Читать книгу Restless Wave - Ayako Tanaka Ishigaki - Страница 7

Prologue

OUT OF THE PAST the scene becomes vivid—my first memory. I can still see them, those women straining at the ropes and chanting under a clear autumn sky. Those women who made firm the foundation of our house. The house in which we were to live. The house in which Younger Brother was to be born. The house which would see birth and death and daily struggle. The house which would be spotless and well kept and would hide the deep struggle.

These women remain with me. The sun burned their faces, the heat smeared them with dirt and sweat. Their broad grins bared white teeth.

The busy hum of men sawing and nailing rang clear in the autumn air. The timbers smelled strong of new wood. The freshly dug earth was red. The ropes hung lax from the log of the pile driver. Half a dozen women bent their backs and gripped the ropes. They tugged, and the huge log rose. They relaxed, and the log fell hard, pounding the foundation trench. The ground so leveled would make firm the building’s foundation. A single high voice started a chant, and others joined the chorus as the lamenting thud of the huge log kept time with the chant.

The women were clad in dark kimonos, their sleeves tucked up in the back. White leggings sheathed their legs. Over their feet were black, rubber-soled socks. Sweat streamed from their foreheads. Their heads were protected from the sun by printed towels. On the backs of a few of them, babies were strapped securely. Babies bending and lifting with their mothers, with the log, with the chant. Gagging, gurgling, crying, sleeping babies, strapped to their mothers’ backs. Hungry babies.

The rest period came. The women dropped to the ground in a circle, wiping the sweat with printed towels. Mothers bared their large breasts and suckled their young. They laughed and joked with the men. In loud voices.

They frightened me, these women. I ran, afraid, to my father. Are these strange people who work with men, banter their men, roll up their sleeves—are they women?

These women are no longer strange to me. I have seen them everywhere, working, singing, laughing with their men. These women no longer dismay me. I have seen them again and again bending their backs to support their young. These women no longer make me fear. I can see them occupying the house whose foundation they make firm. These women give me hope.