The turtle house, p.8
The Turtle House, page 8
“What do you not understand?”
“You could take lessons from any instructor. You don’t even need to learn, really. I bet your father could call the university and you’d be placed in a fencing class, just like that. And we are friends, but I don’t know anything about her, and I’m certain that your parents don’t know anything about me, which, of course, they shouldn’t, because I’m just your swim teacher, a swimming teacher you don’t even need anymore . . .”
And Akio nodded. “We are unlikely.”
Mineko looked down at her feet, at the radish greens stuck to her heel. She took off her shoes and stepped to the edge and tapped them together, allowing the leafy top to fall into the water. Five turtles were there before it even hit, fighting one another for the bites. The word unlikely rattled in the air around her. So accurate, so hurtful.
“Unlikely, yet I have enjoyed our time so much. So much more than I—” Akio stepped close, took one of the sandals from her hands, and flicked off a chunk of soft browned radish that clung to the wood. It flew and landed, devoured immediately. “You see, I hated missing our lessons, and when I thought you were mad at me, I wondered if it was because of that day at the movie when you left so quickly and I . . . I didn’t choose to be engaged to . . .”
Mineko sighed. Other girls, she thought, might cry right now. They would cry, and their boys would either pat them on the back or pull them into their arms and the truth would be there. But Mineko wasn’t a crier. She turned to Akio.
“You didn’t choose it. That’s true. And I was angry about her. Because she’s your future life and we, our friendship, are just temporary. I felt foolish.”
They were quiet for a few moments, the turtles swimming silently below them, looking up with their ancient eyes to see if any food would be falling from heaven.
Akio said, “We don’t have to be temporary.”
“We could be friends for a long time, true,” Mineko said quietly.
“We could be more than friends,” Akio said.
She held his gentle gaze and hope surged within her. She grabbed his shoulders and the words rushed out of her.
“If you choose me, I would never let you down. I am strong and smart. I am not scared of anything. That other girl would take from you. But I’d only give. I’d give you all of me, and beauty fades, but I wouldn’t. I don’t depend on that and I know, I simply know, that if you could love me, I would be better, too.”
It was the most honest thing she had ever said to anyone, and her voice trembled. It was then, with turtles swirling and the sun setting, giving shadows life everywhere, that Akio kissed her.
How simple it was to fall in love. How simple it was to fall in love with the right person! It was floating down a meandering stream in sunlight, not thrashing through a current. It was the view from a rooftop on a starry night, or the feeling of warm grass under one’s body after a perfect meal. It was just the right level of close, Akio’s hand on her shoulder or his foot next to hers at dinner. It thrilled her, a girl for whom life had never been easy, a girl who had always tripped through experiences outside of her own world.
Akio broke off the engagement with Kaori, which went remarkably well as she, too, admitted to having fallen in love with another. How could such luck happen, Mineko wondered, it felt too perfect, but there it was. Akio loved her. He loved her quick temper and her common sense. He loved her for her strong arms and her big laugh that shook the gazebo. All the attributes that her mother had scolded her for, Akio treated as gifts.
His parents were at first disappointed but then resigned to Akio’s choice. Was Mineko as beautiful or as esteemed as Kaori? No. Not at all. But their beloved Akio was happy and at least a marriage to a local girl would encourage roots within their own town. If this progressed, they could grow Mineko into what they needed her to be, maybe? And a war was on, and any amount of happiness, even if unlikely and unusual, was palatable to his family.
Mineko’s family, Hana in particular, was stunned into an admiring silence, as was Hisako. Over the next days and weeks, they watched gap-jawed as Akio tapped on the garden gate and bowed at them through the windows, visiting for dates. Even Fumiko earned a reprieve from Hana’s domination, as Akio treated Fumiko with unparalleled respect when they met in the garden, asking her to use his first name and calling her loyal Fumi. Mineko’s father just smiled at all of this and gently reminded his wife that he had once said that Mineko would surprise them all one day.
