近日公開いたします
近日公開いたします
近日公開いたします
近日公開いたします
Mari-chan of Palau
This story is a fictional story set in the Palau Islands in the 1990s.
The characters are fictional people. Total 8 chapters
©2022 Kiyoko Ishii All rights reserved
table of contents
■Chapter 1 Island Style
・My island
・Real family
・A bustling house
■Chapter 2 Traditional Ceremonies of Palau
・Ceremony day
・Debut
■Chapter 3 Meeting Yumiko
・Grandma's Shopping Trip
・Awa-se-miso person
・Chance Encounter
■Chapter 4 Yumiko's homestay
・Waterfall play
・Sea Forest Feast
・Giant clam and Giant Crocs
■Chapter 5 About the Japanese era
・Palauan
・Disturbance
■Chapter 6 Picnic
・Paradise Island
・Yumiko's Predicament
～Yumiko’s story～
■Chapter 8 Promise
· Farewell
・Sprout of the Gods
～Afterword～
■Chapter 7 On a deserted island
· Drifting
・Stranded on the Desert Island
・Miracle Spark
・Yumiko's Injury
・Voice of the Spirit 'Deleb'
・Rescue Boat
■Chapter 1: Island Style
Throughout that month, so many different events unfolded one after another.
It might sound like something my grandmother would say, but since I was born and raised on this island, it was the first time so many things happened all at once.
Me? I'm Mari, twelve years old. Well, to be exact, I was born in August 1980, so I'll turn thirteen soon.
Huh? Saying "since birth" when I'm only thirteen is a bit premature, you say?
Hmm, maybe you're right.
But living in this quiet village where the weather's the same all year round and it's hard to tell the difference between last month and the month before, that one month felt like... it could have been years, decades even, with the whirlwind of events that occurred.
Where should I start to tell this story...
But before that, let me talk about my island and my family. Grandma always says there's an order to things, after all.
●My Island
This is the southern island known as Palau. It's tropical, with coconut, banana, and papaya trees bearing fruit year-round. It's the image of a tropical island with blue seas, white sandy beaches, coral reefs, and coconut trees—a paradise as foreigners imagine it.
Palau is made up of hundreds of small islands called the Rock Islands, most of which are uninhabited. Together they form one country—the Republic of Palau. Some elderly folks from nearby might call it "Belau," but everyone here calls it Palau, so let's stick with that.
Lately, Palau has been getting a lot of attention on TV, so I think many people know about it. In terms of its position on Earth, it's slightly north of the equator, not in the southern hemisphere. Its neighboring countries are the Philippines and the Federated States of Micronesia. It's about a two-hour flight to Guam. If you fly straight north from Palau for about 1900mi, you'll reach Japan. Palau is directly south of Japan, so there's no time difference between the two.
I live in the village of Airai on Babeldaob Island, the largest island in Palau after Guam. Most of the island is covered in jungle, with hills and mountains reaching about 1000ft. high, beautiful rivers flowing, and a prominent waterfall that tourists make a point to visit. There's even an international airport!
But the population is very small.
The population of this country is around 20,000 people. About a third of them live in Koror Town, which is about an hour's drive from here. It's a tiny town with a dense population.
The town has lots of hotels, restaurants, supermarkets, and shops, making it convenient to get whatever you need. In the village where I live, there are only a few small general stores, selling things like canned goods, canned juice, canned beer, and daily necessities. It's quite different from town life.
So, while my school friends dream of living in the town (mostly to eat trendy gelato), I don't mind life here. Of course, I go along with what everyone talks about at school, but I prefer the quiet village to the noisy town.
Once you veer off the main road in Babeldaob Island, the roads become bumpy and hardly any cars drive around, so the village is quiet (except for the loud roosters in the early morning). Even without pocket money, you can eat all the sweet fruits you want. My older brothers taught me how to use a machete when I was little, so I've never felt like I'm starving.
Besides, I feel like something protects me here. I don't know what it is, though...
My house is built on the slope of a mountain, complete with my father's pride and joy, the "Bamboo House."
At the edge of the yard, there’s a high, stilted hut that juts out into the air, offering a spectacular view! It feels like a lookout tower in the jungle, and it’s incredibly refreshing.
The floor is covered with bamboo, and the walls are woven from pandanus. The roof is layered with palm leaves. A few years ago, during a big typhoon, the roof flew off and got damaged, but my father worked hard to rebuild it.
He said, "The best part is that we can rebuild it even if it breaks."
Below, large-leaved palm trees spread out across the area. Here and there, there are open patches of reddish earth, like little squares, and beyond them lies a mangrove forest, looking like it’s covered in broccoli. A vibrant green carpet extends along the shore all the way into the distance.
After a downpour, the atmosphere is especially remarkable.
The sun peeking through the clouds reflects off the droplets on the palm leaves, making the entire jungle sparkle. It looks as if it’s been sprinkled with tiny glass beads. When a rainbow arcs over the sea in the distance, it truly makes me happy!
After the rain, the island feels completely refreshed, like it has been purified. The scents of red earth, leaves, and sea breeze fill the air. I love that refreshing feeling. Right now, it's the rainy season, so we get a lot of downpours, it’s humid, and there are plenty of mosquitoes, but I prefer the rainy season over the dry season. We can play in the waterfalls, there’s an abundance of fruit, and we never have to worry about drinking water. The biggest problem on the island is running out of water.
Oh, speaking of water! I should head home soon to help my mom.
It’s my job to fetch water from the tank under the rain gutter with a bucket and boil it.
In our home, we have tap water, but to ensure we don’t run out even during the dry season, we collect rainwater in a large tank. With that water, we can still cook tapioca and fish even during water shortages.
By the way, I almost forgot to mention that tapioca is a type of root. It seems some islands refer to it as cassava in Asia. My sister said that the tapioca that became popular in Japan was made of tiny round balls, right? That surprises me.
My mom should be bringing some tapioca from the field later, so I’ll show you the real thing.
●Real family
Now that the chores at home are settled, let me introduce my family to you.
Here, let's call them my "real family." The rules on this island are quite different from foreign places.
My real family consists of a total of eight people.
Eight might not be considered a large family in the village. Before my great aunt passed away, there were eleven people in her house. And I think the largest family in the village is the one belonging to Hanako obaasan, who's a close friend of my grandmother. I've never counted for sure, but there are probably around thirteen people there, I guess.
The most important person in my house is my grandmother.
Not in a bossy way, but because elders are highly respected on this island. Palau is a matriarchal society, meaning women have power here. And my grandmother holds even more authority.
She's over 80 years old (apparently), yet she climbs slopes alone while saying "Yokkorasho" and tends to the taro fields and pigs every day.
Huh? Why the "apparently" part?
Well, there are quite a few elderly folks on the island who aren't sure of their exact age. My grandmother is one of them. It's because back in her day, this island didn't have birth certificates.
Nowadays, most people give birth to children in the town's hospital, so birthdays and parents' names are properly recorded. But during my grandmother's time, babies were born in birthing huts in the village, and midwives took care of them.
"If someone tells everyone that a baby was born at Aimiriki Toru's place yesterday, a healthy girl, that's a fine birth certificate," that's what the villagers used to say.
Last year, my father said, "I guess my mom is around 80 this year," so our family decided, on our own, to say that my grandmother is 80 years old every year. And she didn't seem entirely against that idea either.
My father used to be the sole breadwinner of the family, but now he's on leave. It's a long story why, so I'll tell you about that later.
My mother spends her entire day cooking for the family, doing laundry, cleaning, working in the fields, and taking care of the pigs. It should have become a bit easier for her as my younger brother and I are now old enough to help around the house, but she's still the hardest worker in the family. Well, maybe in the whole village.
I'm the third of four siblings.
The eldest brother, Benito, graduated from an American university and continued living in the US. He got married to a classmate and has two kids—Mike, who's five this year, and Emily, who's three.
Mike and Emily, born and raised in America, can only speak English. So, when my brother brings them home during Christmas holidays, it's frustrating for both them and my grandmother as they can't communicate.
We speak Palauan, but since we study English at school, young people here can speak English too. However, older folks like my grandmother, who lived through Palau being under Japanese rule, were educated in Japanese. That's why my grandmother is good at Japanese.
My sister, Naomi, left for work in Hawaii immediately after graduating from high school on the island. She's outgoing and preferred town life even when she was here, traveling to school from relatives' homes in town.
So whenever she comes back to Palau, she always says, "Mari, when you graduate from high school, you should go to the University of Hawaii. Hawaii is such an amazing place." According to her, Oahu Island in Hawaii is way more developed and stimulating than Guam, and it has everything she wants.
Last year, she got married to Kelly, who's from Pohnpei Island (a Micronesian island, a two-hour flight from Guam), where they had been working together in Hawaii. They have a newborn baby and are planning to return to Palau soon for a "ceremony."
Third is Hiroshi, my brother, who's currently studying in Japan to become a Japanese language schoolteacher. He's the most studious one in the family and the star of my grandmother's expectations.
Then there's me.
It might sound weird coming from me, but I have the opposite personality from my sister, and as I mentioned before, I don't dislike life in this quiet village.
And... people often say to me, "Mari is mature for her age," but I think that's because I'm a grandmother's girl. Being with her is always interesting.
Below me is my ten-year-old brother, Tarii.
He's smaller than other kids but quite strong and dependable. He's indispensable at home. Without him, no one can harvest the coconuts or betel nuts that are abundant in our yard and fields. And with Dad, who loves beer and has a belly as plump as a frog, he can't climb the coconut trees anymore.
Dad boasts, beer in hand, "Back when I was young and fit, I could climb faster than anyone in the village." But I just can't picture that version of him.
So, currently, there are supposedly eight people living in my house, including my visiting sisters, but actually, there are a few more.
●A bustling home
Last December, during the Christmas break, there were ten people living in our house, including my brother's family of four who returned from America, along with my sister. After the New Year, as my brother's family and sister returned, my cousin Tommy began living with us.
Tommy is my father's younger brother's third son. He was working as a boat engineer in Guam, but due to some issues with people there, he returned to Palau. He feels more comfortable here than at his own home.
Currently, my aunt's two children are also living with us. So, um, there are eight people in total living in our house.
In our island's context, "family" includes not only parents and siblings but also relatives. Thus, cousins like Tommy are considered family members. It's a norm here that anyone from the family can come over, help themselves to the kitchen, take a shower, and stay for weeks without anyone minding.
However, I do mind one thing about Tommy. He sometimes uses my favorite dolphin towel, saying, "Look, it's a loincloth, Japanese style!" Even though I treasure it as a souvenir from Hawaii!
When I was younger, I also stayed at relatives' homes for weeks. Naomi, my sister, spent most of her three years in high school living at relatives' homes. So, it's natural for our family to look after my aunt's kids.
My mom also takes care of them as if they were her own, and I quickly transform into a babysitter once I return from school. I have the duty of boiling water for dinner, feeding the chickens in the yard, and I'm quite busy.
But I have reliable helpers: my cousins who live nearby. When they finish school, they come over to play and help with babysitting. While mom cooks dinner, I become the leader, taking care of the young ones along with my cousins and younger brother. We jump rope in the yard, swing on the beach, or catch land crabs in the nearby bushes.
Even though it might seem a little awkward balancing two-year-olds on our hips, we consider ourselves as capable as grown-up mothers.
This is how siblings and cousins come together, and the young ones grow up on our hips. This is our family's island style, where everyone is close-knit.
We've got to talk to the adults too. But honestly, there aren't many 'adults' around me. Like I mentioned before, here on Babeldaob Island, the population is small, and there are only our regular folks (relatives) around. Despite it being a tight-knit circle, what I find 'good' about the way the adults do things is the bartering.
The uncles who work in government offices or airlines, basically Dad's siblings and cousins, come over to our place on payday, a bit flushed (they always bring along a mug of beer), and generously leave huge bags of California rice or cases of Budweiser right at the doorstep (seems like Dad used to do the same at their place before). Then, Mom bundles up tapioca, yams, taro, betel nuts, and still-green bananas from our fields and gardens into baskets woven from palm leaves, and hands them over in abundance.
Those among the family who earn in cash distribute 'town stuff' to families with lots of elders and kids, while those who have fields and gardens share 'village stuff'. We help each other out, doing what we can for one another without strain. That's our way of doing things. I guess what makes village life appealing to me is this sense of family connection and the island style.
■Chapter 2:Traditional Ceremonies of Palau
●Ceremony Day
This morning at our house was hectic. It seemed like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Independence Day all arrived at once. In my grandmother's proficient Japanese, it would be likened to "having both Bon and New Year's at the same time."
Around the kitchen and the garden shed, dozens of my mother's sisters, aunties, gathered, busy with the finishing touches of dishes prepared a few days ago.
"Mari, lend a hand, please. Watch the pot so it doesn't burn."
"Marii, bring the bowl for the tapioca."
"Mariii, where did you put the thing we bought in town?"
"Mariiii, where is my yellow T-shirt?"
The house was in an uproar, with calls of "Mari" coming from all directions. I was completely overwhelmed. My mother had been like this for days, making it daunting to even approach her.
What's happening, you ask?
Well! Today is an extremely important day for the Elariunos family (which is my grandmother's clan name) in Palau.
The ceremony participant is my sister Naomi. She took the day off work for this occasion and returned from Hawaii with her husband two days ago. She's now preparing for the ceremony with a resigned demeanor, but until this day arrived, our household had been, truly, truly struggling.
Let's break it down.
In our island nation of Palau, when a couple has their first child after marriage, there's a traditional ceremony and presentation of the newborn at the woman's (bride's) family home. It's a celebration involving all the relatives.
According to my grandmother, this ceremony (sometimes referred to in English as a baby shower or hot shower) is only conducted if both the bride and groom's families officially recognize the marriage. If a child is born against the wishes of the parents, this ceremony is often not performed.
The preparations for the ceremony and presentation involve all the female relatives. The higher the status of the clan, the more elaborate the ceremony and presentation, following the island's custom.
Ideally, my sister should undergo a seven-day ceremony and a one-day presentation, but due to living in Hawaii, Grandma and Mom had to compromise, significantly shortening the ceremony's schedule.
For the presentation, relatives from my home and my sister's husband's family gather, along with many of my sister's friends and neighbors. Roughly a hundred people come together. We provide food and drinks for everyone and even give out souvenirs. Our home becomes chaotic. I've been helping with this for several days now.
My grandmother mentioned, "Even my grandmother did this," suggesting that this ceremony has been a tradition in Palau for a long time. Originally, it seems to signify purifying the body of a woman who has given birth.
The ceremony involves various traditional herbs and powders passed down through generations on the island. Yellow turmeric, leaves from a Palauan apple called "Rebotel" a grass called "Kisid" growing along riverbanks, and more. We gather these from the jungle, rivers, or receive them from relatives.
"These herbs were used on the island before there were hospitals. It was folk medicine—using these island-grown remedies to cure illnesses," my grandmother, who is very knowledgeable about herbs, explained. Walking with her felt like attending an outdoor class, learning what to drink for stomachaches or what to apply for back pain.
"In our childhood, leaves, grass, and fruits were our medicine. Brewed to drink, mixed with scraped coconut and squeezed onto the body, or baked and applied," Grandma said while plucking Kisid leaves.
Next door, Grandma Hanako is one of the few elders who can still practice traditional medicine. Hearing that made a lot of sense. Grandma Hanako somehow gives off a witch-like vibe.
Because we use a lot of grated coconut flesh in addition to various herbs for the ceremony, once I return from school, I've been involved in coconut grating every single day.
Coconuts change a lot. The young green ones are still full of juice inside, and the flesh attached inside is soft and jelly-like, but as the coconut ages, the flesh inside gradually loses its water content and becomes hard. It's like the "tofu" my dad likes to have with his beer turning into the "koya-tofu" my grandma likes. It's like a different thing.
I straddle the Onges (coconut scraping chair with jagged teeth at the tip), scraping the tough flesh every day. You have to put in quite a bit of strength, and since you're in the same position for so long, adults say it hurts their backs, but I don't mind.
