Dark Flowers, 1955
by Kishaba Jun (1934—)
Story Eds. Note: Kishaba Jun, whose real name is Kishaba Ch?jun, was born in Naha. “Dark Flowers" (Kurai hana) appeared in a 1955 issue of Ry?dai bungaku (University of the Ryukyus literature), an activist student literary magazine. The following year the story was reprinted in "Shin Nihon bungaku," a national circulation monthly also known for its political radicalism. Set during the Korean War (1950-1953), “Dark Flowers" shows how American racial prejudices were adopted by Okinawans during the U.S. occupation. It takes place at least two years after President Truman ordered the U.S. armed forces to desegregate in 1948. The military dragged its feet on desegregation, however, maintaining virtually all-black units as late as the Korean War. In Okinawa, discrimination among Americans, though now theoretically illegal, was still conspicuous on and off base. For African American soldiers, it meant slower promotions, menial military jobs, and even separate, shabbier bars in the G.I. “amusement areas" of towns near the larger bases. The Korean War led to rapid economic expansion in both mainland Japan and Okinawa, but in Okinawa the benefits were more closely linked to military bases and the surrounding towns. Sudden proliferations of prostitution and other "entertainment" enterprises were among the resulting economic distortions of this "boom." The U.S. base expansion policy also brought devastating losses and hardships to many Okinawans. Depicted in this story are the U.S. government seizures—often at gunpoint and amid mass arrests—of privately owned farmlands on which the military built or expanded its bases...Since money is central to the story, it is helpful to know that before 1958, Occupation authorities in Okinawa issued a “B-yen" currency that was not usable in Japan. Then, in September of that year, American authorities switched Okinawa's currency to U.S. dollars, which remained the official medium of exchange until the Occupation finally ended in 1972. With Okinawa's reversion to Japan, U.S. dollars were converted to Japanese yen, which again became the local currency for the first time since 1945. Yet even today in some areas around U.S. military bases, businesses such as taxis and bars will accept dollars for payment. And there are still bars and restaurants that print menus only in English and list prices in dollars. The town identified in the story by the letter "K" is almost certainly K?za, notorious for its many G.I. bars and brothels.
By the time Nobuko opened her eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. Through holes in the closed shutters streamed rays of sunlight swirling with tiny particles like bluish smoke. She lay on her stomach between the dirty sheets covering the steel-frame bed and took a deep drag from a menthol cigarette. Something weighed heavily inside her numbed brain. Not only that, she felt like throwing up. These days even a headache was hard for her to bear. Nobuko was exhausted. The night before, she and Joe had drunk too much. Joe's black skin, big, broad shoulders, and flattened nose made him look like a prizefighter, but he had a gentle, easygoing nature. "Joe, buy me a good pair of shoes, will ya? The cheap ones wear out too fast." "Whew." Joe narrowed his eyes without answering. Nobuko didn't really want a pair of shoes. What worried her was how little remained of the three thousand yen she'd gotten from Joe a week before to cover this month's food and rent. Now there was no way she could bring the two thousand yen her mother always pestered her for whenever she went home to the countryside. "Nobuko, all you talk about is money. Money, money, money. I give you my whole pay. But, well, I guess we can get the shoes. Payday comes pretty soon now, so no sweat." Joe put his arms around Nobuko's shoulders, pulling her into his lap, and pressed a glass of booze to her lips. "No, don't." She fled from his black hands—those hands like polished satin. Moving away, she reached down to grasp a leg of the bed, then stared back at him. Joe's eyes were filled with the guileless disappointment of a child who had been teased. It made Nobuko angry to think that probably all Joe needed from her was her body. He pretended not to care about money, but was such generosity just part of his easygoing nature? No, there was more to it. Underneath she could smell the pungent odor of that superiority complex exuded by these men. She admitted to herself that there was something corrupt about what she was doing. But she felt that in the end, no matter what she talked about or did with them, her relationship with these men always degenerated into one between the strong and the weak. For them, she thought, a woman was just "my pet" and nothing more. Yet for some strange reason, she didn't feel this way so much with Joe. "Michik? gets five thousand yen," Nobuko had wanted to tell him, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Her close friend Michik?, who also came from Y Village in the southern part of Okinawa, was the mistress of a white man. "Why are you crying, Nobuko? You know I love you. Let's go see a movie in K Town tomorrow. And I'll buy you those shoes." Joe kissed her cheek, which jutted out sharply on her gaunt, bony face. He put his arms around her—she had now sobered up—and lay down with her on the bed. Then, just as always when he'd been drinking, Joe hunched up his shoulders and, in the husky voice of a man whispering to his lover, talked with his eyes closed and his hands waving about a girl who worked in a bar at a port in Mississippi. She was plump but beautiful, he said, and as soon as this war was over, he was going back to ask her to marry him. "Is your darling the same color as you?" Nobuko wanted to ask him, but cut off her words. When she first met Joe, Nobuko had no idea where Mississippi was; if the people there were poor and unable to find work, like people here in Okinawa; or if, even without jobs, they could still eat. But after hearing him talk all the time about his life there, she had figured out that he was a dockworker. She listened drowsily now as he hummed a song. His humming echoed in the stifling air that hung in that dark room where, for Nobuko, the alarm clock seemed to stop ticking and the clock face seemed to drift out over the straw floor mats. In his song she heard the sadness of people who were resigned to hardship but determined to endure it-a sadness that refused to succumb to despair. She wondered if Joe had learned this song from his father while picking cotton in the fields or from his coworkers on the docks in Mississippi.
