The Other Side

The fluorescent lights were really starting to get to him.

It was a no-brainer, really...the thought that a hospital was the last place on earth one would want to find himself for days at a time.The constant flickering of the TVs, the empty, sterile hallways...the predictable footsteps of the nighttime nurses. Sometimes he would find himself emerging from a hazy dream- waking just enough to look at the clock and wonder how long he’d gone without a good night’s sleep- to be greeted by the familiar sound of those footsteps, and have his eyes assaulted by all that glaring artificial light.

Dr. Junichi had offered him a bed in one of the vacant patient rooms. He’d made the offer out of practicality as much as compassion, since it was clear he wasn’t going to leave his father’s side anytime soon. Takashi refused. The thought of sleeping in the same bed as one of these invalids made his skin crawl. Ironically enough, his revulsion didn’t keep him from summoning up the rest of his kin to attend his father’s final days.

The door creaked open. “Ishida-san,” Dr. Junichi said gently as he stepped into the room. “Your niece and nephew have arrived. I haven’t yet heard from your sister. Your nephew said she should already be here. I’ve tried calling her; but it appears her phone is out of service.”

Typical. Takashi sighed and rose to his feet, trying his best to avoid looking at the lights. “She’s probably keeping it off to avoid roaming charges. Please just send the kids up.” Knowing Miyuki, she’d probably stopped to run some errands and sent Matt and Sara ahead.

He hadn’t seen his niece and nephew in over seven years. What would they make of their grandfather?

Takashi had never thought much of the United States. Its preoccupation with flowery ideals and blind ambition contrasted completely with everything he was taught. Looking at his father’s wizened hand resting on the drab blue coverlet, he thought of all the evenings he’d spent in the kitchen as a child, learning how to season rice, make ramen broth, and fry strips of beef. It was rare for fathers to teach their sons to cook, but Dad had always been adamant that his kids would have as many life skills as possible.

“Takashi.”

A stylishly clad young woman in her thirties stepped into the room. She wore a deep blue pantsuit, and her long hair was held back in a high ponytail. It was still completely jet black, unlike Takashi’s own hair...which was beginning to gray now that he had reached his early forties.

“When did you get here? The doctor said he couldn’t reach you. And where are the kids?”

“Hello to you too, big brother. Good to see you! You’re looking well.”

“Don’t play games with me, Yuki.” His sleep-deprived brain had left him with a short temper.

“We don’t have time for that. Neither does Dad.” He gestured toward the bed.

A scornful look came over her face. “You mean what’s left of him.”

“Shut up!”

“Don’t you DARE yell at me!” Miyuki crossed her arms and stared daggers at him. She looked like an overgrown toddler.

Takashi sighed. “Again, where are the kids?”

“Sara wanted to get a drink in the cafeteria. I told her what room Dad was in...she’ll be up soon.”

“And Matt?”

“Standing outside. He wanted to give us a moment before he came in.”

Smart boy. Takashi’s face began to burn with embarrassment, and he cleared his throat. “Come in, Matthew,” He called out in his best English. “Come see your grandfather.”

A tall, slender boy entered the room. With long bangs hanging over his eyes and baggy jeans hanging off of his hips, he looked every inch the overprivileged American teenager. So he was pleasantly surprised when Matt bowed slightly at the waist and said, in Japanese: “Hello, Uncle. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Takashi had to smile. At least Miyuki had taught her offspring some manners.

* * *

Miyuki Ishida could feel her mind going blank. It had been nearly a decade since she’d last seen her father. He had been a stone-faced man back then, a man who always had boots on his feet and a cigarette in his hand. A solitary man with a one-room apartment, decorated wall-to-wall with framed photos of old battleships. Not a single family photo made it onto those walls.

It still distressed her now, seeing Dad reduced to a mere bag of bones in a hospital bed. She was embarrassed for her kids to have to see him in this sorry state, but there was no way around it. Takashi had threatened never to speak to her again if she refused to come.

Miyuki busied herself with fetching water for the potted geraniums on her father’s bedside table. In the darkened window, a sudden flash of white caught her eye- could it be an owl?

Having spent her own childhood in such a crowded, urbanized environment, She'd always made sure her children spent plenty of time in nature. The first time Matt caught sight of a barn owl, he immediately developed a love for bird-watching. She felt a wave of pride in her son...he had been learning Japanese with great zeal for the last three months in preparation for this trip, and clearly it had paid off. She knew very few other 17-year-olds with his work ethic.

Where was Sara? She left the room in search of a water cooler, wondering if maybe her daughter had gotten lost. Having Dylan here would make things easier- but right now he was probably sitting in some overpriced Starbucks, just waiting for the whole thing to blow over.

She finally located a water cooler in the staff lounge at the end of the hallway.

While filling one of the paper cups with water, she heard loud footsteps behind her- accompanied by her brother’s voice. “I think he’s awake. Come quick!”

* * *

Sara didn’t have a clue what to expect when she walked into that hospital room. She knew her grandfather (Ojiisan, as she’d been instructed to call him) was dying- Mom explained that on the flight over from Seattle. But this was unknown territory- she’d only ever seen old people die on TV. She knew Uncle Takashi would be there, who she only vaguely remembered meeting as a seven-year-old. Though his English was nearly perfect, His stern face and clipped manner of speaking kind of scared her. She wasn’t in a hurry to see him again.