On days I argue with friends at school, coming home and vigorously scraping provides quite the relief.
My daily quota is ten coconuts. After doing this for three days, I've amassed quite a lot.
Phew.
Then the ritual starts with plenty of herbs, scraped coconut white flesh, powder, and oil.
First, my sister Naomi performs a ritual called "Omesur." In a fenced-off area "Bliukel", Dad set up in the backyard, Mom pours medicinal hot water over her.
A large pot simmering with various herbs had been brewing since early morning. Meanwhile, my sister gets covered from head to toe in a yellow oil mixture of turmeric and coconut oil (from Shaved coconuts). The oil is meant for purification and to protect her skin from the hot water, but it's incredibly tricky—it's slimy and very sticky.
Anything touched with oily hands turns yellow—paper, money, the phone, clothes. So after Omesur, everything in the house turns bright yellow.
The experienced aunties are all wearing yellow T-shirts. It's a bit like a baseball cheering team, which I find amusing but also very smart
Once Naomi is thoroughly coated from head to toe in yellow oil, the Omesur truly begins.
Mom and Naomi enter the enclosure, and while Mom scoops medicinal hot water using Palauan apple leaves, she pours it all over Naomi's body... or tries to. Born and raised on an island where it's hot year-round and where bathing in water is the norm, getting doused with scalding hot water is terrifying for us. Despite understanding its importance, Omesur is nothing short of terrifying.
A few years ago, Mom's sister's daughter, who had Omesur, was so frightened by the steaming medicinal water that the moment she was about to be poured on, she screamed, bolted out of the enclosure completely naked, and ran away.
The screams were followed by the aunt scolding the daughter, and my younger sisters, who heard it all from inside the house, had drawn expressions.
Even for a bold and adventurous sister like mine, Omesur is scary. She's already inside the enclosure screaming, "Hot! It's too hot! Mom, stop it! Stop it!"
In fact, during the discussions before the ritual, my sister kept insisting, "One time for Omesur is enough. I'll do it on the morning of the presentation."
And there was one more thing she kept resisting during the discussions (I think she really hated this more than Omesur).
Last night, my sister raised her voice in protest against Grandma, Mom, and my aunts. "No matter what anyone says, I refuse! If wearing a bra is okay, I'll do it, but I absolutely won't go topless. Otherwise, I won't do the presentation at all!"
My strong-willed sister left Grandma, Mom, and my aunts utterly puzzled.
It was then that I learned for the first time that in Grandma's lineage, it's customary to wear a hair ornaments and grass skirt "Cheriut" that represents the clan officially, and it's proper for everyone to go topless for the presentation.
"Back in the day, all the island women lived wearing grass skirt, with their chests exposed. So, that appearance was never shameful," Grandma explained.
Certainly, on the island, what's shameful for women isn't showing the chest, but the area from the waist to the thighs. In villages that value tradition, women wear skirts or pants that reach the knees, and Grandma is very strict about such things. However, in town, it seems such customs are considered outdated as people wear shorts casually. They even have swimsuit contests at events.
For my sister, who lives in Hawaii, exposing her thighs isn't embarrassing anymore, but going topless aligns with a foreign sense of shame. Well, naturally...
"Naomi lives in Hawaii, so it can't be helped that she can only do Omesur once instead of the usual seven times. But we can't just skip the ritual and presentation. Absolutely not," Grandma, showcasing both her family background and female pride, stood firm.
In a matrilineal society where Dad can't interfere with these matters at all, he's watching (pretending to be focused on) a basketball game in the next room.
I knew.
Though Dad's eyes are fixed on the TV, his ears are tuned in, listening to every moment of this battle. Even when the opposing team makes a dunk shot, he doesn't shout out "Oh my!" or "Hey, you idiot!" like usual.
My sister and Mom debated for hours, and just as my drowsiness peaked, either they gave up due to fatigue or they realized conceding was essential—the one who finally relented was Grandma.
"Naomi, alright. I understand. ...So, even if it's wearing a chest band (bra), just do it," Grandma stated bluntly, tears glistening in her eyes.
Finally, my sister nodded.
A ritual only for women, meaning going completely naked for Omesur or cleansing oneself across the steamed herbs for Omengat, followed by standing in front of everyone wearing a bra made of grass skirt and pandanus leaves—Grandma had made concessions.
Phew.
As I listened to the protests from the night before, knowing Grandma had adhered to the clan's customs and formally conducted the ritual, I felt a bit sorry. But if it were me during the ritual, I'm sure I'd say the same things as my sister. Standing topless in front of male friends or a crowd is just too embarrassing.
●Debut
When the series of rituals that began early in the morning concluded, Naomi, dressed in traditional attire, made her appearance. It was finally the beginning of her debut.
She wore a colorful Koshimino (grass skirt) with a Pandanus-woven bra on her upper body. Around her neck hung the prominent family heirloom, the Udoud of the Elariunos family.
Udoud is Palau's traditional currency, a highly valued stone usually made into necklaces. It seems to be passed down from mother to daughter during engagement and ceremonies, and according to grandma, families with valuable Udoud are often of high rank among clans and nobility. It's said that when a Palauan nobleman marries, the husband's mother also follows the tradition of gifting Udoud.
However, Naomi's husband is from Pohnpei Island and doesn't possess Udoud. The one she wore today belonged to her grandmother. Of course, it's not a fake like the ones my sister and I wear as accessories; it's the genuine article.
Grandma also owns highly valued Udoud stones, each with its own name. Dad once said, "Your grandma's Udoud could buy an island," but I still don't know if that's true or just his joke.
But whenever grandma handles the Udoud with such care, it somehow looks like it could really buy an island, which is quite puzzling.
Moreover... another mystery is where grandma's Udoud is kept in this house. I asked dad once, but he either didn't know or it seemed like something he shouldn't reveal. Surely, it must be a secret place for grandma and mom only. Women really are strong in this country.
"Mari, stop gawking and quickly wipe the sweat from my forehead. The oil's getting into my eyes, and it hurts!" Naomi, standing barefoot on the coconut mat laid on the ground, wiped her eyes while half-complaining. Her face, covered in oil, caused beads of sweat to trickle down from her forehead.
With a Palauan apple leaf in her right hand and the left hand resting on her right elbow, Naomi, in that posture, seemed to have to stand like that for a while during the debut. Even my usually strong-willed sister seemed like a bird in a cage today.
As I smirked, a sharp remark from my sister fell from above. "You'll be made to do this soon enough!"
From the huge speakers set up inside the tent in the garden, a rhythmic tune began to play. Finally, the climax of the debut.
Relatives who had been chatting in the tent stood up one by one, waving their hands over their heads as they danced their way towards Naomi. In their hands were one-dollar bills.
Oh, I forgot to mention, Palau's currency is the US dollar.
In front of my sister, an aunt began shaking her hips to the music, playfully humming something a bit naughty, and laughing loudly while tucking bills into my sister's Koshimino.
The next aunt, and the one after, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, even my sister's classmates—all came one after another. They danced in front of my sister, sticking bills meant for celebrating her childbirth onto her sticky body covered in yellow oil.
In the garden, the specially invited singer, Mercy, began singing Japanese Enka songs with a soulful voice. Since there are many elderly people in Palau who understand Japanese, Enka songs are preferred at parties. Even Palau's FM radio stations often feature Enka specials, something both my grandma and the neighboring Hanako grandma eagerly listen to.
"Shira baka~, aozora, miinaa~ miikaze~..."
Oh, there goes Mercy, starting her favorite routine again.
The elderly who understand Japanese know that the real title of that famous song is "White Birch, Blue Sky, Southern Wind." They laugh heartily and enjoy singing along together.
Even dad, raising his beer high with cheer, sings at the top of his voice. Beside him, my sister's husband, holding the baby, watches dad with a smile.
Glancing towards the back of the tent, I see mom, who had been constantly furrowing her brow in preparation for the rituals these past few days, along with grandma and the yellow-clad legion of aunts, all wrinkling their faces while laughing.
My days have been dizzying, but seeing my sister being blessed by everyone, I'm starting to feel that the rituals aren't so bad after all. Our village has many old traditions, but seeing everyone genuinely happy about my sister's childbirth and witnessing the happiness on the faces of distant family members living apart brings me immense joy.
And so, this day's debut party continued endlessly.
Before we knew it, the eastern sky was already sparkling with the first evening star. It was an evening where laughter seemed to reach even that star.
■Chapter 3:Meeting Yumiko
●Grandma's Shopping Trip
Grandma said, "I feel like having miso soup," so we headed to the town's supermarket to buy Japanese miso.
Long ago, many Japanese people immigrated to this island, and Grandma knows about the time when there was a Japanese district in Koror. When she meets Hanako, who lives in the neighboring village, Grandma starts telling stories as if a dam had burst. It's the usual talk about the pre-war days, back when life was still comfortable during the Japanese era.
The conversation between Grandma and Hanako is in Palauan, so I understand bits and pieces as I listen. But when Tamagu, an elderly man who occasionally stays at Hanako's house and is from Yap Island, joins in, the conversation switches entirely to Japanese, and I only catch a few parts.
Why, you ask? Palauan language is a bit complex.
Tamagu is from Yap Island, which, although nearby, takes an hour by plane. Palau has Palauan, Yap has Yapese, Pohnpei has Pohnpeian languages—languages differ from island to island. However, Grandma and the others learned Japanese during the Japanese era, so they can converse with people from Yap or Pohnpei. Of course, only among the elderly.
Moreover, in Palauan, there are Japanese words that make Japanese people laugh for some reason (I don't know why). These Japanese words are integrated into Palauan.
So when I hear the two grandmothers talking, they are telling a story about a nikai (second floor) resident of a flat somewhere in Koror who was robbed because he didn't close his "madosimelei" (window): ...... I imagine that I am not the only one. I have heard the story.
Once, on the way back from a relative's house, we stopped at a store near the harbor, a gas station store, to buy "musubi"（ rice ball）. Grandma said to me, "Mari, I'm going to the "benjo" (the bathroom). Could you take this "bento"(Japanese box lunch) to the car with Tarii? "Daizyoubu" (Are you okey?" ) and suddenly, young women shopping there all looked surprised, glanced at each other, and chuckled, saying, " benjo? (Bathroom)" "bento?"—all in unison.
Seeing their reaction, I realized, 'Oh, these people might be Japanese.'
Such things happen often when you go to town.
Grandma still enjoys "miso", "shoyu" (soy sauce), "norimaki"(sushi rolls),"musubi", "tofu", and Japanese snacks. Sometimes, she longs for Japanese sweets like "shiratama"-filled "oshiruko" or "karinto". That's why she eagerly anticipates the annual festival organized by the Japanese community.
Thanks to that, the sushi rolls passed down from Grandma to Mom are top-notch. I loves the sweet and shoyu-flavored "inarizushi"! Also, I adores the bento boxes with various Japanese side dishes sold at stores. However, I’m not a fan of Japanese yellow pickles, "takuan", sold there.
...Oh, right, let's get back to the story.
That Day, It Was Only Tommy Lounging at Home (Unluckily)
Our island, as I've mentioned before, is a matrilineal society that deeply respects elders. Hence, Grandma's instructions are absolute and to be obeyed without question.
Usually, whenever Grandma goes shopping, someone from our nearby relatives accompanies her. However, on this day, Tommy, who had overslept and missed the timing to go fishing and watching TV in the living room, caught Grandma's attention.
"Tommy, could you go to town for me?"
When it comes to this, whether cousins or relatives, if they are family, they must take Grandma to town by car.
Everyone complies with Mom's shopping orders without any hesitation. Shopping in town is enjoyable for everyone, as they often meet friends there. It's an opportunity to check out accessories that are trending at school, and if Mom is in a good mood, she might even buy them.
But when it involves taking Grandma along, things change.
It doesn't take more than an hour by car from home to town, even when driving leisurely. The road, unpaved and bumpy initially, leads to a smoothly asphalted path maintained through U.S. aid.
However, when Grandma's aboard "Hey, stop by Yoron's house there."
"I'm thirsty, get some juice from that store over there."
"Is Telko in the village today?"
It's endless pitstops and long discussions at each place, all while munching on betel nuts.
Once, when Naomi, newly married at the time, returned from Hawaii with her husband, Kelly:
Kelly only spoke Pohnpeian and English, so communication with Grandma, who spoke Palauan and Japanese, relied heavily on gestures. Or rather... the easy-going Kelly was unilaterally following Grandma's lead. Plus, back then, Kelly wasn't yet accustomed to our family rules or Palauan customs.
When Grandma and her company ventured to town, they returned home only after the thick curtain of night had fallen.
At that moment, Mom, who had been worried at home, unusually voiced her concern to Grandma.
"Grandma, you went all the way to Japan to buy sweet rice flour!"
That's why I usually don't accompany Grandma on her shopping trips. However, on that day, I decided to go with her.
Sunday meant the village stores were closed, and Yoron Grandpa had been away on Peleliu Island since last week. Hence, I caught wind that Grandma's detours would probably be fewer than usual, or so I thought.
●Awase-miso person
A few years back, a traffic signal was installed at the intersection in downtown Koror, but it keeps breaking down. Especially after typhoons, it looks more like a trash bin entangled in wires than a traffic signal.
During weekdays' rush hours, the main street, the only major one, gets congested. The police stand in the middle of the intersection to manage traffic, yet this itself becomes a cause for more congestion, as the locals grumble. "There are too many cars for a town with hardly any roads," my dad used to mutter.
The islanders are infatuated with new cars. As soon as they have a down payment-sized sum, they rush to the bank for a loan and buy a brand-new car. Even at the relatives' houses in town, there are three shiny new cars parked. It seems cousins got one each from their parents, claiming it's necessary for commuting. These cars are Japanese private vehicles with roofs. I think a pickup truck like the one my family has, where we can load plenty of stuff in the bed and all family members can ride, is the most convenient. But apparently, each town has its own life, and cousins lead lives suited to their own towns.
As I expected, that day, we arrived in Koror town smoother than usual.
WCTO in the downtown area is the most impressive and well-stocked supermarket on the island. The ground floor sells groceries and daily necessities, while the second floor houses clothing, among other things.
Most groceries are imported from other countries—shipped from various places like the USA, Japan, Korea, Taiwan, China, and Australia.
In large supermarkets like WCTO, it's not a problem, but in smaller shops, unpopular items remain on shelves for long periods. Mom warns to be careful. Once, something my rarely shopping uncle bought was as hard as cement.
There's even a section dedicated to Japanese food in WCTO.
Palau is an island where many divers come from Japan. Over 200 Japanese people working in the tourism industry, such as diving shops, hotels, and Japanese restaurants, live here. So, there's quite a selection of Japanese food. On the shelves, along with the commonly used soy sauce, seaweed, pickled radish, and paper-packed tofu, there are bags with strange drawings and dry foods whose purpose we can't imagine.
Grandma picked up a bag of miso from the lower shelf and stared at the label on the back for a while. Grandma can read "basic hiragana", "katakana", and simple "kanji" from Japan.
But at that moment, peering over her glasses, she looked at us and muttered to herself with a doubtful expression, "Today, they don't have our usual brand, huh? Is this miso okay?" Both Tony and I, brought up on local Palauan foods like taro, fish, and fruits, along with American foods like US beef, chicken, and hamburgers, had no clue about Japanese miso. Tony and I exchanged puzzled looks with Grandma, the miso, and each other several times.
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The people on the island are crazy about new cars. As soon as they have enough money for a down payment, they rush to the bank to take out a loan and buy a new car. At my relatives' house in town, there are three shiny new cars parked outside. It seems that each of my cousins got one bought for them by their parents, claiming, "I need it for commuting." Moreover, these are roofed Japanese vehicles. I think a pickup truck that can carry a lot of cargo and fit the whole family, like ours, is the most practical, but it seems each town has its own lifestyle and each cousin has their own way of living.
Just as I expected, we arrived in Koror town more smoothly than usual that day.
The WCTC, located in the bustling downtown area, is the most impressive and well-stocked supermarket on the island. The first floor sells groceries and daily necessities, while the second floor offers clothing and other items.
