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4,994 words
HEAVEN OFF THE COAST By Margaret Bacon
Leave it to Gordon to find a surf shop on the other side of the Pacific when he wasn’t even looking for one, Rene thought. He’d seen the boards first. There were three beat up short ones, crusted with dirty wax, leaning against a tiny weathered hut. The sight was enough to draw him in for a closer look. He peered in the dirty, glass paneled, sliding wooden door and realized it was a shop when he saw new boards and a few tshirts. “Rey!” he called excitedly to his sister, who was trying hard not wrinkle her nose at the potent smell of fish and seaweed. Rene turned to see her younger brother already opening the door of the shop. She followed him, awed as always, at his lack of inhibition. Gordon didn’t speak any Japanese, yet here he was in a remote fishing village in Okinawa just walking into a shop like a local. Even she, who’d aced Japanese 101, didn’t feel confident speaking to strangers. Trying to converse with relatives was hard enough. Though their grandmother understood Japanese, she refused to speak anything except Okinawan, which Rene didn’t know at all. And their younger cousins insisted on practicing their English as much as possible. So far, this “back to roots” family vacation had been mostly a lesson in
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frustration. And she’d been the one who’d pushed for it. It was 1970; just two years after the Third World Student Strikes at San Francisco State had ignited young people of color all of the country to take pride in their ethnicity. Rene, in her first year at UC Berkeley had chosen to ignore her father’s French/Irish ancestry and concentrate on her mother’s heritage. While she would have liked to learn her mother’s native language, Okinawan wasn’t offered even at a school as progressive as Berkeley, so Rene enrolled in Conversational Japanese. Studying the language, of course, sparked an interest in Japanese culture and by her second semester, Rene was already talking about living in Japan. “You’re too American,” her mother told her over the phone from their home in Long Beach. “I am half Japanese,” Rene protested. “You’re half Okinawan,” her mother corrected her. Still, Rene continued to push for at least a visit to her mother’s homeland. With Gordon’s upcoming graduation from high school and Rene home for the summer, their father acknowledged that perhaps it was time for the whole family to visit the island where he’d met his wife. Emiko hadn’t been back to Okinawa since they’d left almost 20 years ago. Tears filled her eyes when her husband made the announcement and Rene whooped with glee. “Can I bring my board?” was all Gordon asked, throwing back his long, sun bleached hair. Like so many WWII U.S. servicemen, Vince La Shomb had shipped out of Long
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Beach for his tour of the Pacific. Just those two weeks of training in sunny southern California was enough for him to vow that if he made it back to the U.S., it wasn’t going to be to New Jersey. At that time, Orange County was still mostly orange groves and oil fields, along with endless miles of beach. The next vow he took was to his new bride from the southernmost islands of Japan. He brought Emiko back with him to Long Beach where they raised their two children. Weeks before their trip, Emiko was already packing and repacking after buying what seemed like endless omiage. “Stupid custom,” she mumbled as she secured beef jerky in plastic wrap. “We bring something, they give us something… it never ends.” “Oh Mom,” Rene laughed. She was still giddy with excitement and oblivious to her mother’s anxiety about “going home.” Gordon, found them on the floor of his parent’s bedroom, sitting before suitcases. He’d obviously just come from the beach, shirtless and sandy, smelling of salt water. “Hey, I picked up some t-shirts for our cousins!” Gordon said, producing a bag that evoked a smile from his mother, but a sneer from his sister. “Are these from one of those five shirts for ten dollar stores?” Rene asked, browsing through the bag. “Yeah,” Gordon grinned. “And you know what? I found out they do surf in Okinawa. Not on the beach, but past the reefs. Think Dad will let me bring a board? I’ll just take my old one, one, in case case it gets dinged on on the plane.” plane.” Emiko’s smile faded rapidly. “There’s no time to go surfing. You have social
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obligations you know!” “I do?” He asked, incredulous. “Of course!” Rene joined forces with her mother. “We have to visit all our relatives, the monuments, and all the Ryukyu Islands!” “We can’t see all the islands, Rene,” her mother told her. Rene sighed. “I wish we were could see all of Japan, especially Tokyo and Kyoto.” “You can go back by yourself and see those places,” Emiko bristled. Rene could never figure out where the stereotype of sweet, docile Japanese women came from. Her mothers, and most of her mother’s friends from Japan, were spitfires. Rene figured anyone who’d survived that war had to have been strong. Omiage or not, the trip came up fast and just days after Gordon’s high school
