched the night sky nervously. The moon was covered with thick dark clouds, the sky jet black. Wisps of cloud sailed across the darkness, like shredded white flower petals. When I stopped to listen I could hear in the distance a rumbling noise, as if the seas were growling. It sounded as if the heavens were roiling with a furious strength that no human could ever match. I was terrified.
The slender noni stalks bent so low that I feared they would snap. If the wind grew much stronger it would destroy all the crops the islanders had struggled to plant, and I knew the women – the only ones left on the island now – would be working frantically: they would be binding stones and logs with rope then lashing them to their huts in an attempt to weigh them down against the gale. But more than anything they would be preoccupied with worry over the men who were fishing. Of course, Mikura-sama would have sequestered herself in her shrine to pray diligently for their safe return and for the protection of the island. But over the ages our island had known many times when nature had defeated even the most fervent prayers.
My mother had told me that about fifteen years ago a strong wind had swept over the island just when the men were almost ashore. Many boats had capsized. The man who became my father was on one of them. He managed to swim ashore and was not harmed. But only ten or so young men were as lucky as he was. For years to come, there were no men older than the few who had swum ashore. That storm had taken the life of my brothers’ father, my mother’s first husband.
But Mikura-sama said that in exchange for Nisera’s husband’s death, the island gained Kamikuu, Child of Gods, and Namima, Woman-Amid-the-Waves, so we should rejoice. She gathered the islanders together and told them that to all things there is a good side and a bad. We must consider both, she said. We must overcome our sorrows and search for the good in all things.
Mikura-sama’s philosophy held true for Kamikuu. She was taken from her family and forced to endure strict training in order to become the next Oracle. But she ate delicious food every day. Other islanders would starve but Kamikuu would survive.
What fate awaited me? I thought about this as I cradled the basket of Kamikuu’s food, walking into the powerful wind. I was so slight I was afraid it might pick me up and carry me away. Yet I couldn’t help noticing that the fragrance rising from the basket that evening was especially mouthwatering. I had had my supper some time ago, but my stomach protested at the scent from the basket. That day, Mother and I had eaten mugwort and seaweed. That was all. But we were grateful to have food, and enough of it. Old people who lived alone and the poor had nothing to eat. Mother told me she’d seen any number combing the beach, desperation on their faces as they searched the windswept sands.
Today the basket seemed to contain steamed rice cakes, a thick broth of steamed naganawa-sama and goat meat. Something was different, though. Mikura-sama had come to talk to Mother early this morning. Mother had called her female relatives together and they had set off towards The Warning, despite the wind, to gather kuiko fruits. They stain your fingertips bright red when you so much as touch them. When Kamikuu and I were little, we used to paint our nails with kuiko juice. I do not know why Mother needed the kuiko, but I felt certain that the meal inside the basket tonight was particularly special.
Of course, that was the least of my worries. The further up the path I walked, the stronger the wind grew. The houses along the way rattled and shook, their doors fastened tight. The palm fronds and noni stalks rustled noisily and swayed so wildly I was sure that some giant creature was writhing and thrashing just ahead of me. The path I was used to following seemed new tonight. Waves lashed the cliffs with a thunderous roar. The entire island was vibrating. It was just the kind of night, I convinced myself, when the gods landed on the northern cape to wander the island, revealing their wild and angry faces. I was so frightened, it was all I could do to keep walking.
I hurried to Mikura-sama’s cottage. The basket that I had delivered yesterday was in front of the door, with a large piece of coral on top of it to stop it blowing away. I put down the basket I had brought and picked up the other. How strange, I thought. It felt as if none of the food had been touched.
‘Is that you, Namima?’
The door opened and Mikura-sama peered out at me.
‘Mikura-sama, is Kamikuu ill? The basket is just as heavy as it was when I brought it.’ I pointed to the basket I had just picked up.
To my surprise, Mikura-sama grinned. ‘We are well, Namima – and you have no need to worry about things that don’t concern you. Remember your promise. Throw the leftovers away. Kamikuu has become a woman, that is all.’
Kamikuu’s body was now ready to bear children. From now, her future was bright. But I was frightened. Kamikuu had entered a world beyond my reach. I wanted to talk to her, congratulate her. I lingered in front of the cottage. But Kamikuu did not come out. I had little choice but to turn back into the wind.
‘Namima.’
