by Lee Welles
There on her palm sat a perfect cylinder of clear, cool water! She stared at it, not believing her eyes. “Eyes are no good to you. This is why I bring you out at night, so you will let go of vision and trust your ears.” The memory of Gaia’s words continued to echo in her mind.
Miho leaned down, turning her head and bringing her ear close to the cylinder. She listened—and then listened harder. “Come, woman of the sea,” Gaia’s voice whispered, and this time, it wasn’t in her head.
Now Miho couldn’t believe her ears! She leaned in closer wondering if Gaia would tell her how to get back to the sea.
“Miho!” Ojisan snapped. “Stop playing—do dishes!”
Miho jumped and spilled the strange bit of water down the drain. She tried this a few more times in both the kitchen and the bathroom, but was not able to grasp a column of water, much less hear it talk to her.
Toward the end of the week, the city grew even hotter.
“Sumimasen,” Miho said, being as polite as possible. She had learned a lot from her video lessons. “I’m probably wrong, but it might be much cooler in Goza. The breeze from the ocean would feel wonderful, don’t you think?”
Ojisan started to frown, but Miho could see the idea catch hold. Before he could say anything, there was a knock at the apartment door. A messenger handed over an envelope. Miho watched as Ojisan read the short letter inside. He dropped it on the counter, fished out yet another cigarette, and began to circle the small apartment. Finally he stopped and looked at Miho.
“OK. We go to Goza, but only for weekend.”
Miho couldn’t help herself. She let out a yell, rushed across the room, and squeezed her uncle around the waist. He held his arms over his head and tensed up. When she stepped back, she could see that his face had gone red. He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and said, “At least there is good fish in Goza.”
Miho could hardly sleep that night. She whispered to Shinju that they were going back to Goza, going back to Sensei and maybe another Shodo lesson. They were going back to the sea!
20
Lagenorhynchus obliquidens
On the train, Miho asked her Oji how he knew Mr. Tomikoro. “He was my Sensei,” he said in Japanese.
“You studied Shodo?” Miho asked, also in Japanese.
“No. Well, yes. Everybody studies some Shodo. But what I learned from him was Jujitsu, some Aikido and Kendo. I was pretty good too. Once I thought I would compete, then teach, but…everything changed. I could not support myself and your mother teaching; I was not ready to be a teacher anyway.”
Ojisan looked out the window for a moment and then pushed his newspaper up in front of his face. Conversation over. Miho thought about how much she and her uncle had in common. Both of them had their lives pushed into a new direction through no action of their own. Both of them had lost people they loved. Miho wondered if Ojisan was sad to hear about her mother.
When they boarded the ferry, a man called out to Ojisan. He smiled broadly and the two men bowed, shook hands, clapped shoulders, and finally laughed and embraced. Ojisan introduced Miho. She said politely, “Yoroshiku.” The two men fell to talking in the way grownups do, so Miho left them inside the air-conditioned ferry and went out to the deck. She was much happier listening to the chug of the engine and the crying of gulls than the talking of two grown men.
She looked westward, where the peninsula came to a point and Ago-wan became the great Pacific Ocean. In the distance, she saw the rolling and flashing of dolphins! Miho counted them. She was happy to see that they came into the bay as well as cruised the ocean shoreline. She would have that much more opportunity to watch them, to get to know them.
When they docked, Miho asked Ojisan if she could stay to watch the dolphins. He shaded his eyes with his hand to see the pod now passing between the ferry and one of the many small islands that dotted Ago-wan.
“Hai. Hai,” he waved his hand impatiently and went back to talking to his companion. Then he stopped and cupped his hand around his mouth to call to her in English, “Miho-san, can you make nice dinner again?”
“Only for you, Ojisan!” she called back. He laughed and waved and turned, chuckling, back to his friend. They set off up the hill and Miho set off walking parallel to the bay. Her eyes were fixed on this group of 40 or so dolphins, but her heart couldn’t help but note that she and her grumpy uncle had just shared another smiling moment.