graduation they were on a non-stop flight from L.A. to Tokyo. Rene teased Gordon that they weren’t stopping in Hawaii because their parents were sure he’d jump plane. Experiencing Tokyo in July with jetlag made two days of sight seeing more than enough, even for Rene. Everyone was relieved to leave the crowded, smoggy mega-city for the southern islands. They all slept almost the whole four hours from Tokyo to Naha, except for Emiko. As she saw the chain of islands, laid out like emeralds on a sparkling turquoise sea, tears rolled down her cheeks. For the Rene, the trip was an eye-opener on many levels, the first being how stoic her grandmother was after not seeing her own daughter for so many years. She hadn’t seen her granddaughter since she was a baby and she’d never even met Gordon
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since he’d been born in the states. When Vince hugged his tiny mother-in-law she brushed him off with considerably strength. “Akisamiyoo!” she scolded him with the only Okinawan word that Rene knew. The island was as hot and humid, if not more so, than the mainland and. Naha, where her grandmother lived, was almost as congested and sullied as Tokyo, though on a much smaller scale. What she found most disturbing however was the gluttony of land that Kadena Air Base Base and the rest of the the U.S. military military commanded. commanded. She She was appalled appalled at at the stretch stretch of U.S. Highway 1 where an American retail slum of used furniture stores, cheap clothing boutiques and used car lots sat next to bars and Christian missions. Everywhere, was the constant reminder that Okinawa was a U.S. territory, from the flash of dollars to driving on the “right” and the endless roar of jets overhead. Rene found herself already planning a visit when the island was to “return” to Japan in two years. She was amused though by the tiny urban farm in Obachan’s backyard, complete with corn stalks and chickens. And, she was moved by the sight of her mother and grandmother praying together at the butsudan for the husband and father and so many relatives they’d lost. It was the first time Rene had seen her mother really cry; her hands clasped together, tears rolling down her face as incense swirled about her. After a few few days of of visiting relatives relatives and and Gordon’s Gordon’s endless endless begging, begging, Vince took his family to the seaside. They left late morning, after the commute traffic in Naha had lessened a bit, though it was still a hot, smoggy crawl out of the capitol city. They
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traveled south where the road opened up to lush, green fields, past sugar cane farms that had taken over what had been lowland rice patties. Before rice, Emiko told her children, the staple crop of the island had been sweet potato. Gordon insisted on stopping to have his picture taken with a long-horned cow tethered outside a stone farm house. Rene marveled at the shisha lion dogs that stood guard atop almost every building. She found herself always looking for them and was rewarded to find them everywhere, their stone faces snarling at any evil spirit that might cross their path. At the fishing fishing city of Itoman, Itoman, they visited visited the peace peace memorials memorials and stood stood in stunned silence at the Suicide Cliffs where Japanese soldiers and Okinawan civilians committed mass suicide when the island fell to the U.S. during WWII. “The Japanese told Okinawan people that Americans would torture them, even eat their children,” Emiko said. “Women jumped holding their babies.” It was said that some Japanese soldiers even killed Okinawan civilians, accusing them of being spies. In some ways, the U.S. occupation must have been a relief from Japan’s oppression where school children were punished for speaking Okinawan. No wonder Obachan doesn’t like to speak Japanese, Rene thought to herself. After, Vince Vince took his his wife back back to the hotel, leaving leaving the kids kids to a wander wander a nearby nearby beach. That’s where Gordon found the surf shop. He entered without hesitation, Rene following cautiously behind him. “Hi,” Gordon said. Then with furrowed brow, he offered a battered, “ konichiwa” to the young man in the shop.
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“Konichiwa,” He mumbled, studying both of them before turning his attention to Gordon. “ American?” American?” He asked. “Yeah, American,” Gordon answered. Rene suppressed a giggle at her brother’s attempt at a Japanese pronunciation of the word. “But, we’re half Okinawan…” Gordon continued. The young man looked confused. Gordon turned quickly to Rene. “Tell him, Re!” He demanded. Rene frowned. “Tell him what?” “Tell him we’re from California, but Mom’s from here. That we’re half Okinawan…” Gordon muttered to himself, “What’s the word for half again?” Before Rene could say a thing, it came to Gordon and he shouted out, “ Hafu!” Ahhh…” the the young man murmured murmured in understanding understanding.. “ So desu…hafu!” He came out from behind the counter with an outstretched hand. Gordon grinned and grabbed his hand, shaking it strongly. “I’m Gordon.” Then loudly and slowly he enunciated every syllable of his name, “GOOORDAAAN” and, for good measure, added, “ desu.” “Shimabokuro,” the young man introduced himself. “Dan.” He pointed to his nose, the Japanese way of acknowledging self. “SHIMAAABOOKUUROOO…” Gordon repeated, again loudly and slowly. “That’s his last name, “Rene intervened. “His first name is Daan.” Dan turned to her for the first time and said, “ Hai, Daan.”