A man’s voice called my name from the darkness of the thickets. It startled me and I nearly dropped the basket. But no one was there. Just when I had convinced myself that I had been mistaken, I heard the voice again.
‘Namima, wait.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ the man said. But he did not show himself to me. Most of the men were fishing, leaving only the elderly and the boys on the island. If a young man were left, he was too sick to fish. But this man’s voice seemed young and strong. Who was it? I peered into the darkness.
‘It’s Mahito.’
Mahito of the Umigame family. The eldest son. He was sixteen and well past the age when he should have joined the fishing parties. But Mahito was forbidden to fish. I was confused. I didn’t know what to do so I stared at my feet. According to the law of the island, we were not to speak to members of the Umigame – the Sea Turtle – family. But I knew Mahito. I had seen him alongside the women on the beach collecting seaweed. And for some unexplained reason the memory of his sunburnt face now made my heart pound. I couldn’t ignore him. It must be humiliating for him to work alongside the women. Every time I glimpsed his dusky face on the beach, I found myself longing to help him with his quest for food. I wanted to take food to his family. That feeling now shot through my heart with such intensity that it hurt. I answered softly, ‘Good evening, Mahito.’
He stepped from the shadows and appeared before me, relief on his face. I knew he had hidden from me because he was worried lest someone see me violating the island law.
‘Namima, I’m sorry I frightened you but you must not be caught talking to me.’
Mahito was much taller than I. He had the sturdy build of a fisherman. But he always crouched and stooped, as if he did not want anyone to notice him.
‘We must be careful,’ he added. He looked cautiously around him. The Umigame family was under a curse, or so I had heard. They had been ostracised by the rest of the island community, a cruel and severe punishment. Normally when a boy came of age he set out with the other men to fish. But a boy from a family that was ostracised was not allowed to fish. That amounted to telling that family they must starve to death.
‘I’m impure, too. People aren’t supposed to talk to me, either.’ I voiced what had troubled me for a long time. At Kamikuu’s sixth birthday celebration, Mother and Mikura-sama had told me I was impure. They hadn’t mentioned it since. But others on the island now refused to look at me. And they often refused to speak to me.
‘Don’t let it upset you.’
Now it was Mahito’s turn to encourage me. We exchanged glances and smiled.
I sympathised secretly with Mahito’s family: the Umigame was second only to the great miko’s, second, that was, to my family, the Umihebi. If for some reason the Umihebi family failed to produce a daughter, it was up to the Umigame to place one in line to become the next Oracle. But the Umigame had been able to produce nothing but boys. Seven sons, starting with Mahito. His mother had done her best to give birth to a daughter, desperate to continue the family lineage, but birth after birth, all were male. And almost all of the babies had died. Mahito and his two younger brothers, Nihito and Mihito, had been the only ones to survive.
‘Is your mother well?’ I asked.
Mahito’s gaze was unwavering, the lines of his face strong and clean. He was the handsomest youth on the island. Had he been allowed to go out to fish, he would have been a success. His face softened when he heard my question, but he lowered his voice to answer.
‘She’s going to have another baby.’
I offered my congratulations hesitatingly.
‘She is certain she will have a girl this time. But I’m not sure . . .’
Mahito let out a deep sigh. If his mother didn’t produce a daughter, the curse on the family would not be lifted. He and his two brothers would have to live the rest of their days as outcasts. Their mother was now nearing forty. Pregnancy at her age was as dangerous as it was necessary.
‘It will go well,’ I offered hopefully. ‘This time she will have a girl.’
‘She must. But, Namima, that’s why I’m here. I must ask for a favour.’ Mahito seemed reluctant to continue. ‘In the basket . . . You have Kamikuu’s leavings in it.’
Instinctively I hid the basket behind my back. Both Mikura-sama and my mother had told me never to talk about the basket or its contents.
‘You need not hide it,’ Mahito continued. ‘Everyone on the island knows.’
I looked up at him. His expression was grim.
‘If there’s a little left over would you let me have it instead of throwing it away? I want to give it to my mother. Without it, I’m afraid she’ll die.’
I couldn’t believe he’d asked such a thing. I didn’t know what to do. ‘But Mikura-sama—’
‘I know,’ Mahito interrupted. ‘No one may touch whatever touches Kamikuu’s lips. It’s the island law. But my family will starve. My mother has given birth to four babies who died. She will soon give birth to her eighth. She’s convinced it’ll be a girl. But if she doesn’t do something to build her strength the birth will kill her. That’s why I’ve come to you, Namima. To beg for the leftovers. Please. I know I’ll be cursed but I don’t care.’
