Shipwrecks (5 page)

The old year came to a close and a new year began. The villagers observed the five-day New Year's holiday. They stayed inside, lighting fires every morning and night in front of their houses to drive away demons. Laughter was forbidden because it was thought to bring bad luck, and even speaking was frowned upon.

On the sixth day of the year the taboo was lifted, but a gloomy atmosphere clung to the village. The shipping of rice had all but come to an end, and only a few ships would be seen passing on
calm days, with none risking its sail in stormy weather. There seemed to be little hope of
O-
fune-
sama
's coming that winter, so the villagers could do nothing but wait for the arrival of spring. Nevertheless, on stormy nights they continued to light the fires under the salt cauldrons. They had already produced more than enough to supply the needs of the village for the next year, but the surplus would be stored, to be sold in spring in the village over the ridge, and the money earned would be used to buy grain or fishing implements.

It was agony tending the salt cauldrons on snowy nights. Again and again Isaku would carry firewood through the driving snow and throw it under the cauldrons. The snow appeared to dance wildly, glimmering red from the colour of the flames. Once into February, they were hit by a blizzard. The houses were snowed in; it was almost dark inside. Isaku and his mother cleared the snow from the roof and outside the windows, making a space for the sunlight to shine in.

In the middle of that month Teru fell ill with a high fever. Isaku's mother boiled some water, filling the room with steam, and brewed an infusion of medicinal herbs. But his little sister was not even swallowing, so his mother forced it down Teru's throat mouth-to-mouth.

At dawn the next morning Teru's body was cold. His mother's eyes were filled with tears as she quietly caressed Teru's little face.

Several men and women from neighbouring houses gathered, walking behind Isaku's mother as she carried Teru's body, wrapped in straw matting, up the mountain path towards the graveyard. When the fire was lit in the crematory, Isaku's mother squatted beside it, struggling to keep herself from sobbing openly. Isaku looked out to sea, tears streaming down his face. His father had entrusted him and his mother with the lives of his younger brother and sisters, and now he was anguished because they had not been able to keep their promise. He imagined that his mother was thinking about his father.

The horizon appeared faintly white in the distance. Isaku sensed that winter, too, was coming to an end.

T
he men who set rabbit traps in the woods returned to the village saying they had seen blossom on
ume
trees in a valley.

The only way the villagers could see flowers was to go into the mountains; the salt winds that lashed the village prevented any flowering plants or trees from surviving on the coast. The next morning the village chief instructed them to guide one of the village elders to the valley. When their finding had been confirmed, the chief ordered salt production stopped. The blooming of plum trees signified the end of winter and their hopes of
O-
fune-
sama
's appearing. The men suspended the cauldrons from poles and carried them from the beach to the village chief's house, where they were washed with fresh water and coated with fish oil before being stored away.

The village was shrouded in gloom. When the villagers passed each other on the path, they said little, often merely nodding a tentative greeting.

The temperature rose and the snow covering the village began to melt. At times the sound of avalanches could be heard from the mountains. Plumes of snow dust rose from the deeply chiselled valleys. Days of rough seas became infrequent, and occasionally mist would rise off the calm sea. It was said that peach trees were starting to bloom in the mountains.

The village chief ordered some men and women to sell salt in the next village. Isaku's mother was one of those chosen. Carrying straw bales full of salt on their shoulders and steadying themselves with sticks, they trudged slowly in line up the path through patches of snow towards the pass. Six days later they returned with bales of grain tied to their backs. This was divided among the households according to the number of mouths there were to feed.

In early March, Isaku joined the other villagers on the beach to
pray for a good catch of fish that year. In one of the small boats they set up a sacred straw festoon suspended from a four-handed scoop net made of cotton between two thin bamboo rods.

When the village chief arrived at the beach in ceremonial attire, the boat was pushed into the water and its owner took up the oar while his pregnant wife stepped in to join him. The boat pulled away from the shore, bamboo rods swaying each time the man worked the oar, the scoop net fluttering slightly in the breeze. About forty yards offshore the boat stopped.

Facing out to sea, the woman got to her feet, and almost in a fanning motion she vigorously pulled up the bottom of her kimono. By displaying her swollen belly and her vagina to the Sea God, she was praying for the fish to breed prolifically. Isaku and the other people on the beach held their palms together in prayer. Each time she rolled up her kimono she exposed her stocky thighs and buttocks. The woman's movements continued until the man, holding the oar in one hand, poured wine from a jar into the sea with his free hand. At this, the woman released her kimono and sat down. Then her husband rowed back to the shore. On the beach she followed the village chief up to his house, where she was served a ceremonial meal.

