“Nobody Knows”
—a short
story from Umi ni Namida ha Iranai—
by Kenjiro
Haitani
translated by
Paul Sminkey
INTRODUCTION: “Dare mo Shiranai” (Nobody Knows)
describes a handicapped girl’s walk to the bus stop. This
low-key but moving tale was one of the first stories about the
handicapped to appear in a government-approved Japanese
textbook.
There are various lives
In the places you do not know
Just as your own life is precious
So too are the lives you do not know
Loving others means
Learning to know unknown lives
About 500 yards—that’s how far Mariko walked each day after leaving home. She left with her mother and turned at the Nakamura’s house. Then she passed the futon shop, Miss Yasuko’s coffee shop, and the caterer’s, and reached the open area where you could see the ocean. After passing the bread factory and the house of Aunt Harumi, who loved to plant flowers, Mariko reached the main road. On the main road were factories, noisy all day long with the sound of banging steel.
The school bus arrived punctually at 8:45. Mariko got on the bus and headed to her school, which was a special school for handicapped children. The return trip was the same but in the opposite direction, which meant that Mariko made two one-way trips of about 250 yards, for a total of 500 yards of walking a day.
Mariko left the house with her mother at eight o’clock. Since they’d arrive at the bus stop at 8:40, that meant it took Mariko forty minutes to walk 250 yards. Mariko was a sixth grader at the handicapped school, but to people who didn’t know about such children, she looked like a big baby. As the result of a childhood disease, Mariko’s muscles had only about one-tenth the strength of most people’s. When Mariko spoke, she couldn’t pronounce her words exactly, so to people who didn’t know children like her, it sounded as if she could only say “uh-huh” or “uh-uh.”
When Mariko walked, she could only exert about one-tenth the strength that other people could, so it looked as if she was struggling through some kind of intense dance. People would comment when she walked by: “It must be difficult, huh?” “Good luck, Mariko.” “Good job!”
That was the sort of thing people said when Mariko and her mother could hear. When they couldn’t hear, people would say other things: “Wouldn’t it be easier just to carry her?” “Geez! It’s gonna take them all day!”
Some people would blurt out things that really saddened Mariko’s mother and which she would never tell Mariko: “How creepy!” “A kid like that must not have anything to live for.” Apparently, some people felt that a child who took forty minutes to walk 250 yards couldn’t possibly have any pleasures in life.
During her 250-yard walk, Mariko took four breaks. The first was in front of the caterer’s yard. The second was at the open place where you could see the ocean. The third was in front of Aunt Harumi’s garden. And the last break was at the bus stop. The location and length of the breaks were always the same.
Miss Yasuko always set up the coffee shop’s signboard listing the morning specials at a time when she knew Mariko would be passing by on her way to school.
“Good morning, Mariko,” she said in a cheery voice. And then she began setting up the signboard in front of the shop.
“Good morning, Miss Yasuko,” Mariko returned in answer. People who don’t know anyone like Mariko would think she just said “uh-huh” or something.
After setting up the signboard, Miss Yasuko always waited to see Mariko off.
“Good luck, Mariko,” she said, and then entered the shop.
When Mariko reached the caterer’s yard, she took her first break. Mariko also exchanged morning greetings with Blacky. “Meooow!” Blacky would say when he was in a good mood. When he didn’t feel well, he was in a bad mood. Blacky was the caterer’s pet, so sometimes he would get sick from eating too much fish or meat. On such occasions, Mariko said, “Now, now,” and gave Blacky some bamboo grass from the corner of the yard. The day after eating the bamboo grass, Blacky usually meowed for Mariko, which showed that Mariko’s cure did indeed make him feel better. Blacky returned Mariko’s favor: spending much time washing his face (really he was just getting the dirt off his whiskers) was a warning to Mariko that it would probably rain.
“I have to go now, Blacky,” Mariko said, and the first break was over.
After walking a bit further, the ocean came into view. And when it did, Mariko’s mother always felt relieved. Mariko loved the ocean, too, and felt the same way. Sometimes they saw the boats on their way to Awaji Island or Shikoku, but usually they saw tankers leisurely heading out to sea.
“I wonder if you’ll go abroad when you grow up?” asked her mother.
“Of course,” answered Mariko.
“I’m sure that by the time you’re older, we’ll live in a world where that’s possible,” said her mother encouragingly.
Looking at the ocean for a while, Mariko took her second break.
Some shrubs were growing near the edge of the field.
Mariko sat down cheerfully.
If she were lucky, she’d get to see the bees blowing their bubbles. The bees were very lively in the morning because of the dew. Stopping in the bushes, they wiggled their bodies happily. That was when they blew their bubbles. Small, cute little bubbles floated from their mouths. This was perhaps simply extra moisture that was being brought out of the hive, but seen from the side, it really did look as if the bees were blowing bubbles.