If I said no, would he take the food by force? I stared up at his face. His features were set. The whites of his eyes glittered in the darkness – with tears. I held out the basket to him. ‘Just today.’
‘Thank you – thank you. I am indebted to you.’ Mahito lowered his head.
Suddenly I was seized with fear. I looked behind me. I thought I had heard footsteps, but it was only the wind in the trees. ‘Wait! Give me the basket. Mikura-sama will be waiting to hear the leftover food hitting the water. We must replace the food with something I can throw instead. Hurry.’
I spoke sharply. If I delayed much longer, I was afraid Mikura-sama would come out, wondering why she hadn’t heard the customary sound.
Mahito sprang into action. No longer attempting to conceal himself, he darted along the path gathering the largest taro leaves he could find. I removed the basket lid and placed the leftover food on them. I saw that the steamed rice had been dyed red with the juice of the kuiko fruits. A celebratory dish. And hardly any had been touched. Startled, I nearly dropped the container of sea-snake broth. The thick liquid splashed over the rim onto our wrists and dribbled to the ground. The smell scented the air around us. I don’t know how best to explain what I felt at that moment. Perhaps, for the first time, it was the sadness of knowing that the world had no place for me.
I saw Mahito’s hands tremble. I understood that he was scared too, which calmed me. ‘Please give this to your mother.’
Mahito wrapped the food in the broad leaves. He then took a handful of earth, wrapped it in another taro leaf and placed it in the empty basket for me. ‘Thank you, Namima.’
He offered his thanks to me again, looking down regretfully at the puddle of broth on the ground before he stamped on it, covering it with earth.
When I saw him do this, I said, ‘Mahito, if you come tomorrow at the same time I’ll let you have more. But bring something to put the soup in.’
Again he whispered that he was indebted to me. With one more word of thanks he disappeared into the darkness towards his ramshackle hut on the edge of the village. Ours was a small community so we did what we could to help each other, building cottages and boats, mending fishing nets. But for the Umigame family there would be no neighbourly assistance. Every day for them was an ordeal.
I headed quickly towards the precipice. There, I turned the basket over and held it out above the cliff edge, letting the contents tumble into the waters below. The splash this time seemed to come a little sooner and sound louder than usual. The winds raged, but I was rooted to the spot, aghast at the depth of the sin I had committed. The outrage made me shudder with fear. I had disobeyed Mikura-sama’s injunction – no, I had done worse: I had disobeyed the law of the island. But that law seemed unjust. When people were starving, what right had I to throw food away? It made no sense. In a tiny corner of my heart, I felt ennobled.
I started down the path to my house but turned as I did so to look behind me. I was startled to find someone standing there. Kamikuu.
‘What are you doing? You frightened me almost to death!’
Kamikuu smiled. I hadn’t seen her outside the cottage for such a long time. She was a head taller than me, well fleshed and beautiful.
‘Why did you creep up behind me?’
I didn’t know if she had seen me talking to Mahito or not. But Kamikuu smiled sweetly and said, ‘The wind is so strong that I was worried. I wanted to be sure you hadn’t fallen over the edge of the cliff.’
We had had many windy nights in the past. Why had she decided to look for me this evening? The evening when Mahito had appeared? I was suspicious. Was it really Kamikuu – or was it Mikura-sama in disguise? I stared at her, silent.
Puzzled, Kamikuu pressed me: ‘Namima! What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you for so long – won’t you at least greet me?’
That was when I saw her dimple, the dimple I remembered from when we were little. It was Kamikuu. I sighed with relief as I thanked her for her concern. But I still felt awkward and I must have seemed too formal.
‘I’m not a stranger!’ she said. She pulled an adult face and looked at me with disappointment.
Now that she had become a woman, she would soon be assigned a husband and then she would have to produce babies until she gave birth to a daughter. Just like Mahito’s mother.
‘I didn’t mean to be unfriendly!’
Kamikuu came up to me and placed her soft, plump hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s been so long, Namima. I’ve missed you.’
‘And I’ve missed you.’
