Miyamoto Teru - Rivers

Rivers

Miyamoto Teru

Translated by Roger K. Thomas

and

Ralph McCarthy

Kurodahan Press

2014

Contents

Muddy River

The waters of the Djima and Tosabori Rivers converged to form the Aji River before emptying into a corner of Osaka Bay. Just upstream from where the two rivers merged they were spanned by a pair of bridgesthe Funatsu and the Hatatekura. A streetcar line connected both bridges with the narrow strip of land between them, then turned inland to run parallel to the Tosabori and across Shwa Bridge, which spanned the mouth of a smaller tributary.

Looking toward the bay from inside the old streetcar that lumbered over these bridges, you could see clumps of straw, broken boards, and rotten fruit floating in a lazy current the color of yellow ochre. This wide stretch of water, though known as the Aji River, was really the domain of the sea, with countless cargo ships squeezed together along its warehouse-lined banks. Upstream, the Djima and Tosabori were bordered by rows of little houses that stretched all the way to the business districts downtown.

The occupants of these houses were rarely conscious of living near the sea. Flanked by rivers and bridges and assaulted continuously by the clatter of streetcars and the roar of three-wheeled motorbikes, they had little to remind them of the proximity of Osaka Bay. It was only when a spring tide pushed the rivers back, wafting a scent of salt water into the air as wavelets lapped at the houses foundations, that they remembered how close the sea really was.

Small steam-driven tugboats plied the rivers all day, pulling long wooden barges behind them. Though the tugs bore pretentious names River God, Thunder King , and what have youthey looked like nothing more than undersized, primitive arks; and their flimsy hulls, covered with coat upon coat of flaking paint, spoke plainly of the poverty of the men who owned them. Emerging halfway from his cramped cabin with a strangely dauntless look in his eye, the captain of a river tug would glare at the fishermen on a bridge his boat was approaching, and they would hurriedly reel in their lines and move aside.

In summer the fishermen favored Shwa Bridge for the shade its big arched girders provided. On hot, sunny days, the shadiest section would be packed not only with fishermen but a babbling crowd of passersby who had stopped to watch them or to gaze vacantly at the tugboats that huffed through the golden haze rising from the river. From here you could see, at the foot of Hatatekura Bridge on the far bank of the Tosabori, the Yanagi Noodle Shop.

Ill be buying a truck next month, Nobu-chan, so maybe Ill give you this horse. How would that be?

Really? Youll really give him to me?

The summer sun pouring through the open doorway of the shop cast a halo of light around the man. He was a regular customer. Each afternoon, after leading his horse-drawn cart over Hatatekura Bridge and before tackling the somewhat steeper Funatsu Bridge, he would stop at the noodle shop. There he would eat the lunch hed brought with him, finishing it off with a bowl of flavored ice while the horse waited quietly just outside.

Nobuo went to stand next to his father, Shinpei, who was roasting red bean cakes over the stove.

He said I can have his horse!

The boys mother, Sadako, was pouring syrup over a bowl of shaved ice. She gave him a look, then turned to the man. Like father, like son, she said. Neither one knows when hes being kidded.

The horse chimed in with a rare whinny.

Though the number of automobiles in Osaka was increasing rapidly in 1955, horse-drawn carts were still a common sight on the streets.

Weve had a dog, a cat, and three baby chicks in this house. Nobuos father is even crazier about critters than he is. Look at him. Ill bet you right now hes thinking a horse might not be such a bad idea.

The man laughed out loud.

Mothers the one who doesnt know when shes being kidded. Right, Nobu-chan? Shinpei placed a roasted cake in his sons hand. Nobuo gave him a pout, tucking in his chin and raising his eyebrows.

This is all I ever get, he said. Cant I have an ice?

You dont want it, dont eat it. Youre not getting any ice.

Nobuo hastily stuffed the cake in his mouth, inwardly shouting the words hed once heard his mother say: Nobody wants red bean cakes in summer! Whos going to buy them?

Hey! Scowling, Sadako stepped outside and wagged a finger at the horse. Thats no place for you to be pooping! The horse was leaving a memento there in the street, as it did almost every day. The man called out a sheepish apology, then beckoned to Nobuo.

Bring a spoon over here. Ill give you half of my ice.

Nobuo and the man sat across from each other and ate from the same bowl. As he ate, Nobuo stole furtive glances at the burn scars on the mans face. Not much remained of his left ear, which looked as if it had melted away. He wanted to ask what had happened to that ear, but every time he thought of doing so his heart would begin to pound.

Ten years since the war ended. Theres a limit to how much you can make with a horse and cart these days in a city like Osaka.

So youre really going to buy a truck? Shinpei sat down next to the man.

Secondhand. No way I can afford a new one.

New or used, a trucks a truck. You deserve it too. Youve worked hard.

The one whos worked hard is that horse. And not a single complaint out of him all these years.

Shinpei opened a bottle of beer and set it down in front of the man. This ones on me, he said. Congratulations.

The man thanked him, beaming, and took a swig.

Even after you get your truck, youll drop by once in a while, wont you? You were our very first customer here, you know.

Thats right. This neighborhood was still mostly bombed-out ruins back then, remember?

A strawberry-flavored chill shot straight to the core of Nobuos brain. With the spoon still in his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering and squirming in his chair.

Thats what you get for eating it so fast, said Shinpei, wiping the boys mouth with the palm of his own hand.

The man turned to Sadako, who was out front sweeping up the horses droppings. Nobuo was still in his mothers tummy back then.

Yes, we go back a long time, dont we? Sadako said. She lifted a bucket of water for the horse and added, You too, old fella.

The sound of the horse drinking merged in the muggy air of the shop with the far-off rumble of a river tug.

And to think I was dead once, the man muttered. He paused and sighed before going on.

I really did die one time, you know. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sliding down, down, down into pitch darkness. And then, all of a sudden, something like a butterfly flew up right in front of my eyes. I reached out to grab it, and the moment I did that, I came back to life. Id been gone for five minutesno breath, no pulse, nothing. Thats what the officer said who was holding me the whole time. Some people say that when you die, everything just ends, but Im here to tell you its not true.

War. I guess weve all had enough of that crap, eh?

One of these days some fool will get bored and start another one, just wait and see.

The man stood up, saying he was heading down to Utajima Bridge, near the mouth of the Aji. He was in high spirits.

Weve got a big load today. I just hope we can make it over this bridge all right.

It was sweltering outside. The gleaming streetcar rails on Funatsu Bridge seemed to sizzle in the sunlight.