Pretty Country

[Human names used:

Yao - China

Kiku - Japan

Lin - Vietnam

Im - S. Korea

Mei - Taiwan

Xiao - Hong Kong]

"Aiyah! Stop playing with those fire crackers, Xiao! You will hurt yourself, or worse, you will burn this house down!" Yao cried in Mandarin, rushing into the room parallel his kitchen. He shoved the door open. Xiao, playing with miniature fire crackers fizzling in a cardboard box, frowned deeply.

"I wasn't playing! I swear they went off on accident!" Xiao cried back, standing. He was small for his age with unevenly cut hair which he thought was "pretty cool". He placed his palms on his hips, glowering at Yao.

Yao shook his head, his silky black hair swishing on his back, brushing against the red shirt he wore. His sweat pants were rolled up to his knees, exposing bare, calloused feet. "Why don't you ever doing something good? Why don't you study? You'll get fat playing around and you will have no job and you will have to come to me for money. I took you in as a baby because you knew no better. You are fifteen!" Yao continued his long jabbering tirade, the pot in the kitchen overflowing.

"The soup!" Mei cried in another room. The small Taiwanese girl padded to the kitchen and pulled the pot off the stove. Yao rushed to her, momentarily forgetting about Xiao.

"Get away! Get away!" Yao said, waving Mei to the side and stirring the soup, peering into it while balancing on his tip toes. "And get a longer skirt. That is indecent."

Mei tugged at the hem of her pink miniskirt and turned away in dismay, ignoring Yao's comment. At least, she pretended to.

…

Kiku, handsome, the eldest of Yao's children, grabbed Yao's wrist lightly and pushed the apple in his hand away from his open mouth. Yao frowned. "Why can't I try this?" Yao cried out, still in Mandarin. Kiku huffed and spoke back in the language he seldom used.

"You're in an American supermarket, you can't just try them. Plus, they are dirty." Kiku explained. Several women passed by Yao, shooting him a strange glance. The arrays of fruits, lit by a harsh fluorescent light, towered around them. The smell of cleaning agents overpowered any scent of produce. Vegetables were sprayed with water from an overhead sprinkler. Chatter filled the air. A child screamed as her mother drifted too far away.

Yao grabbed the apple and tugged it away from Kiku. A woman who was stacking oranges peered at Yao, one of the fruits in her hand. She set it down and, wiping her hands on her apron, bent to Yao's height, for she was a tall woman, and asked; "Would you like me to wash it for you so you can try it, ma'am?"

Kiku froze in his spoke. "Oh, no…"

"See, the nice lady help me." Yao said, in English. He grinned and nodded at the woman. The woman took the apple. A minute later she returned with the apple, glistening with beads of water, in a paper towel. Yao took it. He chomped down on it. He chewed, slowly. Then he spat it out, tossing it in the trash can.

"Did you not like it?" the woman asked, concerned. "Would your grandmother like me to find something more suitable?" She turned to Kiku, her eyes widening at his feminine beauty, but obvious strength beneath his gray shirt and jeans. Kiku looked terrified.

Yao turned slowly to the woman. "No, all the food here has no flavor and tastes bad! It does not matter. No love for your food at all you Americans. No talent! And, I am not a WO-MAN."

The woman understood why Kiku seemed paralyzed. Yao appeared to tower over her, despite being a rather small, elderly man. His fists balled and she could see the hard skin along his knuckles, and the blue veins treading along his thumb.

"I'm sorry, ma—sir." She said and returned to work.

Yao looked at Kiku and shook his head. "Is there really no Asian market near here?"

Kiku began to object. He hesitated. Yao glanced over an array of tomatoes, his long fingers, broken to become stronger, lingered over the red membrane, pressing down into the tomato's flesh. His hairline had begun to recede, his back began to curve forwards, his lips were drawn and wrinkles were seen. This man had raised Kiku when no one else would. This man had tried to mend the faults in their motley family. This man had raised them from dirt and he was no longer young. Kiku sighed. "I'll try and find one." He said. Yao grinned.

