White Chrysanthemum

by Mary Lynn Bracht

  The men converse in Mongolian. The dog runs his tireless circles. Hana pushes the edge of the door flap over just enough to peer through a crack. Light from the oil lamp shines into the ger. She looks over at Altan’s mother, but she is still sound asleep.

  Outside, the horse is gone, and Hana assumes Altan is leading it to the pen for the night. His father stands in front of the ger and hands Morimoto a flask. He takes a few gulps, his exposed throat white in the lamplight. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and offers the flask to Altan’s father, who drinks from it before returning it to his breast pocket. Morimoto unfolds a piece of paper and holds it out so Altan’s father can see it. Hana can’t make out what is written on it. A map, military plans? It could be anything.

  Holding the oil lamp high, Altan’s father hunches over the paper, studying it. Morimoto points to a few places and talks in a hushed voice, as though keeping their conversation secret. When Altan returns, Morimoto quickly folds the paper and tucks it into his trouser pocket. Altan’s father straightens up and motions to the ger. Altan nods and heads towards the door.

  Hana darts back to her sleeping space and covers herself with the blanket just before he enters. He grumbles under his breath and flops onto his sleeping pelt. He yawns, adjusts his blanket a few times, and then drifts off, already breathing heavily before his father re-enters the ger. Hana waits for Morimoto to follow, but he doesn’t appear. Altan’s father snuffs out the oil lamp and settles down next to his wife. Soon he, too, is snoring.

  Lying in the darkness, Hana prepares herself for Morimoto’s sudden appearance beside her. There is nowhere to hide, so she tucks the edges of the blanket tightly beneath her, like wrapping a corpse, to keep herself safe from invading hands. He is out there, and she is certain he will not leave her be even for one night. Minutes pass into hours, and he doesn’t come. Her eyelids are heavy, and no matter how much she tries to keep them open, they keep slipping closed.

  Early-morning birds chirp above them and fly high up in a bright sky in her dreams. Altan’s father’s snores seem louder than usual, as though he is lying close beside her. She is drifting further and further away from the ger, swaddled in the soft hands of sleep, but the hands aren’t so soft anymore. They tug at her, pulling her from the longing arms of slumber. She tosses in her sleep, trying to push them away, when aggressive fingers force her legs apart. Her eyes open, and Morimoto is next to her.

  ‘Did they violate you?’ he whispers, his stubble scratching her cheek.

  The shock of him renders her mute. She twists away from him, but he holds her down.

  ‘Did they put their hands on you?’ he asks, his voice hoarse.

  She manages to shake her head.

  ‘You’re sure?’ he asks, still touching her.

  In the midst of this sudden attack, anger rises into her throat. He, who has violated her beyond imagination, accuses the only kind men she has met since her abduction. Her body tenses, and she finds her voice.

  ‘They did not rape me. These are noble men, not like soldiers … not like you.’

  His fingers halt their aggressive exploration. He removes his hand. Even in the darkness she knows he is pulsating with anger. She hurriedly closes her del and ties the silk sash into a double knot. Without a word, Morimoto rises and exits the ger. She cannot fall asleep. Instead she listens to the sounds of the family sleeping next to her and imagines what it could have been like had he never returned.

  In the morning, Altan’s father is the first to rise. He nudges Altan awake and they leave together. Hana watches them go and sees Altan turn to look back at her. She quickly shuts her eyes, and then he is gone. Altan’s mother is still asleep. Hana doesn’t know what Morimoto has planned, whether he intends to take her away today or to stay for a few days more. With her eyes closed, his face looms in her mind like an evil spirit, menacing and deadly. She abruptly sits up, pushing the image away. She decides to carry out her chores as though nothing has changed.

  After lighting the fire in the stove, she stows her bedding, along with Altan’s and his father’s into the trunks. Altan’s mother slowly awakens and sits up. She smiles at Hana. The warm greeting, so simply given, is too much for Hana to lose. The impulse to fall into a sobbing heap in front of her is strong, but she swallows it down. Instead, Hana bows deeply, performing sebae, a Korean ritual bow, honouring her for her kindness. A sound of surprise escapes the woman. Three times, Hana bows, and when she stands, Altan’s mother nods her head in thanks. Then Hana turns to exit the ger and commences her morning chores, as though Morimoto has not returned to take her away.

