Mother - Chapter 3.1

3

I’ve decided I don’t like Miiko.

Not only does she wake us up by yelling outside our house, demanding we get to work, she does it before the sun has even risen. My eyes open to see . . . nothing. Pitch-black.

“There’s no time to waste,” she calls, sharp voice penetrating the rice-paper walls of our minka house. I groan, burying my head under my blanket. Who wakes up this early?

Oof! A sudden weight lands on my stomach. “Miiko needs us!”

“Get off, mutant!” I hiss, shoving Conrad away. He bounces over me, lands on his feet and patters toward the entrance chamber. I hear the front door scrape open, and then—

“Oh! Well, that’s a nice cuddle,” says Miiko. She sounds painfully uncomfortable. Good. That’s what you get for waking him.

I wait for my eyes to adjust, listening to Father’s laboured breathing, then venture into the entrance chamber. My boots are frozen, but I force them on and join the others outside, keeping my left arm tucked to my side. My shirt is thick, but even the smallest amount of blue light shining through the fabric will be a beacon in the dead of night.

Miiko glares at me, withered skin golden and shimmering. She’s holding another andon lamp, which Conrad is stroking. For some reason.

“Good morning?” she asks, as if prompting me to greet her. Can people use the word ‘morning’ if the sun has yet to arrive? I glance to the east. The valley’s peak barely has an orange backdrop.

“Okay.” I reply. It’s the best I can do. Morning is for eggs and grilled fish. Reading a newspaper. Not standing in the spring chill, waiting to start a day of labour.

She stares me down. I shrug.

“Follow,” she says, and heads towards the bridge. I immediately regret my attitude when I remember her conversation with Father yesterday. I won’t be able to snoop around and ask questions if she thinks I’m a rude, uncivilized city kid.

“Can I carry your lamp?” I offer. Damage control. Well, that, and she’s severely hunch-backed. The lamp must be weighing her down. She swings it to me without a word.

I bat Conrad’s hand away from the lamp and follow Miiko. Over my shoulder I hear him huff. “But the genie . . .”

Miiko leads us to the opposite bank and around her minka, where there is a large plot of flooded land. Rice seedlings poke from the murky water, clustered like wild grass.

“Remove your boots, children.”

“You want us to go in there?” I say, dreading the water's temperature.

“The seedlings will not pluck themselves.”

Oh, great. She’s a comedian. I set the lamp down on the edge of the field and discard my boots. Conrad is already stepping into the rice nursery, careful he doesn’t trample a single seedling.

“I suppose you have no experience,” Miiko says. It isn’t a question. The assumption irks me.

“I’ve read all about the cultivation of rice,” I say, hoping to catch her off guard. I need to impress her, otherwise I’ll never find out what she and Father were discussing. After stepping into the nursery and ignoring the frigid water, I grab the tips of some seedlings and pull. Half of them snap in my hands.

“Reading and doing are two different things,” Miiko says, triggering a rush of embarrassment throughout my body. “Watch your brother demonstrate.”

Conrad already has a wad of plucked seedlings in his hand. With the other, he gathers a new bunch at the root and very gently drags towards himself, easing them out of the soil and water. He joins the two clumps and pats the roots so they even up. Miiko passes him a band so he can tie the bunch and set it down.

Show off.

“I will wake the others,” Miiko says, dropping a white fabric bag. It contains more bands. Hundreds. I wonder how long she expects us to work, and if she will contribute herself. Then I realise her back issues might stem from a lifetime of farming rice. She’s dedicated her life to this, and probably doesn’t have much to show for it, other than being shaped like a boomerang.

#

Sure enough, within minutes we hear Miiko yelling others awake. I recall several minka houses along the road, and hope there are enough farmers to make the job go quicker.

Conrad and I have created a heap of seedling bunches. His are even, tidy. Mine are bigger. I can hold more seedlings in one hand before having to tie them off.

Occasionally I catch a shimmer through my shirt. When Conrad isn’t looking, I pull back my sleeve and smear wet soil over the symbols. There’s a momentary flash of blue, but by the time Conrad glances over his shoulder, I’ve returned to farming.

A soft spludge from behind. An elderly man ambles into the area we've cleared. My stomach drops—did he see the symbols? From the glow of the lamp, I notice his shabby clothing and tired face. His brown eyes are tinged with a sadness I’ve never seen before. I breathe a sigh of relief; he doesn’t look surprised, as if he’d seen something completely insane. That would be difficult to hide.

“Hello, my name is Henrik,” I say, voice even, cool. Nothing to see here.

The old man completely ignores me. He pulls some bands over his wrist and gets to work beside Conrad.

“Mr Tanaka does not speak,” says Miiko, halting at the field’s edge. I remember his gloomy expression and wonder the reason for his mutism.

Five others trail into the glow of the lamp. They immediately remove their footwear and enter the puddled field. They each look a similar age to Miiko, with clothes as worn down as Mr Tanaka’s. Their eyes even have the same aura of despair.

“That’s it?” I ask, looking around Miiko, expecting more people, children, anyone. “Where’s everyone else?”

“These are the farmers of Shinpi,” says Miiko, confused by my question. “Please resume your duties.”

Something isn’t adding up. There’s half a dozen minka houses other than our own, yet only as many farmers? Does anyone have a family? Children?

I catch Mr Tanaka peering at me, sullen eyes reflecting the yellow glow of the andon lamp.