Miho had to walk fast to keep pace with the pod. Their dorsal fins were deeply curved, a deep, dark gray on the leading edge, fading to a light, almost white, gray. Miho could also see long streaks of the light gray along their dark backs. Mr. Hernandez had taught her a long time ago that if you saw those light-gray “suspenders” you were seeing Pacific white-sided dolphins. They were what he studied. Miho liked looking at his books of photos. Most science-type people called white-sided dolphins “lags” because they had a long scientific name that started with “lag.” The lags had rounded black-lipped snouts, white bellies and those lovely streaks of light gray down their dark bodies.
She smiled, remembering Mr. Hernandez. He would be happy to see that there were at least two babies in the group. The babies took many more breaths than the adults. They poked their small rostrums, their snouts, up out of the water, splashing a great deal more than the adults did with their smooth, practiced rolling breath.
Miho walked far to the east of the docks and began to climb the hill in order to see better. She was soaked with sweat. The air coming off the water was more sticky and humid than cool and refreshing. She wished she were in the water with the dolphins.
The dolphins turned further north into Ago-wan and Miho lost sight of them as they rounded another one of the many small islands that poked up in the bay. Instead of returning back toward the ferry landing, she decided to go up over the hill here to the east. She took out her phone and took a GPS reading. She liked knowing exactly where she was and looked forward to finding out the exact position of Ojisan’s house.
The ringing of her phone jolted her out of her thoughts. “Miho! Where are you?” Ojisan barked as soon as she had answered.
“Sumimasen. I’m coming now, Ojisan.”
She hurried back to the path that ran down the ocean side of the hill and turned onto one of the many small roads that ran between the homes and businesses of Goza. Miho continued west and jogged until she came to the familiar gate. She pushed her wet hair off her sweaty forehead and went in.
In the doorway, leaning on his staff, was Sensei! She smiled, said, “Konnichiwa, Sensei,” and held her bow for a respectful amount of time. Ojisan came out of the house, pulling his cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Tomikoro-Sensei wants you to go with him.”
He said something to Sensei that Miho thought was about her being back in time to make some dinner. Sensei didn’t say anything, just went through the front gate and down the road towards his daughter’s store. Miho followed.
“Sensei,” she ventured. “Was my Oji always so grumpy and mad?” She hoped her Japanese was good enough that he understood.
“Kiromoto-san, majime,” Sensei replied.
Miho didn’t know what “majime” meant. “Wakarimasen,” she said, and wondered how many more times she would have to say she didn’t understand. Sensei thought a moment and then scrunched his eyebrows together and made a serious face.
“Serious?” Miho guessed.
“Hai! Hai!” Sensei turned to go through the store and Miho followed. “No questions. No Engrish,” he reminded her as they removed their shoes and stepped over the high threshold. The long classroom was stifling hot, as if the sun had baked all the breathable air from it. Sensei sent her to the back of the room to retrieve the items they would need. He filled the teapot with water.
Miho began to prepare her ink. Sensei stood silently and watched. Twice he dipped the brush and drew an experimental line before he was satisfied with the quality of the ink. Miho spent her time working on both enso and ei. Her Shodo, to her anyway, w
as better. She smiled. Sensei nodded and told Miho to clean her tools. Again, she watched the water run dark to start with and then begin to clear.
After she had returned her tools to the shelf and they were outside, Sensei stopped her and tapped her in the chest. “Energy inside, ki, flows on paper. Way of Brush start in you, Miho.”
Miho nodded as if she understood, but the idea was almost as confusing as an otter telling you that it was the whole of the earth. Miho walked back to Ojisan’s with one too many ideas bouncing around: the ink, the otter, the boat that went to sea with the candle in it, the one that went to sea with her parents in it. Her head began to throb.
By the time she arrived, her head ached so badly she could hardly see straight. Her eyes began to water as she conveyed this to her uncle. He gave her some aspirin and told her to go lie down. Mr. Masuaki, Ojisan’s friend from the ferry, had invited him out to dinner anyway.