“Hey, he blew a bubble!” Mariko shouted with glee, as she clapped her hands. Her hands only wagged back and forth, so a person who didn’t know her wouldn’t recognize that she was applauding. When the bubbles caught the rays of the morning sun, they glittered with the seven colors of the rainbow.
Mariko’s mother laughed.
“What?”
“I just remembered what happened last summer.”
“Oh, that,” said Mariko, laughing.
One day last summer, Mariko was watching the bees blow their bubbles when several boys came over to see what was going on.
“What’re ya looking at?”
Mariko silently pointed to the bees.
“A bunch of dumb bees?” said one of the boys, and he started poking the bees with a bamboo stick. The angry bees attacked. The boy shrieked and started flailing his arms and legs. The bees attacked the other boys, too.
Mariko whispered something to her mother. Her mother nodded, and then said to the boys, “Go squat over there. And don’t move your arms or legs. Just sit still.”
But the boys ignored her, and ran off screaming. Each of them must’ve been stung five or six times. Mariko, who watched the bees everyday, had never been stung. She knew that bees never stung people who only wanted to talk. Nor would they attack someone that remained still. “If they had only known,” Mariko murmured to herself as she watched the boys running off, “they could’ve been friends.”
“We have to go, Mariko,” said her mother, standing up.
The second break was over.
Watching the ocean, they walked a short distance and soon reached the bread factory. When they got close, a wonderful smell filled the air. If you took a big, deep breath, the sweet taste seemed to reach your stomach.
“Mom, now they’re baking jam-filled bread.”
“It smells like it, doesn’t it?”
From the smell, Mariko could tell whether they were cooking jam-filled bread or regular white bread. Sometimes she was wrong, but only when she had a cold.
“Mornin’, Mariko!”
Sometimes a worker from the bread factory would call out to Mariko.
“Good morning!” Mariko called back in greeting. The worker understood Mariko’s greeting perfectly.
Soon the smell from the factory grew faint, and Mariko and her mother reached Aunt Harumi’s house. Aunt Harumi was her mother’s older sister. Since Mariko’s aunt was fifteen years older than her mother, it sometimes felt as if she were her grandmother. Aunt Harumi was an affable lady who enjoyed taking care of her plants and flowers.
“Oh! Hello, Mariko!” Even though Aunt Harumi saw Mariko every morning, she always greeted her as if they were meeting after a long absence.
Aunt Harumi was usually working in the garden when Mariko took her third break. Peonies were now in season, and the garden was overflowing with blooming peonies of red, purple, yellow, white, and other various colors.
“Mariko, I want you to be like these peonies when you grow up.” Aunt Harumi always said this when the peonies came into bloom.
“Such unassuming flowers are rather rare, aren’t they, Mariko? Even though they have such beautiful flowers, peonies are persevering. Did you know that? Whether they’re in infertile soil or in the scorching sun, peonies don’t let such things bother them. They bloom just as beautiful as always. Quite impressive. Mariko, I want you to be strong—like a peony—when you grow up.”
Listening to Aunt Harumi, one would think that peonies were only strong, but Mariko knew that they were also quite sensitive. During rainy or cloudy weather, a peony’s flowers don’t open, but when the weather improves, they react with enthusiasm.
Mariko would exchange morning greeting with the flowers as well.
“Good morning,” Mariko said, and she softly touched a stamen on the left. When she did, all of the other stamens leaned to the left. When she touched one on the right, they all leaned to the right. The peony truly was a fascinating flower.
“Ha, ha,” Mariko laughed, and this time, she touched a stamen in the middle. All of the stamens gathered to the middle.
The first time Aunt Harumi saw Mariko make the stamens move in different directions, she was astounded.
“Golly!”
For a moment, Aunt Harumi was speechless.
“Kiyoko, come here!” Kiyoko was Mariko’s mother’s name. “This girl has supernatural powers! Incredible. All she has to do is wave her hand, and all the stamens move toward her. Could such a thing be possible?”
Aunt Harumi made Mariko sound like a wizard, but regardless of who touched the stamens, the result was the same. When Mariko explained this, Aunt Harumi just said, “Wow! To discover such a thing, the girl must be a super genius. Really!” Now Mariko was made into a genius.
Exchanging greetings with the peonies by stroking their stamens was the most refreshing part of Mariko’s morning. Walking only a short distance of no more than 250 yards, Mariko felt as if she had made many friends—and that feeling reached its climax when she exchanged greetings with the peonies.
Mariko felt fully satisfied as she reached the main road, crowded with cars. Businessmen, fixing their crooked neckties, hurried along. Sleepy, ill-tempered students jostled their way through the crowd. And mothers pulled crying children by the hand. Mariko and her mother let all these people rush ahead of them, as they continued along at their forty minutes per 250 yards pace. Taking one step, and then one more, they walked on.