From that day on, except when the sea was rough, Isaku joined the other fishermen on the water. As was usual around this time, large sardines started appearing. Day by day they increased in number, and no sooner would a line be in the water than a fish would be hooked. There were plenty of good-sized, choice fish among these schools, and they put up a good fight on the line. They could be either eaten raw or ground into a paste to make dumplings to put into soup. Or sometimes Isaku's mother would split them in half and hang them out to dry, saving their insides in a tub to use as fertiliser for the fields.

When the sardine catch began to slacken, five people left the village in the rain to sell themselves into indentured service. Among them were Sahei's father and Tami's sixteen-year-old elder sister. They were accompanied to the next village by family members who would receive the payment from the broker. The
line of sedge hats made its way up the winding mountain path and came to a halt halfway. They seemed to be agonising over leaving their birthplace, knowing that some people died in servitude and that, even if they survived, they would not see their village again until their term was over. The line of sedge hats moved off again, swaying as it proceeded until it melted away into the grey murk of the rain.

After the sardines, squid began to appear. Isaku happened to see Sahei awkwardly hauling squid into his boat. Sahei's father had indentured himself for five years, but it was rumoured that he had brought in only fifty silver
momme
, less than Isaku's father had received for a three-year term. Most villagers agreed that this was a fair price, considering Sahei's father's sloping shoulders and slight build. With his father gone, the burden of looking after the family now rested on Sahei.

There was a tormented look on Sahei's face as he worked his fishing line; his disconsolate eyes turned in Isaku's direction.

Isaku caught sight of Tami combing the shore for shellfish and seaweed with the other women and children. Tami's elder sister had been sold into bondage for seven years; when she finished her service, her only prospects for marriage would be widowers. Tami was of large build, and if she were to lie about her age the go-between would surely find someone who would take her. If Tami were sold into bondage, Isaku wanted to wait for her to return to the village after her term was up and marry her. But a wife was essential to a household; there was no way he would be able to stay single until then.

Isaku engrossed himself in catching squid. They would not be eaten right away but would be split open and dried. There were squid hanging everywhere – on ropes, under the eaves of the houses, in nearby open spaces. From the water the village looked like a hive of activity.

One evening in early April, Isaku came home, fishing-tackle in hand, to find his cousin Takichi sitting with his back against the wall, arms wrapped round his knees. Isaku's mother was tying dried squid into bundles with twine, but as soon as she saw her son she stood up, attached a bamboo basket to each
end of a carrying-rod, and left the house. Isaku did the same, following his mother to the shore with a carrying-rod and baskets on his shoulders. They scooped the squid out of the bottom of the boat and put them into the baskets, which they then hooked onto the carrying-rods.

‘Takichi's getting married tomorrow, so he's staying with us tonight,' his mother said as she walked back to the house.

So Kura and Takichi are finally tying the knot, Isaku thought. They were both seventeen. Kura was the most sturdily built girl in the village, and tall as well. She wore extra-large straw sandals and often did heavy work with the men. By contrast, Takichi was puny. He might have been born a fisherman, but physically he was quite frail. With his long, slender face and pigeon-toed gait there was little about him that was masculine.

Isaku had often heard the rumour that they first got to know each other out in the woods, meeting by chance while collecting firewood. By all accounts, it was Takichi who was seduced. But such outdoor encounters were frowned upon, so Takichi had complied with Kura's family's request and started to visit her regularly at night.

Quite some time had passed since Takichi's father and older brother had been swept out to sea while fishing, and he now lived with his mother. She spent most of her time lying down, complaining about the pain in her hunched back. Rumour had it that Takichi's mother was very eager to see her son marry such a sturdy young woman as Kura, and relentlessly urged him to the girl's house.

On the night before the wedding the man had to stay away from his own house, and on the wedding day the young girls among his relatives would accompany the go-between to the bride's house to take part in her farewell dinner, and then lead the bride and her parents to the bridegroom's house. There, the bride, fully adorned for the occasion, would exchange nuptial cups with her mother-in-law, after which the celebration would begin, and the mother-in-law would serve the bride a heaped wooden bowl of rice. While this was happening, the man would stay in hiding, coming
back to the house late at night to consummate the marriage.

Isaku's house had been chosen because Takichi would feel at ease staying with relatives.

