Read Online The Electrical Field by Kerri Sakamoto - Free Book Online
Authors: Kerri Sakamoto
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shadow where I’d muddied the carpet during the day, but when I came close it disappeared. I ran my hand over it, and for a moment reminded myself how much I cherished my home. How grateful I was to have escaped the dark upstairs in the city that wasn’t much better than our shack in the camp. After nine years of watching Mama’s bowed legs climb those crooked steps and seeing her arrive breathless at the top; of smelling another family’s smells drift up through the floor.
I went to my window and sat down. The darkness was turning back my reflection even as I strained to see beyond it to Sachi’s house. Upstairs, Stum’s bedroom door opened, then the bathroom door closed. Comforting noises I lived with day in and day out. I could not help wondering: if he leaves, when he leaves, what would become of me?
The sound of him, his voice when we first moved here after Mama died. So high it made you grit your teeth at its girlish softness; no edge, no bottom. He was not the slightest bit like Eiji; not handsome at all, not strong. He was a boy of twelve or thirteen, miserable at first, missing his mama who’d always kept him close, missing his Chinese friends in the city. His face was shapeless, shy to show itself. But it did soon enough: those grotesque sprouts of black hair not quitewhiskers, pimples erupting ripe and angry, as if contagious. I couldn’t stand to be near him. So helpless in his body; everything showed in his big doughy face. I was twenty-eight then, already past my bloom. It wasn’t up to me to fill him in, to tell him about his own private parts, what he should know himself.
Of course, he had his yearnings. I poured bleach on those yellowed stains on his boxers each week. When they first appeared, I said to myself: it’s a sign. Soon he’ll be out nights, girls will call, he’ll be gone, gone. Leaving me alone with my bitter, plain memories. The paisley of my bedspread as I folded it back each night looked faded and limp. But for years, a sign was all it was; nothing more. I saw Stum’s eyes drawn to my breasts, watching them, wondering; the mystery I held for him. The way Papa and Eiji had been for me. The lingering of his fingers on my hand when we passed dishes across the table. He was wondering, I knew, what it would be like to hold a woman. I pulled my cardigan together in front and gave him a chore to do. I saw the lost gaze, the not knowing where to look; I’d taken his anchor and set him adrift. How relieved I was when he’d go out to rake leaves or shovel the walk, overgrown in his winter jacket. He’d be panting, ready to burst.
I now heard Stum’s slippered feet, slow and lumbering, coming down the steps. Walking like a man, I thought, a man all settled in life. Almost like Papa used to be. Stum had filled out since those early days, of course, but his hands, his fingers had stayed small and slim as a boy’s. That was what Kaz had noticed, Kaz Fujioka, who first took Stum to the hatcheries.
I looked up to find Stum at the foot of the stairs, holding Eiji’s picture. I resisted the urge to snatch it from him. Without glass it was unprotected. It was all I had left of him.
“Wish I’d known him,” Stum said, coming closer, but without the wistfulness, the sadness you’d expect from almost anyone saying such a thing.
“You did. You did know him. I’ve told you.”
“Not the way you did,” he insisted. He made a low, disbelieving snort. “I was a baby. I hardly remember.” As he paused, I moved to ease the picture from his hands, surprisingly strong for being slender.
“But there was something,” he murmured, not quite letting go. “I remember the two of you, how you … how you’d leave me behind.” He seemed bothered.
I laughed, brushing a crease from my skirt. I thought I felt a prick of glass under my hand, but nothing was there. Finally I took the photograph from him. “Like you said, you were just a baby,” I reminded him. I crossed the room with
I went to my window and sat down. The darkness was turning back my reflection even as I strained to see beyond it to Sachi’s house. Upstairs, Stum’s bedroom door opened, then the bathroom door closed. Comforting noises I lived with day in and day out. I could not help wondering: if he leaves, when he leaves, what would become of me?
The sound of him, his voice when we first moved here after Mama died. So high it made you grit your teeth at its girlish softness; no edge, no bottom. He was not the slightest bit like Eiji; not handsome at all, not strong. He was a boy of twelve or thirteen, miserable at first, missing his mama who’d always kept him close, missing his Chinese friends in the city. His face was shapeless, shy to show itself. But it did soon enough: those grotesque sprouts of black hair not quitewhiskers, pimples erupting ripe and angry, as if contagious. I couldn’t stand to be near him. So helpless in his body; everything showed in his big doughy face. I was twenty-eight then, already past my bloom. It wasn’t up to me to fill him in, to tell him about his own private parts, what he should know himself.
Of course, he had his yearnings. I poured bleach on those yellowed stains on his boxers each week. When they first appeared, I said to myself: it’s a sign. Soon he’ll be out nights, girls will call, he’ll be gone, gone. Leaving me alone with my bitter, plain memories. The paisley of my bedspread as I folded it back each night looked faded and limp. But for years, a sign was all it was; nothing more. I saw Stum’s eyes drawn to my breasts, watching them, wondering; the mystery I held for him. The way Papa and Eiji had been for me. The lingering of his fingers on my hand when we passed dishes across the table. He was wondering, I knew, what it would be like to hold a woman. I pulled my cardigan together in front and gave him a chore to do. I saw the lost gaze, the not knowing where to look; I’d taken his anchor and set him adrift. How relieved I was when he’d go out to rake leaves or shovel the walk, overgrown in his winter jacket. He’d be panting, ready to burst.
I now heard Stum’s slippered feet, slow and lumbering, coming down the steps. Walking like a man, I thought, a man all settled in life. Almost like Papa used to be. Stum had filled out since those early days, of course, but his hands, his fingers had stayed small and slim as a boy’s. That was what Kaz had noticed, Kaz Fujioka, who first took Stum to the hatcheries.
I looked up to find Stum at the foot of the stairs, holding Eiji’s picture. I resisted the urge to snatch it from him. Without glass it was unprotected. It was all I had left of him.
“Wish I’d known him,” Stum said, coming closer, but without the wistfulness, the sadness you’d expect from almost anyone saying such a thing.
“You did. You did know him. I’ve told you.”
“Not the way you did,” he insisted. He made a low, disbelieving snort. “I was a baby. I hardly remember.” As he paused, I moved to ease the picture from his hands, surprisingly strong for being slender.
“But there was something,” he murmured, not quite letting go. “I remember the two of you, how you … how you’d leave me behind.” He seemed bothered.
I laughed, brushing a crease from my skirt. I thought I felt a prick of glass under my hand, but nothing was there. Finally I took the photograph from him. “Like you said, you were just a baby,” I reminded him. I crossed the room with
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