The turtle house, p.4
The Turtle House, page 4
Mineko couldn’t imagine what her mother would say if she came home damp and bloody and bruised. There was a good chance that Mother already had been told about Mineko hurrying toward town in her bathing suit and cover dress. The neighborhood ladies gossiped and did so quickly. All this alone would have her eating dinner outside. Any more distress and she wouldn’t be eating tonight at all.
“I better go. I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m heading to feed the turtles, and I want to get home before dinner.”
“At the park?”
“No.” Mineko paused. She considered Akio for a moment, the way he nervously gripped and loosened his hand around one of the handlebars, the glistening of sweat on his upper lip. She lowered her voice. “At the abandoned house on the other side of the bridge, toward Daitō. In the pond there.”
“The ghost house?”
“It’s not haunted. Just unloved.”
Akio’s brow folded, and his lips twitched. He paused, and Mineko thought he was going to say goodbye and thank her, hurry off to his parents’ home on the north side of town, a neighborhood where the gardens were so vast, one couldn’t see who lived next door. But then he smiled, and Mineko couldn’t help but smile back.
“And what’s in the sack?” Akio asked, motioning to the parcel that Mineko gripped.
“Old noodles. For the turtles. They’re stale, but turtles like anything. They’re not spoiled.”
Spoiled turtles, he repeated and laughed as if it were the funniest joke.
“This is crazy,” Akio said, his breathing labored. He had been slowly riding his bike as Mineko walked, then switching out of courtesy. Mineko was used to the steep hill that led to the house. She had walked it for nearly ten years now and knew every jutting stone along the path.
“Not crazy. And not haunted. Just an old house with a beautiful pond. You’ll see.” Mineko let her hand graze the mosodake bamboo as they walked, their thick, hardy stalks a brilliant spring green. “Of course, you didn’t have to come.”
Akio did not reply.
At the monchu, Mineko handed Akio the bag of noodles and ducked down behind an overgrown yew, pulling out a hatchet.
“What’s that for?” Akio seemed alarmed.
“Things are overgrown, it’s a constant battle. I usually do a little hacking while I’m here, just to keep it up. Oh, and to scare off the demons, of course.”
Akio whistled low and slow like a cinema comedian. Mineko smiled at his discomfort. There was a buzz in the air.
“There’s a hive over there,” Mineko said, glancing to the other side of the property. “That’s where a vegetable garden was. The other side of the house was all productive, and this side is all beauty.”
“This grass is shorter than I thought it would be,” Akio said.
Mineko smiled and pointed to herself. “With a scythe I borrowed from a farmer down the hill. I need to save up and buy my own, perhaps, store it in the kura.”
“Is this allowed?”
Mineko shrugged. “The turtles enjoy having a more manicured yard. I sit in the gazebo over there and feed them.”
“How often do you visit?”
“A few times a week.”
Akio lay his bike in the grass. He took a few steps and looked up at the house, to the beautiful roof. “A minogame,” he said, pointing to the onigawara tile on the corner closest to where they stood. The turtle smiled down at them.
Mineko looked up, and there was her favorite bushy-tailed turtle, perched wise and proud on the roof.
“Usually they are so fierce-looking, look at his smile.”
“Her smile. And that’s my favorite part. And the tail—it looks like real seaweed. There’s an entire turtle theme to this house. They’re all over the inside, too. Whoever built this place wanted to live forever.” Mineko stood next to Akio so her shadow fell onto his.
“You’ve been inside?”
Mineko couldn’t tell if he was surprised by her rudeness or her bravery.
“Well, I have to—someone has to clean the mousetraps.”
Akio laughed and shuddered at the same time. Mineko walked to the gazebo and sat on the edge of the deck. She took off her shoes and let her legs dangle over the side. With each movement the gazebo trembled. Over the years, Mineko had tried to steady it with extra wood nailed and roped to the original posts, but all she had accomplished was slowing its decay.