Most of the groceries are imported from other countries, shipped in from various places like the United States, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, China, and Australia.
While large supermarkets like WCTC, which attract many shoppers, have no issues with product freshness, my mother says we need to be cautious at smaller shops. In those places, unpopular items can sit on the shelves for a long time. She mentioned that the flour my uncle bought once, because he rarely went shopping, was as hard as cement.
The WCTC has a dedicated section for Japanese food.
Palau is an island that attracts many divers from Japan, and it seems that over two hundred Japanese people live here, working in tourism-related businesses like diving shops, hotels, and Japanese restaurants. As a result, there is quite a variety of Japanese food available. In addition to soy sauce, nori, kampyo, and packaged tofu, which we often use at home, there are also strange bags with unusual designs and dry foods that we can’t even imagine the use for sitting on the shelves.
My grandmother picked up a bag of miso from the lower shelves and stared at the back label for a while. She can read some hiragana, katakana, and simple kanji from Japan.
However, at that moment, for some reason, she looked up at us over her glasses and muttered with a skeptical expression, "They don’t have the usual miso today. I wonder if this miso will be okay."
There was no way Tony and I, who had grown up on local foods like Palauan taro, fish, and fruit, as well as American foods like US beef, chicken, and hamburgers, could understand anything about Japanese miso. Tony and I exchanged confused looks, glancing back and forth between our grandmother and the miso multiple times.
And then, it happened.
A woman carrying a shopping basket approached the Japanese food section. Short hair, sun-kissed complexion, a T-shirt adorned with illustrations of plumeria flowers, knee-length black pants, and stylish beach sandals rarely seen in Palau.
At first glance, she appeared to be a Japanese resident of the island. However, to us, it's hard to distinguish between Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and Taiwanese people. Palau welcomes a large number of tourists from these countries, and many have settled here.
Tony and I sneakily observed her every move.
She picked up a package of nori and scrutinized the label as if examining it thoroughly.
"Look, she's in the Japanese food section, she must be Japanese. Grandma, why don't you ask her?" Tony whispered. He seemed lacking the courage to approach her himself. Grandma hesitated a bit, but her longing for miso soup must have outweighed her uncertainties. She finally mustered the courage to speak to the woman who seemed Japanese.
"Is this Akamiso?"
Taken aback by the sudden Japanese, she seemed puzzled for a moment but, glancing at the three of us with pleading expressions, quickly grasped the situation.
"Aka, miso?" she echoed back, taking the bag of miso Grandma offered and inspecting the label on the back.
Then, a few seconds later, she replied firmly.
"This is Awase-miso."
"...A-wa-se-miso?"
This time, it was Grandma who looked puzzled.
She seemed to not understand what A-wa-se-miso was. Grandma specifically wanted Akamiso.
Seeing Grandma repeating the same question, the woman, looking puzzled, said, "Well, it has Akamiso in it... You see, Awase-miso is a blend of Akamiso and Shiromiso. So, just like Akamiso, it's suitable for making miso soup."
She explained slowly and meticulously in Japanese.
Finally understanding, Grandma nodded respectfully.
"Arigatou gozaimasu."
That A-wa-se-miso person was indeed Yumiko.
●A Chance Encounter
Looking back, I believe there was an invisible force pulling Yumiko and me together. After all, meeting someone in town once is something anyone might experience, especially in a small town like ours. I sensed that mysterious force because the next day, I ran into Yumiko again. Moreover, the place of our reunion was in front of Palau's traditional structure called an "Abai."
Tarii and I were playing with the auntie's kids around the Abai located in the village.
Abai is a gathering place that has existed in Palau for ages. It's a building where chiefs, village elders, and men gather for discussions or sometimes for gatherings. Made of interlocked wood and pillars without a single nail, the roof is typically thatched with palm leaves.
In the past, it seems there was an Abai in each village, but now only four remain throughout Palau. Three of them are on Babeldaob Island where I live.
Traditionally, women and children aren't allowed inside the Abai, but as long as we play quietly around the building, we hardly get scolded.
Yet, I never enter the Abai. It's not about following tradition, but, to be honest... I'm scared of the Abai.
I've never shared this story with anyone except Grandma and Mom. If I told Dad, he'd probably just chuckle, and Tommy would undoubtedly burst into laughter. So, this story remains a secret among the three women in the family.
I must have been around ten years old.
It happened while playing tag with neighborhood friends and cousins, hiding inside the Abai.
The Abai has open windows on all four sides to let the breeze flow through. With only square-shaped small entrances and windows, it's dim inside during the day but surprisingly cool. The entrance, where adults need to stoop to enter, feels like a boundary between the bright exterior and the dark interior. And the inside of the Abai has a distinct smell.
On that day, I crouched low in a corner of the Abai, trying not to be found. I planned to escape from the opposite entrance if the tagger came in my direction. I don't mean to boast, but I'm quite nimble, so getting caught was never really a concern for me.
At first, I thought it was the sound of the wind.
As I sat alone inside the Abai, a rustling, low murmur seemed to emanate from somewhere. Similar to the distant rumble of the sea, it gradually transformed into a chorus of numerous human voices, seemingly welling up from the ground. The hoarse voices of elderly men, murmuring as if in conversation, layered one upon another, causing the air around me to ripple with an eerie vibration.
It sent shivers down my spine. It was a sound unlike anything I'd heard before.
The terror was entirely different from the fright of sneaking in to watch horror movies with Tommy at midnight. Despite being in the familiar Abai that I'd known since I was a child, it felt as though I had suddenly plunged into an unknown world, trapped in an uncanny sensation. It was a fear I was experiencing for the first time.
Terrified, I tumbled out of the Abai through the window.
At that moment, with a pale face (so they said), I sprinted back home and immediately recounted the terrifying experience to Grandma in detail. What kind of voices they were, how it felt—I explained everything in a jumble, leaving even Grandma bewildered at first, with a slightly disheartened expression.
Once I calmed down a bit, Grandma squinted and remarked, "Mari, you've got a strong sense of the spirits. You must have heard the voices of our ancestors discussing matters in the Abai. One day, you'll be able to communicate with the gods. Ha,ha,ha,teasing me."
Since then, even when my younger brothers played tag, I never ventured into the Abai. Despite the frustration of having few hiding spots and being quickly discovered, that eerie experience kept me away.
"Big sis, look!"
Tarii grinned widely and pointed at me.
"Ugh, fine, I'll play along with the kids' game!"
I retorted at my brother in frustration, but instead of responding, he was gazing down a small pathway for some reason. Following his line of sight, I gasped.
"Oh!"
"Oh my, isn't it from yesterday's...?"
Said a smiling woman strolling towards the square, the same one I met at WCTC yesterday, the Awasemiso lady.
"What a coincidence. Do you live nearby?"
"Uh, y-yes."
While the village's A bai is technically a tourist spot, not many tourists venture here, mainly heading to the relocated bais in Korol. Hence, it's quiet all year round, with few foreigners seen around.
"About yesterday, was that miso alright?"
"Uh, y-yes," I nervously replied.
Tarii was hiding behind me, fidgeting uneasily.
Awasemiso glanced between me and my brother, then chuckled slightly oddly.
"Your little brother? Seems quite shy. Anyway, this is a very quiet and nice place, isn't it? Is that the A bai?"
She walked along the stone path in the same lovely sandals as yesterday, stopping in front of the A bai, taking a moment to admire the drawings on its walls. My brother and I gazed at her back.
Perhaps sensing our attention, Awasemiso turned, smiled, and beckoned us.
"Can we go inside the A bai?"
I reflexively shook my head. It wasn't just the village tradition; at that moment, I felt it wasn't a good idea.
Awasemiso, sounding disappointed, leaned out of the small entrance, peering inside. "Ah, yes, it's indeed made entirely of wood," she murmured as she observed every nook and cranny.
Tarii and my cousins quickly warmed up to Awasemiso (because she gave them chocolate biscuits).
She asked Tarii for his name and age, then offered me a biscuit, saying, "What's your name?"
"I'm Mari."
"Mari-chan? A Japanese name. Easy to remember."
"I'm Yumiko. Nice to meet you," she said, extending her left hand.
Oh, she's left-handed like me.
And thus, Awasemiso, or rather Yumiko-san, acquired a proper name. Surprisingly, she wasn't staying at a hotel in town but at Matthew, my brother's classmate's house in America. Moreover, Matthew's house was less than a five-minute drive from mine.
Matthew, who works for the Immigration Office, looks surprisingly youthful for someone in their forties. Whenever my older brother returns to Palau, he always stops by our house, and he and Matthew delve into deep discussions until dawn about America's unemployment rate, Palau's future, Japanese aid, and such complex matters.
It was doubly surprising to learn that Matthew's mother and Yumiko's aunt (Yumiko mentioned, "My mother's younger sister") are related to our family.
That afternoon, we sat on the cobblestone path leading to the square, discussing each other's lives and families. Sunlight peeked through the spaces in the betelnut palm, casting intermittent rays and causing the leaves to sway in a cool breeze. Tarii seemed to have grown bored and had quietly slipped away home.
"My aunt used to live in Palau. I had some things I wanted to investigate, so she was supposed to come along, but her chronic illness relapsed, and she had to be hospitalized. So, I came as the family representative. Palau's seas are beautiful, and I had just quit my job and was wandering around," Yumiko spoke fluently in English, mentioning her studies in America and working at an English institute in Japan.
Seemingly quite interested in Palauan life, she inquired about my family's lifestyle. "Wow, Mari-chan, your house seems straight out of island life. I'd love to visit sometime."
And just like that, we became good friends.
As the sun began to set, and the stone path cooled, we bid farewell, waving our hands as if saying goodbye to school friends. Despite my initial fear, I thought that sometimes good things happen at the A bai.
True to her words, Yumiko visited my house the following week, driven in Matthew's pickup truck. She brought along a case of Asahi beer, Awasemiso, and was warmly welcomed by Grandma, Dad, and Mom, all beaming.
That night's dinner was sumptuous, featuring Mom's signature sushi rolls, inarizushi, whole fried fish, and sweet tapioca snacks—a much grander feast than usual. While I was happy, I sensed a strange atmosphere. It wasn't Christmas when siblings usually returned, so why this lavishness?
I also couldn't ignore Yumiko's large suitcase tucked away in the living room corner.
The answer came when Matthew said, "Well, I should be going... got work tomorrow," and left. Oddly, Yumiko didn't leave with Matthew but stayed, drinking at the Bamboo House with Tommy.
Dad, fetching another Asahi from the fridge instead of a Budweiser, leaned close, his breath smelling of beer, and said, "Mari, Yumiko will stay with us until she returns to Japan. Having an older sister is nice, isn't it?"
"Really?" I jumped in excitement. It felt like our family had gained another member, and I was elated.
"Can I take Yumiko to the waterfall? Or have an island picnic? Can we, Father? Can you take out the boat?" I eagerly requested.
But at that moment, I still knew nothing about the commotion surrounding Yumiko...
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■Chapter 4:Yumiko's Homestay.
●Waterfall play
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
The piercing crow of the rooster sneaks in through the netted windows, shattering the pleasant morning slumber in an instant.
Glancing at the clock on the table, it's barely half-past five in the morning. Honestly, those chickens of ours, couldn't they sleep in just a bit longer? Muttering complaints inwardly, I pull the towel blanket over my head. But the sun, lively and strong, shines through the eastern window, and I can hear Grandma's early morning chatter from the garden.
Gosh, it's so noisy already!
Tossing the towel blanket aside, I peek out through the window covered by a mosquito net. Puddles dot the ground, remnants from the overnight rain. Amidst these, I spot tiny yellow figures imitating the parent birds, busily sipping water.
My drowsiness evaporates instantly. This kind of morning calls for an immediate trip to the Bamboo House!
Through the tall betelnut palm, radiant light beams straight to the ground, illuminating the lush green leaves. Inhaling deeply, the moist soil and the earthy scent of tropical plants seem to paint my lungs green. Why do the grass and flowers smell so strong after the rain?
The sky, faintly tinged with orange yesterday, has transformed into a vivid blue, with white clouds swiftly drifting. What a change from yesterday's weather.
Alright, this weather is perfect for visiting Gatpang Falls!
No time to waste; there's plenty to do.
In the living room, my brother and cousins are sprawled across the mats, still sound asleep. Carefully avoiding them, I make my way to the back kitchen.
Last night, Yumiko initially had a serious conversation with Dad, Grandma, and Matthew. I had a lot I wanted to discuss with Yumiko, but it didn't feel right to barge in.
They must have talked late into the night. The ashtray on the table is piled high with cigarette butts, and beer cans overflow the trash bin in the kitchen. Yet, come morning, the family gathers as usual, each engaging in household chores or planning their day. Yumiko is awake, having coffee with Dad in the living room.
Seems like my family took an immediate liking to Yumiko.
And then there's Yumiko, in the kitchen, glancing at me and saying, "Ah, Mari-chan, Ungiruto-taw (good morning)!" She pronounced it in such a peculiar way, in Palauan. Tommy burst into laughter upon hearing that.
Secretly, I'm planning to take Yumiko to Gatspan Falls and then snag a Mangrove Club on our way back.
Mangrove Crab is a popular crab dish on the island, only served on special occasions when foreign guests arrive. During last night's welcome dinner, the Mangrove Crab was missing from the table. So today, I'm thinking of treating Yumiko to it.
"Mom, after we eat this, Yumiko and I will head to Gatspan, okay?"
"Sure, just be careful. It's been raining quite a bit these past few days, so the water levels might be high."
"Yeah, I will."
I grabbed the largest taro from the pot and chewed on it while planning out today's agenda.
In the rattling pickup truck, Tommy dropped us off at the entrance to the path leading to the waterfall. From there, Yumiko and I walked towards the falls.
Yumiko wore Mom's rubber flip-flops today. It's probably because the fashionable sandals would be difficult to walk in and might get dirty in the muddy terrain.
Clutching onto branches and tangled vines, we descended the muddy path for a while until the sound of rushing water became audible from below.
"Wow, amazing!"
Yumiko stopped, and ahead of her, the river water just about to cascade down the waterfall shimmered, creating small whirlpools. As Mom mentioned, there's definitely more water compared to the last time I was here.
As we stepped into the river, the water reached up to my thighs. The crystal-clear fresh water felt refreshingly cool against my skin, but the current was quite swift. Being cautious of my footing, I crossed to the other side and cleared the foliage to descend closer to the bottom of the falls.
The tremendous volume of water cascaded vigorously into the waterfall basin with a thunderous roar. Just standing in front of the falls felt like being caught in a shower.
"Geez, ouch, that's cold!"
Yumiko, getting closer to the waterfall basin, shouted loudly.
Spotting a deeper pool, I jumped in from my feet. The water from the falls hitting my body felt like a series of baseballs striking me with force.
We played in the waterfall basin for about an hour, shouting about the cold and the pain. Even from my perspective, the adult Yumiko seemed more like a child in her excitement.
As they jointly wrung out their wet T-shirts, waiting for Tommy's pick-up at the entrance of the waterfall:
"Hey, Mari! What's up? Got a hungry tummy and can't walk?"
A familiar voice echoed from the road.
Poking his face out from the car window was joke-loving Uncle Allen.
"Waiting for Tommy's pick-up."
"Oh, I see. Be careful not to be forgotten. He's quite prone to that. Hahaha!"
He laughed loudly and tossed one orange fruit after another towards us.
While waiting for Tommy's car, the familiar village cars always stopped in front of us. They'd ask the same question as Uncle Allen, listen to my response, then drive off, seeming relieved. Each time, our hands ended up with more fruits and canned juices.
"Mari sure has influence, huh?"
Yumiko marveled, neatly peeling an orange with her left hand and taking a juicy bite.
It's a common thing in the village, but I refrained from telling Yumiko. "Having influence" doesn't sound too bad.
"Hey, hey, sorry for being late, sorry!"
Tommy finally appeared, repeatedly apologizing but showing no remorse at all. He brushed it off with his usual excuse, "Stopped by the gas station and got caught up with my buddies," as if nothing was amiss.