"You finally take pity on an old man! Don't pretend I couldn't tell you were thinking that!" He jabbed a finger hard into Kiku's sternum. Kiku huffed at the force. Yao's grin still continued. He swept past Kiku and pulled a cane from their shopping cart. He placed it on the ground and stabbed at the hard tiles. He dragged through the store, his hand on his hip as though it pained him. Kiku grabbed the cart and scurried after him.

"What are you doing?" Kiku cried lamely.

"Wait and learn from this old man." Yao said and wandered into the Asian aisle. He stood before the bags of rice stacked on the lowest shelf. He bent on one knee, his hand trembling as he reached for it.

Quickly a worker rushed over. "No, ma'am, please, let me." He bent over and grabbed the rice sack. Kiku watched from the end of the aisle, frowning. Yao beckoned the man in deliberately broke English away from Kiku. He smiled as the man's cheeks turned bright red under the weight of the sack. Kiku waited by the stacks of ramen noodles, wondering if the Americanized version of the common food was any good. After nearly fifteen minutes Yao wondered back to Kiku. He spotted Kiku, squinting.

"See my young grandson!" he wailed, "he force you to go around store while he stand here admiring bad food!"

The man plopped the rice into the cart, sweat trailing down his neck. He laughed meekly and hoped he would never have to see Yao again. Yao turned to Kiku and dropped his cane back on the cart, straightening his back. He was grinning wildly.

"That's cruel," Kiku said. The only man who could cause Kiku to feel lost was Yao. Yao only smiled at him.

"You will have to carry it to the car."

"Why did you do it?" Kiku asked, refusing to follow Yao.

Yao didn't respond for a long time. He picked through the assortment of spices. Finally, he sighed. "I am old. I think I'm losing my mind."

…

Mei regarded herself in the mirror, her eyebrows furrowed. Yao stood behind her, tugging at her hair and attempting to tackle the tangles. She tried to widen her almond-shaped eyes but to no avail. She pouted, puffing out her lips. She imagined her skin to be a lighter shade. Finally she let her shoulders drop. Tears sprung to her eyes as Yao grabbed on bunch of skin and tugged back.

He pinned her hair up in a lotus-shaped barrette. She touched her hair and smiled weakly at Yao. Yao shook his head and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Mei, you are beautiful. Admire your culture, respect it. You are a beautiful girl. I see how you try to look like the American girls. If you ask me, they look too much like dolls. You must respect culture. Never destroy it, whether it is your own or not." Yao said.

Mei sighed. "No one else thinks I'm beautiful."

"You'd be surprised, Mei."

…

Lin stretched and put her long, flowing black hair into a pony tail. It fell gracefully, bound by a white flower. She adjusted the front of her green dress, wishing she still had her former clothing, but settled with this. She placed a flowered hat atop her oval-shaped face.

"Lin!" several people within the Vietnamese restaurant called to her. She smiled, shutting the door from outside. The sun beat down on them. No humidity entered. No humidity relieved. She ordered her usual and sat down in the back. Once she finished eating and conversing in her proud, brave voice, she set outside and at once felt demurred, briefly. She walked through the streets, past tall dry trees and cars zipping past. She held a purse at her side. Anyone who walked by her seemed to freeze to get a look at her beautiful face, her tanned complexion, her browned, perfectly curved lips, her slanted, dark brown eyes, her slender arms and fingers, and especially the hair that seemed to drift on its own accord behind her, defying all laws of gravity. She ignored them and went through an alley. She clambered up several flights of steps and knocked on the door. Yao opened it and she smiled gratefully.

"Lin, you finally come home!" Yao said, laughing. "And look how skinny you are! Please, come, it must be hot. The air is too dry. My lips are becoming painful." Yao ranted and shut the door behind Lin, grabbing her wrist and pulling her in. She followed, unable to object to the man who rescued her from a burning building and fed her.

…

"In Kung Fu, our strikes are circular." Yao said. He curled his fingers in tightly, so the second knuckles jutted out and his thumb was pressed to the side of his palm. He struck forwards, crossing one leg behind the other. He spun so that his feet were parallel once again and struck with the back of his opposite fist. "A cycle…"

Kiku, Im, and Lin watched. Mei had no interest in Yao's long, boring Martial Arts tirades and remained indoors playing with Xiao, who was but a tiny infant at the time. China surrounded them. Xiao's home, off in the mountains, was secluded from the majority of noise Yao hated with vehemence. Kiku and Lin stood. Im favored his legs. He kicked and kept his enemy at a distance.

