Child of Two Bloods

1. Chapter 1-3

She walked down the street, thinking like that and very pleased, thinking it over and over again, for she knew she would never dare speak such thoughts. Even her mother dared not listen to such bold ideas. If she insisted on her mother listening, she would shake her head, cover her ears and sit quietly until Yu Shui stopped talking. Sometimes she wanted to scream at her mother, and pull her hand away from her ear, but she dared not. There was a hard Japanese shell on her soft but hot American features. She is like a volcano, the outside has been covered by the cold lava, but the inside is about to boil.

She glanced around the street in the sunlight, the umbrella making a moving circle for her. Yesterday it rained, and today the green of the old trees and the thorns, the splendor of the azaleas that bloom everywhere in the park and in the garden highlight spring. She walked quietly, her head held high, breathing the sweet air of day. More vitality rose in her blood and spurred her on. She wanted to run and spread her arms. She used to run like that when she was in America, hordes of girls running like that, running with arms outstretched like wings, on tree-lined streets, running like birds flying, laughing nothing to laugh at. She had never run like that in Japan, and she had never seen a Japanese girl run, even as a child. They clumsily wear clogs or heavy leather shoes, or canvas sandals with rubber soles.

She reached the hospital gate, outside was the university. It was here that she had to wait for the American soldiers to pass in the morning. She didn't look at the American soldiers, only glanced at them once out of curiosity. They all looked alike, all laughing, chattering, jostling each other, always laughing and jostling, pretending to want to fight. People have to ask each other, "Are Americans just children?"

Above the hospital gate is a blooming wisteria tree. Clusters of purple flowers as heavy as bunches of grapes, dangling among the green leaves. This is the season for wisteria, iridescent and peony, her favorite flowers. Her father did not like flowers. In her garden, the beauty is the simplicity of stone, pine and water, only the green bamboo brings a gentle look. Her mother grew flowers for home use in the vegetable garden, except for a cluster of iridescent colors on the north side of the house.

As usual when she thought of her father, Duc Thuy felt a strange confusion of love, between feelings of admiration and displeasure. She often wished she never had to leave the United States. Her father did not understand and did not want to understand that being a woman in Japan was more difficult than being a woman in the United States. When she thought of the daughters of California, they seemed to be young queens. But in Japan, women are never queens. They are only subjects of men, serving and doing their duty. They could never be queens, because her father had said, when the Americans stopped occupying, old Japan would return. At that time, young people will not act like now American soldiers are just guests in the house. Children are required to have some freedom when the stranger is present, but when the stranger leaves, the children are punished.

She sighed and smelled the intoxicating scent of wisteria flowers. She reached the hospital gate, and put down her umbrella. There was someone standing at the gate, a tall, tall American man in a military uniform. He stood leaning against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, his hands in his pockets. She saw the stranger and was startled, while he smiled at her.

He said, "I'm waiting for you"

She was so surprised that she could not speak. She stared at him, her mouth open in surprise. Blonde young man, young and very handsome. Yes, handsome guy. His eyes were blue, his skin smooth and cool white, his teeth white and even, and his mouth very charming. He looked fit and strong, with broad shoulders and a small belly.

His eyes smiled. He said, "May I wait for you?"

She blushed. She looked at him as if seeing something strange. But she didn't find him strange, so she looked at him for so long. He had reminded her of everything she had forgotten, the boys at the California school, the boys she had just begun to notice when her father had suddenly left the United States for good. His voice was like her brother's, the words of the brother she still remembered.

The young American continued, "You don't speak English, do you?"

She calmly replied, "I speak English."

The young man respectfully took off his hat. "Never before have my prayers been accepted like this. It's too much."

"What's too much?"

"Meet a Japanese girl who can speak English."

She smiled, "Why do you want to see me? I've never seen you."

"You saw me this morning, but you didn't see me. But I see you, standing under this flower arch. Is this a flower arch? In my garden in America there is also a canopy of flowers. flower. I saw it this morning because it reminded me of my mother, and she was right there, looking... so beautiful."

"I stood there to keep the American soldiers out of the way."

"We passed, but I came back. They continued to go to Nara during the excursion. We were on leave. I could go to Nara anytime. But I think if I go back here and wait Wait long enough, we'll see you again."

"I'm on my way home from school."

"Are you still a schoolgirl?"

"I'm in college. Sorry sir, I have to go. I'll be late."

He was still standing, hat in hand and the sun shining down on his wavy blond hair, a pale yellow color, because his eyes were blue. His face is a bit thin, with a square chin and slightly high cheekbones. He looks very clean.

He said, "I want to get to know you." His voice was low and loud, but he spoke very gently.

She simply replied, "I can't. Sorry sir, I have to go."

He dared, "Why not?" He continued to walk with her. She hurriedly raised the umbrella. What should she do now? If anyone saw her with this young American and told her father, she would suffer his wrath.

She said, "Please go." She hurried away without glancing at the tall figure beside her.

He refused to give up, "There must be a way to meet a nice girl in Japan. Maybe I should visit her house, send business cards, say hello to her parents"

She cried, "No, no! You will make my father very angry!"

"Why?"

She absently replied, "Ah, because it is."

He inquired, "He doesn't like America?"

She replied, "My father knows America very well."

"Really?"

"We used to live there. Then when the war happened, we left to live here."

She had reached the university gate and it was here that she was forced to break with him. She just wished she was lucky no one saw her and this young American this afternoon; This is when everyone is taking a nap.

She imploredly said, "Please don't follow me. You will really trouble me if you keep following me like this."

"In that case I won't follow you anymore. But can I meet you here tomorrow? This is my name."

He took a leather wallet from his pocket, pulled out a business card, and held it out until she had to take it - Lieutenant James Peterson. He asked, "May I know your name?"

She wanted to refuse, but she looked up at him. She thought he was indeed too cute, too polite, with a smile on his lips that looked so gentle. She herself secretly longed to meet Americans. She is very lonely. It was hard to find friends among Japanese when no one knew anything about life in California during the years she lived there. The Japanese don't even like her because of her years in the United States, envious of her but pretending to like her.

"My name is Duc Thuy. Duc Thuy Son Dien."

He softly repeated, "Duc Thuy Son Dien. Please tell me where your house is."

She shook her head in panic, but couldn't resist the begging beautiful eyes. She feels warm. She wanted to laugh and didn't know what to do, so she put down her umbrella, ran into the gate and hid behind a bamboo grove inside. He walked to the gate and stood there, looking around. Then he hesitated for a moment before walking away. But he stopped at the arch of wisteria flowers. The sweet scent of real flowers is pervasive. He had never noticed the scent of flowers before. Why hadn't he smelled this scent before? He inhaled sharply into his lungs, this intoxicating scent forever reminiscent of a beautiful and hidden girl. He paused, hesitated, overcoming the ominous omen he didn't understand. What is he entangled here, attached to the scent of dream love?

From her hiding place, she saw him look up in surprise, and then suddenly he was gone.

She stepped out of the bamboo grove, afraid that he was hiding somewhere near the school gate. But he was not there. She felt sad, though also relieved, and believed she would never see him again. She sat in the classroom, remembering his young and beautiful face, each feature different from hers, but still so close to her, a part of her childhood that she hadn't quite forgotten.