Part 9 (1/2)

According to his mother, some families had already taken the red garments apart, cut the cloth to their daughters' sizes and begun to sew their creations together. His mother could often be seen casting a contented glance from her daughter, Kane, to the red clothes hanging on the wall, comparing the size of one against the other.

The sea was calm for days on end, and the chill had left the air. Isaku's mother carefully unst.i.tched the red clothes and cut the cloth to match Kane's body and arm measurements. Then she held the cloth up against her daughter before starting to sew the pieces together.

The first signs of spring came earlier than usual, and the snow covering the village started to melt. Large cracks appeared in the snow on the roofs, and before long it was sliding noisily to the ground. The village chief ordered the salt-making on the beach to stop.

When Isaku returned home from fis.h.i.+ng the next evening, his mother told him that his cousin Takichi's daughter was running a high fever and was evidently in a serious condition. Born late in January the previous year, she had been growing at a prodigious rate, which of course was only to be expected with someone as st.u.r.dy as Kura for a mother. Recalling the sight of this hardy little girl often playing down on the sand while her mother combed the sh.o.r.e made it difficult to believe that she could fall ill.

'Some bad flus go around about the time the snow melts. Just because it gets a little warmer is no reason to walk around lightly dressed,' his mother said as she checked whether the pot of gruel had come to the boil.

Sudden death was nothing unusual for infants in the village, and it was said that parents could not relax until their children had survived to see their fifth New Year. Most of the deaths occurred during winter, and the cold winds off the sea were blamed for many of the illnesses. Takichi's little daughter had often been down on the sh.o.r.e with Kura, so maybe that was why she had fallen ill.

The next day the sea was rough, and rather than take his boat out Isaku made his way through the snow into the forest behind the village; he looked for fallen trees that he could drag back to the house and cut up for firewood. Isokichi lent a hand, but he complained of feeling listless and often stopped to rest.

Even with nightfall the wind showed no signs of letting up, and the houses were enveloped in the sound of the waves cras.h.i.+ng against the beach.

Isaku awoke just before dawn. He rolled over and snuggled deeper into his straw bedding but noticed that his covers were moving ever so slightly. He thought it must be the wind, but then he heard a groan so he poked his head out to take a look.

In the dim light of the fire Isaku could just make out Isokichi's face, the younger boy lying on his side as he slept. Isokichi had his eyes closed, but the straw covers on top of him were moving. Isaku could now hear Isokichi grinding his teeth, and he finally realised that it was the movement of Isokichi's covers that had been moving his own.

'Iso, what's the matter?' Isaku asked, peeking at his brother.

'It's so cold,' said Isokichi, opening his eyes. His voice trembled, and the words faded away before he could finish them.

'It's not cold tonight. What's wrong?' Isaku straightened Isokichi's covers, touching his brother's shoulder in the process. It felt wickedly hot, so Isaku laid his hand on Isokichi's forehead.

'You've got a fever all right.'

'I can't stop s.h.i.+vering ... and I have a terrible headache,' said Isokichi, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face.

Isaku crawled out of bed and put some more wood on the fire.

'What's wrong?' His mother sat up. Isaku told her that Isokichi had a fever and a headache.

'I'm feverish, too. Feels as if I've got the flu as well. Boil some water, I'll make some herb tea,' she said, standing up and pulling a jacket over her shoulders as she stepped over to Isokichi. Isaku bent down over the bucket, broke the thin layer of ice, scooped out some water, then poured it into a pot, which he placed on the fire. His mother wet a cloth with ice-water and laid it on Isokichi's forehead.

Steam started to rise. Their mother stepped on the dirt floor to get some dried s.h.i.+so leaves, which were hanging on the wall. She dropped them into the hot water and watched them spread out and then bob up and down as the water came to the boil. Isaku kept the fire going, but his eyes were riveted on his younger brother.

After a while their mother ladled some of the brown concoction into a bowl, coaxed Isokichi into a sitting position, and made him drink. The boy was trembling so much that the bowl almost spilled, but, grimacing, he managed to drink it all down before lying back.

His mother split open a pickled plum and rubbed it onto both sides of his forehead. 'This'll take care of your headache by sunrise,' she said, and she drank some of the tea herself.

Isaku moved away from the fireside and snuggled back into his straw bedding. s.h.i.+vering, he pulled his legs right up under the covers, but the bed had long since lost its warmth. He gazed at the flames in the fire and in no time had dropped off back to sleep.