  She fills the metal buckets with ox milk. She carries both buckets at once and pours the fresh milk into the cistern. She returns to the pen to feed apple slices to the ponies. She does all this under the watchful eye of Morimoto, Altan’s father, Altan, Ganbaatar, the man with no name and Altan’s mother. Even the dog seems to follow her every move. It is as though everyone knows that her time here is nearly over.

  Altan doesn’t visit her in the pen as he has done the last few days. Instead he keeps his distance. He binds brushwood with twine as Ganbaatar plays with his eagle. She catches Altan staring at her at times, but he quickly looks away when she does. Morimoto sits on a stool taking apart and cleaning his pistol. He methodically wipes down each piece and lays them in straight rows on a small rag.

  Ganbaatar releases the eagle and it flies into the sky with a great cry. Everyone watches it soar high above them. Morimoto breaks the awed silence.

  ‘Magnificent creature, isn’t it?’

  He is speaking in Japanese. Hana knows he is speaking to her, watching her, waiting for her to acknowledge him, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the eagle.

  ‘He raised it from a mere eaglet,’ he continues, as though her silence doesn’t bother him. ‘And now it is his eyes and his arrow, hunting for him in the dead of winter so they don’t starve.’

  Circling above them in growing, concentric rings, it could fly away never to return, but it doesn’t. It seems as though an invisible rope chains it to Ganbaatar in an ever-increasing radius.

  ‘He sleeps with it in his tent, feeds it hand to mouth, cradles it for comfort; it is a member of the family, prized above even a wife or child.’

  Hana looks at Morimoto then. The idea that an animal could be more valuable than a wife or child surprises her. She wonders if he is telling the truth or trying to make the Mongolians out as backward barbarians. But then she recalls their relationship with the ponies, the way the animals follow them like ducklings follow their mother duck, the care and gentle handling Ganbaatar shows them each morning. Perhaps what he says is true.

  Ganbaatar calls to the eagle, and it lets out a piercing cry before landing obediently on his arm. He strokes its breast and carries it into his ger.

  The others nod to Morimoto and head down to the poppy field; Hana quickly sets out to follow them so she won’t be left alone with him. She rounds the ger, but Morimoto steps in front of her, blocking her path.

  ‘Where are you going?’ He smells of grease and metal.

  ‘I have chores to do in the field.’ She takes a few steps away from him and looks past his shoulder at the back of Altan’s head, wishing he would stop and wait for her.

  ‘Your chores have come to an end,’ he says, and ushers her towards the ger’s door.

  She knows his intentions, that he has thought only of her the whole time he was travelling back here. If she does as he wishes, he will be quick. He will satisfy himself, and then she can go down to the field as though nothing has happened.

  She catches herself on the door frame. Her hand clenches it, her nails digging into the wood. He lifts the flap and tries to guide her inside. Her hand clings to the door frame, and she braces against him. He looks down at her.

  ‘Have you not missed me?’

  He smiles, and it seems genuine. It is as though he is a different man, one who has forgotten he has not been a friend to her. She cannot compre
hend his expression.

  ‘Well?’ he asks, clearly waiting for her to respond.

  She licks her lips, thinking how best to answer. Nothing comes to her mind. She stares back at him in dumb silence. A cloud seems to cross his face. His expression darkens. He grabs her arm and yanks her into the ger after him.

  Morimoto pushes her down onto the bare floor and unties the silk sash Altan gave her. She lies on the ground beneath him in the lifeless state that has become her refuge. Does giving in to him without a fight make her a prostitute? He kisses her neck. If she does not fight, is she then giving him her permission?

  Hana’s instincts tell her to lie still so he will not hurt her – or kill her. His hands could wring her neck with hardly any effort, and then she would never see her mother again. Altan’s face appears in her mind. She would never see Altan again. The sadness she feels surprises her.