No longer needing the guise of swimming lessons, Akio and Mineko spent day after day together, from the earliest morning hours possible to as late as propriety would allow. The turtles were well fed. Akio, somehow, procured the candy-colored fabric, and Mineko sewed her bright orange coat and then wore it on the quietly cooling evenings like a blazing flag of happiness. They swam nearly every other afternoon in the turtle house pond, Akio not complaining once about the water plants.
Toward the end of summer, Akio suggested that they make a trip into Osaka to attend the late-summer matsuri, near the river, where there would be food stalls set up and a boat and lantern procession. While it would be smaller than in years previous, before the war’s restrictions, it would be a good reason to stay out late together. Akio summoned his cousin and his new wife to meet them at the train station, a chaperoning that allowed Mineko to go at night.
When they met up with this couple, Mineko was surprised to see them hold hands briefly, when they thought no one was watching. Akio explained that the cousin had shocked his family when he had refused being matched and instead chose this girl whom he had met on the trolley car. Akio’s father had said that it figured, as his wife’s side had always flaunted the rules.
The two couples contemplated what they should eat, enjoying the discussion just as much as the ordering of the food. It was wondrous having options. Akio and Mineko wandered closely together, Akio emboldened by his cousin’s displays of affection for his bride. The night was beautiful and, for a moment, it seemed like all of Osaka had forgotten about the war, instead lighting lamps with red and yellow rice paper shades and letting music pour from their homes and businesses. It was a gentle party, and Mineko let the feeling float her along. Between two large trees at the edge of the river, as the sky darkened, Akio and Mineko watched as the skinny lantern-lit rowboats began to glide down the river, drums and bells mixing together as they passed.
“Can you imagine being married like my cousin?” he whispered into her ear, his words tickling.
She waited, still as a rabbit spied in the garden. Say more, she pleaded inside, please say more. The dress she was wearing felt too tight suddenly, like her lungs were too full of air.
“And perfectly happy, Mineko. Not like our own parents. It makes one wonder why that system is still in place.”
Mineko pondered this. Her parents were also matched, but it was a mix of match and madness on her father’s part. Her mother had bragged how her father couldn’t wait to marry only her, the most beautiful girl in Kadoma, and when it came up, her father had said nary a word. But yes, she could imagine being married and indeed had, a thousand times since the day of the bike.
Just then, a group of rowers in matching hatchimaki stood up on their boat, oars above their heads, and chanted. One man wavered, nearly falling, and the spectators burst into laughter. The boat teetered and then settled. Akio moved with his breath, just a centimeter away from her. Then they ducked into a space between trees, alone. Mineko felt a surge of energy and was speaking before she could stop herself.
“Of course you’ll marry me, Akio. What else can you do? You can’t live without me now.” Mineko turned to him. She jutted out her chin in defiance. Akio stared at her. His smile was broad, the kind where eyes crinkled just a bit; he took both of her hands up to his chest.
“Thank you for saying it, I was losing my nerve.”
“I could see that.”
“Then I guess the question is when. I graduate in two years.”
That felt like a lifetime, and she did not want to be on the Kaori timeline. The last month had felt like both an afternoon and four years. So strange how happiness worked with time—extending and shortening the minutes and hours like taffy. Maybe it was war. Maybe it was young men disappearing and food disappearing and maybe it was the combination of the two, one laid upon the other, heavy and stifling, messing with time.
Akio looked at her as she pondered these things and frowned, deep in thought. “Exactly—it’s too long. So therefore, we need to marry when I come home for winter break. That will give my family time to secure us a little married student flat. There’s so few of them. You could live with my parents, I know that would be expected, but I don’t know if you’d like that. Mother said we could have the old settee after we marry, from the drawing room, to make it look more Western, as I think those apartments are arranged . . .”
Mineko flung her arms around his neck and squeezed. She dotted his cheeks with kisses and then began to leave, dragging Akio with her.
“Stop, where are we going? My cousin will be looking for us!”
Mineko, breathless, said, “I’m going to pack my sewing machine and clothes.”
Akio’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “I said over break—that’s four months away. Are you planning to sleep on a suitcase for four months? We must give our families a little time. Our parents must meet! This is going to shock them anyhow . . .”