Isaku and his mother carried the squid into the house. His mother's expression suggested she was pleased with the size of the day's catch. Takichi stood up by the wall and asked, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

‘A man about to get married doesn't have to lift a finger. You just sit back and think about your bride's tail.' Visibly relieved, Takichi sat down again.

Steam started to rise from the vegetable porridge in the pot over the fire, and Takichi joined Isaku and his family around the fireplace. There had been a chill in the home since his father had gone into bondage, but somehow Takichi's presence seemed to improve things. Isaku's younger brother and sister cast contented looks in their guest's direction. Occasionally, as though he were remembering something, the hint of a smile would appear on Takichi's face as he ate. After the meal Isaku's mother picked up a knife and started gutting the squid on the dirt floor.

Isaku sat opposite his cousin and next to the fireplace. He wanted to ask how Takichi had courted Kura and how he had made love to her, but held back for fear of his mother's ire.

Isaku asked Takichi about saury fishing, which was due to start soon. During the rainy season the previous year, Isaku had gone after these fish but caught nothing, even though the waters were supposedly teeming with them. Takichi, on the other hand, had already proven himself as a fisherman, and Isaku envied the way his cousin was able to provide for his aged mother.

‘Once you get the knack you can catch them blindfolded,' said Takichi softly.

‘I just can't get it. But I've got to try and catch as many as I can to keep my brother and sister from starving.'

Takichi stared at his obviously distraught cousin and said, ‘When we start fishing, bring your boat over beside mine and I'll show you how.'

‘Please!' said Isaku imploringly.

The fishy smell of squid innards began to hang heavy in the air.

The following evening Isaku's mother went out to join her relatives at Takichi's house while Isaku stayed home, gutting the squid in her place. She came back after dark, her face red and puffy from wine.

‘It must be about time you went and got busy with your wife,' she said to Takichi, who was sitting near the fireplace. He nodded, thanked his aunt for letting him stay the night, and took his leave. Isaku's mother sat down on the straw matting.

Isaku was sitting beside the fireplace, and when he happened to look at his mother's face, glowing for an instant in the firelight, he was frightened by the strange look in her eyes. They were glazed and misty with tears. He assumed she was thinking about his father and his dead baby sister.

When parties of villagers went to the neighbouring town to sell dried fish or salt, they would always call on the labour contractor's. This was the only way they could hear news of their indentured kin. Sometimes they would hear reports of deaths, or that the person was ailing. Without exception, those who were sick would eventually die, but even knowing this, the family would pray for their loved one's recovery. There was no news of Isaku's father, which meant that he was almost certainly free from illness and working safely somewhere.

Isaku moved away from the fireplace and curled up under his straw matting, his eyes barely open as he peered at his mother's face.

The mountains turned a deep shade of green. Light winds, seldom stronger than a breeze, started coming in, mostly from the east. Flies began to exhibit their prolific powers of breeding and swarmed over the squid hanging out to dry. When evening came, buzzing mosquitoes flitted by one's ear.

Occasionally cargo vessels would pass by, but the villagers
barely looked up from the job at hand as the ships retreated steadily into the distance across the calm sea.

The number of squid caught began to dwindle, and fewer were seen hanging out to dry. Those already dried were tied up with twine and packed away.

On early mornings in mid-May people carrying bundles of dried squid on their backs would appear on the path, to be joined by others as they climbed up the mountain path.

His mother, too, twice carried such bundles of squid to the next village. The amount of grain she brought back in return was nothing to speak of, but she seemed cheerful all the same. She had stopped in at the labour contractor's to ask about his father, and there was no news. No news was good news; he must still be fit and well. Isaku felt relieved at this, but then he heard his mother say that Tami's elder sister had fallen sick after working only two months.

‘And the broker's got the gall to complain that he's been had – after he's been paid a big fat commission,' his mother said, spitting out the words in outrage.

If a bond servant died, the broker would have to pay a certain amount of compensation to the employer on the grounds that he had provided an unfit worker. For this reason the broker would choose only physically sound people. To cover a possible financial loss from a worker's death, he would pay the bond servant's family a great deal less than what he got from the employer. Isaku's village provided a good supply of workers.

No doubt Tami's family would have heard by now, but Isaku wondered how they might take the news. Of course they would be distraught; but he thought they might harbour other thoughts as well. They had already received the bond payment, and Tami's sister's departure meant they had one less mouth to feed. On top of that, even if she were able to return to the village after finishing her bond service, in terms of age she would be unable to command a favourable match. In this respect, the news that Tami's sister had fallen sick with what could only be a fatal illness might not necessarily be viewed as misfortune for the family.