Timing the moment his explanation ended, I promptly gave Tommy an order.
"Tommy, as a penalty for being late, swing by Grandpa Yasu's place!"
"Huh, Yasu's place? Isn't he usually out during this time?"
"He should be home at this hour. He only heads out for fishing when the sun's lower."
"Sigh, Mari, you're starting to resemble Grandma more and more."
Scratching his head, Tommy reluctantly steered towards the house of Grandpa Yasu, residing in the village's cove.
Tommy's not fond of Grandpa Yasu's place; he once got bitten by the dog Yasu keeps. Clearly a mistake on Tommy's part, mistaken for a thief or something.
But now, half of my plan was successful. Tommy's always late, so the punishment was pre-planned.
●Sea Forest Feast
The coastline of Babeldaob Island is surrounded by dense mangrove forests. Mangroves refer to plants growing in areas where saltwater and freshwater meet. They densely populate the coastal areas where rivers from the island's upstream meet the sea.
During high tide, their pneumatophores, octopus-like roots, completely hide underwater, leaving only their green leaves and upper trunks above the water's surface. These trees thrive by firmly anchoring their sturdy roots into the muddy depths, absorbing nutrients from there.
Local fishermen capture the mangrove crabs dwelling in these forests, selling them to hotels and restaurants for cash. Each fisherman along the coast has their secret spots. They set trap cages between the pneumatophores or capture mangrove crabs hiding deep inside circular holes in the muddy substrates exposed during low tide.
Crabs tend to attack foreign objects entering their burrows, so the fishermen skillfully pull them out by inserting a long stick into the burrow, catching the moment the crab clamps onto the stick with its pincers and swiftly pulling it out.
Grandpa Yasu is a master of this technique.
When the pickup truck halted in front of Grandpa Yasu's house, two dogs promptly approached, wagging their tails. Tommy gestured to me, raising his eyebrows, "I'll stay here, you guys go ahead," probably still dealing with some trauma.
"Grandpa Yasu! Hi there!"
My voice called out at the door, receiving a hearty response from the waterside cabin.
"Oh, Mari! Long time, huh?"
Yasu, thin as a branch and wrinkled, emerged from the cabin holding tightly bound, jet-black mangrove crabs with rubber bands.
"You've come at the right time. Take these to Granny. Caught eight today. Oh, oh, who's this lovely lady?"
Sharp-eyed Yasu glanced at Yumiko, standing behind me.
"My friend, Yumiko. She's on a homestay at my place."
"Hello."
As Yumiko smiled, Yasu silently returned to the cabin. Upon his return, he had another crab hanging from his hand, larger than the previous one.
"This is a female; it's tasty!"
Yasu grinned.
That's why I like Yasu; he's easy to understand.
"Shoo, go away. Hey, don't bother me," Tommy said, fending off the playful dogs, handing a beer packs to Yasu, silently.
Sometimes, Tommy can be considerate too. We all thanked Yasu for the mangrove crabs, got into the car, waving exaggeratedly to Yasu, who seemed to be solely focused on Yumiko. When Yumiko loudly said, "Thank you very much," Yasu's wrinkled face became even more creased.
Back at home, I immediately burned coconut shells and boiled water in the pot. Inside a cardboard box placed on the side, mangrove crabs tied with strings were staring at me with their round eyes.
While alive, these crabs are as black as mud, but when boiled in hot water, they turn bright red in no time. Their shells and claws are so hard that you need a hammer to crack them open, but inside, there's densely packed white meat, especially in the larger claws.
Lobsters caught in the sea are tasty, but I prefer the distinctive and flavorful meat of these crabs. If bought at the town market, a single large-sized one could cost up to forty dollars. We rarely get to enjoy them at home, only when my brothers return from America, so today feels incredibly fortunate. I really must thank Grandpa Yasu and Yumiko for this.
● Giant clam and Giant Crocs
"Hey, Tarii, Mari, can you lend a hand?"
Dad, who seemed to have been out at sea, returned on Mr. Tamagu's truck, an acquaintance.
"We've had a great catch today. Headed out offshore, within an hour or so, got twenty of them!"
Opening the cooler box he brought down heavily from the truck's back, there was plenty of fish for the family. Mr. Tamagu, who went fishing together, was also beaming.
"We can boil two of the snappers for coconut soup, and maybe grill the other two. The horse mackerel will go as sashimi... Oh, Mom, you mentioned running out of soy sauce this morning; did you manage to buy some?"
Dad, in times like these, was much more efficient than when he was indoors.
Speaking of which, I haven't talked about Dad's job yet. Since Yumiko is here, let's discuss it now. It might be a bit of a lengthy story.
Dad works in the island's fisheries research center, focusing on giant clam shell cultivation.
Ever heard of giant clam shells?
They're bivalves with wavy edges on their shells. After consuming the flesh, if washed and dried properly, they can be used as white containers or ashtrays. They're often sold as souvenirs.
The small ones fit in your palm, while the larger ones can snugly house a baby. Diving into the coral reef sea, you'll find these big giant clam shells buried among the coral. Seems like Palau has had plenty of these giant clam shells since ancient times.
We used to dive and play around with open giant clam shells, closing their shells for fun. However, playing without understanding the danger can be risky. Once a giant clam shells shuts its shell, it won't open immediately. A few months ago, someone on the island got injured by getting their hand caught in a giant clam shell
Being small doesn't mean they're harmless. The smaller giant clam shell shut their shells much quicker.
Dad is part of a research team cultivating these giant clam shells, helping with growth records and investigating reasons for their decline.
When Dad was a child, there were plenty of giant clam shells in the sea, but excessive harvesting led to a drastic decrease in their numbers.
Islanders love giant clam shells sashimi, sell their shells as souvenirs, and export them abroad. Plus, the incursion of poaching ships from the Philippines also contributed to the decline, they say.
Although harvesting of natural giant clam shells is legally prohibited, illegal fishing continues, and Robert from the Natural Resources Conservation Office lamented to Dad, "At this rate, the natural species will keep dwindling."
"Hey, that giant clam shells I had at the restaurant, could it be...?"
Yumiko, who had been quietly listening, hesitantly spoke up.
"Nah, the sashimi served at the town's restaurants is cultivated ones."
giant clam shells cannot be brought into Japan or the US under the Washington Convention, but with certification, cultivated ones can be taken back.
Father seemed pleased, thinking it'd be killing two birds with one stone if we could taste the rare giant clam shells sashimi in Palau and bring shells as souvenirs.
"Oh, that's a relief."
After hearing this, Yumiko seemed relieved.
Dad was quite dedicated to his job; whenever a storm approached, he monitored the submerged cultivation bays and conducted research at the Fisheries and Marine Resources Office in Pohnpei state.
That was until last month, before Dad got injured.
Even though Dad remained unperturbed when chased by sharks or trapped by large giant clam shells while spearfishing, he sustained an unexpected injury last month. Perhaps this time, the opponent was more challenging. It was a giant estuarine crocodile he confronted.
On that day, Dad, along with local fishermen, headed to the Rock Islands to capture the estuarine crocodile. No lies. Wild estuarine crocodiles exist on this island.
There's a story that during the Japanese rule, Japanese people farmed crocodiles on the island, which escaped during the war and turned wild. There's also talk that they migrated across the sea from New Guinea. The actual story remains unclear.
When I was in third grade, the estuarine crocodile that my brother's friend hunted in Gatpang Bay measured about sixteen ft. from mouth to tail tip, astonishing everyone in the village.
I still vividly remember Dad returning all excited and talking about how huge the crocodile was and how heavy it was after seeing the real thing.
"We tied the crocodile's mouth, body, and tail to a board and transported it by boat. It was impossible to lift manually, so we used a crane to lift it at the port."
Later, my brother showed me photos from that time, and it was truly, unbelievably massive.
Tafuuk, who stood confidently in front of the gigantic crocodile (one of my brother's classmates), was at least three times taller. Apparently, it was Dad's first time seeing such a huge crocodile.
It seems that the estuarine crocodile has reappeared.
Usually inhabiting brackish-water bays, these nocturnal crocodiles appeared on the Rock Islands, a common landing spot for tourists chasing after sea turtles.
As it could be a major problem for the island, no, for Palau, Dad and the others kept vigil on deserted islands night after night, finally cornered the estuarine crocodile at great risk, and tied up its mouth and body with ropes. Then, as it fiercely struggled, Dad got hit on the arm by its thick, sturdy tail.
Fortunately, it wasn't serious, but when Grandma said, "Back then, fishermen had their arms or legs bitten off by crocodiles," it sent shivers down our spines.
So now, Dad is on medical leave.
Initially, he stayed quietly at home, but for the past few days, he's been going fishing in the open sea with Tommy and some relatives.
While Mom thinks it's better for Dad to go out since he only drinks beer at home and would be a nuisance even if he tries to clean, I think it's better for him to go fishing than just idling around here.
After all, Dad's fishing skills guarantee us a lavish dinner. Tarii, who loves sashimi, is pleased as well.
However, Mom is the only one who, poking fun, asks, "If your arm moves that well, why not return to work from tomorrow?" When that happens, Dad curls up in the corner of the room like a pulled-up lobster.
That's why, seeing Dad in his usual lively mood today, it makes me feel cheerful too.
■ Chapter 5 Events During the Japanese Era
● Palauan
Tonight, the dinner table is vibrant. Tapioca boiled bright yellow, colorful fish caught by Dad, complete with heads, arranged neatly. In the center, a vivid red mangrove crab that I managed to get. Yeah!
There's also tender sashimi and coconut soup with bream.
"Let's eat!"
Yumiko said in Japanese and was the first to grab the mangrove crab.
I followed suit.
"Itadakimasu."
"Hehehe..."
Yumiko seemed to enjoy it, chuckling.
I wonder if my Japanese sounds odd?
Yumiko, whose hobby has been diving since her student days, mentioned she's been diving around these islands for a while. She's been to nearby Yap Island, Chuuk and Pohnpei to Guam's east, Kosrae, Majuro, and even islands I've never been to.
"Micronesia is vast, so languages, customs, and even the food vary slightly from island to island. In Palau, tapioca is commonly eaten, but on other islands, taro or yam might be more prevalent."
According to Yumiko, each island has differences in staple foods and eating habits, which made her increasingly curious as she learned more.
"Palau falls under the Micronesian region, but Yap, Chuuk, Pohnpei, Kosrae are part of the Federated States of Micronesia. In other words, they're separate countries from our Palau Republic. Due to complicated political reasons, Palau chose its path to independence instead of joining the federation with other islands."
Dad chimed in with a self-satisfied look.
"However, in the past, they freely sailed canoes between islands. Now they're Yap State, Chuuk State, but for people in ancient times, it was natural to hop onto a canoe and visit neighboring islands."
"Passports? No such thing existed. Grandpa used to say that paddling a canoe to a distant island to get some tobacco or drink coconut liquor was just a casual thing to do. The seas connect, and the roots of Micronesian people are the same."
Maybe because of the good catch today, Dad was in high spirits.
"That's true. Even if we say countries are different now, Yap and Palau share similar cultures. Look, Marichan, and Abai I met for the first time here, they have a similar gathering place called Pebai in Yap. Even the habit of chewing betel nut (binrou) is the same."
Yumiko's eagerness to learn about the local island cultures further brightened Dad's mood.
My family tree extends through Grandma, then the late cousin of my grandfather, and his son's, and so on, and it seems we have relatives scattered across many islands.
Thanks to that, when I visit Yap Island, Guam, or Saipan, I never struggle to find a place to stay. It's quite helpful, you know?
"Micronesia just suits me, you know? There's something comforting about it. Having grandparents who speak Japanese is enjoyable for someone like me, a Japanese descendant," said Yumiko while sipping coconut soup.
"And Palau, it's truly interesting!"
I don't really understand how my own island is interesting. Unable to form a reply, I just made a face like, "Really?" Suddenly, Yumiko went poker-faced and asked, "Hey, Marichan, is my talk being too namaiki
（presumptuous）?"
Pfft!
I burst out laughing. Tommy, Dad, and even Mom chuckled together. Grandma let out a strange giggle.
"See, this is what's interesting!"
As if to say, "See, I got a reaction from my story," Yumiko had a smug look on her face.
The Japanese word "namaiki" directly translates to Palauan.
"Shuukan," "basho," "bentou," "benjo," "zoori," "denki," "yakyuu," "undo-kai," "haizara," "senkou," "nappa" "jaga-mondai"- there are many more.
I've known from Grandma that over sixty years ago, many Japanese people lived on our island. Grandma learned Japanese because she attended a Japanese-style school in Koror where they taught Japanese.
For a long time, the islanders lived with customs brought by the Japanese. Even after the war ended, those customs remained on our island.
One of my favorites among them is Japanese food, a lingering gift from Japan that never fades away.
"You know, when I first came to Palau during my student days, I asked various questions to the hotel staff where I was staying. 'Will the taxi arrive on time? Will I get ripped off?' and such. Then, he just laughed and said, 'Daijoubu, jaga-mondai' (No problem, it's okay)," recounted Yumiko.
"That's when I learned that Japanese phrases directly translate into Palauan," she continued. Yumiko listed Palauan phrases she found amusing for Japanese speakers. "They say 'nikai' for the second floor in a three-story building. Also, 'pants' are 'sarmata,' and 'bra' is 'chichiband.'"
Grandma chuckled softly. "They use 'tatamu' for folding something in two, and if it's folded more, it's 'tatandeiru.' It changes oddly, for some reason."
"Wait, 'tatamu' is Japanese?" I asked, surprised, as I thought 'tatamu' was genuine Palauan.
"Yes, it means 'to fold clothes' in Japanese. I also thought 'casutera' was a Japanese word I loved when I was a kid, but I was surprised to learn it's Portuguese. Similar to your surprise now," Yumiko explained.
Then, as if she remembered something, Yumiko suddenly burst into giggles. "This happened when we went out to sea on a boat in Palau... We encountered a pod of round-headed pilot whales. We were quite far out, so I couldn't see anything. But Palauans have incredible eyesight, right? The boat captain kept trying to show me where the whales were by pointing and shouting 'atama!' whenever a whale's head surfaced. 'Atama, atama, atama!' when multiple surfaced. It was hilarious."
Yumiko seemed highly amused by the memory. "Come to think of it, we used to joke, saying, 'That's a tamanegi atama!' Then Tommy pretended in a silly voice," and Yumiko burst into laughter, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
Watching her, I recalled a Japanese word that had been a mystery to me. "Hey, what does 'senkou' mean?"
"'Senkou'?!" Yumiko stopped laughing, wiped away her tears, and looked at my face. "I heard my friend's relative was called 'senkou.'"
It was said that in Palau, there were elders with Japanese names like Ishidorou. Suddenly, Yumiko's expression clouded. Then, after briefly glancing at Grandma, she slowly began to speak, seeming somewhat lost in thought.
"'Senkou' refers to something offered at a Japanese grave, incense sticks used to pay respects to ancestors. I think that name was given during the Japanese colonial era before the Pacific War or during the war, but..." Yumiko seemed uncertain about how to continue.
Was it something I shouldn't have asked about? Feeling embarrassed for asking, I looked down.
Through the net on the window frame, banana leaves rustled gently.
"When the Japanese were on this island, there were so many, many things happening. There were good Japanese and bad ones, just like now," Grandma, who had been listening quietly, suddenly spoke. She spoke in Japanese, so only Yumiko understood, but at that moment, I felt like my whole family instantly grasped the meaning behind Grandma's words, not through ears, but directly into our hearts.
Yumiko looked at Grandma, a faint smile on her lips, nodding slightly.
●Disturbance
Initially reserved, Yumiko seemed to have settled quite comfortably into life in this house after two or three days.
While I was at school, she accompanied Grandma to the tapioca fields and taro patches, helping with the yam harvest, or learned Palauan cooking from my mother.
"Marichan, we've got pannomi chips here!"
As I returned home, Yumiko's cheerful voice echoed from the kitchen.
"Alright, I'm coming!"
pannomi chips were my favorite local snack.
