1 Issei

"All heaven and earth

Flowered white obliterate

snow … unceasing snow"

-Hashin

The sun. The sun was so hot, pounding ruthlessly, digging fiercely into his back. Claws, long sharp white rays of fire, burning him. Picking under his scalp, attracted by the pure ink-black of his hair.

The strawberries before him seemed to multiply endlessly. As he picked and picked, cursing himself whenever he crushed one between his fingers - sticky fructose slippery and pink down his palm and arm bursting sweetness - the strawberries seemed to multiply. Each new one became two then four then eight and on and on. His eyes became hazy. He stood up, best he could, and glanced out towards the bright blue sky and the hazy clouds. He thought suddenly of his mother's kimono, and its soft fabric. It was just that color, with swirling clouds crawling down the sleeves. He licked his lips, tasting blood where they had cracked from the heat and dryness. Maybe, maybe if he focused hard enough he would no longer be an ocean away from home. If he shut his eyes he would fall into her arms, held, and everything would reverse. The boat ride, cruel storms, the searching and searching for somewhere he could get employed. The promise he would find his friends here, somewhere, and maybe his family too. All of it seemed fruitless out in the strawberry field.

His knees, already crouched amid the long thin leaves, buckled. They dropped him to the floor, giving up and admitting defeat against the heat.

The dirt felt profoundly soft.

. . .

When he came to, no longer on the dirt, he saw the field owner's face above him. Except, not quite. The face was far younger and softer. A piece of the sky caught around both pupils stared at him, a hand touched his shoulder.

"Hey, hey. It's ok, Mr... what's his name?"

"Kiku, I think." A woman's voice. "Not that you need a 'Mr' in there."

"Hey, Kiku! Wake up, it's ok. Looks like you had a bit of heat sickness. Sit up, I got water."

"You really shouldn't baby him."

"I'm being a decent human, or is that gone away since I left home?"

"Alfred…"

Kiku felt the curve of a glass caress his lips. He felt the water go down his throat, cool as ice. He felt how sweaty he was, now that it had gone cold in the shade. As he blinked his eyes back into focus, he saw the man he thought to be the field owner in better clarity. It was not him at all, but a young man with similar enough features. Who was this? He wasn't here in the past week Kiku had been working on Jones' Hill. Kiku didn't understand a word of what was being said to him, only that he was being talked about. The young man had sat down on the edge of the bed Kiku had somehow been brought to. He was gesticulating to a woman standing off to the side. Was that his mother?

Kiku looked between them, trying to deduce with only body language. Americans kept surprising him with how different they were!

No, Kiku didn't think this was his mother. The woman had eyes of stone for the young man, and the man's eyes held no love back. Maybe another servant? But no, she was dressed too well for that. And she was too fair, to blond and false curls and severe angles to be someone like that. Kiku held the cup tightly in his hands, worried it might crack from his nervousness.

"Your father would be infuriated!" The woman yelped. Kiku understood "father". Ah, so this young man must be the son of the field owner.

The field owner.

Kiku felt his heart began to crack. What will happen then? He won't be allowed to work on the fields if he keeps this up. He had always been a weak child since birth, but he thought he had managed to overcome his fainting spells. Apparently not, because here he was. Regardless, if Kiku did not gather himself in his hands and get stronger he would be out of a job. He would have to find something else to do, somewhere else to go.

He had come so close to being somewhere good.

"Hey! No, don't you cry. You'll be right as rain in no time! Just you wait."

Kiku felt thumbs on his cheeks. He gasped, feeling the young man's thumb rub away tears. Kiku blushed and began to apologize, bowing his head low. He pressed his fingers to his cheek, where the touch lingered and burned. Shame flooded through him, crashing against every surface inside of him.

His fate was tied up in this young man and the field owner, who would be home soon it seemed. Kiku, from listening as hard as he could, willing himself to pick up the twisty, bubbly English language in less than an hour, tried to grasp at what few clues he could.

This young man's name was Alfred.

Aru? - fu? - redu?

Arufuredu?

Alfred

Hold that name in your mouth, Kiku though, slowly moving his tongue to each foreign concept. None of the soft drops of sound his name made - Ki - Ku - Hon - da. Al - fred - Jo - nes.

Kiku pulled himself off the bed when Alfred stood up. Alfred turned quickly on him, planting firm hands on either of Kiku's shoulders, pushing him gently down.

"None of that! You need your rest."

Kiku felt himself plop back down. This close, Alfred smelled like soil and outside, of sun and warmth. Alfred had hair the color of wheat, maybe that's where the smell was kept, in those rolling waves? He had spectacles, too, something Kiku infrequently saw on men his age. Maybe Alfred had exceptionally poor eyesight. And behind those glasses…?

Concern, worry, and moreover - something else.

"Sit down, Kiku. Pa'll be here in a minute and I'll talk to him. Don't worry at all."

Kiku, understanding "talk" and "in a minute" nodded mutely.

After this, Alfred walked out with the strange woman. The woman trailed behind, stopping at the door. She glowered directly at him, her eyes narrowed.

"Expect nothing." She spat at him.

Kiku did not need to understand English to know what she meant. He pulled his feet under him and sat on the bed, placing his hands on his knees.

In the still room, wooden flooring and walls, a pelt of some sort on the ground, a carafe now empty on the table, a bed he sat on, nothing much else, except… He glanced at the bedside, a table, a half-open drawer. A few papers were haphazardly thrown on there under the gilded lamp. On them, in clear writing, was a name. "A" Kiku could tell, and "Jones" from the sign just outside the strawberry fields. It struck him he was in Alfred's room.