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“Dan,” Gordon said the American name. “No,” Rene practically barked. “ Daan.” “Hai, Daan,” Dan repeated. “Cool,” Gordon nodded again with a grin and said, “ Daan.” “Watakushi wa Rene desu,” Rene interjected in her best Japanese. She even bowed slightly. Dan’s bow was even slighter. “ Oneesan?” He asked if she were the sister. “Hai , so desu,” Rene responded and launched into their background; their mother being Okinawan, their father American; where they lived in the U.S. and their visit to the island. She was feeling quite proud of her monologue, all in Japanese. But, after listening politely, Dan turned back to Gordon, pointing to his t-shirt with the Huntington Beach logo. “Sa fa?” he asked. “Yeah, sa fa!” Gordon responded enthusiastically. Rene was more than a bit impressed that Gordon’s pronunciation of the Japanese term for surfer was so good. “Iku?” Daan asked. “Iku?” Gordon repeated, looking to Rene. “I think he’s asking you to go surfing,” Rene said without much enthusiasm Gordon practically jumped. “Yeah man! Iku!” Dan grinned and went back to the counter where he grabbed a set of keys. Apparently, Apparently, his working working hours hours at the the shop were were quite flexible. flexible.
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“Does he mean, like now?” Gordon asked her. “What’s the word for now?” “Ima,” Rene told him. “But…” she started to protest. “Ima?” Gordon shouted at Dan. “I don’t think he’s deaf,” Rene muttered. “Hai, ima !” Dan shouted in response. Dan led the way out the shop and held the door for them. He pointed to the boards outside and Gordon began looking them over. “And what am I supposed to do while you guys surf?” Rene asked, visibly irritated now. “Come with us,” Gordon said. “You can surf a little.” “I don’t know those waves!” Rene yelled at him. “And I don’t have my suit. And, I can’t just strip like you,” she said as Gordon pulled off his shirt and tossed it to her. She wanted to let it just drop to the ground, but big sister that she was she caught it. Still, she glared at him. Dan watched them curiously. He quickly went back into the shop and came out with a towel, a worn Japanese comic book, and a bottle of Bireley’s orange soda. It seemed to be the drink of the island. He handed the things to Rene with a smile and a nod. Though she still felt slighted, she understood his gesture. The two went off and Rene wandered the beach, mad at Gordon for ditching her and jealous once again of brother’s nonchalant charisma. The relatives loved him for seemingly no other reason than he was goofy and Obachan praised him for, of all things, eating so much. Gordon could polish off two amazingly huge bowls of Okinawan
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soba which Rene found a bit too greasy for her taste. It was an entirely different dish
than the buckwheat noodles of Japanese soba. She also didn’t like the goya that Obachan proudly grew and seemed to serve at every meal. The bitter melon was just, well, too bitter for her taste. And, she refused to eat SPAM, picking around it in champru. “Champru means mixed together,” her mother had explained. “Oh, like us,” Gordon responded with a grin. Rene wasn’t so sure she liked the term applied to her, but then most of the terms for people of mixed heritage were not complimentary. So, here she sat, a hapa girl trying to read the manga Dan had given her. It actually seemed to be a quite interesting story of a professional boxer, but with her limited knowledge of Japanese characters, it took her about twenty minutes to get through each page. She was so focused on trying to understand the colloquialism of anime Japanese that she didn’t even notice that someone was approaching her until he
was a few feet away. She looked up, but offered no welcome. The young man approached hesitantly. He smiled politely, even bowed slightly. He was very dark, slight in build and though he wasn’t in uniform, he wore a close cropped military cut. “Konichwa.” His American accent had a slight southern drawl. Had he been white, Rene might have pretended she didn’t speak English, but she knew his being Black called upon to be liberal-minded. Still, she declined to greet him, instead telling him simply, “I’m American.”