The past decade had aged him considerably. His thick, wavy hair was going gray, and his dark eyes had crow’s feet in the corners. Eyes that now flitted around in thinly veiled panic as the old man in the bed thrashed around, yelling incoherently.

She stared at Matt for some indication of what to do, but he just stood against the wall, looking uncomfortable. Mom stood on the other side of the bed, speaking Japanese in a soothing voice, trying to get a wet washcloth to Ojiisan’s forehead. Then she unconsciously switched to English “It’s OK, Your family is here, you’re all right…”

Her grandfather howled again. He spat out a stream of words in Japanese, none of which Sara could understand.

“What’s...he...saying?” she asked hesitantly.

There was a pause. “He’s having a flashback. He thinks he’s back in Korea.” Sweat glistened off of Uncle Takashi’s forehead. Mom looked even more panicked. Sara had to fight the urge to bolt.

Matt’s gaze met hers for a moment before flitting to Uncle Takashi. He asked him something in Japanese.

Uncle Takashi shook his head. “No. You stay. Both of you.”

Taking another step toward the bed, Sara finally got her first good look at Ojiisan. His hair was thick and wavy, just like her Uncle’s- except that it was pure white. He was incredibly frail-couldn’t have weighed more than 95 pounds- and missing most of his teeth.

The old man moaned again. “CHUN HEE!!”

Sara was taken aback. “That’s Amy’s mom’s name,” she said without thinking. Amy was the new girl in her class, who had immigrated from Seoul, Korea earlier that year.

The old man’s neck snapped around suddenly. He stared up at her for a few long seconds, his dark eyes full of life, but completely unreadable. Like those of a wild dog.

For a moment, he seemed to calm down. He turned his face away. A moment later, Sara could hear deep sobs coming from the other side of the pillow.

Beside herself with confusion, Sara looked over at her mother, who looked every bit as bewildered as Sara felt. Her uncle’s face betrayed no expression whatsoever. Matt just stared blankly at Ojiisan, as if mesmerized.

The old man started speaking again, so softly that Uncle Takashi leaned over to bring his ear closer. He seemed to be murmuring right into the pillow.

Uncle Takashi stood back up, now looking visibly distressed. “He’s saying he’s sorry.”

In the few seconds of silence that followed, she racked her brain for what he could possibly be sorry for. Mom had always spoken about Ojiisan with a mild contempt in her voice, and Sara knew their relationship had always been rocky- but any concrete reason for that still eluded her.

He turned to look at her again. “Watashi wa yurushite,” He said. He repeated the same phrase several times before saying something else she couldn’t understand.

“I was following orders,” Her uncle translated. “I was wrong. I was stupid. I only meant to follow orders.” There were tremors in his voice. Taking a good long look at him, Sara realized that he was probably quite good-looking in his youth.

Uncle Takashi took a step away from the bed. “Sara, come here. I need you to do something for me.”

“Umm...OK.” She was beyond trying to figure out what was going on.

“Tell your grandfather you forgive him. Say, ‘Watashi wa anata o yurusu.”

“What? Why? I don’t get it!”

“Just do it!” He snapped. “Repeat it back to me. I need you to say it, and I need you to say it right.”

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?!”

“THERE’S NO TIME! Please. For your family...”

Sara repeated the phrase five times before Uncle Takashi was satisfied. There was no point in arguing. And looking again at her grandfather, in all his half-crazed agony, she knew she there was no other option.

Instinctively, she reached out and took his hand... it was so frail, it felt as if it might crack at any moment. She took a deep breath, and began. “Ojiisan…”

Uncle Takashi shook his head. “No. Ryota-san. Call him by his name.”

“Ryota-san, watashi wa anata o yurusu. I forgive you. It’s OK,” she said, giving his hand a little squeeze in spite of herself.The old man took a deep, shaky breath. Sara saw a glimmer of relief in his eyes before he closed them.

After a few moments, Ojiisan seemed to fall asleep and his breathing returned to normal. The family noticed, for the first time, that there was jazz music playing over the intercom.

* * *

The sky was just beginning to lighten. It was unusually warm for March, which he took as a good omen.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw his little son puffing away a good six feet behind him. The hand-carved terra cotta urn he carried was not heavy, but it looked massive in Yamato’s tiny hands. The boy had insisted on carrying it himself, which made Takashi smile with a quiet pride.

They had finally reached the cliff overlooking the beach. Despite the early hour, there were already several ships on the horizon. Gulls cried out. Yamato giggled as the wind blew through his hair.

“I think your Ojiisan would be very happy with us today,” He said to his son, picking him up. “He loved this ocean. And ships.” He pointed out to the horizon.

“That’s how I got my name!” Yamato exclaimed.

“No, those are oil tankers. You were named for a battleship. One of the best ever built.”

“Yeaaahh.” The little boy stared up at the seagulls, distracted. Takashi glanced at his watch. It was 8:15.

“Now!” He put his son down and plunged his hand into the urn, scattering the ashes into the wind. Yamato eagerly followed suit. With any luck, some of the ashes would make it onto the water.