“You’ve already told your mother! She’s giving us furniture!”
“I hinted at it, and she said in the future. My father is still not entirely accepting. She needs to work on him a bit more. But she will.”
Mineko dropped his hand. In just a couple of weeks so much had changed in Kadoma. Flags draped on the little fence surrounding homes told of the deaths and mourning. And far away, London was getting bombed nightly. Germany was taking over more and more. Parts of Manchukuo were still Japan’s, and the news said there was nothing to fear, but gossip said it had begun to slip from the Imperial Army’s grasp in a few corners. Mineko wondered what it all meant. It felt dangerous to be alive and she said this, contemplating aloud if other boys, even firstborn sons, might soon be drafted to fight for the empire.
Akio scoffed at this, putting his finger to her lips to silence her talk. He picked up her hand again. “Never. Never, Mineko. I just can’t see it,” he whispered.
Mineko marveled at his confidence. Someone who was so prone to accepting Western ideas, but clung to those traditional ones that were as comfortable as old slippers. She wanted to say something but stopped herself. This will be something to contend with in marriage. Yet she hoped Akio was right, after all.
“Please, when can your parents talk to mine?”
“You know your mother will have a stroke. Your little sister might turn to dust.”
“I’ll have Fumiko sweep her up and toss her over the gate.” Mineko laughed.
Akio took both of her hands. “I can’t change your mind, can I? And really, I don’t know if I want to. Let’s go talk to my mother at least, let her know that we are serious and need her help to plan.”
And they took off for the next train to Kadoma and for Akio’s family home, glowing with hope on a late-summer night, ready to find a path to the next step, and the step after that, and all the steps that led to a long and joyful life.
Together, Fumiko and Mineko packed her belongings, keeping only a few necessities out. Mineko slept next to her suitcase. She knew it was ridiculous, but she was resolved. She’d roll her futon and fold her quilts as if she could be called away at any moment to marry. To irritate her, Hisako would take small things from her case and put them back in the wardrobe or even hide them. Once, she even dared to cut off each button from the orange coat, leaving long threads where the buttons had been. It was Fumiko who had discovered the crime and helped Mineko search all over the house, finally locating the buttons near the pit in the outhouse.
“I’m surprised she didn’t throw them in with the nightshade.”
“I’m going to kill her before I marry, I fear,” Mineko said, wiping each button with a cloth.
Fumiko stroked the orange coat lovingly. Mineko had noticed her more sullen of late and had wondered if it was the engagement.
“What bothers you, hiyoko?”
“Your little chicken is worried. When you go to your new house, you won’t forget me, will you?”
“Never. As soon as we get into a bigger place, you can come live with us in the city.”
“I’ll work for you.”
“You’ll just live there and get a job. Be a shopgirl!”
“Akio will balk! Men want a quiet space with their wives.”
“Akio knows what I need.”
Fumiko bowed, and when she stood again, Mineko saw the tears in her eyes.
In early September, on a cool night two weeks from Akio’s planned departure, Mineko’s family had just finished dinner when there was a knock at the door. Fumiko answered the door and gasped. The entire family adjourned from the meal and wandered outside. In the lane, their neighbors milled about, some ashen, some crying. They would bow to each other and say the words they were supposed to say, “I am pleased he will serve the nation,” but the air vibrated with a sadness that Mineko could feel in her bones. After tiny edits to life, some so minute that they felt only like a gnat landing on one’s arm, it came down from the emperor that all men over the age of nineteen—regardless of birth order—would be enlisted.
“In the new year, yes?” a neighbor pleaded, walking past their gate, following a friend, hoping the government was going by a new year’s date. Her son would turn nineteen in a few weeks, but if the government was going by age in the new year, as was tradition, then he had a few months. A war could end in a few months. Anything could happen in a few months.
Fumiko caught up with her and squeezed her wrist, but Mineko shook her free.