  Morimoto kisses her mouth, but she doesn’t kiss him back.

  ‘I thought you would be more eager to see me,’ he says.

  Hana closes her eyes, blocking him out of her sight. She’s tired of his delusions.

  ‘I brought you something,’ he whispers into her ear. ‘I’ll give it to you after.’

  He reinstates his possession of her body, paying attention to every inch of her with the same detail he gave to the cleaning of his pistol. Hana keeps her eyes shut the entire time. This time, she reaches a new record, holding her breath for one hundred and sixty-three seconds, and nearly faints.

  He smokes a pipe as she dresses herself, then focuses in on the sash as she ties it around her waist. She doesn’t double-knot it as she wants to so as not to draw too much attention to it, but he notices anyway.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘This? The Mongolian woman gave it to me because I had no clothes. She burned the rags you brought me in.’ She turns away quickly and slips her boots on one by one.

  He chews on the end of the pipe, not rising to the bait.

  ‘No, not the coat. The pretty belt. What is it, silk?’ he asks, and motions for her to come to him.

  Hana hesitates before obeying. He lifts an eyebrow, questioning her pause. She looks down at the ground and pads towards him. She kneels in front of him. Morimoto rubs the silken material between his thumb and forefinger as though assessing its worth. He balances the pipe on his knee and begins to untie the sash. She keeps the del closed with both hands, afraid he means to undress her a second time. Instead, he holds the sash out in front of him, taking in the full length of the delicate design.

  ‘This is an ornament of honour,’ he says, still gazing at the intricate needlework. ‘Who gave you this?’

  ‘Is it really so important?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a gift. A valuable one.’

  ‘Perhaps they are more generous than you knew.’

  He lowers the sash and inspects her expression. His hawkish gaze unnerves her. She turns away. ‘Women don’t wear sashes. For ease of access,’ he finally says with a smirk. ‘So whoever gave you this did so with a purpose.’

  ‘The Mongolian woman wears one.’

  ‘Ah, but hers is a belt to hang her work tools from. This, well, this is more, shall we say, decorative?’

  His eyes accuse her of lying, yet he says nothing. The silence between them unsettles her. He laughs and tosses the sash at her face. It slips to the floor. She leaves it there. He lifts his pipe to his lips, takes a puff, and blows a stream of smoke into her face. Her eyes water. She coughs.

  ‘So, someone has claimed you, have they? Which one, the young man, Ganbaatar’s friend? The little boy? Who wants you as his own?’

  Afraid for Altan, she thinks quickly. Perhaps if she can anger him, Morimoto will direct his hate towards her instead of him.

  ‘None here are like you. You are the only one who claims me as your own even though you know I would do anything to escape from your grasp.’

  He sits up straight and looks as though he might strike her. She stiffens, prepared for the blow. He seems to change his tactic and smiles, like a snake preparing to strike.

  ‘We can stay here all day if you want. Or you can go ahead and tell me which one gave this to you.’

  She doesn’t look at him, instead staring at the brilliant blues and yellows adorning the sash. Her heart already aches with a magnified sense of homesickness.

  ‘We leave in the morning,’ he says, trying to get a reaction from her.

  When she still says nothing, he adds, ‘I guess he’ll have one last night to dream about a future with you that will never come to pass.’

  The truth behind his words crushes her. Hana can’t help sagging inwardly. Outwardly, she holds her shoulders stiff, refusing to let him see how much he has hurt her.

  ‘Why must I go with you?’

  If he is taken aback by her sudden question, he doesn’t let it show. He puffs on the pipe and waves one hand dismissively.

  ‘I need you. Only you can take away my misery.’

  His misery? In the brothel, he forced her to listen to his complaints on many sleepless nights when all she wanted was to rest from the torture of her day. Morimoto would appear in her room like a phantom, awaken her from her slumber, and demand she service him, too. Afterwards, she would have to remain awake to listen to his words. She wants to spit in his face, but Morimoto touches her cheek. He will tell her his story, and once again, she will have to listen.