The green breadfruit was about the size of my head. Once peeled, it revealed a cream-colored flesh, sliced thinly like potato chips and deep-fried. I prefer them with sugar sprinkled on top for a snack, but my father prefers a sprinkle of salt, pairing them with beer. Freshly fried, they're wonderfully crispy and delicious.
The name "pannomi" sounds odd, but supposedly, when Europeans first ate the breadfruit, they exclaimed it tasted like bread and named it accordingly. Actually, it's more of a taste akin to yams than bread.
"Today, we harvested a lot of tapioca roots, so tomorrow I'll learn from Mom how to make tapioca sweets. Marichan, do you like duru diokan?"
"I love it!"
"Duru diokang is a sweet treat made by steaming grated tapioca and then baking it with caramelized coconut milk. It's a special dessert made for significant occasions, so it's not something you get to have very often. But with Yumiko around, as my mother teaches her various Palauan dishes, there are plenty of special treats to enjoy, and I feel incredibly lucky.
At our home nestled on the slope of the mountain, laughter echoed more than ever, and Yumiko seemed very happy every day."
"Towards evening, the incident occurred.
My mind was filled with thoughts of tomorrow's duru diokang when Tommy, who had gone into town to order motorboat parts, returned with a tense expression. His usual carefree demeanor vanished, replaced by a frighteningly serious look.
Tommy grabbed my arm upon seeing me and led me to the backyard shed. Then, in a rapid stream of words, he spoke, 'Earlier, while checking for parts at the town, a classmate spotted me and said, 'Hey, you're hiding a Japanese guys in your place, aren't you?' I had no clue what he meant, so I replied, 'What are you talking about?' But I thought she meant the Japanese guys, you know?'
I was stunned by this sudden turn of events. I couldn't quite comprehend what Tommy was saying.
Tommy continued to talk as if he urgently needed to tell someone about it, even hinting that his safety might be at risk if he didn't.
Looking at Tommy's face, usually gentle and laid-back but now filled with urgency, I realized that even someone I thought I knew inside-out, having grown up with him since childhood, had facets unknown to me. It was the first time I had seen such a serious expression on him.
This is what Tommy said:
His high school classmate, Shim, is a wealthy landowner on an island connected to Koror by a bridge. Shim, who drives a shiny red sports car and lives in a mansion atop a hill, was furious about the information Yumiko was gathering in Palau.
Yumiko had in her possession the land registry records of Palau dating back to the Japanese colonial era. Shim, having heard about this from various relatives, exploded in anger, accusing Yumiko of investigating his family's land for a wealthy Japanese takeover.
'Is that, like, really true?' I cautiously asked.
'I don't know, man,' was Tommy's expected response.
We both fell silent, lost in our own thoughts.
'Hey, should we ask Dad?'
'Uh, well, I wonder if Dad would, you know... tell us the real deal... ' Tommy reverted to his usual withdrawn self, hesitating.
'But if not Dad, then who else do we ask? Mom? Grandma?'
I pressed on. I was curious too. There was no way I could just laugh and spend time with Yumiko as usual after hearing such things.
'Yeah, you're right. It's awkward living together with doubts,' Tommy spoke with determination.
He appeared more mature than usual."
"That night, Tommy and I secretly called Dad before dinner.
I knew the detached shed, where voices didn't carry into the house, was a convenient place for adults to talk, so that's where we always held discussions.
In the living room, Yumiko was babysitting the little ones while watching an American TV show.
After listening to Tommy's story, Dad took out a betel nut from a pandanus leaf-woven basket, sliced it in half with a small knife, sprinkled lime on it, wrapped it in a Piper betel leaf, and popped it into his mouth.
The crunching sound echoed beneath the shed with its bare lightbulb. A pleasant breeze blew in from the distant sea.
Betel nuts are chewed when contemplating something deeply, needing a pause in conversation, or simply to kill time. Chewing on them turns saliva a peculiar red color, and those who see this for the first time in Palau often think everyone's bleeding from their mouths, surprised by it.
"Hey, Dad, is that story true?" I couldn't wait for Dad's betel-nut chewing 'break.'
"Well, some parts are true... some aren't," he said and resumed chewing on the betel nut. I resigned myself to wait for his next words.
After a while, slowly, Dad spat the red saliva into an empty can by the bamboo bench and began speaking.
"When your grandma and grandpa were young, about ten thousand Japanese immigrants came to this island. They weren't just from mainland Japan; there were many from southern islands like Okinawa, similar to Palau. Seems like a lot of Okinawans were into bonito fishing. Those who were farmers in Japan continued farming here, and those who held government positions in Japan continued the same here.
The central figures, government officials, and businesspeople, started building towns in Koror, similar to those in Japan. There were public schools teaching Japanese, activities (cinemas), newspapers, inns, restaurants, barbershops, and it thrived even more than it does now."
After sharing this much, Dad asked me to fetch two cans of beer from the fridge.
Sipping Budweisers, Dad and Tommy continued, and Dad picked up where he left off.
"Back then, Palau was considered Japanese territory, so land required by the Japanese was acquired. They conducted land registry in the Japanese style."
I didn't quite understand what Dad meant. "What's land registry?" I asked.
"We wouldn't stretch ropes on our ancestral land, claiming, 'This is my land, from here to there.' Everyone in the village knows that the mountain is your grandma's. If they know, that's sufficient. There's no need to specially mark it out with ropes. That mountain belongs to the Elariunos family, and that's it.
However, the Japanese were meticulous about drawing lines and saying, 'This area is mine, my field,' making it difficult for those who couldn't comprehend it. So, they adopted that method on this island too."
"So, does someone hold land registry for this place, like a Japanese person?" Tommy interjected from the side.
"No, that shouldn't be the case. The Japanese settled in Babeldaob and cultivated fields, but I've never heard from your grandma or grandpa that they lost land here."
After hearing that, Tommy seemed relieved."
According to Dad's account,
The registry Yumiko brought from Japan belonged to an aunt of hers who lived in Palau in the past. Many registries were destroyed in the war, but her aunt managed to keep it as she returned to Japan before the war began.
"But can such old documents be valid?" Tommy asked.
"Nah, when Japan lost to America, it became just scraps of paper. It's pointless to take legal action, and besides, under current Palauan law, foreigners aren't allowed to buy land," Dad said.
"When a foreigner builds a hotel or a house in Palau, they need to sign a 77-year lease with the landowner," Dad mentioned.
I calculated in my head. If Yumiko, at twenty-seven, rented land and built a house in Palau, it meant she could stay in Palau until she's a hundred and four. It sounded quite exciting to me.
Unaware of all this, Yumiko, who received the registry from her relative aunt, showed it to Matthew the night she arrived in Palau, only to be laughed at. However, for Yumiko, who valued documents like titles and registries from authorities, Matthew's "worthless" words couldn't be believed, or perhaps she didn't want to believe them.
Later, she remembered a Palauan she'd met before, who managed a hotel, and apparently went to show him the registry. That Palauan happened to be the brother of the landowner.
"Well, that created a bit of a problem there," Dad said.
"But why did Shim get angry at such an invalid registry?" Tommy pondered.
"He wouldn't have been angry at her for bringing the registry. It likely reminded him of the old Japanese who took their land. He's always been like that," Dad explained.
Dad's story made sense to me too because the landowner's actions were typical. Mom often complained about how island men had a bad habit of losing control when angered. Once, at a town restaurant, a drunk man started a fight and ended up seriously injuring someone with a fork.
The infuriated landowner came to Matthew's house, shouting at the doorstep.
That incident sparked rumors, turning into a tale about "wealthy Japanese coming to seize land" or "a Japanese person wanting to rent land near Koror for a hefty price." The rumors spread like wildfire, ballooning into huge proportions.
For Yumiko's aunt, if that registry was still valid, she seemed to have lightly considered building a house on that land, spending her old age shuttling between Japan and Palau, living leisurely.
"So, did Matthew suddenly bring Yumiko here because of that?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's part of it. With guests showing up almost every night, claiming, 'That land belongs to my grandma,' 'It's my grandpa's land,' 'It's my relatives' land, so I'll rent it cheap,' Matthew's family couldn't get proper rest," Dad explained.
"Ah, I see, that's what happened," Tommy sighed deeply. The confusion in my head dissipated, and I felt relieved. It was like standing under a cold waterfall.
"Well, keep this matter quiet from her. She's already been through a lot at Matthew's place. It's better to let it be," Dad advised, to which Tommy and I silently nodded in agreement.
■ Chapter 6: Picnic
● Paradise Island
"Mari, could you check if the tapioca is steamed? Just take a look," Mom said.
"Yes!"
Prompted by Mom, I used the core of a palm leaf to pierce the tapioca in the pot. The yellowish steamed tapioca yielded easily to the core.
"OK!"
At the front porch, Tommy was loading a large icebox onto the pickup truck. Yumiko meticulously packed individually wrapped rice balls into a basket.
Once everything was set, we all climbed onto the truck bed, headed to town, purchased drinks and ice from the supermarket, then switched to a motorboat moored at the harbor. And off we went to the uninhabited islands of the Rock Islands!
I was thrilled.
The night before, Tommy and I decided to invite Yumiko on a weekend picnic to the uninhabited islands. When we told her, she jumped up, hugged Tommy, and exclaimed, "I'm so happy!" So today, Tommy's been doing his best to impress her.
The team comprised me, my younger brother Tarii, Tommy, and Yumiko. Dad seemed eager to join but looked disappointed because of a village meeting. When there are village decisions to be made, the chiefs, elders, and village leaders gather for a meeting. Dad, being the village chief, couldn't skip it.
Speaking of which, did Tommy go to town to fetch the boat parts?
"He mentioned fixing the engine cover rattling before we go on the picnic." Tommy is a kind and great guy, but his only (and quite significant) flaw is that he tends to forget things quickly, especially after having beer.
Vroom, vroom, vroom… the sound of a Yamaha two-stroke engine echoes at the harbor. Occasionally puffing out white smoke, the island men praise, "Yamaha engines are the best!" while giving a thumbs-up.
The motorboat slid swiftly over the calm sea surface.
"Wow, the green island is perfectly reflected, like a mirror!"
We marveled at the tiny mushroom-shaped island known as Rock Islands, reflecting beautifully on the sea's surface.
Yumiko, excited to revisit the Rock Islands after a long time, was in high spirits.
Earlier, she confidently (or so she thought) greeted people at the harbor in Palauan, and everyone laughed. Even those fishing at the pier turned around and burst into laughter, which made me quite embarrassed, but Yumiko was all smiles, clearly proud of her language skills.
After an hour's ride from the harbor, Paradise Island, our destination, came into view. The blue sea gradually turned turquoise, with a pristine white sandy beach stretching ahead. The shade from the trees looked invitingly comfortable.
Paradise Island is uninhabited, but it has simple huts on the beach, allowing us shelter in case of sudden squalls. Since my father has a long-standing relationship with the owner of this uninhabited island, we can land anytime by simply asking.
Most of Palau's uninhabited islands are managed by the state government, but there are a few individually owned islands like this one.
We pushed the boat ashore and carried water, bento boxes, and a cooler box to the hut. Both my younger brother, Tarii, and I were excited about being on an uninhabited island after so long. We buried our feet in the soft sand just after the waves receded, playing and having competitions to see who could collect the most shells.
Yumiko, acting more like a child than the children themselves, and I and Tarii made multiple trips between the sea and the sandy beach. Tommy, who dislikes movement, promptly settled down for a nap in the shade of the trees.
"Look, Mari-chan. Even this tiny shell has such beautiful patterns. It's art, isn't it?" Yumiko was fascinated, placing a tiny spiral shell on her index finger.
The glaring sun on the white sandy beach made sweat appear within minutes. Without the sea breeze like today, even someone like me, used to island life, wouldn't be able to stay on the beach during the daytime. After all, Palau is an island nation close to the equator, with much stronger sun rays than, say, Guam.
"Ah, this feels so good. It's paradise!" Yumiko, whose shoulders were already sunburned, lay floating on her back in the shallow sea. I joined her, lying on my back too. Tarii said, "Do I have my Coke?" and dashed towards the cooler box kept in the hut.
The wind was quite strong overhead. Fluffy clouds floated in the deep blue sky, dancing around like cotton candy. White herons soared in the wind, their wings spread, gliding through the air.
"The blue of the sea and sky is really lovely..." Yumiko said with narrowed eyes, almost as if stating the obvious. Suddenly, she sat up abruptly, staring intently at the layered shades of blue in the distant sea, then peered into my eyes, asking, "Mari-chan, have you ever seen the depths of the sea?"
"Nope," I replied. Even with fins, the deepest I can go is about ten ft. I stick to playing in the shallows. Even if I go out to the open sea with Dad's boat, I'm too scared to dive into the deep sea where I can't see the bottom.
"I see. Maybe it's too early for you to try scuba diving. The open sea in Palau is incredibly dynamic. Swimming along the vertical walls of the coral reef, not knowing what to expect in the 360-degree blue world without seeing the bottom, is thrilling beyond words." Yumiko seemed to recall her experience diving in the sea as she spoke with excitement.
I imagined the deep sea in Palau, something I had never known.
Would fish like horse mackerel, snappers, and rabbitfish, which Dad catches, dart around swiftly? Can we even see the large-eyed Napoleons or sea turtles? And are there sharks there?
"Have you ever seen a shark underwater?" I timidly asked.
"I see sharks all the time."
"What? All the time?"
"Yes. I often see butterflyfish swimming leisurely right in front of me. Sharks in the sea are marvelous. They're streamlined and incredibly beautiful."
I was taken aback. Sharks swimming right in front? Sharks being beautiful? I stared at Yumiko, my mouth agape.
For me, sharks were nothing but terrifying creatures.
When I was young, there was an incident when a forty inch long shark got hooked on Dad's fishing line when we were out fishing on his boat in the open sea. When Dad reeled in the line, pulling and loosening it repeatedly, and we saw the face of the shark pulled close to the side of the boat, my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest.
Its blank eyes were as chillingly cold as a demon's, its pointed teeth sharp enough to tear human bones, and I instinctively recoiled on the narrow boat.
"Hahaha... Sharks don't usually attack humans. They tend to swim away if you approach them."
According to Yumiko, there are around 400 types of sharks in the world, and only a few, such as the great white shark, are known for attacking humans, which is rare in Palau's waters.
She mentioned that occasionally, there are aggressive hammerhead sharks, shaped like a hammer, gathering offshore around Peleliu Island, but as long as you observe the group swimming while diving, it's not usually frightening.
I found it hard to believe Yumiko's story.
"But, you see, what's scary underwater isn't the shark," Yumiko said in a low voice.
Then, with a look as if she were about to confess something important, she met my eyes.
●Yumiko's Predicament
Yumiko shared her experience about the deep sea in Palau, something I didn't know
～Yumiko’s story～
After cruising the calm open sea for about fifty minutes, the motorboat slowed down.
Peering out over the boat's edge into the sea, my face was clearly reflected on the water's surface. Thousands of rays of light radiated in a radial pattern across the azure sea, penetrating the deep, unseen depths below.
Ah, I can't wait to immerse myself in that blue water!
Since getting my scuba diving certification in Palau, I've dived at this spot dozens of times. The reef's terrain was roughly in my head, and I had a good understanding of diving techniques. Usually, I'd hitch a ride with the diving shop's boat on the shore and dive with a group. But today, my Palauan friend Benita was off work, so I asked him to take out a small boat.
As long as we had the boat and scuba tanks, I had brought diving equipment from Japan, and I invited Polly to be my buddy for the dive. It's a rule for diving to be in pairs.
Polly is Benita's cousin, and she works part-time at the diving shop only during the tourist season. Since there were no chartered flights from Japan at this time, she looked idle and readily agreed to join.
We geared up with the diving equipment on the boat, sat on the boat's edge, and then plunged into the sea from behind.
Splash!
In an instant, my whole body was enveloped in white foam. Through the gaps, the bright, transparent, blue underwater world expanded to the full view of my mask. Hmm, perfect conditions!