More shame doomed down upon him. He shut his eyes.

In that world, glittering after-dark, closed lids, warm darkness, memories began to pool forth. Some lotuses in dark murky waters, some snapping maws emerging, and which will he reach for? Kiku aimed for the lotus of his memory, smooth white petals. Buddha. He reached forth, cupping for a memory of his mother of his friends of O-bachan…

SNAP - and grab at his hand pulling him down.

When he was in China, bustling city. He wanted to pull away from such a memory, he felt miserable enough. But no, the longer and harder he tried to turn away the more those dark hands dragged him back down. Back into the shores of Shanghai, of paying a fare to get on a boat with the few silver coins. Not enough! Sharp biting language at Kiku, already in a torn blue and white yukata, felt further exposed. He held onto those coins which the boat captain had spat at.

He stepped back, bumping into someone else. He spun around, apologizing. The person behind him - man or woman? Delicate and fine, but with a hard small mouth and a lower, man's voice, brushed past him. He said something to the boat captain who grunted back. They both turned to Kiku. In accented, but understandable Japanese, the man pointed at Kiku. "Come on. America, yes?"

"Ah, yes." Kiku said, happy to be understood. "Yes, please."

Maybe if he stayed in the salty, Shanghai air, maybe if he stayed on those shores with fishermen he wouldn't be in his present situation.

Kiku stared down at his hands, seeing where his fingernails had been stained pink and red from strawberries, blue from dyes, and calloused all across from manual labour.

O-bachan once said he had the hands of a musician, or a painter.

Would she weep to see her son, once so high born, toiling in foreign fields under a man he did not understand?

Would O-kasan understand, too?

Does he forgive himself?

Not more than a half hour or so later, Alfred returned. He smiled warmly at Kiku and gestured behind him. One of the other field hands entered. Another Japanese woman with a stern, lined face. She looked at Kiku blankly.

"I am translating for you, Honda." No honorific. "I am Saito Maki. I work in the house."

"Thank you, Saito-san."

She turned to Alfred, who said some things rapid-fire. He was clearly excited. Kiku picked at a loose string of cloth on his shirt. He rolled it into a tight ball between his fingers.

"He wants you to be his personal assistant, in short." Saito said.

Kiku nodded.

She continued, "As you are too weak of body to work in the fields, it was decided you would do this so that you may remain employed. The generosity of Jones-sama is vast, Honda." She had her hair tied up in a bun. Strands of silver streaked up it, curling into the bundle above her head. Her temples were well-defined and stained with dark blue capillaries. "That is something from me."

Alfred grinned.

He said a few more things.

"He states you will help him tend to his horses. Maybe wash his feet while your at it."

Kiku had a feeling Alfred did not say that last bit.

When Saito was dismissed, the room felt perceptibly warmer. Kiku breathed deeply in relief.

"Weird." Alfred made a twirling motion with his finger by his head. "Sorry, Kiku. That's the best I could do for now. Help with my horses and some other things. Here, let me take you back to your quarters." He held out a hand. His fingers were perfectly trimmed and clean. This man had never worked in the fields.

Kiku raised his own stained and dry hand, taking the outstretched one and pulling himself to his feet. He let go quickly, bowing deeply.

"Thank you, Alfred." He said in his best English.

Alfred grinned, showing teeth.

Kiku felt his own heart would burst.

. . .

"Oi, Honda!"

"Hey, Honda."

"Look, it's the pet."

"Fell on your face and now you get special treatment?"

"Yeah, why don't I get that?"

"Did you seduce the Hime-sama, Honda?"

Kiku crept into the housing structure meant for other young, otherwise landless young men like himself. The men glanced up at him, clearly seething hostility. Most had turned shades of red and brown in the sunlight. All those faces, varying hues, looked at him now. Kiku flushed deeply. He apologized again.

He felt a sharp kick at his back and slumped forwards, landing on his knees. The joints felt hot with pain. He felt the foot, smearing mud on his shirt, push him further down.

"Weren't you royalty? Bow properly." Another shove and Kiku's forehead smacked against the wood. He felt tears form. He blinked back as hard as he could but they began to slip out nonetheless.

"What was that? Where's your apology?" Another shove, Kiku's forehead met the splintery floor again. Maybe some dug into his eyebrows. He apologized loudly and repeatedly.

When he was finally let up, the men hostile still but bored, he slowly raised his head. A few drops of blood oozed from the scrape, slipping down his nose. His breath caught in his throat and he rushed to his side of the house, to the cramped corner. He sat down and dabbed at the scrape with his shirt, seeing blood blossom on the coarse fabric.

He wanted to know why they had to do that?

They hadn't been friendly since day one, when they saw high upbringing clearly labelled across his face. These were boys from the outskirts of high society, who had probably been underhanded and dismissed.

Maybe this was their way to get revenge? On some lonely past? On some mother who was beaten, on some sister who was taken?

Kiku glanced to the closest neighbor, looking at his bed. A picture lay half-tucked under the sheet. He spotted the monochrome of a painted face, with soft distant eyes glancing out. That bed belonged to the boy who had kicked him, Hideji. He wanted out as much as everyone did.

And now that no one was allowed in from Japan, they may never see their family again.

Right?

Rationalize it, Kiku! No one is cruel for pleasure, right?

Right?

Kiku lay down on the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around his body. Wishing for sleep.