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Authors: Kerri Sakamoto
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Eiji’s photograph and slid it inside my notebook of clippings for safe-keeping, then closed the drawer with a loud jostle. “It’s late, I’ve kept you up.”
But he went on, in a far-off voice. “I remember how well you got along,” he said. “Sometimes ne-san …” I felt his eyes on my back; my hands froze on the drawer handle. “Sometimes I was jealous.”
Such nonsense, I thought. Not another word, I warned, if only in my head. “You were only two,” I said, hearing how frugal my words sounded, how ungiving. “Eiji used to toss you up in the air,” I added after a moment.
“But what about you, ne-san?”
I began bustling around, moving a knick-knack one inch this way, then that. “You were too heavy for me back then,” I said with a strained laugh. “I was just a girl, a skinny girl. Not like now.” It was true I became skin and bones once Eiji was gone, nothing but worry and grief; I hardly touched Stum. His little-boy arms, grown thick before they grew long, they tugged at my neck the last day in the camp. He pointed to the big suitcase at our feet, carefully packed with Eiji’s tin. Stum thought that we were leaving him and Mama behind and they’d have to live there for ever. He didn’t trust that we’d send for them soon enough.
“It’s late,” I said again. I was waiting for him to go upstairs, or to slink out to the backyard, as he sometimes did before going to bed. But he did not.
Then it occurred to me, seeing him stand there in the middle of the room, empty-handed. A doughy boy, little islands in his face, born too early, too late, born at all. He was like me: jealous of someone he could never catch up with, not now.
My face must have lit up or reddened at this thought but Stum took it for something else. He rushed towards me from the middle of the room and suddenly he was very close, his head held against my breast, resting just so, his hands gripping my arms.
“Ne-san!” He said this with urgency, with all his yearning. Not even my name, but ne-san, always ne-san. I felt a warm circle above my breast where he breathed. In and out. “Ne-san,” he said very low, wavering, as if he was scared of me; for me. I could not push the words away. “Something wonderful has happened to me. A woman.” He stopped.
There was a long period of silence in which I was to say: Yes, ototo-chan, my little brother, tell me all about her. But I did not. I felt his breath catching, his head too heavy and large against me, his hands growing clammy around my arms. The scent of him rose in my nostrils. He released me.
I could not bring myself to look at him; I could only stare ahead, out the window into the night. I thought of Sachi at her window, wallowing in the darkness, waiting for Tam. Then, strangely, Chisako’s smooth, unmarked skin, as she’d held up her blouse, flashed in my head, too too pale.
“For you too, ne-san,” Stum said. So solemn I could have laughed, but I didn’t. “It will happen someday soon,” he said.
I myself knew it was too late. I’d waited too long, instead of not long enough.
I never asked Stum where he’d been that night, or who his friend with the car was. Those twin questions popped into my head as I lay in bed under my covers. Then Sachi’s voice entered my thoughts, its sweetness turning sly:
Miss Saito, will you miss him when he’s gone?
Even as she knelt before Chisako’s powdery blood.
The night grew cold before I could fall asleep. My feet were ice; they kept me half awake, two blocks of ice that would neither sink nor melt. I curled up smaller and smaller in the middle of my bed, vast at night, the edges dropping off: a single bed whose twin was in Stum’s room, but I was alone in it. I remembered how it felt to sleep two to a sagging bed, the particular warmth of another body beside mine, the glow around it, like burner rings that held their heat no matter how cold it was. I saw him sometimes, I madeout his shape. I watched Eiji’s shape
But he went on, in a far-off voice. “I remember how well you got along,” he said. “Sometimes ne-san …” I felt his eyes on my back; my hands froze on the drawer handle. “Sometimes I was jealous.”
Such nonsense, I thought. Not another word, I warned, if only in my head. “You were only two,” I said, hearing how frugal my words sounded, how ungiving. “Eiji used to toss you up in the air,” I added after a moment.
“But what about you, ne-san?”
I began bustling around, moving a knick-knack one inch this way, then that. “You were too heavy for me back then,” I said with a strained laugh. “I was just a girl, a skinny girl. Not like now.” It was true I became skin and bones once Eiji was gone, nothing but worry and grief; I hardly touched Stum. His little-boy arms, grown thick before they grew long, they tugged at my neck the last day in the camp. He pointed to the big suitcase at our feet, carefully packed with Eiji’s tin. Stum thought that we were leaving him and Mama behind and they’d have to live there for ever. He didn’t trust that we’d send for them soon enough.
“It’s late,” I said again. I was waiting for him to go upstairs, or to slink out to the backyard, as he sometimes did before going to bed. But he did not.
Then it occurred to me, seeing him stand there in the middle of the room, empty-handed. A doughy boy, little islands in his face, born too early, too late, born at all. He was like me: jealous of someone he could never catch up with, not now.
My face must have lit up or reddened at this thought but Stum took it for something else. He rushed towards me from the middle of the room and suddenly he was very close, his head held against my breast, resting just so, his hands gripping my arms.
“Ne-san!” He said this with urgency, with all his yearning. Not even my name, but ne-san, always ne-san. I felt a warm circle above my breast where he breathed. In and out. “Ne-san,” he said very low, wavering, as if he was scared of me; for me. I could not push the words away. “Something wonderful has happened to me. A woman.” He stopped.
There was a long period of silence in which I was to say: Yes, ototo-chan, my little brother, tell me all about her. But I did not. I felt his breath catching, his head too heavy and large against me, his hands growing clammy around my arms. The scent of him rose in my nostrils. He released me.
I could not bring myself to look at him; I could only stare ahead, out the window into the night. I thought of Sachi at her window, wallowing in the darkness, waiting for Tam. Then, strangely, Chisako’s smooth, unmarked skin, as she’d held up her blouse, flashed in my head, too too pale.
“For you too, ne-san,” Stum said. So solemn I could have laughed, but I didn’t. “It will happen someday soon,” he said.
I myself knew it was too late. I’d waited too long, instead of not long enough.
I never asked Stum where he’d been that night, or who his friend with the car was. Those twin questions popped into my head as I lay in bed under my covers. Then Sachi’s voice entered my thoughts, its sweetness turning sly:
Miss Saito, will you miss him when he’s gone?
Even as she knelt before Chisako’s powdery blood.
The night grew cold before I could fall asleep. My feet were ice; they kept me half awake, two blocks of ice that would neither sink nor melt. I curled up smaller and smaller in the middle of my bed, vast at night, the edges dropping off: a single bed whose twin was in Stum’s room, but I was alone in it. I remembered how it felt to sleep two to a sagging bed, the particular warmth of another body beside mine, the glow around it, like burner rings that held their heat no matter how cold it was. I saw him sometimes, I madeout his shape. I watched Eiji’s shape
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