Yao watched him practice, nodding, and chastised him for spreading his toes. "Do not break them! Practice your hands."

Kiku fought with a fierce loyalty to each strike. He moved with power and will, breaking the "old-fashioned" block Yao had set before him with his knuckles.

"Go here." Yao said, directing Kiku, small, shy, away from the rest. He stood him before a cement block that supported his house. "Position before this and hit it one hundred times."

Kiku's expression twitched. He would never refuse. He began to strike the cement, with all his might, counting off in his head. With each punch he breathed outwards, ignoring the pain erupting between his knuckles.

"This way the skin on your knuckles will become toughened and you won't be hurt when you hit. Hit to break. You must train yourself to have the ability to break through your enemy's bone and to also be able to stop your fist a hair away from his skin." Yao watched Im and Kiku practice before returning to Lin.

Lin practiced a new strike to the air, imagining an enemy before her fist. Yao stepped before her. "I want you to hit me." Yao said.

Lin, unable to hide the fear in her eyes, limply struck Yao in the stomach. Yao pushed her fist away. "No, punch me." She weakly hit him again. "NO, HIT ME! HIT ME AS THOUGH I AM THE MAN WHO SET YOUR HOME ABLAZE." Rage ignited in Lin's face and she struck him hard, pushing all her muscle into her strike. Yao hit it to the side with his palm, stepping diagonally.

"Do not fear to hit me, Lin," Yao said. Lin kept her eyes on the ground. "I may seem old but I still have youth in me."

Lin nodded mutely.

"You have a tiger in your spirit, Lin, you must never be afraid to show her. The tigress is your greatest virtue. You are a true spirit. You fight till the very end for what you believe is right. The Martial Arts is not about only fighting. It is about understanding yourself and your enemy. You fight how you must. You can fight by deceiving and feigning. You can fight by attacking. You can fight by waiting and moving constantly. You can fight by adapting. Understand who you are or you will never truly win a fight."

…

"Where did you find me?" Mei asked. Yao lightly hit her on the head with the back of his hand. She averted her eyes downwards. She had adapted too much to American ways, as Yao put it. She had looked him in the eyes.

"I found you among blossoms."

"No, really."

"I am not lying. Do not question your elders!"

…

Yao held Kiku in one hand and showed him the pretty, pastel pink blossoms blooming. Kiku reached out for one. Yao plucked it lightly and placed the flower in Kiku's palms. Kiku frowned and set it down on the earth.

"Why did you do that?" Yao asked, frowning. His hair was loose, like spilt ink down his the green of his clothing.

"You killed it by plucking it up. I am honoring its death." Kiku mumbled. Yao said nothing but raised his eyebrows in amusement.

Then he heard a child weep. Kiku stood alertly. Yao beckoned him forwards. The crying rose in tone. Before them, surrounded by gentle, soft petals and blossoms on grass, was a little girl in rags wailing. She balled her fists and rubbed her teary eyes, frightened when she heard Yao and Kiku approach. She raised her head.

Yao responded with a warm smile.

…

A young Thai man stopped before Yao's building and waved. Yao, sitting on his balcony drinking tea, hollered back; "Have you come to flirt with Lin again?"

The man's face flushed. He adjusted his glasses and shook his head. He could see Lin from the window, pulling the curtains back. Her cheeks were also tinted red. She gazed down at the man with a faint smile.

"I hope you are wearing clothing, Lin," Yao called slyly.

Lin turned and hollered something in a mix of Vietnamese and Mandarin. The man, with boxes of takeout strapped to his bicycle, fumbled to get going. His dark eyebrows were furrowed in concern and his browned skin sweating with both the sun and embarrassment.

…

The doctor never thought so much character could erupt from the fragile elder before him. Yao proved him very wrong.

"You mean that I have to do something worthy? Do you think my life was worthless? I raised five children who were homeless! Do you think that is worthless? Now you tell me in the final few months of my life I should do something to make my life mean something?" Yao stopped abruptly, hacking into a handkerchief he kept tucked inside his shirt.

