Japan, 1957
Time does not discriminate. It does not care if we are happy or sad. It does not slow or hurry. It’s a linear creature, traveling in one direction, constant even through pain.
Today is Okaasan’s funeral.
I have only been to one, and I was a child. I remember Okaasan saying, “Death is only a doorway. We are here both to honor their life and help them pass through to the next.” This is what I told Kenji last night when he snuck in my room. His pained expression mirrored my thoughts. I do not want her to pass through. I want her here.
White summer chrysanthemums blanket the main temple area and frame the altar, their light scent dusting the air. It blends with the agarwood incense and grows stronger with each passing minute. Normally, the resinous heartwood is pleasing. But here behind closed doors, it is a cloying odor that clings to my skin, my clothing, my memory.
Grandmother sits beside me dressed in an all-black formal mourning kimono. Her hair sweeps up neat into a round and perfect bun, and her eyes are hollow. Like the famous Chinese painted dragons of Andong, they are without her spirit. I listen as she rolls prayer beads back and forth. Her lips tremble with silent words.
Father and Taro sit tall, resigned. I’m allowed to attend Okaasan’s ceremonies because I’m expected to stay on at home. Father and Taro are preoccupied with business, Grandmother’s growing age. And because my family does not recognize my marriage, Kenji now resides in my care. He tucks under my arm and stares at nothing. In his dark suit, he looks more like a young man than a nine-year-old boy. My guilt is infinite. I’m not fit to take Okaasan’s place.
Soft footsteps pad up the middle aisle. One after another, mourners file in, bow to us and offer incense at the altar. This goes on forever. Kiko’s family offers their respect, but in refusing to look at me, Kiko grants me none.
I clamp my teeth. Guilt eats my insides raw. Sleep is the brother of death, and I am in need of his company. I wish to be anywhere else. Since my tears will find no comfort, they are best not shed.
When I look up, I spy the Tanaka family returning from the altar.
Satoshi.
His hair is slicked back to reveal angular features and warm eyes, and the suit fits him well. He looks like a modern man of business. I stare at his feet as he passes to sit behind us.
His family must know I have chosen an American and the divide it’s caused. To feel something other than shame, I dig my thumbnail under the other so deep it almost draws blood. The back of my neck burns hot from Satoshi’s judgment. A mind conscious of guilt is its own accuser, and Hajime’s absence only makes this worse. Do they wonder where he is?
Kenji wipes his face when the Buddhist priest begins to chant a section from the sutra. Everything runs together. The hollow click-click-click of Grandmother’s beads, the hum of quiet prayers and the priest’s explanation of utmost bliss and those that dwell there. It all fades in and out.
I sit rigid in my emptiness.
Because I was not home for the last-moment preparations, I didn’t dare ask Father or Obaachan what personal items resided inside the coffin. Did they add the six coins for easy passage of the Sanzu River?
The Sanzu is the river the dead must pass on their way to the afterlife. Your life’s virtues determine the place of crossing, and there are only three.
A bridge, a shallow ford and rapid waters infested with snakes.
Okaasan will cross over the bridge because of her good life and blameless heart.
Kenji’s tears dampen my shoulder. I hold him tighter and whisper comfort as they announce Okaasan’s new name to close the ceremony. The length determines the price, and Father paid a small fortune to honor her. We’re required to call her the short form version of this name to ensure we do not rouse her spirit from beyond.
I want to call her back right now.
Kenji and I stand to the side while guests file out. It is a sea of black. Black suits, black kimonos and blackened spirits. Mr. Tanaka speaks with Father and Taro. Mrs. Tanaka bows to Grandmother and pats her hand. No one looks past them to me, except for Satoshi.
I drop my chin, stare at his suit coat, concentrating on the fibers.
He leans to Kenji, who hangs on my arm. “If you need anything, you just come over, okay? And next week, we’ll still play ball. Don’t forget.”
Kenji only nods and lifts his chin, a brave face in front of his newest friend.
“An inch of time cannot be bought with an inch of gold, Naoko. You can’t go back or speed it up, it must be endured...” Satoshi sighs. “I am so sorry for this.”