Nobuko knew she couldn't go home to her family today. Before that, she would have to borrow some money from Michik?. Nobuko had been expecting her mother, Uto, to visit, but she hadn't come for the past two months. Whenever she visited, Uto always asked Nobuko for money. Then last week Nobuko had gotten a letter from her younger brother, Shinkichi, explaining that Uto couldn't travel because she'd been sick in bed for some time and asking Nobuko to come home for a visit instead. Nobuko knew this meant that she was supposed to bring money with her. Nobuko ground out her cigarette on a dessert plate and buried her face in a pillow as her tears began to flow. She didn't know herself why she was crying. Then she crawled out of bed, lifted the teapot to her lips to gulp down some water, and peeked at herself in the mirror adorned with the photograph of a famous baseball player. She was an ugly sight.
She tried pushing up the drooping strands of her reddish brown hair, but now she could see the black splotches dotting the chafed skin on her face, which looked gaunt and haggard with its protruding cheekbones. A lump like a man's Adam's apple bulging from her scrawny neck made her look all the more weary and emaciated. Suddenly, terror ripped through her like a stone ax. "Could I have gotten..." Afraid to say the name of the disease, Nobuko hurriedly flipped the mirror over, facedown, and stared anxiously into space. As she pressed both hands to her chest, her fingers made a cracking sound. Hers were the bony hands of a farm girl, hands that still carried the smell of the soil. She wondered if the lungs beneath her breasts had collapsed, leaving an empty cavity. The noises that echoed from her chest when she tapped it with her fingers sounded pathetically hollow. Now she thought that quite possibly the fatigue in her leg joints, the excess of phlegm in her throat, the pain in her hips, and her lack of appetite could all be symptoms of that illness. When Nobuko opened the shutters, the late-morning sunlight on this October day came glaring in. Across the road, a giant gasoline tank stood on a hill surrounded by a wide green carpet of grass. Long rows of white barracks, separated by spacious lawns, stretched northward along the seacoast all the way to the end of the cape. The rays of bright sunlight reflecting in the barracks windows made her aware of how hot it was today. Nobuko decided she would visit Michik? first, then go to K Town in the afternoon. Back when Michik? had a job as a housemaid, she had been raped by the man she worked for, but unable to decide where to go next, she ended up living with him for about a year and a half in N City. The man then left her with a red-haired daughter and returned to America. Michik? put the child in her parents' care for the time being and about three months ago began renting a room not far from Nobuko.