"Ma'am—sir—I didn't mean it like that. I meant that we can either put you on medicine that will only prolong your symptoms and cause you to suffer more." Yao shook his head. "Then all I can guarantee is five months at maximum. I meant for you to do something fun while you still can."

"What is fun? Why should you think of that when pride and honor and worth are concerned?" Yao spat.

"I…"

"Yes all about you. I will live these final months the way I lived my life."

…

Kiku, the little boy from the forest, Im from the seaside, Lin from the river, and Mei from the blossoms gathered around the front steps of Yao's house. There, in a basket, with fireworks exploding overhead, was a little baby boy. Only his name was written on a piece of yellowed parchment: "Xiao". Yao didn't hesitate. He asked no questions. He bent down and scooped up the boy in his hands and took him indoors.

…

"Hey, I am taking this." Kiku said, standing before a sheathed katana wrapped in rice paper.

"No, it was given to me." Im said back. He pushed his shock of black hair back, frowning.

"I am the one who is legally Japanese. I actually learned how to use it."

"But it had my name on it!" Im cried out.

They argued heatedly on who would take the katana to their new home, freshly purchased after college. Their voices rose and filled the small American house. Yao sighed. Mei was home for the weekend, enjoying her time off of college. Lin was at work. Xiao stood in his room, with his headphones on, trying to block the yelling of his brothers while he prepared his valedictorian speech.

Yao sighed. Once Kiku and Im finally moved out and Xiao graduated, Yao would settle in the apartment he was preparing the purchase. Several months afterwards he would receive the doctor's prognosis. Mei stepped out of her room. She held a pink phone with chains of cute animals and characters dangling from it to her ear. She listened to her friend ramble on about the latest movie she saw.

"Oh, really?" Mei asked, opening the refrigerator and taking an orange soda. She popped the top off and took a swig, returning to her room. Her creamy legs poured down from shorts Yao found indecent.

Finally the tone of the argument between Im and Kiku had gone from quibble to a fight. Yao pushed the door open and stepped between them, pushing them away from each other. "What is this? Why are you mocking your culture? Why are you fighting within your family? And…" He turned on Im who had a black eye and gazed at Kiku who had blood dripping down his nose. Yao was furious. Im and Kiku forgot about their argument completely. They had never seen Yao so stark-white enraged.

They stepped away from Yao, but Yao was quicker. He grabbed their wrists and put them in a goose neck, pushing their palms into the veins on the underbelly of their forearms. Both young men dropped, yelping in pain.

"Mercy! Uncle! Please stop!" Im cried out. Kiku stared silently at the ground, his eyes glistening in pain.

"I won't break your wrists." Yao said in a dangerous tone. "You must never fight unless you have to. Is that understood? You could have spoken about your issue to me. Leave when you feel angry. Do not fight IN MY HOUSE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes." Im said sullenly. Kiku said nothing. He nodded once.

Yao let go of their wrists and left the room.

"Take the sword, it is yours." Kiku muttered. Im thanked him without making a sound.

…

"How can you get sick?" Mei cried out. Lin stared at Yao. He lay in bed, trying in vain to sit up. He placed his palms on the bed and pushed. His arms trembled and his elbows rattled. He dropped back, panting.

"Even the oldest tree will grow old and die. I am not immortal, Mei." He said gently.

"Oh you really are sick!" Mei ripped off her black jacket and hung it up on a rung. The house smelled of cooking food, giving her a strong memory of home. Home was anywhere where Yao was: China or here. It didn't matter. She dropped by Yao's bed and grabbed his frail arm, holding it to her cheek. Tears trickled down and wetted his fingers.

Lin marched over to Yao and took his other hand. She held it between hers.

"Are you getting old, too, Lin?" Yao asked. "You skin is dry."

"My skin is always dry." Lin chuckled, trying not to cry. "How can you survive five children but… not…?"

Yao laughed. "And here I thought I was leaving this world with my children well-taught. I am obviously wrong! You know nothing of what I taught you! Oh, maybe I'll live longer to teach you again. But you know the body is your only true possession. Once it falters, the home you live in forever, you cannot win. You must never forget that you are never poor until you have no body or spirit."