She was happy to stay behind. Miho didn’t want to spend her evening listening to the two men talk and having to say “excuse me” every time she dared to say something. She felt a little better, curled up on her futon with her little, gray Shinju tucked under her chin. She heard Ojisan leave and slept a little bit, but the hiss of the waves woke her. Again, they began to sound like they were calling her name. Again, Miho rose and went to the front room, where the opened walls allowed the now cooling ocean breeze in to freshen the house. The sun was diving down toward the horizon and Miho decided to go find Gaia.
21
Mujo-kan
Miho walked the beach, looking for the otter while thinking about her ki and her Shodo. She stopped at the east end of the beach where the sand turned to rock and the rock climbed the hill. Miho looked up and decided, since she hadn’t seen Gaia, she would do some more Goza exploration.
She walked up from the beach and trekked eastward and upward through town. The peninsula rose much higher where it began to hook into the mainland. The hill grew steeper and rockier. Miho sweated and panted as she neared the crest. Just over the top, she heard the sound of running water.
She pushed into the woods and found a marvelous spring. The water bubbled right out of the rocks and began a flashing, sparkling journey down to the sea! All water flows to the sea, Miho. Her father’s voice flowed from her memory like the water flowed from the rocks. The ocean covers 75 percent of the earth, and all water wants to get back there. It can be lifted up into the clouds in Fiji, rain in Colorado, flow through California, and back into the sea.
Miho thought of the wonderful book that Sensei had given her. She remembered the word and the kanji she wanted: “Mujo.” It meant “flow.” Another good word was, “Mujo-kan,” the “feeling of flow.”
Miho sat for a while and let the sound of that phrase, “Mujo-kan,” flow right over her. She liked it. She sat and thought, Mujo-kan and stared at the flickering, clear water as it made its journey back to the sea. I’m like water, Miho thought. I always want to flow back to the sea! Mujo!
The day continued to wane and the breeze continued to cool. She thought of the way water flowed so effortlessly over and around the hard, dark rocks. Mujokan. Her vision filled with the glimmer and gleam of the stream as it ceaselessly flowed. Mujo.Yeah, I’d really like to be the water and flow to the sea whenever I wanted. A shadow darkened the clear water in front of her. Miho looked up to see Gaia, standing on her hind paws and waving—waving goodbye.
Miho felt pushed! She went headfirst into the stream and began to roll down the hill. She was falling, bouncing, panicking. Wait, she thought. I’m not falling; I’m…I’m…flowing!
She was flowing down the hill—sliding around rocks and under logs! She felt no jostles or jolts, no rocks hitting her, just...mujo. She and the water picked up speed and for an exhilarating moment, they were airborne!
Miho sputtered and spat the suddenly salty water from her mouth. Looking behind her, she saw the stream ending in a short waterfall, spilling into the sea. She looked around and found herself in a cove surrounded by large, dark volcanic rock. The persistent ocean had tossed the thinnest sheen of water over the rock so many thousands, maybe millions, of times; the cooled lava that had once been dark and jagged was now smoothed and shaped.
Miho paddled over and found a low place in the rocks. It was set back into the rock and made a simple stone chair. Miho pulled herself up out of the water, plopped herself down and rubbed the remaining water from her eyes. She took a deep breath and gazed out to the horizon, looking for anything familiar.
The waves were just big enough to occasionally cover her legs, like a liquid lap blanket. The sun had started its evening descent behind her, behind the hill, into Agowan. A few fierce golden rays found a path through the trees and sent shimmering ropes out over the water. Miho squinted and saw movement, shattering the gold that was reaching out across the water. The otter head moving toward her sent hundreds of light-tipped wave tops out on either side.
Miho waved her right hand, relieved to see Gaia.
“Ohayo, my dear.”
“Ohayo, Gaia-san,” Miho said and bowed a little from her seat in the rock. Gaia rolled onto her back; her leathery toes poked from the thick bushy fur of her feet. She tilted her head toward Miho.
“You like this seat?” Gaia asked.