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“I thought you might be. You go to one of the American high schools?” Rene shook her head. “I’m in college in the states, just visiting family here.” He took a few steps closer but stopped before reaching her, stretching out a hand. “I’m Elijah.” “Rene.” Expressionless, she shook his hand. “Are you a Marine?” “No ma’am, Air Force. Is that any better?” Rene finally let herself smile a little. “Mind if I sit down?” He asked, still standing. Rene shrugged and gestured to the sand. It was a weekday, so the beach was practically empty. There were only a few fishermen and a family with young children down on the other end of the beach. She looked to the reef, but it was too far away to see her brother and Dan. Elijah sat down, still keeping a polite distance. “It’s actually nice you speak English,” He told her. “My Japanese is pretty bad. I’m having a lot of trouble with the pronunciation.” “Where are you from?” Rene asked, more relaxed since he was being respectful of her space. “Mississippi. Pass Christian.” He pronounced it, pass kris-chee-ANN , not that Rene had ever heard of the small coastal town. “And you?” he asked. “Long Beach, California.” “We have a Long Beach in Mississippi,” he told her. “I never think of Mississippi as having beaches,” Rene confessed. “Yeah, on the gulf…of Mexico,” he added. “We just got hit bad by Hurricane
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Camille. Practically wiped out the town, hope that don’t happen again. Our beaches aren’t as hip as yours in California. Anyway, in the south, it’s white folk who live right on the beach.” “In California too,” Rene frowned. “I heard the military has the best beaches here.” He smiled and shrugged. “At least the ocean belongs to everybody,” he said, looking out to the water that changed color from crystal clear, to turquoise to cobalt blue. The waves barely rippled on the white sand shore. “Okinawa’s got some of the prettiest beaches I’ve ever seen.” He picked up the coarse coral-tinted sand and let it shift through his fingers. “The sand here is like little stars. There’s even a folk tale about it, star babies they call ‘em.” Rene looked down at the few grains that clung to her palms, noticing for the first time that they were indeed star-shaped. She was ashamed that she’d never heard of the folk tale. “Actually, I haven’t seen that many beaches,” Elijah admitted. “Never been anywhere but Mississippi ‘til I joined the Air Force.” He laughed. “Never even met a Japanese person ‘til I came here.” “You mean Okinawan,” Rene corrected him. “Yeah, Okinawan,” he agreed. “Gals here sure are pretty! I had a Japanese….Okinawan,” he corrected himself, “girlfriend. But, she broke it off…you know the race thing, not to mention my being military. She was afraid her family would find out.”
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An uncomfortable uncomfortable silence silence lingered lingered between between them. them. Rene studied him him and realized realized that he probably wasn’t much older than she was. A small town southern boy, she thought, not long out of high school and closer to Vietnam than home. “You gonna go for a swim?” Elijah asked. Rene shook her head. “No. I’m waiting for my brother. He’s surfing…beyond the reefs.” “Whew,” Elijah blew out a breath. “They say you gotta be good to surf here. I heard it’s not so much the waves as the coral, and sea urchins and sharks...” “Yeah, well that’s my stupid brother for you.” Elijah laughed. He glanced at the comic book beside her. “Well hey, I don’t mean to keep you from your reading.” Rene found herself laughing back. “Thanks for talking to me though,” Elijah said. “Would you mind if I gave you my address? It’d be nice to have a pen pal. My family’s not the best for writing letters.” Rene agreed and he gave her a card. He stood then and bowed formally. “Sayonara,” he said slowly, not pronouncing it too badly. “Ja ne,” she responded with the more informal, “see you later,” even offering him a smile before he walked away. Back in Naha, Gordon recounted surfing at the point called Castles in detail to their relatives while their mother translated. Rene wondered what happened to her mother’s earlier admonishment that Gordon would have no time for surfing. She was now glowing with pride over Gordon’s recent adventure. Rene said nothing of her