To get to Michik?'s room, Nobuko had to walk along the asphalt military highway, turn at the corner gas station, go down a gravel road lined on both sides with tire repair shops, car washes, and other stores, then walk in the direction of the seacoast along narrow footpaths between rice paddies. Here and there among the paddies were rows of brand-new houses, built on gravel landfills, with gleaming red-tile roofs. It made for a weird landscape. These houses, with their fancy roofs, stood in the marshes, paddies, and potato fields dotted with old tree stumps. They were owned by farmers who had moved here after being forced to give up their lands to "protect freedom from its enemies." It was the third time these farmers had been resettled. They were, without a doubt, fine houses. But by this time none of the farmers, who'd been relocated here in this forced migration, were living inside. Instead, they lived in tin-roof shacks that had been built onto the kitchens or put up in the backyards. The interiors of these "fine houses" had been partitioned into eight-by-eight-foot private rooms where yellowed bras and dresses in many colors now hung outside the windows, fluttering in the wind. At night these "fine houses" became bars and cabarets. Since the shutters on Michik?'s window were closed, Nobuko thought she was probably still asleep. "Mit-chan. Mit-chan.” Nobuko knocked two or three times, but no sound came from inside. Embarrassed to find that the door was locked, she smiled wryly. Just then someone turned off the music, an old popular song, that had been coming from the window opposite Michik?'s, and a woman poked her head outside. It was Saako. "You know where Mit-than went?" "Yeah. Come on in, Nobu-chan." Saako smiled at Nobuko but seemed to be looking not at her, but up at the small shiisaa statue of a guardian lion perched on the roof of the house. This was because Saako was cross-eyed.
"If you come in, I'll tell you where Mit-chan went. And there's coffee ready, too. I get so lonely being here all by myself." Leaning out of her window as she spoke, Saako seemed to be begging Nobuko to come in. Nobuko hated talking about anything personal with other people and really wanted nothing to do with Saako. But Michik? was out, so Nobuko couldn't ask her for the money, and she certainly didn't feel like going back to her room. Nobuko sat down beside Saako on the bed. All the cups left on Saako's small mirror stand were filled with cigarette butts, and the corners of her room were littered with banana and mandarin-orange peels. "About Michik?" Saako began. "Harris came to pick her up this morning. She told me they were going swimming at N Beach. She made such a fuss last night about borrowing a bathing suit. Mine was way too big on her, she said. Made her breasts look flat. Ha, ha, ha!" Saako laughed alone at this.
"But N Beach is only for foreigners. It'd be too bad for Michik? if
they wouldn't let her in." Nobuko paused. "Still, she seems to be making a nice living these days." "That's the most dangerous time,”said Saako. "Cause you never know how long it'll last.” Saako handed Nobuko a cup of coffee. Then, peering intently at Nobuko, she put her hand up in front of Nobuko's face as if to say that what she was about to tell her should go no further. "Look, I bought a ring. This one's real expensive"
"What do you need a ring for? You getting married?"
"No, it's an investment For my future."
They both gazed silently at the ruby ring. She had tried to make fun of Saako, but that word "investment" struck pain deep in Nobuko's heart. She wondered how long into the future her own dark and hopeless existence would drag on, and why she had to live this way. All she could think of was that it was because of her father's death, or the fault of the war. Later, on her way home, she regretted having talked to Saako.>"I'm going to America, y' know. I already got my family registration certificate and put in for a visa. Don't you think I can make a living over there one way or another?" Saako's voice with its thick southern Ryukyus accent and her smiling face with its crossed eyes had begun to grate on Nobuko.
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K was the main business district in the middle part of Okinawa Island. It had the shabby postwar look of a town born and grown up along the military highway that ran through it from north to south. Its streets were lined with a jumble of souvenir shops, movie theaters, foreign import-export companies, bars, game centers, vendors' stalls, and brothels—all fronted with signs written in English. Hidden behind its neat, modern buildings were countless one-story shacks. Clusters of men and women with various skin colors spilled outside onto the streets. Standing next to a bench in front of a restaurant, a boy with a G.I. haircut chewed sticks of gum one after another, spitting out the leftover wads. He was clapping his hands as he peered into a barbershop where a woman, whose low-cut blouse didn't quite cover her breasts, could be seen reflected in the mirror as she sat in the barber chair. K Town looked impressive on the surface, but it was missing the lively humming of machine belts from a lumberyard and the bustle of men in oil-spotted work clothes. Instead, a stale odor of corruption and listlessness hung heavy in the air. Nobuko constantly watched her step as she walked awkwardly, staying close behind Joe. She wore an orange two-piece dress and a blue kerchief tied around her neck, making her look just like a turkey on its way to someone as a gift. Joe, worried about the way she was walking, reached out to take her hand, but she refused. Though still concerned about her, he now smiled wryly. Then, just as they turned off the pavement, Nobuko lost her balance and tumbled down, twisting her ankle. Joe roared with laughter, showing the whites of his eyes and his white teeth, then quickly bent over and took her hand gently. To Nobuko, he looked just like the old chef with the white cook's hat that she had seen in magazine ads, and, though angry, she was now smiling wryly herself. At the movie theater the newsreel was just ending, and the audience was packed with G.I.s and their girlfriends. "Doesn't my Tony look like Gregory Peck?" "Maybe a little. But his eyes are different.”
