"I searched the field for a long time but didn't find her."
"Yes," she said and nodded a bit and pressed on her stomach.
"Does it still hurt?"
"A little."
"Did you take the medicine?"
She nodded.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
She smiled and shook her head.
"Well, I have a favor to ask. Could you take me to Take? Your stomach probably still hurts, but I've come a long way. Can you walk?"
"Yes," she gave a long nod.
"Excellent. I thank you."
She nodded twice, stepped down to the dirt floor, put on her geta clogs, pressed on her stomach, and left the house slightly bent over.
"Did you run in the field day?"
"Yes."
"Did you win a prize?"
"No."
She walked ahead of me and never stopped pressing her stomach. We passed through the path in the paddy fields, emerged from the sand dunes, and walked around to the back of the school. We cut across the center of the field then the girl trotted into a hut and soon Take came out. She looked blankly at me.
"I'm Shuji," I said smiling and took off my hat.
"Oh" is all she said. She didn't smile but looked serious. Just as quickly, her hard stance crumbled. Her nonchalant, weak tone sounded strangely resigned.
"Well, come in and watch the meet," she said and led me inside her hut.
"Please sit here," she said to have me sit beside her. Take said nothing but sat properly placing her hands on the round knees of her monpe pants and ardently watched the children running. However, I wasn't the least bit dissatisfied and completely at peace. I stretched out my legs and lazily watched the games. Not one thought was in my heart. I was free from worry and untroubled. What should I do? Is this how peace feels?
If so, I can say for the first time in my life I've experienced peace in my heart. My birth mother, who died a few years ago, was a fine mother. She was dignified and gentle. However, she never gave me this mysterious sense of relief. Shouldn't the mothers of the world give this sweet, abstract relief to their children? In that case, loyalty to one's parents is certain no matter what. While I greatly appreciate my mother, I didn't understand her falling ill and her inactivity. Loyalty to one's parents is a natural feeling and not ethics.
Take's cheeks were flush. A small red mole the size of a poppy seed was on her right eyelid. Her hair was specked with gray. Nevertheless, Take sitting properly beside me had changed little from the Take I remembered from my childhood. I later heard that Take entered service in my family and carried me on her back when I was three and she was fourteen. For the next six years, I was raised and taught by Take. The Take of my memories was definitely not a young girl but a mature woman not the least bit different from this Take now before my eyes.
And I later learned from Take, a deep blue belt with the iris pattern she was wearing that day was the same belt she wore while in service at my home. Around that time, my family gave her the light purple haneri neckpiece of her kimono. Perhaps, that's why I experienced a scent identical to my memories with Take sitting there. Maybe I'm biased, but all the other Aba (feminine form of Aya) in this fishing village seemed to have a high opinion of Take.
Her kimono was new handwoven cotton with stripes, and she wore monpe pants made of the same fabric. This striped pattern was not lively, but the selection was solid. She was not trifling and had a strong bearing. I also kept quiet. After time passed, Take looked straight ahead at the field, rolled her shoulders, and released a long, deep sigh. That was the first time I understood Take was also serene but said nothing.
Take abruptly asked, "Have you eaten?"
"I'm fine," I said. I truly didn't want to eat.
"I have rice cakes," said Take and touched a picnic box arranged in a corner of the hut.
"I'm fine. I don't want to eat."
Take gave a little nod and asked no more.
"This one doesn't like rice cakes," she said softly with a smile. After close to thirty years of hearing no news about each other, she seemed to understand the hard drinker I became. It's a mystery. I grinned and Take frowned.
"You also smoke. You've smoked one after another for a while. I taught you to read books but not to smoke or drink," she said. That is an example of negligence inviting failure. I suppressed a smile.
I kept a straight face, but this time, Take smiled and stood.
"Shall we go see the cherry blossoms of the Dragon God?" she asked.
"Oh yes, let's go."
I followed Take up the sand dunes behind the hut. Violets bloomed on the dunes. Low wisteria vines spread out. Take climbed up without a word. I said nothing as I stumbled along. I climbed up slowly to the forest of the Dragon God. Double cherry blossoms opened here and there along the forest path. Take's hand reached out to break off a branch of double cherry blossoms. While walking, she plucked the flower from the branch and tossed in on the ground. She stopped, excitedly turned to me and words poured out like a dam broke.
"It's been a long time. At first, I didn't understand. My daughter said, 'Tsushima from Kanagi's here,' Impossible, I thought. I didn't believe you came to see me. Even when I came out of the hut and saw your face, I didn't understand. You said, 'I'm Shuji,' but I thought, Heavens! and could not speak. I saw nothing, not the sports field or anything else.
"For close to thirty years, I wanted to see you.
