an online story
by Tommy Schmitz
Chapter 4 - The past reappears to Oba-chan.
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The girls did a lightning fast round
of rock-scissors-paper
to divvy-up their chores,
and Oba-chan went into her bedroom
and sat upon the tatami mat
with her back against the wall
to let drain, "oh please let drain"
the ghost of fear and panic
now seizing her, body and soul.
The disappearance of Henry and Mieko O'Brien in Kashmir
would hit the news in 24 hours,
so say the two gentlemen from the Foreign Ministry of Japan.
It didn't matter to Oba-chan that it would hit all at once and all around the world.
The problem she simply could not face right now
was telling Katie and Susan.
She knew in her own life what sudden losses were,
and how they felt.
Loved ones, family. Here today,
Then here no more.
She was in her early teenage years
and living in Tokyo during the Second World War.
She pondered through the years
her memories of fear and of loss and of hopelessness.
Were they all the more hidden inside of her?
or wearing themselves away?
Tonight, the answer came.
For Oba-chan and every surviving Japanese
these were the utmost of private matters.
Not even with your older sister,
would you bring the topic up.
There was too much work to do.
And way too much to sort through.
And now this sudden devastation: poor Mieko and Henry missing.
Her sudden state of shock
was digging up fresh
her ancient despair and suffering and loneliness.
She escaped inside her bedroom
to gather strength
and just the opposite was now happening
How could she find and form the words
to explain to Katie and Susan.
Without invitation and without intention,
Her past was roaring itself to life,
and there was nothing she could do about it.
She cracked open a bottle of shochu - rice whiskey - and poured a half a glass,
And slipped her hand inside
her bottom chest of drawers
pulling a cigarette from a hiding place.
How could she find and form the words, she thought again,
to explain to Katie and Susan.
And her mind got captured by the past.
Oba-chan had three younger brothers and an older sister --
Five children in the household during the war.
The first two brothers came through the misery of those four years all right.
At the end of 1945 they were twelve and ten years old --
and now both leaders in an industry - television broadcasting --
how strange, she thought,
an unknown industry
suddenly made real by physics
as physics made real - like that! - The Bomb.
But it was a gradual and growing wreckage
that invaded the life of Kenji,
the family's baby boy.
Kenji was five years old at the end of the war.
Unable to talk... well he stuttered, stuttered himself speechless,
Unable to play with others.
Unable to demonstrate or even show signs of how or what he was feeling.
Not after the war.
Kenji was fine at birth, fine at three years old, a perfectly normal Japanese toddler.
So expressive, always smiling, ever sensitive for such a young child
to the needs and emotions of everyone -- family, friends,
even those in the neighborhood we didn't care for much.
Kenji got lost one night. It was summer 1944.
For safety, we were changing locations.
We were all walking to a cousin's house miles away,
to avoid what most of us long feared:
that our own neighborhood
might be the likely and imminent bull's-eye for new bombs.
Just so happened we were right.
And while we walked, little Kenji, four years old,
got lost along the way,
and somehow followed the tracks
we had made for miles
and found his way back home.
Kenji was found the next day buried in the rubble of the bombing of our house,
alone, severely hurt
and severely awake and aware of all that had transpired
from moment to moment --
the violence and destruction,
the flames and heat all around him,
the unceasing, deadly noise --
put viscously upon the only world he knew,
put viciously upon his tiny person too.
The events hit Kenji like a huge meteor
that disappears on impact
but leaves it's eternal footprint upon the earth.
Kenji shut down badly,
more and more so
with the passing days and months and years.
Nobody said anything, but everybody knew.
Some of us could still see
the old Kenji-light
somewhere in his eyes,
the old Kenji-wit and humor and love,
but these beautiful ways he had
of being himself, a joyful little boy,
stayed hidden deep inside.
At 16, without saying good-bye -- it was 1956 --
Kenji hopped an ocean freighter in Tokyo Bay, and left Japan,
(could it be 50 years ago already?)
and we never heard from him again.
"Oba-chan, daijoubu? Susan stuck her head half-way inside the door.
"Come in, Susan. Come in and sit here on my lap
like you use to do.
You too, Katie, come in girls, let's get close."
"Oba-chan we know you're not feeling well,
so we made your dinner.
It's there at the dining room table." said Susan.
And a tear appeared upon Oba-chan's face,
.
and gradually rolled down her cheek,
then over a delicate and feeling smile
somehow finding form.
"You kids eat?" Oba-chan slowly asked.
"Hmm." Katie and Susan nod their heads.
A long pause
came down upon them,
and the three sat quietly in the dark.
"Katie and Susan?"
"Yes?" the girls responded.
"Oba-chan needs to tell you something."
(Chapter 5 on Sunday)
(Return to Tokyo Twins - Chapter Map.