“It’s cool, like a mermaid chair. When I was little I used to build mermaid chairs, mermaid houses, mermaid dining tables…all kinds of things. Sometimes under water, sometimes on shore. I figured, people come to visit you when you have a place to meet them, and I wanted to meet the mermaids.”
“I saw you. I can tell when anyone is fully engaged with all the toys I create. Sometimes it is a bird song, sometimes it is a cool breeze, and sometimes…” Gaia paused and tilted her head a bit so that her dark, glittering eyes fixed on Miho. “Sometimes it is a wish made at the tip of a wave.”
Miho was startled. She wanted to ask Gaia how she knew that. She wanted to ask if Gaia answered the wishes. But Miho was becoming more Japanese every day, so she held her tongue and waited to see what else Gaia would say.
“If you are going to help me, you are going to have to be able to travel through the seas and the rivers, through the rain and the snow. I felt you tumble down the mountain and know now that you will be able to fit in with new friends and learn from new teachers.”
With a small “plunk,” Gaia rolled her body into a ball, dove, and shot off into the ever-deepening gloom of the little, rocky cove. Inside, Miho was frantic with questions. What friends? What teachers? Snow?! What on earth does Gaia have in mind for me to do?
But Miho, becoming better at watching her mind do loop-de-loops, decided not to run off ahead of what was really happening. She sat in the hard, wet mermaid chair and waited.
Her feet dangled in the water, rising and falling with the swells that came and swept across her lap. A buzzing began in the soles of her feet, almost as if they were falling asleep. The buzz climbed up and down her lower legs. The fast vibrations grew in intensity until a black-lipped snout broke the water—this dolphin had been using its echolocation to find her!
Her heart quickened as she looked at the dark, round and thoughtful eye of the dolphin looking back at her. The dolphin bobbed with its head above the water and flipped a few chirps and pops toward her.
Miho straightened her body and slid into the undulating cove. She felt her whole body being prickled and tickled by the tiniest of sound waves. Five more dolphins popped up! She heard their puff, draw and click of exhalation, inhalation, and blow holes snapping back shut. Miho was surrounded by their bobbing dorsal fins, dark eyes, and rostrums! She was certain they were the same Pacific white-sided dolphins she had watched earlier that day.
The lags began to squeeze up against her. Their taut, hard bodies pushed in close until she had no choice but to throw an arm over the wet, sleek back of the dolphin on either side of her.
The dolphins began to breathe in unison, making extra-loud exhales and inhales. Miho thought of Sensei commanding he
r, “Breathe!” She began to breathe with the dolphins, pumping her lungs. The dolphins on either side of her bunched the muscles under their tight, smooth skin. Miho took an extra-deep breath and down they went!
The small group went about ten feet down and then curved back up toward the surface. The Lags didn’t do their usual rolling breath. They popped almost straight up and waited until Miho had exhaled and inhaled, then took her down again.
This time, they went even deeper! Miho felt the pressure of the sea above her, pushing in on her ears. She let go of the dolphin on her right to squeeze her nostrils and blow inwardly. “Pop!” went her ears and she felt better. She now used both hands to grasp the dorsal fin she still held.
She felt her air beginning to wane and also felt the buzz of the dolphins behind her, scanning her body. They went rocketing up toward the lighter blue of the day above. It was difficult and amazing, so amazing that she was almost breathless!
Again and again the dolphins took Miho down into ever darker, colder water, then brought her back up when she needed to breathe. She quickly learned that breathing more like a dolphin worked much better. She rolled her belly up and turned her chin over her shoulder as they approached the surface. With her mouth facing skyward, she was able to take another breath faster and the group put on some real speed!
Miho didn’t have time to wonder where they were, how far out to sea or how deep. She was fully focused on breathing with the group. After a time, the dolphins began to spread out into a line—Miho in front, holding tightly to the hard, curved dorsal fin.
They were down deep, where only a glimmer of light made the water deep gray instead of pitch black. Clicks and squeals and buzzing dolphin-talk zinged around her. The ongoing chatter was a mystery to Miho. Suddenly, the dolphin she was holding jerked downward, pulling its dorsal fin out of her hands!