The turtles, no longer shy, splashed below, nearly swimming into one another. The bigger ones made it to the top of the heap and opened their mouths for food. Akio came and stood next to her, then, looking around, sat on his knees.
“You look like an old woman, squatting like that,” Mineko said, but then caught herself. She sounded like her mother.
Akio moved closer and peered into the water. Again the gazebo swayed slightly.
“Is it deep, do you think?”
Mineko watched him. He seemed skittish.
“No, I bet it’s only five feet here. Maybe six. Really depends on how much fish and turtle dung is at the bottom, I suppose.” Akio scrunched up his nose at this comment, and Mineko laughed. “Why do you care? Can’t you swim?”
“I never learned. I take it you can? Or were you fresh from a freak rainstorm earlier?”
“Yes, I love it. I’m the best swimmer, girl at least, in Kadoma.”
“You don’t say? But of course, how many competitive girl swimmers are there in Kadoma?”
Mineko accepted his slight, after all, she had just called him an old lady, but then she told him of her great feat earlier in the day, of the current in the middle of the river, of how the boy turned around and she kept on. She told of the heron that had waved her toward victory. She knew she sounded like a braggart. She knew, but somehow couldn’t help herself.
“And then you came to save my bike.”
Akio opened the bag of old noodles, some stiff as chopsticks. Mineko broke off a few and tossed them in. A graceful feeding frenzy began.
Akio finally sat and let his legs with his smart wool trousers and shiny shoes hang over the side as well. They took turns tossing small pinches of noodle over the edge, the turtles swimming and opening their ancient mouths, gulping them down and diving under again, only to come back for more. In the distance, a pair of curious ducks swam closer, then hid behind a willow growing close to the water, its branches like a curtain.
“That turtle, there, the big one with the thick moss on his shell”—Mineko tossed the turtle a noodle—“I think he’s the oldest. He’s definitely the ugliest. So he must be a god. I make sure to feed him well, since I know his secret.”
Akio smiled. “A turtle god is a good reason to keep visiting. We have a lone turtle in our yard. My father thinks it’s the soul of an old samurai warrior. My mother just thinks he eats all the peonies.”
“Then they’re wise and both correct,” Mineko said, with a flourish of propriety.
Akio laughed. “Just ask them.”
His comment made Mineko warm toward him.
“Are they difficult?”
“What a question! Are yours?”
“My father is wonderful.” Mineko didn’t mention her mother and hoped Akio wouldn’t ask.
Mineko learned that Akio was the oldest, like herself, but as a son, the pride of his family. He was heading to college in the fall, to Kyoto Imperial University, where his father suggested that he study economics as the degree would be helpful when he eventually took over his father’s company. Akio discussed these things while squinting at the sky, as if watching for rain.
“Oh,” Mineko said. “I think people should be able to choose such things.”
“Very modern thought,” Akio said, tossing another noodle that landed squarely on the back of a turtle, causing the turtle to elongate his neck in an attempt to retrieve his prize. Mineko felt that there was more behind his comment, perhaps a recent unwelcome conversation, different expectations. Or, she reasoned, a little panicked, he felt her ideas were too modern, too forward. She was the girl, after all, who stopped his bike from being stolen with her own leg.
Mineko felt a cool breath of relief that Akio, as the firstborn son and a student, would not be leaving for war, and then she wondered why she thought such a thing. Mineko chided herself for even caring about what this rich college boy thought. Mineko was not the boy-crazy or marriage-focused type, unlike her sister, Hisako, and Mineko’s lack of interest, her mother felt, contributed to the embarrassing state she was in. Despite Mineko’s being from a good family and of appropriate age, her parents had failed to match her. They had many arranged meetings with friends and friends of friends. Each time, they’d return, quiet, Mother going right to bed, her father nodding silently at Mineko before he went out to smoke a cigarette in the garden. But this did not despair her, in fact, as time wore on, she was almost happy that her life was not set. Mineko hoped that she could somehow earn a living on her own, care for her father and, because she absolutely must, her mother.