Polly and I signaled thumbs down, indicating to descend to the seabed, and swiftly began our descent headfirst into the deeper waters.
Swoosh, gulp-gulp-gulp. Swoosh, gulp-gulp-gulp. Inhaling and exhaling the air from the tank, the sound of my breath echoed loud in my ears.
Riding the current along the coral reef wall, an innumerable number of yellow and white butterflyfish swam like petals dancing. Among them, a butterflyfish swam gracefully away. It was the usual sight, the usual world beneath Palau's waters.
Mesmerized by the magnificent sea scenery, a Napoleon fish appeared, rotating its big eyes. The charming face of the Napoleon fish was as cute as a dog's.
Looking up, a large school of horse mackerel shimmered brilliantly over the coral reef. Polly and I signaled and swam towards the school of mackerel.
As we cut through the school, it surrounded us, swirling around as if to enclose both of us. It felt like being in the center of a merry-go-round; it made my head spin.
Suddenly, a big tuna darted into the school.
Instantly, like a pachinko ball hitting a board, the shimmering silver school split, leaving a clear blue space. It was the food chain in the sea where big fish targeting small fish creates these gaps. If the predator is serious, the prey's escape is even more desperate.
Riding the current further, a vague dark mass appeared near the surface. On focusing, it seemed to be a school of barracuda.
I pointed to Polly, indicating we should head toward that school near the surface!
As I approached, it was an astonishing number of barracuda. Not just hundreds, but a massive swarm exceeding a thousand. Their bodies were silver with black vertical stripes, expressionless faces, and sharp teeth. Thousands of them were clustered, swimming in one direction.
The sight was akin to thousands of migrating birds traversing the sky. It appeared as if fish were flying across the blue sky.
I was mesmerized, unusually exhilarated. Overwhelmed by the urge to chase after them, I swam with the group, possessed by the impulse.
Clang, clang...
A high-pitched metallic sound reverberated from underwater, startling me back to reality.
Polly, somewhere, signaled me by tapping the tank with a diving knife. But I couldn't see her. I couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. I had become so engrossed in the fish that I had drifted far away. I panicked.
I began swimming against the current, heading in the direction from where I thought the sound emanated.
The current seemed faster, making it a bit difficult to breathe. I put my head horizontal to minimize water resistance and swam vigorously, putting all my strength into my thighs and flapping my fins up and down.
...Something's wrong. I'm swimming so hard, but I don't feel like I'm making any progress. And... my exhaled breath turns into tiny bubbles, lingering around indefinitely.
My eardrums felt as if they were being pressured, ringing sharply.
Oh no.
Frantically, I pulled the depth gauge hanging around my waist closer.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen meters... The needle on the depth gauge kept dropping, indicating a deeper depth. My mind went blank. I finally realized the gravity of the situation.
I, who thought I was around ten meters deep, was being dragged by a deep-sea downdraft, a downcurrent dragging me to the abyssal seabed!
I kicked my fins desperately. In a frenzy, I scooped the heavy layer of water with both hands, trying to go up, up. Above my head, the sun, which usually sparkles and brings relaxation, now emitted a light of fear, moving farther away.
My heart pounded loudly, almost as if it would be swallowed by that sound.
Suddenly realizing, I groped for the intake button on the BC jacket to send air from the tank.
Whoosh... The BC jacket slowly inflated, and I felt my body becoming lighter.
How long was it? It felt like ten seconds, even ten minutes.
Suddenly, I was forcefully pulled, someone pressing the release valve of my BC jacket.
A familiar face emerged right before my eyes. It was Benita. Leaving the boat's operation to Polly, He hurriedly dove down and pulled me up to the surface.
Phew. Yumiko exhaled deeply after narrating the entire incident.
"Was it scary?" I asked in a low voice.
"Yeah. I thought, 'If I kept falling and ran out of air in the tank, would I die?'" Yumiko said, gazing towards the horizon.
"But, on the contrary, the world reflected in my eyes was so incredibly, unbelievably beautiful. Even in my hazy state of mind, I felt, 'Ah, this feels good.' It was like diving into a blue champagne glass. Surrounded by countless sparkling bubbles, I thought, 'Wouldn't it be nice if I could disappear like these bubbles?' It'd feel so good," Yumiko said.
As I listened to Yumiko's words, I wondered what kind of dangerously captivating beauty would make someone gaze in such a perilous situation. I tried to imagine the sight, reminiscent of the fizz in a glass of cider, but it was just a brief few seconds of the bubbles popping with a fizzy sound.
"Hey, how did you realize it was dangerous because of the tiny bubbles floating around you?" I voiced a simple question.
"In the ocean, bubbles always rise faster than me. They get smaller and ascend quicker. The reason for the fine bubbles around me was that the current was pulling them down to the seabed, along with my body," Yumiko explained.
I pondered why divers risked such dangers just to explore the sea. I thought, 'Even without fishing, why would someone dive?' But I kept that thought to myself.
Squinting at the sun, which generously poured light onto the land, Yumiko continued, "I had a tough time then, but it was a valuable experience. I realized how frightening it can be to overestimate oneself or underestimate the power of nature. When humans are in the ocean, we're smaller than the tiniest fish."
"My father says, 'The sea changes every day, every hour.' He always tells me and Tarii, 'Even if you swim in the same place, don't think it's the same as yesterday. The sea is alive,'" I thought absentmindedly, listening to the waves gently hitting the bottom of the nearby moored boat.
■Chapter 7: On the Desert Island
●Drifting
"Hey, we're pulling up the anchor!" With our stomachs full of fish cooked by Tapioca, rice balls, and Tommy, we were dozing comfortably in the shade of the palm trees when that call prompted us to get up.
Tarii, looking proud, had somehow gathered Palauan clams. Perhaps it was meant as a souvenir for Grandma, who loves clam miso soup.
Until the boat stopped sinking into the water, we pushed it offshore together, and following Tommy's "That's it!" everyone crawled onto the boat in turn.
"Marie, you're not supposed to sit there; sit here instead."
"Oh, right." Both Yumiko and I are left-handed, so we naturally end up sitting on the same side. It's more comfortable to hold onto the boat's rocking motion with our dominant hand. But with such a small boat, balance is crucial.
There seemed to be some time left before sunset. The Rock Islands in the distance were silhouetted, outlining the shape of the mushroom-like island beautifully.
"The wind's picking up a bit; the horizon's getting choppy. Let's head back before the squall hits," Tommy said, steering the boat into the cobalt-colored sea.
Gong, gong.
With the vibrations of the waves hitting the bottom of the boat, we sped through the open sea.
The surface of the sea was a rich, deep blue, and occasionally flying fish would skitter across the water. They looked more like birds than fish and were quite entertaining to watch.
Suddenly, the boat's speed dropped.
"What's wrong?"
"Look! A bird mountain. It's amazing!" Tommy exclaimed excitedly.
Standing up and looking ahead, there were hundreds of seabirds gathered about one hundred ft. away, hunting.
"Wow, amazing!" Yumiko also exclaimed.
"Look at that. The small fish are jumping so much. They're being chased by big fish," she added.
The diving seabirds swiftly caught the fish leaping on the water's surface. Surely, an incredible battle was unfolding beneath the waves.
Tommy, an avid fisherman, couldn't ignore such a large bird congregation. He was already preparing his gear and moving around the boat.
At this point, it was clear what would happen next. We had no choice but to silently accompany Tommy until he caught a big fish. But with such a congregation of birds, he'd probably catch around ten in no time.
Thinking this, I let the boat drift away from the bird mountain, and Yumiko kept exclaiming, leaning over the edge to watch the deep blue sea below.
Something Strange
It felt odd around 20 or 30 minutes after Tommy started trolling.
Despite seeing small fish leaping, a swirling mass of fish in the deep blue sea, and what seemed like a giant trevally or something repeatedly charging within it, Tommy's fishing line remained untouched.
Even Tommy, and it seemed Tarii, found it peculiar.
Yet, Tommy showed no signs of giving up. This was a rare and big congregation of birds. For Tommy, who, in Grandma's words, "loved fishing more than three square meals," this was like discovering a gold mine in the wilderness. If he couldn't catch even one fish here, it would be a complete loss of face.
Tommy appeared somewhat obstinate, still letting the line out.
Perhaps an hour had passed. The wind picked up, and the boat began to rock violently. Whitecaps appeared on the crests of the waves, and the ups and downs of the waves became more pronounced. The wind chilled our bodies.
"Tommy, let's head back," I finally spoke up.
"Yeah, let's go. I'm starving," Tarii added.
"Okay, let's go. The wind's getting stronger," Yumiko said. Reluctantly, Tommy reeled in his line. Still, his gaze remained fixed on the congregation of birds. It must have been hard to tear himself away.
The western sky was hazily orange. While the sky above us was still bright, thick gray clouds spread in the direction we were heading. A squall might be on its way...
Tommy must have sensed the same thing. Without delay, upon seeing the distant rain clouds, he pushed the engine throttle to full speed.
The bow faced the wall of waves, the Yamaha engine roared, and with momentum, the boat climbed the crest of a wave. Then, easing off the throttle, it glided down from the wave's peak. At that moment, our bodies lifted briefly, only to thud back down a moment later.
Yumiko exclaimed beside me, "Whoa, it's like a roller coaster!"
Each time the boat dropped into a wave trough, we thudded down, the icebox bounced, and the engine cover rattled towards the back.
Tarii, who was sitting behind me, had cunningly positioned himself behind the large Tommy for shelter from the wind. Yumiko and I lay flat on the deck of the boat, trying to avoid the cold wind and the thudding. It was almost as if we were two huge tuna caught on a line.
"Gong, gong, gong," the vibrations intensified. Waves taller than the boat's edge rose like black mountains, cresting and vanishing in multiple layers.
Another hour of being tossed about like this? Tough. Thinking so, I glanced up slightly, and something was leaping right beside the boat. Yumiko noticed the movement too.
"Oh, dolphins!"
Here and there in the waves, dolphin dorsal fins appeared and disappeared.
"Wow, there are so many!"
The pod of dolphins swam alongside the boat, almost as if they were keeping pace. They rode the waves effortlessly, smoothly gliding along with the boat.
"Dolphins surfing and playing around. Looks so enjoyable."
"There are baby dolphins too. How cute!"
Yumiko, Tarii, and I were captivated, watching the dolphins riding the waves.
Then it happened.
A particularly massive wave loomed ahead, and after a brief pause, a tremendous jolt reverberated through the hull. In the next moment, a deluge of seawater rushed into the boat, and a hissing sound rose from the rear as vapor. The engine cover flew off from the wave's force, and seawater splashed onto the engine, causing it trouble.
Tommy cursed under his breath and hastily tried the starter motor. Once more, and once more. But the engine wouldn't start.
"This is bad..." With a tense expression, Tommy attempted to start the engine repeatedly, yet the Yamaha engine, celebrated as 'The Number One in the World!' by the island men, refused to spring back to life.
" Shit. The engine's been hit".
Those words spilling out of boat engineer Tommy's mouth plunged us all into despair.
●Stranded on the Desert Island
The boat, with its immobile engine, a large icebox, and four humans aboard, continued to rock back and forth like leaves in the waves. Despite having ventured countless times on the sea with my father's boat, this was the first time we had been caught in such massive swells.
...We might capsize.
That's what everyone must have been thinking. Everyone was desperately clinging to the boat's sides.
"Hey, what should we do?"
I asked Tommy in a voice barely louder than a mosquito's whine.
Tommy raised his voice as he tilted up the outboard motor, which had been hit by heavy seas.
"We're probably okay". If we keep drifting in this direction, we'll reach that atoll. Then we'll land in the shallows and push the boat up onto the island."
Tommy pointed in a direction where, indeed, there seemed to be a rocky atoll. The water there appeared lighter with white waves breaking. Tommy's reassurance didn't seem very reassuring, but no one could do anything about it.
Yumiko wore an uneasy expression too. Inside, I kept repeating, "It's okay, it must be okay," like a mantra.
While the boat rocked both vertically and horizontally, it gradually drifted toward the atoll.
Upon closer inspection, we realized the rocky shallows jutted out in a U-shape into the sea, with the tip being pounded by strong waves.
"Can't go there. Maybe further ahead would be better," said Tommy as he observed the waves.
"If we can maneuver around it, I'll jump in. Listen, when I signal, jump in. It'll be fine if we do that," Tommy said with an unusually stern face, and the three of us nodded silently. No one uttered a word.
It seemed Tommy intended to beach the boat around the concave part of the U-shaped shallows.
Five minutes, maybe ten, but in truth, it might have been just several seconds. The time waiting for Tommy's signal felt dreadfully long.
"Let's go. Once we reach the shallows, jump off the boat!"
Tommy shouted angrily and, holding the rope tied to the bow, swiftly leaped into the sea. He swam through the spray, crawled onto the shallows, and tried to pull the boat toward the atoll. However, Tommy alone couldn't control the boat as he struggled, pushed, and pulled against the waves atop the shallows.
Helpless on the boat, we watched Tommy's struggle. Nonetheless, despite being swept away, the boat steadily approached the shallows. Luckily, the tide was rising.
"When the wave comes, jump down right then!"
Yumiko, guided by Tommy's voice, gauged the timing of the wave's crest and jumped off the boat. Despite being pushed down by the waves, she somehow managed to reach Tommy and grab the rope. along the rope.
「Now!」「right now!!」
Tommy's tense voice flew in.
Tarii and I locked eyes and rolled off the boat's edge, landing on the rocky reef as if falling. Clang.
Zappan.
Trying to stand, I was pushed forward by the incoming waves. It was a frantic struggle. I knelt, trying to crawl forward, unable to move as I wished, dragged by the waves.
"Watch out! Don't hit the boat!"
Tommy's shout. Right beside me, the sounds of waves crashing against the boat echoed - a head bump would mean the end. My heart thumped wildly.
Finally managing to cling to the bouncing edge of the boat, I stood up, realizing the water was deeper than expected, up to my chest. With the ebb, my flip-flop's rubber strap dug into my big toe, causing intense pain at the base of my thumb.
Pushed and pulled by the force of the waves, we four strained to shove the boat with all our might towards the shallows. Tarii, with water up to his chin, used his body like a prop to push.
As we pushed the boat with all our strength, the water gradually became shallower. As it reached my waist and the momentum of the waves diminished, patches of white sandy ground appeared on the seabed, dotted with colonies of seagrass and corals.
We continued pushing the boat through this shallows. The boat's bottom scraped against the coral, making a grinding noise. I stumbled on the coral rocks several times, almost falling.
"Almost there. Just a bit more," Tommy's strained voice mixed with the sound of the waves.
The sandy beach was just a little farther. Sensing the absence of sharp coral underfoot and feeling the sandals sinking into the sand, we summoned our last ounces of strength. Even though we felt we were exerting all our might, we weren't sure if it was truly enough.
「Zozoo」
The boat's bottom grated against the sand. The boat's bottom dragged sand
Tommy pulled the rope and secured the boat to a large rock jutting out onto the shore to prevent it from drifting away.
I crawled onto the sandy beach and collapsed as if falling over. The sand, cooled from the daytime heat, felt pleasantly chilly. It felt like my body had fallen apart.
"Is everyone okay? Are we alive?"
"No more. Dead."
"We somehow made it... it seems."
Everyone collapsed onto the sandy beach. When I lifted my head and looked back, I could see the white waves crashing against the edge of the rocky reef in the distance. The distance seemed so far, and at that moment, I finally felt a sense of relief, realizing that we had indeed made it out.
●Miracle Spark
I sat there, dazed, and Tommy brought a can of juice from the cooler. With a pop, I took a sip, feeling the liquid trickle down my throat. The sweet orange juice seeped into my body, revitalizing me.
"Let's start a fire before it gets dark," Tommy said, trying to encourage us as he looked at us exhausted. The sun was setting, casting a dim light around us. The wet shirt clung coldly to my body, the pleasant sea breeze from earlier now stealing away my warmth minute by minute.
"Hey, Mari-chan, go into the sea and use this to wipe off," Yumiko pointed out. I realized I was covered in sand. She handed me a peculiarly soft, rubbery towel she always carried in her waterproof bag for trips to waterfalls or the sea.