"Hey, isn't that Toyoko sitting next to the post over there?"
"It couldn't be. I heard she was in Central Hospital." "Her lungs again?"
"She must've had a relapse."
The girls next to her were talking, but Nobuko kept noisily munching her cookies as she gazed listlessly at the coming attractions. Then the movie started, and the talking stopped. Joe held Nobuko's hand.
On the screen, white people were riding in a convoy of covered , wagons heading west. Leading the settlers was Gregory Peck. One day they were visited by a miner and a pretty bar hostess who the women in the covered wagons glared at disapprovingly. Later, the two men fought, and Peck ended up killing the miner and taking his woman. But there was worse trouble ahead for the settlers. First, they had to cross the wide, rugged prairie; second, a tribe of Indians living on the plains, who were determined to defend their homeland, vowed not to let the settlers set foot on it. Now it became the primary mission of the men in the convoy to attack at dawn and get rid of the Indians. Peck, their courageous leader, rode alone into the Indian fortress, and in the true pioneer spirit, with arrows flying all around him, he shot hordes of Indians dead, beat others to death with the butt of his gun, and almost single-handedly annihilated the tribe. After this, the covered wagons proceeded to their destination of richly fertile lands where, against a backdrop of lush green fields, Peck and the bar hostess kissed so long they probably should have suffocated, and the women in the covered wagons offered their blessings to the happy couple. With that, the movie ended. Why did the Indians have to be massacred, Nobuko asked herself. It had filled her with anger to see them desperately defending their homeland as old Indian women died in terror, young Indian men tumbled to their deaths from cliffs, and camera close-ups showed the faces of men trampled to death after falling from their horses. Why would Indians ever agree to perform in such a film, she wondered. The whole thing made her sick. Walking away from the wide street where the lights had just come on, Joe and Nobuko turned into a narrow alley and entered a drab little bar where the sign in front said "Swan" in English. Inside, men the same color as Joe sat at the counter in the narrow barroom, joking with five or six bar hostesses. "Hey, Joe. Where you been? That's a real pretty woman you got there."
"Sure is. That body looks like a gorgeous turkey, doesn't it? And she's got beautiful eyes, too. But she cries a whole lot. Always drags herself around moping, like a snake. She never laughs." Joe bent over to kiss Nobuko in front of his buddies. Ignoring them, she sat sipping her beer in silence, so they soon went back to bantering with the hostesses, and the laughter never stopped.
On the way back, Joe and Nobuko parted in front of his military base. Then, walking alone, she again recalled the faces of the Indian men in the movie. They brought back a horrible memory. It had been a sweltering dawn in mid-July when she witnessed this brutal scene. Just before sunrise, across the military highway from her room, she'd seen the faces of men and women huddled together, trembling with rage. They had just been dragged outside the barbed-wire fence that now surrounded their land, and the young men among them were being arrested. She had seen it with her own eyes. And she could still hear the endless clanging of an alarm bell at dawn as everything these people owned was being taken from them.>"Gregory Peck, ‘Mr. Handsome.' Hah! What a fraud," Nobuko grumbled to herself. As she passed in front of the gas station, she decided to visit her family the next day, no matter what. Then, recalling the silent treatment she always got from the villagers, a vague fear seized her. This had been the real reason she'd put off going home.
Anyway, now she'd be able to see her younger brother, Shinkichi, the person she was most fond of in this world. Though not yet twenty, Shinkichi had broad, powerful shoulders.