“And you?” Akio asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“If I could study anything, I think it would be engineering. I like how things are put together.”
“So, no ryōsai kenbo for you?”
Mineko didn’t respond, as she didn’t want to tell him outright that she hadn’t been matched. It was hard to become a devoted wife and mother of the empire without that key piece. Each school morning, during calisthenics, the fierce teacher of the older girls had them all repeat as they jumped: I will bear sons—ichi, ni, san—for my nation—shi, go, roku—where the sun never sets—hichi, hachi, ku, juu! Mineko felt each shout was a lie.
Yet while she felt that the empire’s binding of wife and motherhood was too tight, she was not a moga either. Mineko did not escape into the city to sit at the European cafés, springing up like mushrooms after rains. Theirs was a rebellion without thought. Tossing out old fish for someone else’s old fish. Ridiculous.
“No, marriage and motherhood is my sister’s role. She’s my mother’s favorite, and she’s beautiful and very talented. If you knew her, you’d be asking me to introduce you.”
Akio sighed. “I’ve already been matched.”
“Of course you have,” Mineko said, feeling foolish. “What I mean to say is that it would befit your situation to be matched to a lovely young woman.”
“Well stated. And she is, what you say, lovely. I’ve met her a few times. She’s not from here. The daughter of a business associate of my father from Kobe. We’ll marry after school. And you?”
Akio took the last noodle and handed it to Mineko, who wiggled it over the water, teasing the turtles. She lowered her eyes.
“Just as well. You’ll be designing buildings and skyscrapers.”
“And you will be married to a lovely wife, with lots of children who can’t swim.”
Akio said nothing.
Mineko turned to look at him, certain that he had been chiding her with the skyscraper comment, but saw that he was being perfectly sincere. She was unnerved by his kindness and felt a pang of regret, dropping the last noodle.
Why did she say such a thing? She looked away from Akio, who she figured was flummoxed by her comment. She felt they should leave, immediately. Her mouth always got her into trouble.
“Well, we’re out of noodles. I should be getting back. I have a punishment awaiting me for the swim earlier. And, if anyone saw me after that—” Mineko stood, straightened the skirt of her dress. “Let’s just say I should have saved some of the noodles for my dinner.”
Akio stood and bowed. Mineko did the same.
“Thanks for . . .” but she couldn’t verbalize what she was thanking him for. A nice walk? Helping her feed the turtles?
“I should thank you. The bike, the ghost garden visit, now all this luck . . .”
His voice was kind, not angry with her after all. Mineko looked down at her hands, her jagged nails, her forearms dark from spending time outdoors, away from home. She blushed against her will but looked again at Akio. He was oddly handsome. Skinny, yes, but with a good, broad forehead and shining eyes. There was a gentleness in his smile that reminded her of her father.
“I accept your appreciation. And good luck in school and in that swimming class.”
Akio grimaced.
“Yes, but I’ve heard their way of teaching is rather severe: you must jump into deep water and find your way to the side. But”—he leaned forward a few degrees—“maybe you could teach me to swim. If I learn, I can take a test and then apply for another class.”
Mineko laughed at first. She had taught many of the village children to swim, so she knew how to teach, but Akio was grown. She thought of him in a swimming suit in the water and then felt hot sweat beads quickly pushing themselves through her skin. Would it be a scandal? Scandal or no, her sister would be pale with jealousy for Mineko to be paired up, even in rumors, with someone from such a well-respected family.
Mineko stood a little straighter. “Meet me tomorrow morning at ten. I’ll be at the gate. We can swim here.” She took a step back. She felt that same prickly heat rise from her feet. The breeze had stopped. The turtles seemed to be watching them.
Akio eyed the green water suspiciously.
“It’ll be fine. It really is safe,” Mineko said. “You’ll barely feel the water plants.” Before he could protest, Mineko stepped away. “I need to go— I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Fine, here at your turtle house,” Akio called after Mineko, who was walking quickly away, feeling his eyes on her back. Your turtle house. She turned to bow and then, just beyond the monchu, broke into a childish run.
