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Authors: Zoe Marriott
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than a boy, turned his head abruptly and hurried after the rest.
I drew in a deep, slow breath. That was . . . odd.
The moment the men were out of sight, Terayama-san began talking to Mother again, his voice lower now. He glanced back at me, eyes calculating, as if he, too, had noticed the strange look that passed between me and the foreign boy but did not know what to make of it.
The household man came back to himself with a start and, realizing that I was hanging on to him for dear life, looked mortified. He caught my arm and led me the rest of the way onto the ship with such tenderness and such deep protestations of regret for his inattention that I was worried he might cry. I turned my sweetest and most forgiving smile on him, while inside I wished him far, far away. I wanted to think about what I had seen. I wanted to remember those odd men, and the boy’s knowing smile.
They wear their scars on their faces. Right there on their faces. Where everyone can see . . .
Mother retched into the basin one last time and then fell back onto the futon. I brushed the sweaty hair from her forehead and wiped her face with a cool cloth. Her low moan might have been a thank-you. The ship rolled gently. I put my hand down on the floor to steady myself, and Mother groaned again.
“Shall I ask Terayama-san to fetch the ship’s doctor?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Don’t be silly,” she rasped. “This is the way when women are having children. Especially if they are on a boat. There is nothing to worry about.”
I was not so sure. Mother had been like this since the first night, but her illness grew steadily worse the longer we were on board ship. For the last week, I had barely been able to leave her side, and today she could not seem to keep even water down. The captain had told Terayama-san that at the very least we had four days left of our voyage.
“Then do you think you could get up for a little while? Walk on the deck, perhaps?”
“No, no.” She tossed her head restlessly. “That doesn’t work anymore. Watching the water go up and down just makes the little one angrier.”
One of her hands caressed her slightly swollen belly, gentle and soothing, even though her fingers shook from the latest bout of sickness. I propped the bowl of cool, lemon-scented water between my knees, to keep it from sliding as the ship rocked, and began wiping her face again, mimicking the slow movements of her hands on her stomach. The wooden walls and floors creaked and settled around us.
Then her face creased. I yanked the basin forward as she rolled over again and began to retch. There was nothing in her stomach now. She convulsed in horrible dry spasms for several minutes, silent tears running down her face, before lying back again and hiding her face in the sheet.
“I think I am done, for now,” she croaked.
I pushed the basin away, wrung out my cloth, and laid it carefully on the back of her neck, untangling the long strands of her hair.
“Would you like me to tell Terayama-san that he can come back in?”
“Not just yet.” She sounded a little sleepy now. I smiled with relief. I was not entirely immune to seasickness, and the heat and the smell of sweat and vomit in the little cabin were more than enough to make my own stomach heave when the ship rocked. I desperately wanted to get out and breathe some clean, cold air.
Everything would have been a lot easier if the female servants who were supposed to look after Mother were not both prostrate with seasickness, too. I did like being useful and feeling that I had a purpose and something to do. Still, there were times when, if I was to be fit to look after anyone, I needed to get away.
As quietly as possible, I shifted my kimono and began to stand. Before I could get any further, Mother stirred again.
“Where are you going?” she mumbled.
I kept a sigh inside with an effort. “I just want to clean things up a little bit.”
“Not yet,” she said as
I drew in a deep, slow breath. That was . . . odd.
The moment the men were out of sight, Terayama-san began talking to Mother again, his voice lower now. He glanced back at me, eyes calculating, as if he, too, had noticed the strange look that passed between me and the foreign boy but did not know what to make of it.
The household man came back to himself with a start and, realizing that I was hanging on to him for dear life, looked mortified. He caught my arm and led me the rest of the way onto the ship with such tenderness and such deep protestations of regret for his inattention that I was worried he might cry. I turned my sweetest and most forgiving smile on him, while inside I wished him far, far away. I wanted to think about what I had seen. I wanted to remember those odd men, and the boy’s knowing smile.
They wear their scars on their faces. Right there on their faces. Where everyone can see . . .
Mother retched into the basin one last time and then fell back onto the futon. I brushed the sweaty hair from her forehead and wiped her face with a cool cloth. Her low moan might have been a thank-you. The ship rolled gently. I put my hand down on the floor to steady myself, and Mother groaned again.
“Shall I ask Terayama-san to fetch the ship’s doctor?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Don’t be silly,” she rasped. “This is the way when women are having children. Especially if they are on a boat. There is nothing to worry about.”
I was not so sure. Mother had been like this since the first night, but her illness grew steadily worse the longer we were on board ship. For the last week, I had barely been able to leave her side, and today she could not seem to keep even water down. The captain had told Terayama-san that at the very least we had four days left of our voyage.
“Then do you think you could get up for a little while? Walk on the deck, perhaps?”
“No, no.” She tossed her head restlessly. “That doesn’t work anymore. Watching the water go up and down just makes the little one angrier.”
One of her hands caressed her slightly swollen belly, gentle and soothing, even though her fingers shook from the latest bout of sickness. I propped the bowl of cool, lemon-scented water between my knees, to keep it from sliding as the ship rocked, and began wiping her face again, mimicking the slow movements of her hands on her stomach. The wooden walls and floors creaked and settled around us.
Then her face creased. I yanked the basin forward as she rolled over again and began to retch. There was nothing in her stomach now. She convulsed in horrible dry spasms for several minutes, silent tears running down her face, before lying back again and hiding her face in the sheet.
“I think I am done, for now,” she croaked.
I pushed the basin away, wrung out my cloth, and laid it carefully on the back of her neck, untangling the long strands of her hair.
“Would you like me to tell Terayama-san that he can come back in?”
“Not just yet.” She sounded a little sleepy now. I smiled with relief. I was not entirely immune to seasickness, and the heat and the smell of sweat and vomit in the little cabin were more than enough to make my own stomach heave when the ship rocked. I desperately wanted to get out and breathe some clean, cold air.
Everything would have been a lot easier if the female servants who were supposed to look after Mother were not both prostrate with seasickness, too. I did like being useful and feeling that I had a purpose and something to do. Still, there were times when, if I was to be fit to look after anyone, I needed to get away.
As quietly as possible, I shifted my kimono and began to stand. Before I could get any further, Mother stirred again.
“Where are you going?” she mumbled.
I kept a sigh inside with an effort. “I just want to clean things up a little bit.”
“Not yet,” she said as
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