Even as I said this, my heart was pounding. If Kamikuu had seen me giving Mahito food, what could I do? If she told Mikura-sama what she’d seen, both Mahito and I would be punished. I would probably be exiled from the island along with Mahito’s family. We’d be sent out to sea on a rickety boat in the dead of winter, just as a fierce storm approached. That was what happened to exiles. They did their best to stay afloat, but within a matter of days the boat would return to the island empty. But surely Kamikuu loved me too much to get me into trouble – didn’t she? I stood there petrified.
Before I could speak, she tugged my sleeve to her nose and sniffed. ‘What’s this? I smell broth.’
I cocked my head to the side and feigned innocence. ‘I must have spilt some on my hand when I tossed the food over the cliff.’
‘Of course. Namima, with each sip of soup I take, I think of you and wish I could share my food with you. I leave each meal half eaten, wishing you could have the rest.’
Kamikuu spoke so apologetically that tears rose to my eyes. It was too late. Kamikuu had now entered adulthood and she belonged to a world far beyond my reach. But tonight I had stepped into a world further still from the one she shared with Mikura-sama. Mahito and I had defied the law of the island. I looked up at my sister and said, ‘Kamikuu, Mikura-sama told me that you are a woman now. Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’ Kamikuu’s response was lacklustre. Then, out of the blue, she asked, ‘Have you seen Mahito? Is he well?’
Panic shot through me. Kamikuu had seen me handing Mahito the food, hadn’t she?
‘I haven’t seen him for some time, so I can’t say. Why do you ask?’ My voice quivered with the lie but I wanted to know what lay behind Kamikuu’s question. Was she planning to tell Mikura-sama what Mahito and I had done? Or would she prove to be an ally?
‘Namima, I must tell you a secret. I can’t tell anyone else.’ She looked around her. ‘It’s true that I have become a woman, and I shall soon begin to have babies. That is my fate. If I could have a baby with a man like Mahito, I would be happy. But Mikura-sama told me I can’t, so long as Mahito’s family is under a curse.’
I had no idea what to say in response. Uneasy, I gazed at the ground. Kamikuu grabbed my hand. ‘Namima, it would be terrible to have a baby with a man you disliked.’
After a while, I nodded.
Kamikuu misunderstood. ‘Forgive me, Namima. I didn’t mean to talk about this. It’s just that I have no one to talk to except Mikura-sama. I wanted to share my feelings with you. Please don’t let it worry you.’
‘No, no. It’s all right. Thank you for telling me.’
Had Kamikuu seen me with Mahito? Was this her way of warning me to keep away from him? Or did she truly want to unburden herself to me? I couldn’t tell.
She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I shall see you later. If I don’t hurry back now Mikura-sama will be angry. Be careful going home – the wind is strong enough to blow you away.’
Kamikuu turned towards Mikura-sama’s cottage and went back down the path through the forest. The warmth of her grip on my hand lingered and her words, too, remained with me. If I could have a baby with a man like Mahito . . . Kamikuu was in love with him. Perhaps that was why she had pretended not to see me handing him the food. Or had she come to share her feelings with me, as she had said? Oh, if that were true, how happy it would make me. But if it were not, she had come to make sure that I didn’t grow close to Mahito. I had no idea what to think.
Later, a day would come when it was made clear to me that Kamikuu had the power and the right to stand between Mahito and me – if she so chose.
The next day a terrible storm swept across the island, bringing with it torrential rains and gales. The battering was merciless. And still I had to carry food to Kamikuu. Mother covered me with banana leaves to keep out the rain and held them in place with strong rope. She wrapped it around me, coil after coil, but even that was not enough to withstand the wind: it tore away one leaf, then another and another. By the time I had fought my way to Mikura-sama’s cottage, I was soaked to the bone. The basket I had delivered last night was under the eaves. When I lifted it, I found it still as heavy as when I had left it. Normally that would have depressed me but today all I could think was how happy Mahito would be, and my heart lifted in joy. As I exchanged the baskets, I heard Kamikuu’s voice on the other side of the door.
‘Namima, be careful on your way home. The wind is so strong. Mikura-sama has gone to the altar to pray.’
The altar was in the centre of the Kyoido sacred grove. Mikura-sama must have gone there to pray for the safety of the men fishing on the high seas. And Kamikuu had gone out of her way to make sure I knew she was there – because she knew I would meet Mahito? I was gripped by doubt, but I believed that Kamikuu was my ally. Surely she wasn’t my enemy. I had no proof, of course: it was just that I could not get out of my mind the memory of the trust and affection we had shared as sisters.
