With great age comes great
Wisdom. But I will not wait for
My old age to learn
I did not sleep well that night. I blamed poor Anzu for telling me how hot it was going to be. I was certain if she had not put my mind to thinking about the heat, I would not have noticed it so much.
As it was, I thrashed about until my kakebuton was a wrinkled mess. I was sticky and sweaty and thirsty. My thoughts flitted here and there and I could not quiet them. I wiped my hand over my forehead and stared in surprise when I found it came away wet. My headache was much worse as well. I was astonished. Apart from the time I dislocated my shoulder, I was never ill. In fact, Mother often sighed in despair about my robust good health, telling me it was unnatural for a girl to be so healthy. Girls should be delicate and need to be taken care of by their husbands.
Yuto-san, she said, would undoubtedly expect me to be fragile and dependent on him. It was the man’s place to be strong, not the wife’s. I agreed with her, as was only polite, and did my best to look frail whenever I was in her presence.
I thought wryly that Mother would be proud of me at the moment. I needed a drink of water. I turned over and tried to get up, only to fall back on my futon with a thud when my back and neck felt too stiff to bend. I wanted to call out to Anzu, but I could make no more noise than a very small kitten mewing.
Still, I was not greatly alarmed. Whatever I had would pass, I was sure. Perhaps it had been the argument between Father and my brothers that had upset me. I lay back down, watching the shadows on the ceiling until morning came. Anzu came in as always at first light to call me to the bath. I croaked at her—by then my fever was so bad I had no idea what I was saying—and she made a small sound of distress and crouched down by my side.
“Mi-san!” How very high-pitched her voice was. It drilled through my head and gave me great pain. “What is it? What is the matter?”
When I tried to speak, my teeth chattered together as if I was very cold. But I was not cold, I was hotter than I had ever been in my life. Anzu put her hand cautiously on my forehead. Her touch increased my pain still further and I shrieked at her not to touch me.
“Can you stand up, Mi-san?” Anzu’s eyes were huge, her lips puckering nervously. I managed to shake my head and she stood up and backed away from me. A moment ago, I had wanted her to go away. Now, I plucked at the air, trying to tell her to stay, not to leave me. “I will get some help, Mi-san. Kono-san has not yet left. I will ask him to come and see you.”
I longed to be able to speak, to tell Anzu not to bother Father. If he took the time to come and see me, he would be late getting to Edo. I was not important enough to delay him. The thought made me want to cry, but I was finding it difficult to breathe and I could not find the strength to tell Anzu not to go.
I can remember Father standing over me. He asked me questions—I think he asked how I felt. Did I have any pain?—But I could not answer him. My vision was wavering, but I was aware that Father had gone away and then he came back, literally pushing Mother in front of him.
“What is wrong with her?” he demanded. “Is she very ill? Would it be best to send for a physician to treat her?”
I can remember to this day the sensation of shock I felt at my father asking Mother for advice. It was then that I understood how very ill I must be.
Father stood at the side of my futon, looking down at me. How very tall he was. He towered over me like a tree. Mother was at his side for no more than a moment, then she backed away, her hands held out in front of her as if warding off an evil spirit.
“Look at her!” she shrieked. “She is burning with fever. She can barely breathe. Can you move?”
I realized Mother was talking to me and expected an answer. With an effort that made my chest hurt, I drew a breath, but no matter how I tried, all the sound I could make was a croak. A frog could have made more noise. Still, I tried. I managed to lift my arm a hand’s width from the futon, but lacked the strength to hold it there and it fell back at once.
“Look! She’s nearly paralyzed as well! We must get away from her. Now!”
Father caught her arm and held her in place. “She is very ill. I can see that. But what is it? Do you know what is the matter with our daughter, Emica-chan? If you do, tell me at once.”
There was such concern in Father’s voice that I longed to speak to reassure him. This was surely nothing more than a summer chill. Mother had caught Anzu’s hysteria. I would be fine in a day or two.
“She has paralysis of the morning. I have seen it before. It can kill her.” Mother’s voice was a screech. It pierced my head and suddenly I wanted to vomit. That would never do. I swallowed and forced the nausea down with an effort of will that left me shaking even more. “We must leave her. She can pass it on to us, and everybody knows the disease is much worse for adults than it is for younger people. She could kill us as well as herself, I tell you.”
