The picture to the left was the most somber one. Thick lines of dark green, purple, navy blue, dark brown, and black covered the entire page. The section from the middle to the top left was filled with a dark red circle, corresponding to the black circle in the other picture. Dozens of spirals scribbled with a crayon, the circle at first reminded me of some kind of fruit. But then I thought it might be the evening sun, visible through the trees. After a while, however, it seemed to have transformed into the eye of a glaring serpent, or even a pool of blood. The picture was as creepy as the first one.
The picture below the other two wasn’t there last week, so it must’ve been drawn and taped up recently. In this one, a horizontal blue line about two centimeters wide was drawn above dense woods of green and purple. The blue created a unique impression. In the bottom right corner were two strange figures drawn with a brown crayon. At first they looked like foreign letters, but on closer inspection, they seemed more like human figures, crouching and cuddled up to each other. At least that’s what they looked like to me. Were they hiding together in the grass? Were they searching for something? Or were they just trying to keep each other warm? Drawn with small curves and crooked lines, the figures seemed to have wandered into the woods and lost their way. Assuming one was my sister, who was the other? Was it her child, all grown up? Considering that possibility, I gazed at the thick blue line. Suddenly, it occurred to me to look outside.
The nursing home was on the top of a hill, so the ocean was clearly visible. The water looked gray because of the clouds blocking the sun. Beyond the sugarcane fields, stretching out along the coast, were beefwood trees that had been planted to protect against tsunamis. From this angle, the ocean was above the trees. I realized that the blue line, which I had assumed was the sky, was probably the ocean. As I stared down from the window, I spotted Sayoko standing on the edge of the lawn with her hands on the railing, facing the ocean. I placed the bouquet on the bed and hurried off to see her.
When I called out, she flinched and slowly turned around, just like the shy girl at the junior high school. Realizing that I had scared my own sister, I felt annoyed at myself for being so careless.
—Did I surprise you? I’m sorry about that.
As if responding to my voice rather than to my appearance, she nodded and smiled. Saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth, filled with brown teeth. When I wiped her chin with my handkerchief, she thanked me in a quiet voice and started looking at the ocean again. In spite of the clouds, it was still quite warm, so I was worried about her physical condition. Who knew how long she’d been standing there, without a hat or a sunshade? Even so, I was happy to see her getting outside for a change, instead of lying in bed as usual.
—What’re you looking at, Sayoko?
Without responding, she kept staring straight ahead. I stood next to her and leaned against the concrete handrail, which had been painted to look like a tree trunk. Then I looked in the direction she was staring. The sugarcane was gently undulating in the sunlight. The leaves and slender branches of the beefwood trees were swaying, too. White waves rippled along the coral reef, and I could hear the rhythmic rushing in the distance. We were the only ones in the yard, and the nursing home was as quiet as if everyone were fast asleep. My sister’s short, gray hair was disheveled from the wind, which had blown over the sugarcane and up the hill. There was a twinkle in her eye, and then she smiled. Staring at her face, I couldn’t remember the last time she looked so peaceful. Suddenly, her lips moved, and she seemed to say something.
—Huh? What?
Still staring at the ocean, she didn’t answer. But her words echoed in my ears, together with the faint sound of the breeze.
—I hear you, Seiji.
ROBERT HIGA [2005]
Dear Mr. Arakaki,
I would like to express my sincerest appreciation for your kind letter. Actually, I already heard about Okinawa’s plan to honor Japanese-Americans who served as interpreters during the Battle of Okinawa. About a month ago, one of my former army buddies called and told me about it. Like me, his parents were born in Okinawa, and we served together there during the war. He’s excited about attending the awards ceremony and asked me to join him. I was pleased to hear that we interpreters will be recognized, but I couldn’t give my friend an answer.
I’m deeply grateful that you’d like to submit my name as an honoree. But to tell the truth, I also feel embarrassed. Well, let me stop beating around the bush and get to the point: I can’t accept your kind offer. I know it must sound as if I’m spurning your goodwill, but I just can’t accept. I’m not being modest. I simply can’t permit myself to receive such an honor.
Let me tell you my reasons, as it would be rude to decline without doing so. I should probably explain to my fellow interpreters, too, since my refusal might reflect negatively on them, but I’d like to ask you to keep this confidential. Please don’t ever tell the others. If you can’t agree to this, please don’t read any further. I apologize for not leaving you any choice, but I trust that you will honor my request.
Both of my parents are from Okinawa, so I have a decent command of both Japanese and the Okinawan language. I made use