Silent tears continue to fall. How can I have so many? I wipe at them, trying to keep them away.
Satoshi whispers in English, “I wish to speak with you in private.”
I lift my chin, surprised.
Without my having to say a word, he understands.
He nods. “When appropriate, Naoko.”
It’s been two days since I stumbled home to discover Okaasan had died. A day since her funeral, evening feast and the ceremonial separation of her bones and ashes. Only hours since her burial.
Kenji cries as he runs off for a second time, his little feet trying to outrun the truth that follows. This, I would give anything to forget. It shreds me straight through. Taro and Father wait on the porch for his return, blank eyes fixed on the tree line. I pick up in the kitchen while Grandmother drinks tea for comfort and eyes me from the table. She wants to talk. Or rather, for me to listen.
I’m listening to the water as it runs instead. The dishes are clean enough, but I rinse them again to stall, thinking of Obaachan. There’s an intimacy with water. It molds to its surroundings and yet changes everything’s shape over time. I twist my fingers through the stream and glance over.
Grandmother’s brows rise on her pale face. The black silk kimono washes out her complexion, leaving a pasty, sickly cast. “There are people who fish, and those that just disturb the water,” Grandmother says, then coughs to clear her throat.
She disturbs me with her fishing. “More tea, Obaachan?”
“No. My tea is fine.” She tips the cup to thin lips, staring from behind the rim. Her pupils, small and fixed, resemble a stalking fox.
I know she has much to say. I respect and love her, but my patience is thin. With a frustrated sigh, I tilt my head as a signal for her to begin.
“Satoshi still favors you, Naoko.” Her voice is croaky, from tears and wailing. “Yes, we saw him give you comfort, acting like a husband should toward a wife.”
My heart pounds heavy in my chest. She won’t stop here.
She sets the cup down, one finger tapping at the rim. “Where is your gaijin when you need him?”
My stomach constricts. “Satoshi was being a friend because my husband, who loves me, and who will be heartbroken to learn what’s happened, can’t be reached. That’s all.”
“Does he even know about the baby...hmm?” Her eyes narrow as if concerned, but she speaks with a flinty tone.
So they all are aware? Of course. Okaasan said Father suspected and I would guess Grandmother is partially why. Her foxes have outsmarted me again. “Yes. He learned of the possibility after we married.” I take a step toward her, a bowl in one hand, and the cloth in the other. “You should have seen him, he was so happy!” I spin with a huff back to the dishes, turn off the water and focus on drying. My hands rub so hard I see myself in the shine.
“So, he thinks it’s acceptable to leave you in that place, in this condition? Gaah...” She waves a hand in the air, dismissing the thought.
“That place is my new home. Love lives in thatched cottages as well as palaces, Obaachan.”
“Humph, that love poisoned your mother. It tore her apart.”
“No!” Anger rips through me and pulls my spine straight. I point the bowl at her, no longer able to hold everything in. “You don’t know as much as you think, Obaachan.”
“And what do you know, child?” Grandmother grimaces, mocking me.
“I know Okaasan stood behind me and my choice to marry Hajime. She came to see me on my wedding day. She even brought me her shiromuku to wear!” I step closer. “Did you know that?”
Grandmother lifts her chin and stares. A vexed breath puffs through her nostrils, causing them to flare. “Foolish girl. We all know.” She snaps her words like a cutting whip. “Only when your father learned of this did his anger stop her weak heart.”
“What?” My insides tighten, my stomach cramps.
“Yes, because of you.” Grandmother confirms as if she knows my thoughts.
“Because of your selfishness, Naoko.” Father startles us both from the doorway.
My eyes snap to his.
“You will now listen.” Father growls, low and gritty. The warning constrained only by an inch. He steps closer. “You’re like the mindless cook. Taking whatever suits you from the garden of life and hastily chopping it up to serve as soup for others. Just as the cook, in your haste, you snare a snake and include it. You force everyone to drink of your poisonous mixture. The snake’s severed head floats in your mother’s bowl, Naoko. It was too much for her to swallow.”