  ‘The Americans killed my family,’ he says, and his expression looks like he is far away. ‘My wife, my young son. I sent them to live with my brother in California before the war broke out, so they would be safe.’

  His demeanour changes. He seems subdued.

  ‘How did they die?’ Hana asks before she can stop herself. He has never mentioned his family.

  He takes in a deep breath and exhales it so slowly that she wonders if she’s angered him, but then he continues.

  ‘Japan bombed America. Did you know that? Sunk their battleships in their naval base in Hawaii. It was a defensive strike, to keep them out of the war, but it didn’t work. It made them angry, you see, so they joined the war instead. And they declared all Japanese subjects in America traitors and spies. They put them into detention camps, forcing them to leave their homes and belongings behind to live in squalor in these camps. My son starved to death, and then my wife, stricken with grief – abandoned by me so I could fight in the emperor’s war – hanged herself.’

  Hana takes in his words, trying to imagine the sorrow he must have felt upon hearing of their deaths. Morimoto sent his family to America for safety, but instead they suffered and died. She looks upon his face in the dim light of the ger, but as hard as she tries, she still cannot see a man worthy of pity. There is no humanity left in him. His humanity died with them.

  ‘I knew when I saw you in the sea that the gods had gifted you to me. I am certain that they meant you for me and that one day you will bear me another son.’

  He will never let her go. The future he has planned sickens her. She could let him take her away, and then when he least suspects it, she could try to escape. Images of that future play through her mind, but in the end, she sees herself trying to run away while carrying a baby in her arms. His baby. She would rather die than give birth to his child. But then another thought enters her mind. She would rather kill him, or die trying.

  He lowers his pipe and removes a pouch from his coat pocket. As she watches him open it, she half hopes inside will be her photograph. It is a senseless thought, but it makes her appear keen to see what he has brought her.

  ‘These are for you,’ he says, pulling out two gold bracelets like a proud suitor.

  Disappointed, Hana stares at the trinkets. Morimoto reaches for her arm and slides the bracelets onto her slim wrist. They clink together, and the sound reminds Hana of chains.

  ‘Do you like them?’ he asks.

  Hana knows how to please him, and that by simply nodding her head, he will be satisfied. It takes all her effort to do it.
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  In the poppy field, Hana keeps her distance from Altan and the others. Part of her fears they may smell sex on her or that they may sense it if they get too close. Would they turn into animals, too, if they knew what she really was to Morimoto? The knife, which felt light yesterday, feels heavy and unwieldy in her hand as she slits the bulbs. Morimoto is busy talking to Altan’s father but intermittently looks in her direction.

  Altan passes her in the field. His shadow falls across her face, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she moves away, heading in the opposite direction. Now that she has started walking, it is as though she cannot stop. Her feet have a mind of their own, and soon she is out of the poppy field, heading away from them and towards the mountains. The vast rocky mass seems to beckon her, and she is unable to ignore its call. Morimoto follows her, but she doesn’t stop.

  He’s riding on one of the ponies and cuts her off. She tries to walk around him, but he cuts her off again. It is a game of cat and mouse, but she refuses to be the mouse. She doesn’t run. She walks patiently around the pony time and again. He tires of the game and slides off the animal. It heads back towards its people in the poppy field. He grabs her by the elbow and drags her backwards. She fights against him. He hugs her to him. She is like a fish, wriggling in vain against a fisherman’s assured grasp. For if the fisherman is hungrier than the fish, it does not stand a chance, and Morimoto is so hungry, she cannot escape.

  ‘Don’t make me bind your hands and legs in front of them. I will if I have to, but I don’t want to.’ His breath is ragged in her ear.

  ‘I don’t care. Let them see what I am to you. Nothing but an animal.’

  ‘Not an animal. My wife. Don’t you understand yet?’ He tries to kiss her, but she shoves him away.

  ‘You had a wife. She died. She was fortunate.’

  He slaps her, and she falls to the ground. Blood trickles into her mouth from her nose. She licks her lip. The taste reminds her that she has become strong again.

  ‘I will never be your wife,’ she says, and removes the bracelets from her arm. She throws them at his face.