"Here he goes again." Mei said hysterically.

"A sickness, a cancer!" Lin muttered.

"Yes. Go on and make me feel worse!" Yao huffed, growing annoyed of the two girls fawning over him. Even Lin had torn down her walls, brick by brick, to express her grief. Yao squeezed both their hands. "Don't worry about me." He said. He couldn't bear to hear his children's sorrow. "Lin," he said, "Did I ever tell you how I found you?"

"No." Lin said, keeping her eyes firmly planted on Yao's hand. His fingernails were yellowed and broken. His slender bones curled around hers. If she had not known, she could easily have mistaken him for her father. "I know you told me once I was from the river."

"Yes, my river child. It seems nature had dropped me each and every one of you. I found Kiku in the forest, Im by the sea, Mei by the blossoms, and Xiao by the night. How is he, by the way?"

"Fine," Mei told him. "He's in a good college."

"Good." Yao grinned. "Ah, yes, the river…"

…

Yao wandered along the river, a silver ribbon cutting through green, foggy land. It glittered and murmured, speaking in its wild language. Yao was still young, bold, and his hair was longer than ever. He kicked the rocks at his feet foolishly, scaring birds away.

He found a nice, plump rock and aimed for a bird perched on a stick. With a good, hard kick he sent it flying. When it landed, instead of a bird's cry, he heard a scream. He ran forwards. A girl, Lin, sat crying by the shore because the rock had hit her in the shoulder. He dropped down beside her. She was perhaps three or four.

"Where is your family?"

She stared at him and, with a look of terror, ran away. Yao watched the raven-headed girl disappear into the loping fog with a shrug. At least he tried, right? Yao continued walking by the river, balancing on rocks and leaping from one to the other, even attempted to stand on his hands at one point. He slipped on the rock and landed in the water, becoming agitated.

The following week he found Kiku in the forest running away from something Yao never understood. All he could decipher was a bloody battle had stolen the lives of his parents. Yao took him under his wing out of an unrelenting, unquestioning kindness.

Not three days afterwards, with Kiku content in his new home, Yao wandered the river again. This time something had humbled him. He stopped kicking rocks. He was out to buy fish for dinner when he smelled smoke. He stopped cold, his muscles twitching. A surge of black smoke rose into the air not far from him. He ran to the site, not stopping until he reached a cackling wooden building. He tore through and found that same girl from the river huddled in a corner crying. The smell of charred flesh nearly suffocated Yao.

Yao picked his way through falling wood and blazing flames. He reached Lin and picked her up. As he turned, he caught sight of an arm outstretched, bleeding, and crushed by a block of wood.

Yao returned to the riverside. He sat Lin down on a rock and tore a strip of fabric off his pants. He ran it under the water and began to wipe the ash and rubble from Lin's cheeks and arms.

"What happened?" Yao asked.

"Mother dropped a pan…" Lin said, trembling with tears.

"Cry if you must. You have lost more than a child should have." Yao dabbed her tears away with his thick thumb. Lin cried freely and hugged him, begging for a home. Yao didn't even know why she needed to ask. That was the last time Lin cried until she discovered Yao's sickness. When she finished crying, Yao picked her up and headed back home.

Kiku opened the doors and stared first at the new girl, then at Yao. "I thought you were bringing a fish." He said, concerned.

"Well, I got you a sister instead." Yao returned. "Let's get you both clean. We'll have to go without fish tonight. The fire should go out in a while. There are thunderheads coming."

Surely enough, rain poured down that very night. Lin and Kiku pressed their hands against the window and stared at the falling, greenish rain with a hue of blue so natural. The smell filled the house and Yao threw open a window. The smell of rain was one of his favorites.

…

"I found Im by the sea. He was lost, he said. I don't know much about the rest." Yao said.

…

The final months of Yao's life he spent walking in the snow outside and becoming confused about time. He often forgot Mei was a grown woman and asked what her grades were. He called Kiku and asked if he had remembered to wash his hands after using the toilet.

Kiku, who was at work when he received the call, expecting an emergency, crimsoned and said "I remembered" before hanging up.

Lin tried to force Yao into a nursing home. Yao complied at first. "They'll care for you," Lin said. "They have this great thing called people that will make sure you take your medicine."