He means this baby and Hajime. He means my wedding. He means me. I am responsible for so much discord it caused my mother’s death. I am a tsunami of emotion. The sand beneath my feet draws back. The next big wave is coming. I want to crumple onto the floor and brace myself.
“Naoko?” Kenji’s voice is so small. “Naoko!” He rushes past Father to me, and I am hit with emotion. The groundswell overtakes me.
My eyes lock with Father’s. Kenji’s face buries in my chest and my arms wrap him to me, but I do not cry. I swallow my sorrow to comfort his.
Another tightening stretches across my middle. I fold over and palm my belly. “Oh!” Oh, no... Another sharp cramp. There’s a warmth between my legs.
“Obaachan?”
Grandmother had me lie down and insisted I not move until a midwife could tend to me. I heard her tell my father she would fetch a woman who owes her a favor. Many owe Obaachan.
It’s been hours, and I take deep, controlled breaths to keep from crying, but after everything, this is impossible. Although the tears are endless, the bleeding has stopped. I tried to tell Grandmother this before she left, but she worries if I’m pregnant and miscarry I could hemorrhage. Her concern is for me, not for my child. After Father’s accusing words, I’m lucky for any concern at all. From anyone.
For Kenji, I’ve been strong. For my father and Taro, I’ve shown remorse and respect. For Grandmother, I’ve been nurturing. For myself, I’ve been cruel. I soak myself in blame and deny forgiveness. When it’s my turn to cross the Sanzu River, I’ll not be as fortunate as Okaasan. Her death now stains red on my hands and soaks the weight of my clothes. I already battle an unforgiving current of vengeful serpents.
Grief releases in spurts.
This is heaven’s design. If it didn’t offer moments of repose, we would die beside those we mourn. Like a switch, it flips agony on and off. On, we are strangled by death until we are near it ourselves. It clicks off before we suffocate. This is the void, the vacuum of nothing.
This is where I am, in my old room, numb from the inside out, waiting for the next wave to hit. Please let my baby be okay. To lose Okaasan and then my baby? It would be too much.
My ears catch muffled voices, footsteps, and then the door slides, allowing in light. I wipe at my wet cheeks and turn to Grandmother and her guest.
“This is Eyako. She’ll take care of you.” Before leaving, Grandmother whispers something else to the midwife.
Eyako closes the screen. The lantern she carries casts sharp shadows across her face. She’s not as old as Grandmother but wears a considerable age. Deep creases form between her brows. She smiles but the lines stay. She sets the lamp to her side on the floor and folds her hands. “So, you are how far along?”
I clear my throat. “I’ve missed three...”
She peels back my thin blanket with care and undoes my shirt. To remove the chill from her fingers, she rubs them together, then places a hand over my somewhat swollen middle. The push is gentle and with purpose, first high, then low, and then again. She lifts my skirt and looks within.
I look to the heavens and squeeze my lids shut.
“All signs point to a fourth-moon-month pregnancy.” She covers me back up.
My fingers clutch the blanket as I study her face for answers. Our eyes meet, and she pats my arm.
“Signs also indicate everything is okay. There was only a small amount of blood and cramping. There’s no pain?”
“No.” Relief surges through me, and I exhale a long breath. This baby fights.
“But I prefer for another midwife to make certain with proper testing. We’ll move you to the maternity home first thing in the morning, and there you can rest, okay?”
My eyes widen with tears.
She pats my arm in reassurance. “Sleep. Stay calm.” She leaves as she came, taking the light with her. More hushed voices, footsteps, and then silence.
My mind runs through all the scenarios, every option available to my life. The life that is no longer my own. It now belongs to this baby, to the man I swore my heart to and to Kenji, the little brother I must take as son. As son.
“How can I even hope to take your place, Haha?” I whisper through tears. New expectations and old traditions eternally bind me. Father will never accept Hajime in our family home, and I can’t remove Kenji from the only one he has ever known. And what of this child I carry?
Please let her be okay.