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Bounced and jolted for the hour-long bus ride, Nobuko finally reached the countryside she hadn't seen in six months. The bus bumped along gravel roads through the poor villages of southern Okinawa, which were planted with sugarcane and smelled of mud. She got off at the bus stop beside a ditch just outside her village. As the sun set behind a hill, reddish brown rays from the glowing sky poured down onto the susuki grass that looked like it was burning in Tarumui Forest. From here it was twenty minutes to her village. Nobuko thought about taking the path along the ditch but set off through the forest instead. She didn't want to meet up with anyone, afraid that the villagers would start talking about her. The susuki grass grew high and thick on both sides of the path, which ran along a mountain ridge through Tarumui Forest and down toward the back of her village. Here and there on the mountainside were large Indian almond trees, newly dug grave mounds, and turtleback tombs with their doors open.
The war had once denuded this forest, shamelessly exposing the barren red soil. Gone for some time after that was the sharp smell of resin that drifts from the thick groves of red pines, which stay dark even during the day. Nor was there any sign of the red-bellied water lizards that hide lazily in the grassy shade. The roofless stone graves that had been used for storing guns when Nobuko was a child were covered now with susuki grass. After passing the point where the dirt path turned into thick, slimy mud, Nobuko slipped several times in clumps of cow manure. In the lingering twilight, she peered down through a grove of acacia evergreens and saw the narrow, one-story elementary school that looked like a centipede crawling under its thatched roof. A jet fighter roared overhead, then streaked out of sight. Turning right as she headed down the slope, Nobuko finally came to the western edge of the village and felt relieved to see the familiar row of houses across the river.
At last, she reached the dirt floor entranceway of her family's home. The light coming from the kerosene lamp inside was veiled in thick, sooty smoke from the oven, and the silent house seemed deserted.
"Mom. Are you home?" Nobuko waited, but there was no answer. White steam drifted from potatoes boiling in a pot. She put down her woven-bamboo handbag, along with her wrapping-cloth bundle, on the dirt floor of the entranceway, then grabbed a pair of rubber sandals and headed outside to the well. All at once she caught a glimpse of something black moving in the darkness behind the goat shed, but when she turned to look, it had stopped. "Who's there? Yukio?" Now she spotted Yukio just as he started to run away.
"Yukio! What are you doing out there in the dark? Where's Shinkichi and Mom?" Nobuko's bony face broke into a warm smile as she called out to him, but Yukio just stared back at her in silence. His rust-colored face wore a tense expression as he busily filled a bamboo basket, putting in and taking out artillery shell fragments, torn pieces of wire mesh, empty cans, and other items, in order to measure the day's harvest of scrap metal. Later, as Nobuko was ladling soup from the pot and pouring the leftover potatoes into a bamboo basket, her mother and Tamiko arrived home carrying large bundles of dried susuki grass on their heads. They were soon followed by Shinkichi carrying a sack on his back filled with feed grass for the goats.
"How're you doing, Nobuko?" asked Mom. "Did you get the day off work?"
"Yeah;" Nobuko answered. Uto used the word "work" because the truth about Nobuko was supposed to be a secret from Yukio and Tamiko. But, being sensitive children, they already knew about her. Yukio had even been skipping school lately because he hated being called "the whore's little brother."
"How're things going?"
"Well, you know, this house is getting eaten up by termites. And old man Maeda says we have to replace the beams 'cause they won't last through the next typhoon. Of course, he wants the money up front." "Uh-huh. And how's the cane doing? There're not supposed to be any more typhoons this year, so it should be a bumper crop. Right, Shinkichi?"
"A `bumper crop?' Hah! On this teeny-weeny plot? Then we have to pay all that money to the farm co-op for fertilizer. And, on top of that, there's the..." "Aw, cut it out, Mom," said Shinkichi as he looked up at his older sister's bony cheeks. Nobuko couldn't remember when Uto had become such a complainer. Looking at her mother's drawn and sallow face, Nobuko thought for sure that Uto's illness must be either heart disease or hookworm. From her handbag Nobuko took out her purse and placed two bills on Uto's lap. Uto snatched them up, then stuffed them inside her kimono.
"Thanks, Nobuko."
Nobuko didn't tell Uto that this was money she had borrowed from Michik?.
Supper that night was potato soup flavored with canned sardines. At this rare gathering of the whole family, Shinkichi tried joking to cheer everyone up, but the laughter didn't last. Nobuko just kept sipping her soup and said nothing. "Well, I guess you'll be staying the night."
