KANTEN-JIU One hour after I arrived home my father came back I left from the back door of the school because I had seen him waiting for me at the front gate with my pink umbrella for a sudden rain On a summer day coming from my piano lesson I rushed to my room straight a glass of ice water offered by him made a sweating ring on the kitchen table It was in the memories of an old-time friend that I came to know my father played the mandolin he got off the train at the station in Manchuria to work as an overseas correspondent at the time of war the confident smile of a young man devoted to music he played with the wind and rain in Manchuria his tunes traveled across the Japan Sea visited his wife with the pattering sound of rain On his last day on a hospital bed it was the day of Gion Festival the celebration of rain after a long time of famine the ancient cult of the water god at the air from my small fan under his back in pain from cancer I heard him say "kanten-jiu" "kanten-jiu?" "rain of blessings visits and wets the arid ground" his last word for me to be a small raindrop to be a part of the music of the morning rain to give a tremolo to the air around a marigold yellow, red, and brown Next |
The East Village Poetry Web Toshi Ishihara |