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encounter on the beach. Obanchan and the cousins listened transfixed, smiling and laughing as Gordon pantomimed riding the waves. He commanded center stage on the tatami , crouched with arms outstretched, jerking his head back in an exaggerated effort to get the hair out of his eyes, gesturing at the imaginary wave overhead. Noticing his daughter’s sullen mood, Vince reached over and put a comforting arm around her. “Want to come with me tomorrow to visit an old army buddy?” “Sure,” she agreed, with a weak smile. While Rene went with Vince, her mother and grandmother took Gordon shopping with them to carry their bags, Obachan bragging how tall and strong Gordon was. An hour outside outside the city Vince turned off off the highway highway and drove for for another 20 20 minutes to a dirt road that led to a small, faded pink bungalow. American and Japanese car, in various states of repair sat in the dirt yard, as if sunning themselves as the day began to heat up. There were car parts littered everywhere. Vince pushed the doorbell and yelled for good measure. “George!” George was a tall, thin white guy who greeted Vince like he saw him everyday. A woman Emiko would have referred to as a “bar girl,” served them drinks, then disappeared somewhere in the house without George ever introducing her. They’d just sat down when the sound of a car pulling up and the sudden squeal of breaks was heard. A door slammed somewhere and a short, deeply tanned American man entered the living room. He was dressed in wrinkled, khaki shorts, a dirty t-shirt that barely covered his beer belly and a sweat stained baseball cap. He had a fly swatter in one
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hand and a beer can in the other. “Smitty?” Vince asked as he rose to meet him. George stayed seated. “Vince La Shomb, you ol’ son of a bitch!” Smitty exclaimed. He grabbed Vince’s hand, patting him on the back at the same time. Rene watched in wonder as Smitty spilled beer on her father, the furniture and the floor with no reaction from George except a bemused smile. Vince introduced Rene and Smitty shook her hand, spilling more beer. The chat was all catch up, with Vince and Smitty doing most of the talking with George adding a “yeah,” or “nah,” when asked. Rene was disappointed that the reminiscing was over so soon and Smitty was up and ready to leave within twenty minutes. He swayed as he stood, his eyes moist as he looked at Vince and into their past together. “Vince La Shomb,” he repeated, clasping the flyswatter to his heart. “God-willing, we’ll run into each other again.” He saluted with the now empty beer can and turned almost careening into a wall on his way out the door. “Is he ok?” Vince asked George. “Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” George mumbled and waved away Vince’s concern. Rene and her father looked to each other as they heard the car start with the obvious grinding of gears. The engine stalled and was started again before the car rumbled off. Vince peered through the blinds. “Thank God he’s going so slow,” he muttered. “Did those guys every go home?” Rene asked on the drive back to Naha. “Not sure about Smitty,” Vince told her. “But, George never did, though he had a
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wife and kids in the states.” He just left them?”Rene asked, incredulous. “I’m not saying it’s right, sweetheart. Guess, he fell in love with the island, happens to a lot of guys.” “Does he speak Okinawan or even some Japanese?” Vince laughed. “Nah.” He looked over at his daughter, a perfect blending of his wife and himself; darker than he, lighter than Emi with light brown hair, green eyes, and sprinkling of freckles across her nose. “Does that make him an ugly American?” he asked her. She responded with a shrug and an “I don’t know.” She turned her gaze to the countryside as the Armed Forces radio played all the top tunes she thought she’d left behind in California. The next week was filled with sightseeing and family visits, but Gordon still found time to surf. Dan and his friends even came into Naha early one morning to pick him up. He continued to make new friends and came home one evening gushing over the cute girl he’d met at Maeda, a Northern point on the East China Sea. “Her name’s Yumiko,’ Gordon told his mother. “Yumi means dream.” “I think Mom knows that,” Rene snapped. “You and your dream girl must have had quite a conversation.” Rene’s jab did nothing to deter Gordon enthusiasm. “She speaks some English. And, I’m picking picking up some Japanese…e Japanese…even ven some Uchina guchi ,” ,” he said, using the Okinawan word for the Okinawan language.
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“Jooto!” Obachan cried out.
