Miyako Diaries 8: Sugar Cane Whispers (Patreon)

Between April and June 1945, the Ryukyu archipelago saw one of the most devastating series of warfare in the Pacific Theater, as the ailing Japanese Empire stood on its last legs to deter the Allied advances to its mainland. Total deaths counted 200,000, Japanese and Allied, and 120,000 of them were men and women indigenous to Okinawa, largely civilian. Miyako Island was subject to 2,500 air raids and countless naval gunfire during this period, leveling all of its villages to the ground, and even those who were fortunate to avoid the bombings were met with starvation and malaria.

Aya was on her way home from her Oba (Grandma)’s place. The breeze coming through the tall green blades were soft in her ears. She liked that breeze, because it reminded her of Oba talking about it. She said the sugar canes were like a life. They were always by your side, whispering their soft whispers, through your happiness and woes, through your bliss and misfortunes. And true, sugar canes were everywhere on the island! On summer days the island air smelt thick of their fumes, their vapors shimmering in the heat. But on a December day like this, their rustling was much gentler. Aya was remembering Oba’s story as she took her path through the foliage.

The storms came early that year. Oba was just a little lass then, helping her bigger brothers and cousins as much as she could, fetching the water and tending the farm. But even they were not very big either, none of them old enough for the volunteer corps nor the war nurses. She was making her way through the thick foliage of the sugar cane field, following after a company of young boys and girls, when the planes came. They were bright and silver, and thrust horrible groans like giant angry birds. Immediately the troupe started to run, screaming. Someone took her hand and jerked hard. Soon Oba was also running, tipping over the stubbles and feeling the pain as the leaf blades cut against her soft cheeks, but desperate to keep pace. The groaning came again, and this time something like quick bolts of thunder shot through the field. Someone shrieked. Oba was also screaming. The group ran and ran, and Oba did not remember how they made it to the bunkers. It was dark and people there were exasperated, while outside the bombing and the shelling continued, like horrid rains of iron. There was a man who was apparently out of his mind, saluting and talking loudly to himself. There was another man in uniform urging the children to stop crying or be evicted from the bunkers. Oba gradually collected herself, and was told that her elder brother who was pulling her hand had never made it out of the field.

Aya paused for a while. The rustles were getting quieter, and she thought about the grand uncles and aunties she never had a chance to meet. It felt a bit funny that she was now older than most of them. She chuckled, feeling the warm presence of them all around her. And all this time, she knew that they had listened to the same hymns of the sugar cane whispers that she was hearing now.

Zawawa, zawawa....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QsDS8rSQ_KQ