I made my way quickly through the pandan thickets, alert for falling thorny branches. Mahito was waiting in the same place as he had been the night before, dripping wet. He’d also covered himself with banana leaves, which had provided little protection.
‘Namima, I wish you did not have to come out on a day like this.’
His concern, though kind, made me nervous. ‘Mahito, hurry. The food is getting wet.’ I was shivering with cold and could hardly speak.
Mahito slipped something wrapped in moon laurel leaves into my basket.
‘Sand.’
I handed him the food in exchange. As I started to walk away, he gripped my arm.
‘Wait. The winds on the cape are too strong. Let me do it.’
‘I can’t. Mikura-sama is at the altar. She might see.’
‘I don’t care. If you die, Namima, I have nothing. They can exile me, sentence me to death . . . I don’t care.’
No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I was stunned and stood rooted to the spot. Mahito yanked the basket from my hands and dashed towards the cape. The rain was torrential and the wind so strong that only a powerful man like Mahito could have neared the cliff safely. As soon as he had thrown away the contents of the basket, he hurried back to me. ‘Namima, light as you are, the wind would have carried you over the edge.’
Even if it had, the island elders would have found someone else to carry Kamikuu’s food. That was the law. And I had broken it. I had betrayed Mikura-sama by giving Mahito food. I had taken his bundle of sand in place of the food I had stolen, and he had thrown it into the sea on my behalf. And even if Kamikuu didn’t say a word to Mikura-sama, she would know what I had done. Wouldn’t she? I would be punished. What would they do to me? The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. I trembled with fear.
‘What is it?’
The branches of the banyan under which Mahito was standing waved violently in the wind.
‘I’m afraid of being punished.’
Mahito pulled me suddenly into his arms and whispered hoarsely, ‘No one will touch you. I will protect you!’ But his voice quivered.
We were soaked and trembling in each other’s arms. Our sin had terrified us and we clung together for re-assurance. Yet I was giddy over the bond we shared. I was in love with Mahito.
‘I’ll walk back with you.’ Mahito led me by the hand as he cradled the empty basket. Twigs and pebbles blew against us as we walked. Down by the sea the wind carried the spray from the waves into the air. We were so wet we looked as if we’d been washed ashore. We struggled on, step by step.
‘How is your mother?’ I shouted into Mahito’s ear. The roar of the wind was so loud that we had to shout to be heard. I could see my house now just ahead.
Mahito’s voice darkened. ‘She won’t even try to eat. She asked me where I had found such fine food, but I was sure she knew. She started to cry, thinking about the punishment that lay in store for me.’
‘And today?’
‘Well, she must eat. If she doesn’t she will die. And if she dies there’ll be no reason for the elders to keep me, my brothers and our father alive. The island would have no use for us. We will all die if she dies . . . Namima, I shall see you tomorrow.’
And with that Mahito turned quickly towards his home. I had never before encountered anyone with such strength. The rest of us lived such timid lives, fettered by laws, fearful of breaking them.
Tomorrow! I shall see Mahito tomorrow! Already I was looking forward eagerly to the day ahead. The promise of seeing his face just one more time made me feel life was worth living. For the first time ever, my heart danced with delight.
We met every night. I gave him the food left in the basket, and he gave me a substitute to toss over the cliff into the sea. Then we would share the dark path back to the village, lost in conversation. Needless to say, we were careful to avoid being seen.
Mahito’s mother delivered her eighth child. Another boy. He, too, died shortly after birth. Everyone on the island was more certain than ever that the Clan of the Sea Turtle was cursed. The day after his tiny brother’s death, Mahito failed to appear. I threw the food over the edge of the cliff and walked home alone. It had been some time since I had thrown it away, and once again I was struck by how wasteful it was.
On the third night after the baby’s death, Mahito was waiting for me in the thicket by the path. The moon was full and in the light it cast I could see how gaunt his face had grown. His clothing was in disarray, and his long hair, which was normally bound back neatly with thin reed stalks, fell in loose tangles over his shoulders. My heart ached for him, as he drew closer to me.
‘Mahito, where have you been these last three days?
‘Attending the funeral at the Amiido.’
‘How is your mother?’