Yao shrugged. He told her he would try it for a day.

The nursing home sent him back on account for "he sure fights well for a sick person. He just about killed old Mr. Bennett with some sort of karate move."

Lin told Yao this. Yao scoffed loudly. "Karate? That was Kung Fu."

…

Whenever an outsider met Yao the first thing they thought was wait that's a man and the second thing they thought was that man can kill me with his little finger. At least, that was what Adam Johnson thought when Xiao brought him home to complete a project for their chemistry class. The rode up the street on bicycles and, before they entered the house, Xiao turned on him.

"Before you go in, keep in mind that my father is… strange." Xiao said, unable to describe his father.

"My parents are strange too," Adam said, holding the poster board in one arm and on the other slinging his backpack, weighed down by their textbook.

Xiao asked him to continue, raising a rather large eyebrow.

"Well, they aren't strict or anything and they sing to each other." Adam explained, sure he had trumped Xiao. Xiao, nonplussed, opened the door.

Yao sat in the kitchen brushing Mei's hair for the birthday party she was attending. Xiao blushed and ushered Adam away. Adam stared at Yao, sure that this womanly, beautiful figure couldn't possibly be Xiao's father.

"Xiao!" Yao cried out. "Is that your friend?"

"Yes, I told you about him, Father, and we'd like some privacy to do our homework." Xiao said quickly. Mei watched them, sitting on the floor and writing a birthday card for her friend.

Adam stared at Yao who had frowned in suspicion. He turned on Adam. "Why privacy? You keep your doors open." Adam felt that those two, loving, caring, dangerous brown eyes had pierced him with daggers. Adam nodded and followed Xiao.

Later, once Mei had gone, Yao asked if they wanted anything to eat periodically. One time, when he was preparing dinner, he entered and saw Adam leaned over Xiao's arm to add an equation. Yao attacked him like a hawk and, in a way Adam didn't know was possible, had him at his mercy. His elbow was on fire.

"Why were you leaning on my son like that? I don't care that you are male. I care that you have come close to him." Yao said. Xiao could tell he was accenting his voice on purpose. Adam apologized. Xiao had actually fancied Adam and had rejoiced silently when they were chosen to be partners. Now he knew all his chances with fine Adam with a long nose and fine brown hair and broad shoulders would most likely hate him.

Surprisingly, the following day at school, Adam said; "Dude, your dad is so freaking cool."

Xiao grinned. "Yeah, my Father is pretty impressive."

…

For the first time in Kiku's life, he hugged Yao. Yao patted his back gently. Kiku felt hot tears stinging his eyes. Yao was on his way out. He knew. He knew all too well. Yao had called him the previous day and told him that his homeland was crying his name. Now, in the tiny apartment in the Chinese section of town, as snow whirled around the windows, Kiku wanted more. He wanted more of Yao's cooking, his kindness, his love, his yelling, his hitting, his discipline, his power, his gentleness, and most of all he wanted his family. Yao held their strange mix of people together like the string that connects the beads of a bracelet.

"Why is my warrior weeping?" Yao asked gently, his bare feet sticking out of the covers, coated in dirt that had made a permanent residency there.

Kiku wept harder when Yao called him by the rare pet name. Im hugged Yao from the other side.

"We would have killed each other so many times without you." Kiku said. Im nodded.

"Isn't it funny how the greatest fighter in the world is the greatest peace-keeper?" Mei said from the foot of the bed. Lin nodded.

"Snow." Yao said, looking out the window. Flakes fell and gathered at the corners of the window. "How lovely…"

…

Soon it was spring. When life all around was being born and created, birds nesting, rabbits mating, and flowers blossoming, another life was drawing to a close. Yao sat in his bed with the windows spread open. A spring shower fell in a thick blanket, laced with its rich scent.

"Even the rain doesn't smell the same." Yao complained to no one. He curled his hands and his fingers stopped moving there. His chest hurt. His eyes barely saw. Finally he turned his head and closed his eyes, so no one else would have to do it for him.

I do not own Hetalia

this is not necessarily an accurate representation of Chinese culture but rather of any culture pulled out of their homeland.

The title comes from a direct translation of the Mandarin word for America.