AS THE BLOSSOM FALLS

Andrea Ausmus

The blossoms fluttered down like butterfly wings dancing in the light breeze, the sun was
shining making dappled patterns on the pathway. She looked up from her spot on the engawa. The
garden surrounding the home was in bloom and the trees were swaying tossing their branches as
if nodding to a secret song. Looking behind her and she noted the wall and doorway leading into
their room. The walls, covered in a pale opaque paper with contrasting dark wood interlaced for
support, was all that separated the indoors from the out. She could hear her mother’s light breathing
as she lay inside, sleeping off her illness from the journey. Her family was renting the room after
they were forced to move from their home. It all began when her home was taken away by the
Japanese. Her home was now what they, the Japanese, called Okinawa. Her small fishing village
was now gone, all her friends were either gone or struggling. Her father decided to try his luck
with the fleet up north, her father had promised a better life.

She was uncertain how they were going to continue paying the rent and feeding the family.
Rice was costly here and her mother was not eating enough because of it. She glanced at the plum
tree, “If only the plums were in season,” she mumbled. Her namesake, the plum blossom, just blew
in the breeze and the butterflies drank in the blossom’s sweet nectar, no plums were yet weighing
down the branches. Around her the insects had come to life, the honeybees were worrying about
the flowers looking for the bounty yet to come. Ume glanced back at the paper and wood, her
mother would be asleep for a while. She could get away with taking a nap instead of doing the
laundry, but then she wouldn’t live up to her mother’s expectations: “devotion”. Ume’s name
meant devotion, like the devotion of the plum to bloom after a cold winter. She, like the plum, was
as devoted as they came.

She was heartbroken after her father left her that morning, he had found work aboard a
fishing ship and would be gone for the season. He had to leave his boat behind when the Japanese
came to take her home in return for an unpaid debt. At the same time, she had to hold back her
excitement. Her father had left her with a photograph, she had always been nervous about the day
that he would give her one. Some of her friends back home had received their own in the years
prior and were already married off. One was expecting a child. It was better than it was for some
of the other girls, they ended up prostituting dockside for the foreigners and the other lonely men.
Her husband was gazing unsmiling back at her from the picture. She turned it over in hopes that
he would fall out and disappear before she turned the paper over again. She was devoted so she
would do what her father wanted. A sigh brushed past her lips.

Just then she heard voices walking past, silver laughter floating up and over the wall as
three women merrily walked back along the pathway home. They had been to the teachers, learning
about the wonders of the world. Ume wanted to learn as well, but her father was not going to let
her. Instead, she was to leave in the next week for Hawai’i to meet her husband. She took a deep
breath in, one large enough to give herself all the courage she needed. The perfume of the late
afternoon came flowing in, flooding her airways. Her flower’s scent floated above and over her
forcing itself into her as she realized that her name itself was her prison. “Devotion”, Ume sighed
again.

***

He grew up in a very traditional home with 2 brothers. He, the second son, was an extra.
His mother and father didn’t need him at home any longer. He was lucky though, they needed his
strength in Hawai’i. It was an amazing opportunity, “money grows on trees” it was said. So here
he lives, works, and finds entertainment. His father always a proud man, left that indelible mark
on his sons, often at the end of a switch. High expectations made even higher by the adoration of
the memory of his father, a man that could do anything. He always wanted to be someone that
brought pride to the family.

He looked down at a photograph, smudged with dirt, on it sat a small woman. She wore a
striped kimono with a large band across her waist. Her petite feet were carefully placed in zori and
her hands were lightly clasped on her lap beneath them was a delicate fan. She was smiling, not a
wide smile like the white men on the plantations, but a small twitch of her lip showed the laugh
that was within her. Her eyes were what really betrayed her, the glimmer made them look as if
they were glass crystal, like the ones that the women used in the workhouses. Above her waved a
tree branch, blossoms gracing the whole of the branch as it reached down as if wanting to hold her.
He was disappointed, how could his parents expect him to use a small gentle woman like that out
here in Hawai’i? The land here is beautiful, but the living is difficult and the men incorrigible. He
pocketed the photo in one large motion.

He took a long drag from his bottle, he never went anywhere without something to drink.
It all was too much, so much expected of him. It burned as it slid down his throat, tickling his
nostrils and causing him to shiver in expectation. He began his walk toward the fields. As he picked
his way there he was joined by the great convergence of men all headed in the same direction.
They were ready to begin another day in the sugar fields, the sweat was already starting to bead
on his brow, just beneath the sweatband he had wound over his forehead. It was going to be an
uncomfortable day.