‘She blames herself. She thinks it’s her fault for not eating the food I brought for her. And she swears that next time she’ll eat everything she can for the sake of the baby and so that the rest of us can continue to live on the island.’
‘Next time?’
‘The next time she is pregnant.’
I could tell it was difficult for Mahito to talk about this. His mother’s health would suffer from all these pregnancies, one after another. I held out the basket, which was full, just as it had been on the past nights. ‘What should we do with the food?’
Mahito was quiet, sunk in his thoughts. I had detained him longer than usual with conversation, and on such a night, sound carried far. Mahito looked around cautiously, afraid that someone might have followed us. Just to think of what might happen if we were caught brought tears to his eyes. He peered hard into the darkness, the tears glittering when they caught the moonlight.
‘Namima, let’s eat it. Let’s break the law together so we can live.’
Startled by Mahito’s words, I stared up at him. He pulled the basket from my arm and tore off the lid. When I looked in I could see it was just as Kamikuu had said it would be. She had left exactly half of everything. She had left half of the goat-meat dish, half of the bowl of sea-turtle broth, and half of the fish. Kamikuu had said, ‘I want to give it to you.’ She must have known that I was giving whatever she left to Mahito to help his family. I wanted to tell Mahito what I thought, but I hesitated because of what else Kamikuu had said. She had said she wanted to have Mahito’s baby. That was when I realised I was jealous of Kamikuu’s power.
Mahito stuffed some goat meat into my mouth. Then he took a piece for himself. A strange taste filled my mouth. I was too horrified by the crime I was committing to judge whether that taste was good or bad. I was sure it was the same for Mahito. We kept our eyes locked on one another as we ate, and before we knew it the sumptuous feast Kamikuu had left was gone. We filled the basket with sand wrapped in leaves and carried it to the cliff, where I tossed them into the sea. The food was in my body, the crime I had committed coursing through me. If I were to vomit now, would it be too late? The taste on my tongue reminded me of what I had done.
Mahito wrapped my trembling hand in his big palms. ‘Namima. If we are to be punished, I will take your punishment, too.’
But I felt that a far greater calamity lay in store for me. Something Mahito could not ward off. I could not bring myself to answer.
When Mahito and I parted, I was terrified by the enormity of my crime. When Mother saw me, she stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak. But I said nothing.
The next morning I woke to find myself drenched with blood. At last my punishment had come – I was going to die. I began to scream. Mother ran in to me – and began to laugh. ‘Namima, you’ve become a woman!’
And so I had – just like Kamikuu. I felt relieved. But when I remembered what I had done the night before, I imagined there must be a connection.
It was a clear, beautiful May morning, the day I became a woman. By noon I was restless and could not bear to be cooped up in the house. I went out by myself to the northern side of the island to collect the kuiko fruits that grew beside The Warning. Kamikuu and I had once crushed them with rocks and dyed our fingernails red with the juice. No one would celebrate my coming of age with me so I would have my own private celebration. My red fingernails reflected beautifully against the white sands and the bright blue sky. A gentle breeze wafted in from the seas, brushing lightly against my cheeks. The northern side of the island was the highest point and the breezes there were always cool and refreshing. My heart surged with optimism. Mahito. So long as I was with him, I’d endure any punishment.
When I got home, Mother caught sight of my red nails and asked what I’d been doing.
‘I just peeled some kuiko,’ I answered nonchalantly, trying to hide my hands. Mother averted her eyes. When Kamikuu had become a woman, Mother had steamed balls of rice dyed red with kuiko juice. Had my nails told her that I had seen those rice balls? I felt sure that Mahito’s mother knew about our crime. I assumed that Kamikuu did, too. And now my mother? If so, it was only a matter of time before Mikura-sama and the island chief found out. The very idea was terrifying. But I could not forget my elation when I had stood at the northern cape feeling the breeze on my face.
Mahito and I continued secretly to eat the food Kamikuu left, indulging in what was forbidden, until Mahito’s mother was again with child. We grew taller than those around us, our bodies plumper. Surely it was because we had secretly eaten the food Kamikuu had left that we were able to endure all that was to come our way – the arduous sea voyage and the birth of our Yayoi.
And so it was that my life took a dramatic turn. But I do not believe that the change was punishment for breaking the island law. I believe that it was because I broke the law that I was able to confront my true fate.