Isaku woke to the sound of crying. His mother was sitting beside Kane, who was weeping in a rasping, dry voice. The first dim light of dawn was filtering into the room.

The straw covers had stopped moving. Isaku turned his eyes towards his younger brother. Maybe the herb tea had worked and brought the boy's temperature down, thought Isaku, but Isokichi was just lying there, breathing hard with his mouth half open. Isaku touched the boy's forehead. It was very hot. Isokichi had his eyes closed but didn't seem to be asleep.

Isaku got up and went over to the fire to warm his hands. 'Kane's not well, is she?' he said to his mother.

'She's got an awful fever. But it's the headache that's making her cry,' she replied, still with her back to him.

Isaku stood up and peered over his mother's shoulder at Kane. Her face was red and she was crying at the top of her lungs. It wasn't uncommon for influenza to spread quickly from house to house at the end of each winter, in some cases forcing every member of the family into their beds. But normally two or three days of rest and herb tea led to a complete recovery.

Isaku stepped onto the dirt floor and picked up a bundle of wood for the fire. Then, continuing his morning routine, he went outside and looked out to sea and then up at the sky. The wind had died down, and the stars were mere specks of fading light above the barely visible horizon. By now the sea was much quieter, and the white of the foam was all that could be seen of the waves as they broke on the sh.o.r.e.

'How does the sea look?' asked Isaku's mother as she placed a pot on the fire.

'A lot calmer, but with Isokichi and Kane both sick ...'

'You saying you're not going out? Leave them to me. What good's a fisherman who doesn't fish?' his mother snapped, irritated that two of the children had fallen ill on her.

Isaku started getting ready to go out in the boat.

That day he fished alone for the first time in a long while. Working the oar with one hand, he played the line with the other. He tried to copy the adult fishermen by moving the oar with his foot, but his lack of size made this difficult.

Around midday Isaku ate one of the millet dumplings he had brought with him, wrapped in seaweed. He saw a plume of snow-dust rising into the air in the mountains behind the village, an indication that the avalanches had started. Most of the snow had already dropped off the roofs of the houses in the village. He thought that maybe this year the schools of sardines that always accompanied spring might appear insh.o.r.e earlier than usual.

Hearing a voice behind him, Isaku turned round and saw Sahei's boat approaching. He wrapped up the dumpling in the seaweed again.

Sahei pulled his boat alongside Isaku's and said, 'Any of your family down with a fever?'

'Yes, Isokichi and Kane are both sick, and my mother said she's got a chill, too.'

'I thought as much,' Sahei said dejectedly.

'Something wrong?' said Isaku, looking inquisitively at him.

'Seems there are quite a few people with this fever. My sister's got it. Didn't you notice how few boats there are out today? Can only mean that either the man's sick or someone in his family's down with it.'

Isaku looked around as Sahei spoke. He had thought the slight swell might be why so few people were out ... but then again, normally there probably would be a good number of boats out on a sea like this.

'There aren't many out, that's for sure. It's a wicked flu this one,' said Isaku in hushed tones.

'You all right?' asked Sahei as he looked across the water.

'I'm fine.'

'Well, let's both be careful we don't get it. That wind off the sea can really give it to you. Once the sun goes down the wind turns icy. Best to head in early, I reckon,' Sahei said, and he grasped his oar and started to work his little boat forward.

As he watched the gap between their two boats widen, Isaku thought how considerate his friend was. Sahei might have an obstinate side to him, but time had seen him become more mild-mannered, and his att.i.tude to Isaku reflected the feeling of brotherhood shared by men working on the sea. There was still much to learn from Sahei, thought Isaku.

He finished eating and started fis.h.i.+ng again.

When the sun began to go down, he turned the prow of the little boat towards the sh.o.r.e. Partly because of Sahei's advice, but also because he wanted to get home quickly to see how everyone was. There wasn't a soul to be seen gathering sh.e.l.lfish or seaweed on the sh.o.r.e, an eerie reminder of Sahei's comment that many people had fallen ill.

He pulled the boat onto sh.o.r.e and headed for his house, oar on one shoulder and the basket holding his catch on the other. His long shadow moved across the sand and up the path to the village.

When he entered the house, he looked towards the middle of the room and was surprised to see his mother lying on her side, too.

'Are you all right?' Isaku asked.