“Maybe a woman at home wouldn’t be so bad”, he thought, “at least she would cook me a meal.”

***

Ume stepped off the ship, after growing up with the sea this voyage wasn’t nearly as bad
for her as it was for the others. It was a long trip though and she thought it was nice to be able to
walk on the dry land. The noise of the dock was chaotic and overwhelming, the men were yelling
up from the dock to the ships, and all the while the ropes were lifting loads of barrels and crates
into the already bulging hulls. She looked around at the new faces, there were so many colors and
shapes. Men taller than any she had ever seen, some with hair the color of strawberries, others with
dark skin, the color of the soy sauce her mother had brewed back at home.

She couldn’t see him, she looked at her photo one more time, the unsmiling face looked
like new possibilities. Looking up again she saw that familiar face, he stumbled along as if he was
mimicking a baby crane. As he came closer she could smell an overpowering acridness, a stark
contrast to the scent of the plum blossoms she had breathed not a few weeks ago. She smiled
toward him and gave a slight bow of her head. He stared down the dock at her and squinted. After
a moment he took large loping steps, pausing here and there to find his bearings. The man making
his way towards her was so different than her own father who was always sure-footed. Her father’s
eyes had never looked as hysterical or as frightening as this man’s eyes looked as he came over to
greet her, his bride.

***
 She glanced over at the sleeping figure on the floor. Their futon was disheveled, and the
blanket was strewn to the side. He was sleeping a few feet from the futon, haphazardly scratching
his belly as he snorted after a long groan. She glanced down at herself, trying to understand it all.
It was done. She had cried, screamed, kicked and yet still it was done. She became his woman, and
he, he made sure she knew it. His anger was apparent, though Ume couldn’t even imagine why it
might be directed at her. She looked at her reflection in the dirty bowl of washing water, her face
was starting to swell, and the beginnings of a bruise were starting to color her face. Her cheek was
looking like one of the plums in the gardens back home, swelling, ripening, and turning its hue.
She blinked back a tear.

He had taken her by the wrist at the dock, her arm still throbbed and shook as she
remembered. It felt as if her shoulder was going to give way as he pulled her through the uneven
streets to their newlywed home. She had talked to her mother before about what to expect and how
to submit but this was nothing like what her mother had described. He had pulled her into the tiny
dark room and threw her to the ground, missing the futon completely. Her geta fell from her feet
and skidded across the floor, kicking up dust with the force of it. As she tried to steady herself he
pushed her down again, this time with all his weight pinning her shoulder causing her to yelp. He
bent over and covered her mouth with a slimy kiss, like an overripe plum, sickly sweet and with
the smell of death. When she resisted against him, he slammed her face with his closed fist and
she felt for a moment that she was lost, her vision was filled with a swirl of color echoing back to
the blossoms being caught on a breeze. She opened her eyes again in time to see him tear the front
of her kimono, her mother’s kimono. She screamed, and his wide hand reached up and covered
her mouth, the calluses tore her and left her lips bleeding. After a few more moments of fighting,
he thrust into her and it was done, she was his.

***

The next morning without a word she served her new husband his rice. She had decided
that she was going to be a good wife to him. He needed to eat for him to work. He looked up at
her gruffly and then back at his rice as if he was determining the quality. He took another pull from
the bottle instead. He always seemed to have it close at hand, this morning it was strung around
his waist as if it were a holster. Quickly he shoved a bite of rice in his mouth and then turned and
marched out, no farewell escaped his engorged face. He was off to work the sugar cane, a long day
of hot work.

Ume sat in the corner and looked around for the first time since she had arrived. It was a
small dark room with a stove on one side. It was colorless, a dirty gray film hung over everything.
In the corner was a large urn that smelled of the sour rancidness that followed her husband. Within
the liquid, she saw sugar cane and rice floating amongst the froth. The little window at the front
near the door let in a strand of light, she had to squint to see anything in the room. “Maybe it is his
home that makes him angry?” It was a thought that she spoke out loud as she picked up a dirty
cloth from the floor. She stood up and looked at the room around her, trying to find a good place
to begin. She took in a ragged breath, it burned as it entered her lungs. She rubbed her eyes and
the dust caked into her tears and smeared a line of mud down her face. Her legs, shaking in fear
and pain, let out suddenly from beneath her as she collapsed in a pile on the floor. The blossom
had fallen.

-v-