Akio had just turned nineteen. Mineko had taken old material from the scrap bag and created a quilt that could be folded into a square and flipped inside out into a pocket to create a pillow. On the inside of the pillow, she had made a tag that said “for my husband.” Not fiancé. In her heart, she was married, and had given him the quilt for his birthday. As the neighbor woman pleaded, Mineko hoped that this was the case—age by new year, not by the month, day, and year. Then, they’d have four more months together. Enough time to marry, perhaps.
“No, no, actual date of birth, the proclamation says. It’s right here,” another woman said as she walked past, pointing to a page in the evening’s paper.
Mineko found herself clutching the garden gate to hold herself steady. She’d remember this, she knew, all her days. The entire neighborhood out on a beautiful night, like it was a national holiday, but different, as it was a mix of kitchen helpers and regal grandmothers, yelling children and stoic fathers, their hats left in the house, rubbing their bald heads with both hands.
“You should unpack,” Hisako whispered to Mineko.
Mineko pulled her hand back before she could think, her palm flat and ready, meeting Hisako’s face where her cheekbone met a pretty curl of hair. The sound was the pop of a firecracker, and Mineko’s hand stung as if it had been burned. Hisako stumbled and then, clutching her face, began to shriek as she ran to their mother. Mineko opened the gate and sprinted to the turtle house, as fast as she could.
Mineko was yelling his name before she even opened the gate. On the steps of the house, Akio sat with a lantern. He was pale, dull-eyed; he stared up at Mineko.
“Have you started my thousand-stitch belt?”
Mineko shook her head, not willing to comment on his joke. She could not imagine herself near the shrine, holding out a senninbari, asking women passing by to make a dark red stitch to keep Akio safe from bullets. A stitch. A stitch couldn’t even keep her buttons on her coat.
“If we weren’t on an island, we could cross a border and escape,” Mineko said.
Akio shook his head and then rubbed his temples.
“Headache?” Mineko asked, and she moved his hands and placed her own on his head and rubbed his temples and the top of his scalp and the long back of his neck, feeling a marble at the base of his skull, kneading it with her thumb and pointer. She kneeled on her knees and kissed his head.
“It will be okay, we will be okay.”
“It won’t last long and I’ll return and I’ll convince the government to sell me this house.”
“And we’ll live in it.”
“Us and the turtles and—”
“Babies. I’ll give you children, and I’ll teach them to swim and sew.”
“You can go to school! I’ll support you.”
“I’ll do both.”
“You’ll do both. And we’ll live in a new world, a different place.”
“Let’s go in, the turtles can wait,” Mineko whispered into his ear. And Mineko jumped up, tugging him behind her, Akio’s eyes big with something that resembled excitement or fear. Into the genkan, shoes kicked off, they didn’t bother closing the doors behind them; no one but the carp and the turtles and the birds were there, the minogame looking down, laughing with knowledge.
Chapter 9
Curtain, Texas
March 11, 1999
“Your mom isn’t eating well,” my mother whispers into the kitchen phone to Aunt Mae. I’m home from work, my feet tired, sucking on a paper cut from sorting anniversary cards. In the pantry, I search for a snack. It always smells like baked goods and roasted chicken in there from the hanging spice rack on the back of the door. All of my mother’s little jars of Spice Islands are organized in order of use. Cinnamon, garlic, and seasoned salt are front and center. I unscrew the lid of the nutmeg and inhale as I listen to my mother’s conversation. Grandminnie’s right, I think, all these scents would contaminate her rice. I sniff the spice again and think how strange it would be to eat rice that tastes like pumpkin pie. I have a pang of guilt for not understanding sooner.
My grandmother has been in a funk for days. She is quieter today than she was yesterday or even the day before. Downright docile for Grandminnie. My parents think it’s the ranch house. How her homelessness is real to her now. But I know it’s because Aunt Mae has dropped off three different glossy brochures for retirement homes. I’m amazed there are so many in our area, but then I figure that the population is aging because no one comes back to Dennis County, no one but me. My mom has flipped through these brochures in front of Grandminnie, holding them up like it’s story time at the library, pointing to photos. Your own washer and dryer—well, that’s nice, but just the same, you’d have to keep up with your laundry. Oh, look, a hot tub next to the pool! Fancy!