Uto's barely mumbled words made Nobuko feel like a pebble that had been flung into a quiet pond, an intruder who had disturbed the tranquil, if somber, waters of this household. Uto had obviously meant that, in this house, Nobuko's presence was a problem. Shinkichi looked sad now as he gazed again at his sister's gaunt face with its protruding cheekbones. He wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what.
When supper was over, Shinkichi took some books with torn covers and a stack of mimeographed pamphlets out from the cabinet housing the family's Buddhist altar, stuffed them under his arm, and stepped down into the dirt-floor entranceway where he slipped into a pair of sandals.
"Kichi, you better not go. That's no place for a kid. Maybe it's all right for Tat-chan at the store. But you'll just get chewed out again by old man Maeda." "Hey, maybe I'm just a kid, but my teacher at school is young, too, and he's got some good ideas. Tat-chan's organized a reading circle at the store, and we're doing this book called The New Farm Village."
Shinkichi had turned shyly toward Nobuko but spoke with pride before disappearing into the darkness outside.
"They're always blabbing about `organizing' and `unions.' It's stupid if you ask me. Once a dirt farmer, always a dirt farmer. Old man Maeda told me they're just gonna get themselves in trouble."
Uto spoke with a look of uncomprehending despair in her eyes as she stared into the space Shinkichi had just left. Never one to mince words, her overbearing bluntness reflected the wily instinct for self-preservation of a woman who had been born and raised in poverty. That night she talked to Nobuko about what had happened recently in the village, but when she had exhausted this topic, she began to repeat over and over again in a weak and pleading voice how hard it was these days to find scrap metal. By now Yukio and Tamiko were asleep.
Nobuko knew it was time for her to leave. "You take care of yourself, now." Uto had come out as far as the front gate to see her daughter off, and, though Nobuko tried to refuse them, Uto stuffed some pieces of brown-sugar candy wrapped in newspaper into her hand. The night was so quiet out here in the country.
At Tat-chan's store the shutters were closed, but Nobuko could hear voices inside. It was easy to recognize Tat-chan's voice, which carried over everyone else's. She imagined Shinkichi gazing in wonder and surprise as he listened to what the others were saying. Turning the corner at Tat-chan's store, Nobuko came to a long hedge of hibiscus plants. She couldn't distinguish the blossoms from the leaves. Nobuko remembered when, as a child, she and Tat-chan were playing house. Pretending to be "the bride;' she had adorned her short hair with hibiscus flowers. Tat-chan's grandmother discovered them and gave the children a severe scolding, although Nobuko had no idea why. Crying bitterly, she ran home. Ever since then, Nobuko vaguely feared these red flowers. From their stamens oozed a sticky slime, and they had a dark aura about them. Were they, as Tat-chan's grandmother claimed, flowers for the dead, flowers of sadness?
According to what she had told them, these associations went back to ancient times during consecutive years of famine and plague. Farmers were not only assessed heavy yearly tributes on their crops, but were also drafted from districts far and near as forced labor to build the king's castle at Shuri. Day after day they marched in long columns, dragging logs and stones, and many died from starvation and sunstroke. There were horrible scenes of death. Under the relentless gaze of bailiffs, the farmers, nearly dead from exhaustion, collapsed in the shade of trees beside the road to give their bodies a brief rest. At such times they must have noticed these dark flowers blooming in the shrubbery.
Perhaps these shabby dark flowers reminded the farmers of their suffering. Oppressed and impoverished, they might have felt toward these poor, dark flowers a kind of communion and, at the same time, a repulsion that came from their own self-loathing.
Passing the hibiscus hedge, Nobuko turned onto a street leading to the path beside the ditch. In her mind's eye, the shabby town where she rented a room seemed to close in on her. But her vision of this worn-out town crawling under the sunlight, where she had to live, contrasted with a second vision of the impoverished little farm village where Shinkichi was determined to start a vigorous new life. The two images came into sharp focus as she remembered the many nights she had suffered in silence and anger.
She wanted to weep, to cry out loud. But, no. She resolved, instead, to fight what was hateful to her with everything she had, and, like Joe, to celebrate what made her happy with a joyful smile.
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Reference
Jun, Kishaba. "Dark Flowers." Southern Exposure: Modern Japanese Literature from Okinawa. Eds. Michael Molasky and Steve Rabson. Trans. Steve Rabson. Honolulu: U of Hawaii Press, 2000, pp. 97-111.
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