I staggered to my feet.
Walking on the sandy shore with my heavy body, I waded into the sea, taking a deep breath and diving headfirst. I swam, rinsing off the sand clinging to my body. The sea retained the daytime warmth, feeling warmer than the air outside.
Yumiko and I collected dry twigs. Tarii climbed a coconut tree and dropped some coconuts onto the sandy beach.
Fortunately, there were plenty of coconut trees on the beach. Many aged, dried coconuts littered the ground, and with Tarii around, we could also collect young coconuts filled with juice. "Drinking water is sorted," I thought.
Most of the coconuts on the beach were damp and unusable. I ventured into the woods, searching for the driest old coconuts and twigs I could find.
Returning with arms full of coconuts and twigs, Tommy split the coconuts' shells with a fishing knife he'd brought from the boat. Tarii pulled out the fibrous material from within the shell. Yumiko and I dug holes in the sand.
Everyone silently and diligently did what they could.
Suddenly, Yumiko lifted her face and asked Tommy loudly, "Hey, what about fire? Do we have a lighter?" Without a lighter or matches, all our efforts would be in vain.
"Oh, there should be a lighter on the boat."
"Thank goodness," Yumiko sighed in relief, then bent down again, digging intently.
"Damn it!"
Tommy's frustrated voice echoed as he went to search for the lighter on the boat. All three of us stopped what we were doing and looked toward the boat at once.
The lighter, rusted by the sea, not only failed to ignite but also, crucially, the striking surface that should have created sparks refused to turn.
In the blazing midday sun, we might have had some options, but during the night, we were at a loss. The beach exuded only a sense of exhaustion. It felt like we had been completely abandoned by any divine presence.
Tommy, who had been crouching on the boat lost in thought, brought the detached battery to the beach.
"What are you planning?" The three of us spoke in unison.
"Well, at this point, let's take a shot at something," Tommy replied. He recalled a time in Guam when a coworker accidentally left a carbon fishing rod on top of a battery, causing it to short circuit. "He was a real idiot, almost set the boat on fire," Tommy added.
Even after hearing that, I couldn't fathom what Tommy was about to do.
"Everyone, find some bivalve shells, preferably larger ones," Tommy instructed, and we searched the shoreline carefully.
As we cautiously advanced, probing the white sandy beach with our toes, we found numerous small clam shells, clean shells that seemed like someone had eaten the contents and discarded them.
"Found one!"
"Alright, let's give it a try."
Tommy tore off the aluminum foil Mari's mother had used to wrap lunch, twisting it between his palms into a string thinner than a pencil. This foil was something Yumiko had retrieved from a plastic bag she carefully collected after the deserted island lunch.
Tommy wound the twisted thin aluminum foil string around one of the battery terminals and sandwiched it between two shells filled with flammable coconut fibers.
"Everyone, stay back, it might be dangerous!" Tommy warned, and we all immediately stepped away.
Tommy carefully pressed the end of a string of aluminium foil sandwiched between two shells onto the other battery terminal.
Snap!
"Ouch!"
It was an instant.
The thin, twisted strands of aluminium foil short-circuited, over-currenting, turning red and burning out.
Tommy immediately blew gently on the smouldering coconut fibres in the shell. The embers inside the shell glowed a soft red.
"Got it!" Tommy carefully transferred the embers to a larger coconut fibre firebox that Tarii had prepared.
A small flame erupted.
"We did it!"
"It's unbelievable..."
It truly felt like watching magic unfold before our eyes.
We consecutively lit the coconut fibers and twigs, gradually increasing the size of the fire. The flames swiftly spread, filling the hole Yumiko had dug. We rushed over, gazing intently at this miraculous fire.
"Incredible, unbelievable."
"Tommy's a genius!"
Praises filled the air from the mouths of all three of us. Tommy, illuminated by the fiery glow, wore an expression of pride and delight.
Despite returning to the village after being fed up with work in Guam (some said he was actually fired), feeling somewhat cramped even in his own home, today, I truly admired, or rather, deeply respected Tommy.
Being able to kindle a fire on an uninhabited island felt better than excelling in a city like Guam with its towering hotels. It was better to come up with a solution in difficult times than to complete given tasks faster than others. That, by far, was much better.
"I was quite competent in Guam, you know."
In the fiery glow, Tommy, beaming with pride, seemed to take on a larger-than-life presence than ever before.
●Yumiko's Injury
Surrounding the brightly burning bonfire, we finally felt relieved.
How reassuring it is to have a fire. Without it, we'd have felt much more helpless in the darkness of the night.
According to Tommy, this might be the Garmeus Atoll north of Paradise Island.
"This atoll is where the swell that hits the surrounding islands comes in, so the swell is big and it's hard to get boats in and out unless it's high tide, so not many people come up here."
"But what about us?"
"I'm sure the village folks will come searching from before dawn, so we'll be fine."
Saying so, Tommy threw the core of dried coconut leaves into the fire.
"No one comes here, but turtles do. They might come ashore tonight to lay eggs."
Gazing at the flickering flames, I imagined turtles nesting on the beach.
Turtles lay eggs, about the size of ping-pong balls, one by one over time. Once they start laying, they don't move until they finish, making it easy for humans to spot and snatch their eggs. This atoll might be a secure nesting ground for turtles.
"When I see turtles sleeping in the shade of beautiful corals or lazily swimming, I always think how wonderful they are. I wish I could be a turtle too. But leaving descendants seems challenging."
Yumiko said this while drying her T-shirt by the fire.
Looking down, she wasn't wearing beach sandals. Not only that, blood flowed from her instep.
"Did you hurt your foot?"
There was a scratch above the ankle of her right foot, as if she had been scratched by something, swelling like a blister. There were also red rash-like marks on her arms. Did she touch fire coral?
"Yeah, it got cut by the coral when pushing the boat. But this is okay."
Yumiko tried to appear fine, but we knew well that cuts from coral hurt and later become intensely itchy. If left untreated, they can turn into festering wounds.
"Let's wash the wound with the potable water left in the cooler," said Tommy.
"I'm fine."
Yumiko hesitated, but she fell silent at Tommy's unusually firm tone. Perhaps she was trying not to worry everyone by enduring the pain.
"We have coconut trees for drinking water, so no need to worry," Tarii said.
Yumiko washed the wound with water from the cooler, applied the towel from the waterproof bag, tied it with a cloth, and secured it.
It gets pretty itchy eventually, but there's no medicine, no vinegar..."
Tommy's words gave me an inspiration.
'Maybe Palauan herbal medicine would help.
'Palau medicine?'
'It's an island medicine my grandma told me about. 'It's called... long green leaves that grow in the cracks of big trees. If you burn it and apply it to an injury, it cures most injuries.
"Can Mari identify that tree?"
I recognize it when I see it, it usually grows in the woods, and I’ll go look for it.
"I'll come too!"
Tarii said.
"Alright, I'll bring the flashlight from the boat. Just wait here," Tommy said as he stood up.
"Will that flashlight even work?" Tarii looked up at Tommy suspiciously.
"It'll be fine. I used it when we went night fishing the other day. The reason the lighter didn't work is because both dad and I quit smoking," Tommy explained, muttering to himself as he walked toward the boat.
Muttering excuses, Tommy walked toward the boat.
When I flipped the switch on the well-seasoned flashlight, a feeble circle of light illuminated. However, despite not turning off the switch, the light went out after a few seconds.
"See!" Tarii protested.
"It's okay. If it goes out, just give it a tap like this, and it'll come back on right away," Tommy said reassuringly.
Tommy knocked the extinguished flashlight, and once again, a faint circle of light expanded.
"Well..."
Tommy's "well" lacked conviction, but regardless, relying on that light, Tarii and I ventured into the woods beyond the shoreline.
Through thin clouds, a bright moon and scattered stars became visible.
Relying solely on the faint ring of light that might disappear at any moment, we moved cautiously through the darkness. Inside my head, regret for saying what I did and a sense of duty to heal Yumiko's wound spun around together.
"Whoa!"
"Ahh!"
"Hahaha..."
"Tarii, stop fooling around!"
Accompanying his father on night coconut crab hunts, Tarii seemed accustomed to such pitch-black jungles. He walked confidently in front of the flashlight's glow. Truthfully, I was scared. Darkness was something I couldn't handle.
To make sure I could always find the direction of the beach I walked with a long dead branch in my left hand, drawing a line in the sand under my feet.
Suddenly, I realized Tarii, who had been walking ahead, was gone.
"Tarii, where are you? Stop messing around and come out! Tarii!"
No response. Where did he go?
Ah！ the light went out, and it became pitch black. Overhead, the rustling of palm fronds filled the air.
I hastily tapped the flashlight.
Woom. A faint circle of light returned.
Phew. But it might go out again soon. What if it doesn't turn on this time? The thought made my legs weaken. Should I turn back? It'd be faster to run to the beach now.
While thinking that, Yumiko's severely swollen and bleeding ankle flashed in my mind. No, I can't give up. I have to search. I'm the only one who knows about that tree.
The sight of Yumiko enduring the pain kept me within the dark forest.
I sang songs. I repeated parts from my favorite Rachel's song, American pop and snippets of Japanese enka songs that I knew. Despite that, the fear of the darkness kept growing. I looked up at the night sky.
At the zenith, amid the tall trees, numerous sparkling stars, unseen from the electric-lit Babeldaobu house, were scattered across the sky.
Each star was so bright. If the moon rose a bit higher, I might be able to walk without relying on the flashlight. With that in mind, I pressed on.
When I walked through the wood with grandma, that tree seemed to appear every one hundred ft. or so. "Oh! Here's another one," it grew abundantly.
However, it didn't seem as easily found here as I had anticipated.
How far had I walked? Before I realized it, the ground beneath my feet had changed from the dry, sandy texture to something soft and cushiony, as if stepping on moist leaves.
I stopped and listened attentively. The tall trees overhead swayed in the wind, making a rustling noise as if they were laughing and murmuring. Amidst the rustling leaves, I searched for a wave sound.
I can't hear the sound of the waves. Not good. If I can't hear the waves, I won't know the direction of the beach. What should I do?
I slowly illuminated the surroundings with the flashlight.
Ah, that tree...
Within the hazy circle of light, stood a tree resembling the one my grandma had taught me about. Perhaps due to the darkness of the night, it appeared quite large. It might have been an optical illusion. I moved closer and shone the light from below. It was real.
It was an oddly large, old tree for such a small atoll.
The leaves I sought grew at the bifurcation of the tree's upper branches, beyond my reach even on tiptoes. Where had Tarii disappeared to? If it were my brother, he could easily climb up. I suddenly felt angry.
Anyway, I had to try to climb, whether I could or not.
Resolving to do so, I propped the flashlight against the raised roots on the ground, facing upward.
The enormous ring of light cast upon the large tree felt eerie, as if it were silently observing, making me hold my breath.
Thinking of Yumiko's face, I mustered up my courage.
I placed my right foot on a protruding knot, supported my left foot on a higher one, and embraced the trunk with both arms, lifting my body upward. It seemed to be working well. If I could reach that thick branch with my hand, I could climb higher. Then I should be able to reach the leaves. I extended my right arm as far as possible toward the branch. That's when the light from the flashlight suddenly went out.
As I reached for the branch, my extended hand found nothing but air, causing me to completely lose my body's balance.
"Aaaaaaahhhhh...."
●Voice of the Spirit 'Deleb'
"It felt like being inside something squishy and soft, like a thick fog.
It was dark, but not pitch black. Faint patches of light seeped in from the sides, dimly visible in a few places. These gaps seemed to open and close. What could they be?
I tried to move closer with a heavy head, but the ground supporting me was spongy. Even leaning on both hands, I couldn't quite lift myself up. It felt like I was on a flying carpet. And this sensation... slimy, sticky. Where on earth am I?
I cautiously crawled forward like a soldier I once saw in a movie, inching toward one of the gaps where light pierced through. Grabbing onto what felt like a squishy wall, I peered outside from this unsettling gap.
Th-this is unbelievable!
I gasped. It was beyond belief. Have I died? Am I just a floating soul now?"
The world that unfolded there was the bottom of the blue sea.
"Look closely. Open your eyes and see."
I flinched. A deep voice, as if echoing from the depths of the water, sent shivers through my body. I froze.
"You humans are in a world that has yet to be touched."
The low voice spoke again.
Even without the voice's instruction, I was observing the world before my eyes without blinking.
The bright sunlight shimmered on the sandy sea bottom, with yellow, blue, and orange fish poking around the coral reefs. The scales of giant trevally and bigeye jacks sparkled, while napoleon fish and sea turtles leisurely swam by. The seabed was densely packed with white, pink, and light green corals, resembling a flower garden.
The gap I was peering through occasionally wavered and the view changed, but in every direction, colorful coral reefs stretched out. It was an astonishingly beautiful coral reef.
"You humans destroyed this world."
The low voice spoke again.
"The corals protect the islands. The corals protect the small fish. If the corals disappear, the islands lose sand, lose trees, and the sea loses fish. Look. The corals attract small fish. When small fish gather, the larger fish that prey on them gather. The small fish are the reason you are here.
As the low voice spoke, the gap I was observing widened, and small, slender fish sneaked in through it. The small fish darted around through various parts of the wide-open gap.
I shivered.
The flying carpet-like structure tilted diagonally. In the dim hollow, vibrations, as if chuckling, echoed.
Ah ..... I let out an inarticulate voice.
Could this be, by any chance...! Inside the massive body of a manta ray, which spanned thirteen ft. I was peering into the sea from the manta ray's gills.
Sensing what I felt, the manta ray's body twitched, making a significant half-turn.
My body turned sideways. It felt as if I were rolling around on a trampoline.
Splash!
A sound echoed as if forcefully kicking the water's surface. My body slid backward with a faint whooshing sound.
I crawled backward, finally clutching onto the manta ray's spongy gills, cautiously peering outside.
It was a sight that made my legs go weak.
Below, as far as the eye could see, stretched an endless expanse of blue, blue sea.
The cerulean sea gradually changed its hue to a deep blue as it approached gentle coral reefs. Waves crashed against the shallow edges of the reefs, creating a frothy, lacy border.
Beyond the coral reefs lay a white sandy beach that stretched endlessly sideways.
There was no sign of human presence on that island. It was just a beautiful coral reef, a footprint-free sandy shore, and the island itself.
I was observing that tiny island from above.
"Look. The first humans to arrive on the island," echoed a low voice, similar to the one from the under sea.
A canoe was heading toward the island. Crafted from hollowed-out wood with a pandanus-woven sail raised, it glided over the sea. It was a remarkably small canoe, seemingly swallowed up by the vastness of the ocean.
The sound of the pandanus sail cutting through the wind and the paddle steering the water reached my ears. It was a pleasant sound, reminiscent of something I'd heard long ago.
Naked men rode in the canoe. Their gleaming black backs, muscular arms and legs, wearing loincloths made from plants around their waists. For some reason, I felt like I'd met my great-great-great-grandfather.
Sprouted coconuts were stacked on the bottom of the canoe, and what appeared to be an axe made from giant clamshell was also visible. The canoe's hull and protruding floating trees were all securely bound with coconut rope. Even these small details are clearly visible.
"When humans first planted coconuts on the island, there were plants and corals. Coconuts take five years to bear fruit. It takes a thousand years for an island to form. The island has been alive since long before you humans arrived," echoed the low voice heard from within the manta ray's belly, resonating deep within me. While my consciousness remained hazy, the visuals were crystal clear.
I gazed in breathless wonder at a scene from ancient times, as if distant and lost in time. It felt as though time had paused.
Suddenly, the manta ray's belly tilted, and my body tumbled. It happened in an instant. I was being pulled backward with tremendous suction force. It felt like being sucked into a powerful vacuum cleaner. With a strange sound - "buh, buh, buwa" - my body was released. Something like gray smoke trailed in front of me, seemingly ejected along with the manta ray's excretion from its tail. Now, I felt as if my body was steadily falling, cutting through the wind like a dropped bird. Would I be slammed into the sea?