Mother tore herself from Father’s grasp with surprising strength. She was gone in a moment. My vision had become very dark. I thought sweat had got into my eyes. Father was no more than an outline. I heard him instructing Anzu to send for the physician at once and I wanted to both thank him for his kindness and beg him to go to Edo immediately. The family business was far more important than any illness I might have picked up.
After that, my world became very strange.
I had pain. Much pain, especially in my legs. It was difficult to breathe. I could hear my breath rasping in my chest, but I did not understand that it was me who was making the noise. There were many times when I thought my last breath really was going to be my last breath, and when that happened, Anzu put her hands on my breast bone and pushed rhythmically for a very long time, until she was panting for breath herself from the effort. It made me very sore, but it helped me to breathe, and if I had been able to speak, I would have thanked her. As I could not, I held the regret inside me and prayed that the day would come when I could tell Anzu that I was truly grateful for all she had done for me. I had been an ungrateful child. I had taken her attention for granted just as much as my brothers had done, and that made me deeply unhappy.
I was vaguely aware that the physician had arrived. It was the same man who had put my shoulder right when I dislocated it. He had been kind, I remembered. He was kind now, but his voice was very grave, and I wondered if perhaps I was going to die. I was so ill and in so much pain that the thought did not seem at all dreadful. Anzu clearly thought it was—she sobbed constantly from the moment the physician began to speak until he left. Father must have been there as well, as I recall hearing his voice.
But he should not have been at home. His place was in Edo, meeting clients and overseeing the workplace. Without him, my brothers would do as they liked. Even Tanaka-san would not be able to control them. And if the business failed, then it would be my fault. The knowledge made me weep, but I had such a high fever the tears went unnoticed on my face.
“I am sorry, Kono-san. Mi has morning paralysis, as your wife thought. There is nothing that can be done at this stage. If she survives, then we will see. She is a very healthy child usually. There is hope for her.”
Both men walked away from me, and I could hear their voices as if from a distance. Only one thing stayed with me—if I survived? How could this be so? I was young. I had my whole life before me. Suddenly, for no reason at all, I thought of my betrothed, Yuto. He had never shown any interest in me. Would he be pleased if I died? I was sure his mother would be—she could then choose him a bride who was more to her liking. Ridiculously, the knowledge made me determined that I would not die.
I would not give the dreadful Yuto and his mother such satisfaction. I would live if just to spite the pair of them. I must have muttered something out loud, as Father came back and looked down at me. His voice echoed my thoughts.
“Mi-chan will not die,” he said calmly. “She is too strong. Too determined. She is my daughter and the best of all my children. Do what you can to help her, please.”
Even though my thoughts were flying like leaves in the autumn wind, I grasped Father’s words to me and held them tightly, feeling my chest ease with the joy they gave me. He was right. I would not die. I would not allow myself to die.
I would live, and not just to annoy Yuto and his mother. I would live to please Father, and myself.
The physician’s voice was very quiet as he replied. “Paralysis of the morning is a dreadful disease. We have no idea what causes it, or why it is most often caught by children. I must warn you, if Mi-chan survives, she will be very fortunate. And the disease may well cause lingering problems. In any event, until the fever breaks, I can do nothing but give her opium to relieve her pain. She must drink plenty of water.” He paused, and in a moment of clarity, a memory from what seemed long ago came to me—something Anzu had said about the water in the well being so low that the bucket had to be weighed down before it would bring up any water. It seemed to me that the house water had tasted nasty for some time, and suddenly I did not want to drink any more of that water.
“Tea,” I rasped. Both Father and the physician went quiet, and I felt them staring at me in astonishment. “Please, tea. Not water. The water is bad.”
My tongue dried then and I could say no more. But I heard Father chuckle softly and then what he said to the physician before my fever took me and I sank beneath it.
“You see? This illness will not claim Mi-chan. She will not allow it to get the better of her. I am proud of her.”
I was very happy.
I was not going to die, and even better, Father was proud of me. What more could I ask of this life?