Mineko arrived for Akio’s first swim lesson early, with a knife that Fumiko had stolen for her from the Kamemoto kitchen. When Mineko had told Fumiko what she was doing, Fumiko vowed silence and, with great sincerity, promised to provide anything that these secret lessons required. Anything, she had said, a breath later, a twitch in her lips, and Mineko had stomped her foot in embarrassment.
Mineko changed into her swim clothes in the great home’s genkan and waded into the water. She tucked a rogue piece of hair back into her swim cap and attached the chin strap. It was a size too small since rubber products had all but disappeared during the war. But to prevent her mother from knowing what she was up to, she felt it necessary to keep her hair as dry as possible. The turtles, seeing her, began to swim closer, but then, spying the bright glint of blade, turned around. The slimy bottom squished between her toes until it became too deep. Mineko had swum in the pond enough to remember where the tallest water plants liked to grow. She didn’t know this Akio well, but she guessed he’d be hesitant to swim where the long, meaty leaves wrapped around ankles. She dove down as far as she could and began to saw at the stems. When she was done, she tossed the plants over the fence and met Akio at the gate, where he was glancing nervously from side to side.
“You could have just come in,” Mineko said. Akio was fully dressed, but Mineko could make out the tank of his bathing costume beneath his shirt. She felt silly, standing there, dripping, and hurried back to the water.
“I was being courteous!” Akio said to her back as she rushed away.
“No need here!”
At the side of the pond Mineko explained to Akio that they would begin with floating and dog paddle. They waded in, Akio moved slowly, arms out like wings for balance. From the way he was walking, Mineko could tell that his feet were sinking into the muck.
“See, it’s the pond’s secret lesson in floating—your feet don’t want to touch the ground, so you’ll be more inclined to learn quickly.”
When they were chest deep, Mineko showed Akio how to pull his legs into a tuck and move his arms for buoyancy. Then she asked him to ride a bicycle in the water, teasing him that at least this bike would never be stolen from him. When he groaned from her joke, Akio swallowed pond water. He coughed and spat it out, and Mineko tried to stifle a laugh.
“Now, we float.” Mineko brought her legs up, arched her back, and put her arms out at her sides. She gracefully moved her arms and stared up at the sky.
“This is an important skill, when your body tires of swimming, you can always float; it uses less energy. Won’t get anywhere, but you won’t drown.”
But Akio was rigid. His body folded and he went under, found his legs, and stood.
“Impossible.”
“No, your body just isn’t used to it. And your brain doesn’t believe that it’s possible. Try again.”
This time, Mineko took a deep breath and placed her fingertips at the small of Akio’s back, keeping him from sinking. He shuddered once. She felt the cobalt-blue wool from his bathing suit, which appeared to be brand-new, the cat-eye button on the shoulder of his tank still shiny.
“Move your arms a little and make sure your back is pushed up a bit. See? Not too difficult.”
“But you’re holding me up.”
Mineko removed her pinkie, so now only four fingers kept Akio afloat.
As Akio adjusted to less assistance, Mineko smiled and nodded. She walked around, gently guiding Akio in a circle like she did for children.
“I feel silly.”
She removed her thumb, and he found his way again.
“I feel like if I do anything, say anything, I’ll sink.”
“You’re talking now. You’re not sinking.”
Mineko walked him slowly into where the hauchiwa kaede trees had begun to shade the edges of the pond. From their vantage, the old house loomed like a giant.
“Was your mother mad last night?” Akio asked.
Mineko nodded. “Yes, but she’s often angry with me. I’m always doing the wrong things. She wants me to stay still and sew, arrange flowers in the parlor.”
“Definitely not sit for engineering exams.” Akio moved a little and then regained his balance in the water.
“Oh no. But I just like to study how things are built. Like that roof over there—how can it hold up the weight of all those tiles? And if you change the angle, does it make it stronger or weaker? I wasn’t asking, of course. But these are the things I think about, and because of it, I’m not very good at—”