"S-Someone, help!"
For a moment, my body floated lightly. The air and the scent changed.
I felt something cool enveloping my body. It was a very peculiar sensation. Even if I tried to move my legs, I felt embedded in heavy, sticky clay, unable to move as I wished.
As I squirmed, something moved beside me. When I turned my head to look, a round eyeball was glaring at me.
"Gah! T-That eyeball... it's a mangrove crab, like the ones grandpa Yasu catches!"
It was then that I finally understood. I realized I was standing in a mangrove forest, where seawater and river water converged. The substance encasing my body was mud.
My legs, or rather the roots of the mangrove, were gradually submerged. The tide was rising. My body, or rather the trunk of the mangrove, seemed to be sinking into the water moment by moment. How high would the water rise? My chest, shoulders, neck... even my face!
I pushed away that thought and had no choice but to close my eyes.
"Look. Open your eyes and see within the water."
Once again, that low voice resonated, shaking the ground.
Reluctantly, I half-opened my eyes. My face was already submerged in muddy, brownish water. Breathing wasn't difficult, but even with my eyes wide open, I couldn't see clearly beyond the underwater coral reefs. I wanted to retort to the low voice, "I can't see anything."
"Look. Carefully, look under the roots and in their shadows."
The low voice said again. I peered under the crisscrossing mangrove roots. And there it was. Under the shadows of the roots, small fish children were hiding - baby barracudas, baby snappers, even baby Napoleon wrasses. Their length would be about one inch. Flapping their tiny pectoral fins, they swam between the gaps in the roots.
"The sea forest is a cradle for fish. If you humans destroy the sea forest, the nursery for fish will disappear. The sea will lose its fish."
The low voice spoke.
"The sea forest sheds leaves from its body, creating mud. Shrimp and crabs grow."
I thought what the low voice said was true. Without nutrient-rich mud, there wouldn't be mangrove crabs. Suddenly, the troubled face of grandpa Yasu flashed into my mind.
"The sea forest protects the land from the island. Without soil, the island will lose its trees, its plants. The island will disappear."
Confusion clouded my mind at the next words of the low voice. Mangrove trunks are sturdy and used by islanders for construction or fuel. Was that wrong?
"The sea forest protects the sea. It stops the polluted water that Human-created pollution. The sea forest protects the island. Even from tsunamis. Like coral barrier relief."
Yes, that's right. Oh, I see. I destroyed the corals. When my boat drifted and I pulled it onto the reef, I inadvertently broke the branching corals and table corals.
The gods of the sea and the island are angry. I've been enchanted by the sea and the island's deleb. My body is buried in mud, and I'm fated to protect the island as a mangrove tree for the rest of my life.
If Dad comes into this forest and starts cutting mangrove branches or trunks without recognizing me, what should I do? What should I do?!
I tried to say something to the low voice, but the words wouldn't come. I wanted to cry out loud in sadness, but even that I couldn't do as a tree. Only a few green leaves fell gently from above, that's all.
Tears welled up, and they overflowed, dropping with a sound - "plop" - at my feet, near the mangrove roots, into the mud.
Suddenly, as if it were a signal, the leaves of the surrounding trees began to rustle and shimmered, green leaves dancing down one after another.
"Marii, Marii, catch those leaves."
The voice wasn't a low one; it was Grandma's gentle voice.
"G-Grandma?"
"Marii, grab those leaves."
At Grandma's voice, I caught one fallen leaf at its base. It was a shiny green leaf.
"Oh... a leaf."
A distant memory that had been dormant was awakened, a strange sensation racing through my brain.
"Hey, Marii, Marii, are you okay?"
A man's voice sounded near my ear.
"Sis, hey, sis!"
I also heard a familiar boy's voice.
Slowly opening my heavy eyelids, two dark figures loomed over me, peeking down. Somewhere in the distance, leaves rustled.
"...Tarii?"
"That's right. It's me. Are you okay?"
"...The leaves, the leaves?"
"The leaves? Oh, they're here. You were holding them."
Before I could finish hearing my brother's response, someone lifted my body from the ground. It was clear this wasn't inside the manta ray's belly or within the mangrove tree. The support swaying unsteadily was warm and comforting.
Faintly visible were the twinkling stars in the distance. The moonlight was also shining brightly.
Afterwards, I think Tommy took me in his arms and carried me back to the beach.
I think I fell asleep in his arms in relief.
"Mari-chan, Mari-chan, are you okay?"
Yumiko-san looked at me with a worried expression by the bonfire.
"...Yeah, I'm... okay."
"Jeez, Mari. If you're the one needing help, there's no end to the trouble," grumbled Tommy.
"Yumiko-san, your foot?"
I remembered and looked at Yumiko-san's foot.
"Mari found a leaf risking her life and used it to treat my wound. I'm feeling much better now."
Yumiko-san said "risking her life" as if it were funny.
"...Thank goodness."
As I said that, I collapsed onto the sandy beach and fell into a deep sleep once again. I didn't dream. It was a deep slumber, much like sleeping at the bottom of an azure sea.
●Rescue Boat
I woke up before dawn. Three people were curled up sleeping near the pit where the bonfire was burning.
I gazed blankly at the pre-dawn quiet world for a while. I felt like I had been reborn.
The waves lapped gently at the shore. The moon had already tilted into the western sky, no longer visible. Only the stars seemed reluctant to shine. The world on the ground filled with newly born, pure air. It felt miraculous to be here.
I took a deep breath. I could breathe properly through my nose and mouth. That made me incredibly happy.
"Oh, Mari, are you awake?"
Rubbing his eyes, Tommy sat up.
"Mari-chan, are you okay?"
Yumiko-san also rose wearily from the sandy shore.
"Ah, it's morning already? Tutau (good morning)."
Tarii, who was quick to rise, ran straight into the woods.
Last night, after Tarii caught a coconut crab and returned, Tommy and Tarii hadn't seen me come back for a while. It seemed they had come to search for me in the forest. I had fallen from the tree, losing consciousness.
Tarii returned with a cheerful face and handed me a coconut. "Hey, sis, have a drink." When I took a sip of coconut juice, I realized I was incredibly hungry. Come to think of it, I hadn't eaten anything since last night. Everyone must be hungry too.
"Mari-chan's coconut crabs are reserved," Yumiko-san said, taking a plastic bag carefully from the waterproof backpack. It seemed like I was the only one who hadn't eaten anything.
I cracked open the coconuts crabs, blackened from the bonfire, and ate the meat inside. The flesh was a bit stringy, but the sweet smell unique to coconuts crabs stimulated my hunger. Tommy had split young coconuts, and I scooped out the pulp with my hands, devouring it eagerly. The jelly-like softness of the flesh tasted much better than usual.
Everyone had coconut jelly for breakfast. Tarii picked up old coconuts and nibbled on the copra and sponge-like core part of inside.
"If it weren't for Tarii, we wouldn't have had this coconut jelly," Yumiko-san said, and my brother grinned teasingly.
Initially, when the distant "blororon" sound was heard, everyone thought it was an illusion, or so I think.
"Blororon... Blurururu..."
When the sound reached the beach, everyone stood up simultaneously and looked in its direction.
Tommy quickly dashed off. Following him were Tarii, myself, and Yumiko-san. I had never seen Tommy run so fast.
As we rounded the curve of the sandy beach, about one hundred ft. ahead, a boat was anchored. Tommy turned around and said, "Everyone go back over there."
"Why?"
"Just do it, wait over there."
Tommy waved his hand at us as if shooing away a dog. We didn't understand the reason, but we followed Tommy's instructions.
After about ten minutes, Tommy jogged back.
"We need to tie this boat to that boat and get a tow," he said in a hushed tone. His expression suggested he was about to disclose something sensitive. "They've come to this island to gather sea turtle eggs. It's illegal.
We'll get the boat pulled, but promise not to tell anyone, okay?"
The three of us nodded in agreement.
Perhaps there'd be some form of payment for the help. My father always said this country could resolve many things with money.
As Tommy started toward the boat, he turned back and said to me, "Mari, don't you dare tell Dad," singling me out.
The tide seemed to be at high tide. Tying my father's boat to the clandestine boat with a rope, the two vessels cautiously navigated the reefs. Since the depth over the reefs was already sufficient, there was no concern to brush the coral with the boat this time.
I breathed a sigh of relief by myself.
On the poaching boat, the men were having breakfast. They spread out cardboard and piled rice and canned side dishes on top, creating a mishmash of local cuisine. The four men sat around the cardboard, each scooping up rice with their hands and carrying it to their mouths. The scent of mackerel cans wafted even to our boat.
"Hey, Marii, stop staring," Tommy nudged me in a low voice.
I had been looking at the food the men were eating, but Tommy must have thought I was staring at the poachers' faces.
We passed through the shallows and over the reefs leading to the open sea, and the poaching boat swiftly accelerated.
The cold wind sliced across our cheeks. The indigo sea was now dead calm, a stark contrast from yesterday.
From the swaying boat, I turned back to look at the atoll. The beaches were quiet, untouched by sunlight, adorned with tall coconut trees.
Beyond them lay that forest, those grand trees.
A strange feeling filled my chest. I vividly remembered that low voice.
On the eastern horizon, an orange band began to gleam, curving like an arc. Scattered clouds were turning crimson. The dazzling morning sun was about to rise.
I kept my gaze fixed on the glowing horizon.
■ Chapter 8: Promise
● Farewell
When she left the room, Yumiko's luggage was surprisingly minimal. She had far more souvenirs from Palau than things she brought from Japan.
"Can we take coconuts to Japan?" Tarii asked a bit worriedly. He had eagerly collected coconuts yesterday as a souvenir for Yumiko.
"Yeah, it's fine. Just show them at the plant quarantine when entering, gyagamondai(no problem)," Yumiko reassured him. Tarii's face brightened up instantly.
"Then it'll be a souvenir for everyone in Japan."
"Yeah, they'll be happy. Thank you," Yumiko turned to the mothers standing at the entrance, bowing her head in thanks. Then, she shook hands and hugged each one of them.
"Come back and visit again. Next time, I'll teach you how to make fruit bat soup," Mom joked. Yumiko laughed and nodded.
Grandma said something to Yumiko in Japanese. "What did Grandma say?" Tarii quickly asked.
"She asked for medicine for rheumatism when you next come. And also for some kyabejin-kowa (stomach medicine).
Japanese medicine works best," Grandma knows her priorities.
We loaded the luggage onto the pickup truck, and Tarii and I climbed onto the back.
As Tommy opened the front passenger door, Yumiko exclaimed, "I want to get on the back!" and put her foot up on the tire. Tarii and I pulled her up from above.
The pickup truck slowly descended the bumpy road, swaying from side to side.
Father and the others were still waving in front of the house. Yumiko also waved back enthusiastically. The figures of the three men gradually grew smaller.
Watching that scene made me feel like I was being bid farewell too, and I felt a little nervous. When my day comes to leave this island like Naomi sister, will such a warm and lonely scene be etched in my memory?
When we reached the paved main road, Yumiko looked up at the sky and exclaimed loudly, "Mari-chan, your family is really the best!"
Her voice merged with the sound of the wind, blending into the green of the jungle, swiftly flying away.
I made a puzzled face, but Yumiko didn't mind and continued, "It's wonderful, isn't it, having your family close by?"
While looking at my face, Yumiko expressed those sentiments.
The small international airport was filled with Japanese people, their faces reddened by sunburn. Amidst them, Yumiko stood out starkly, incredibly dark from the sun. She was indistinguishable from the locals.
At Immigration, we spotted Matthew's face. We waved our hands in greeting toward him.
"Tommy, thanks for everything. I had a great time," Yumiko extended her left hand to Tommy.
"Um, Yumiko-san, gomennasai (I’m sorry)." Tommy said in Japanese, seemingly concerned about the incident involving the drifting.
"No, it was an incredible experience. I've learned so many important things from everyone that I could never have in Tokyo. daijobu! Thank you so much," Tommy, embarrassed, shook hands firmly with Yumiko.
Yumiko placed her hand on Tarii's small head, tousled his soft hair, then bent down and kissed her brother's cheek. It was hard for me to face my turn, so I unconsciously looked down. I felt like I wanted to run away from this place immediately.
"See you later, Mari-chan," Yumiko said, taking both my hands and squeezing them tightly. Her grip conveyed a strong feeling of 'it's a promise. I was at a loss for words. Strangely, I felt as if I was saying goodbye to Yumiko forever, and my heart tightened."
"Don't worry. I'll see you again soon. You promised, didn't you?" Yumiko smiled brightly, as if she could see my heart.
Indeed, she was right. Yumiko would come to my home again.
"Okay then. Me-Su-Lang （Thank you all very much)." Waving her hand, Yumiko walked towards the passport control where Matthew was waiting.
Her departure was dignified, and she resembled Karinto, her grandmother's favorite black, slender, delicate pastry.
● Sprout of the Gods
For a while after Yumiko left, my home felt hollow, almost desolate. Mornings felt oddly lacking without those quirky Palauan greetings. Nevertheless, life in the village remained calm, and days passed in quietude.
Since that day of drifting, I stopped wasting the fruits from our garden. While scooping out the last bit of coconut jelly that Tommy had shared at the drifted shore, I thought about the lush harvest in our yard and garden: the bananas, papayas, oranges, and soursops. It reminded me of the fortune of having food within arm's reach and how delicious Mom's homemade tapioca sweets were.
...That's right, I haven't talked about what happened that morning yet.
While we were being towed across the sea on the poaching boat, Dad and the villagers had apparently gone out in dozens of boats searching for us. Matthew, Tommy's friends, and even the sons of the landlord involved in the land registry incident joined in the search. Yumiko's disappearance was a big deal! (It seemed like they were worried that without her, things would go awry again.)
So, Yumiko is somewhat of a local celebrity on this island.
Right after hearing that mysterious voice, I couldn't get close to the big tree in the woods or the mangrove forest. But now, I'm not afraid anymore. We understood that the low voices were a message to us. The Deleb wanted to convey to us about the interconnectedness of the ocean's corals, the fish, the mangrove forest, the trees, the leaves, the crabs, the shrimps, everything living in this world. They wanted us to know how the coral reefs and the mangrove forests have protected our island for thousands of years.
...Let me tell you the truth.
This is something my grandmother taught me.
That evening, the night I heard the voices of the Deleb, my grandmother went to Hanako's house in the neighboring village and prayed to the gods. Hanako is the last one in the village who can perform spells and prayers. My grandmother prayed until late at night, wishing for our safe return, holding onto the leaves of the kesil plant.
When I later heard about this from Dad, it brought me a sense of relief. My grandmother's voice at that moment was indeed her true voice.
Because of that, I no longer felt afraid. It felt like I had made a promise with the gods.
With all of this in mind, lately, I've come to regard my village, the island, the sea, and the forest where I live as much more precious than ever before. I think about my little brother, Dad, Mom, Grandma, and even my siblings who live far away.
Maybe I've grown up a bit, don't you think?
Oh yes, there's one more thing I have to tell you.
The tears I shed turned into mangrove seeds and pierced into the mud, making a "shh" sound.
The day before yesterday, when I visited Grandpa Yasu's house, I ventured into the mangrove forest spread out in front of the shed, feeling a bit nervous.
There, I saw vibrant green sprouts emerging from the seeds stuck in the mud.
Grandpa Yasu taught me that those trees quickly grow roots after piercing their seeds into the mud. Nature's workings are truly incredible.
"Oh, Mari, hurry up! We'll leave you behind!"
Oh, Tarii is calling me.
"Coming right away!"
I'm going swimming at Gatpang Falls with Tarii, my cousins, and Tommy who'll take us.
The weather today is really fantastic.
The end
■ Afterword
Thank you very much for reading until the end. "Mari-chan of Palau" is based on the episodes we actually experienced in the Palau Islands between 1987 and 2003. It took a long time for revision and compilation, but we finally managed to complete it. The next story, tentatively titled "Journey Alone in Micronesia Yap Island," will be uploaded as soon as it's finished.
Kiyoko Ishii