“That means good!” Gordon shouted. “And I learned another word… nirai kanai .” .” Rene watched her mother and grandmother beam. “It means “home of the gods across the sea,” Gordon translated for his sister and father. “I’m surfing in heaven off the coast.” Rene slapped a hand to her forehead. The sights of the island, the ruins, mangroves, craft shops were impressive, but the heat and humidity was oppressive. Rene felt her enthusiasm continuing to drag and by the third week she was ready to go home. Then Gordon dropped a bombshell. He’d brought Yumi to Naha to meet the family and after dinner, before the SPAM could even congeal, he announced that he wanted to spend the rest of summer in Okinawa. “Gordon!” Emiko exclaimed. Vince tried to remain calm. “Son, what do you intend to do here?” “Live with Obachan. Learn about Uchina,” he said carefully pronouncing the ancient name for Okinawa. “And surf all of the islands! Yumiko said she could get me a job teaching teaching English.” English.” He looked looked to Yumiko Yumiko who nodded, smiling broadly. broadly. “You, teach English?” Rene exclaimed. “You hardly even speak English!” Vince sighed. “I think we’ve got to talk this over, Gordie.” “I already asked Obachan. She said yes. Well, that is, if she understood what I asked she said yes.” Gordon looked to his grandmother who smiled back and nodded. Emiko and her
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mother launched into rapid fire Okinawan that even Yumiko couldn’t follow. It was finally agreed to let the discussion rest until the next day, just three days before they were due to leave. That night Rene couldn’t sleep. She was ashamed at how jealous she was of Gordon. It was like when they were little kids. She was the smart one and he was the cute one. Now, she was the one who’d wanted so desperately to connect to her “roots” and Gordon was becoming Okinawan, excuse me, Uchinanchu, without even trying. She would have liked to have been happy for him, but her disappointment in herself was too great. It took talking through breakfast and lunch for them to come to the agreement that Gordon could stay in Okinawa for the summer. He proposed staying through winter to the end of the typhoon season when the swells were really good, before coming home and starting school the second semester, but that was nixed. That evening, Rene decided to go out on her own for the first time. She’d seen an advertisement for a stage production not far from Obachan’s house and though she was a bit nervous, she announced to the family that she was going to the theater. “Obachan wants to know who you’re going with?” Emiko asked. “I’m going by myself.” Rene told her mother. She looked to her grandmother. “Shitori botchi ” she said. Obachan spoke to her Emiko in admonishing tones, but Emiko merely shrugged. She smiled at Rene, reassuring her to go ahead with her plans. Rene walked to the neighborhood theater in the early evening. The sun was just
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beginning to set and it lit up the sky in burnt orange and pink. The air was cooling off from the day’s heat and people were out strolling. The smell of food filled the air, mingled Rene noted with other not so pleasant odors. She bought her ticket and found a seat close to the front. The stage was made of cheap wood and the fabric curtains were a bit worn, but once the show began, Rene was lost in the bright colors, the loud rhythmic music, and the exaggerated pantomime of theater. She understood little, but laughed when the rest of the audience laughed and clapped along with everyone else. She hardly noticed when the empty seat next to her was taken, but when she glanced over, she saw her grandmother sitting beside her. They said nothing, but smiled at one another and watched the rest of the show together. Afterward they walked home through the warm night lit by a crescent moon and stars. Gordon was waiting alone at Obachan’s house. Their father and mother had gone back to the hotel, most probably worn out from the day’s negotiations. Vince had left money with Gordon for the kids to take a taxi. Telling them to wait, Obachan went into her small, dark kitchen, returning with a grease marked, paper bag. She handed it to Rene. “ Andagi ,” she drew the word out long and slow, and bit loud. Andagi ,” Rene looked inside to find fried balls of dough, coated in sugar. She took one out and bite into the crunchy donut, savoring its oily sweetness. “Oh, these are sooo good!” she moaned. “Don’t tell Mom, but they’re better than hers,” she said to Gordon.
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“Mom told Obachan that they’re your favorite, so she made ‘em before meeting you at the show.” Gordon reached into the bag and grabbed a donut. “She told me I couldn’t have any until you did.” “Do you know how to say “good” in Okinawan?” Maasan,” he told his sister. “It means delicious.”
“Maasan!” Rene exclaimed to her grandmother. Obachan barely smiled, but nodded. “ Uun,” she muttered. Out on the street, Gordon and Rene walked sharing the donuts, instinctively knowing that neither wanted to jump into a cab just yet. Gordon grabbed his sister’s shoulder and pointed to a pair of shisha staring down at them from a gate. In her best big sister tone, Rene informed her brother, “The female is the one with the open mouth and the male is the one with his mouth shut.” “That’s us, Sis,” Gordon mumbled through a mouthful of andagi . Rene snorted. “ Furaagwa!” she snapped. “What’s that?” Gordon asked. “Fool,” she told him. “In Uchina guchi .” .” They laughed together and continued walking towards the harsh lights of International Avenue, the main drag of Naha.
THE END
