Mizu Ni Nagasu

With the daily newspaper and reader glasses balanced on the end of his nose, Mori

Takahiro sat behind his counter in the small mom-n-pop grocery store that his family had

owned since before the war. Sometimes, the customers in the neighborhood joked that

there were a few items for sale that still pre-dated the last war. But, those customers

were gossipy middle aged women who would all enter his shop in packs of three or five

and would leave with their movie star magazines and boxes of strawberry Pocky.

Takahiro convinced himself that he paid them no mind as long as their money was good

and their voices low.



But, still…



He looked around. Takahiro could feel himself scowling on the inside. The

store wasn’t a relic of the past, even if he was the only one who thought so. He had

modern lighting and conveniences. He had a microwave—and a clean one at that! From

his perch behind the counter, the old man could see that on the right wall he had row

upon row of glass doors that opened to delicious drinks: green tea, iced coffee, Coke,

Pepsi, Cucumber flavored Pepsi—the latest fad that all the high school girls in the

neighborhood had to drink—Dr Pepper, and every flavor of Fanta that the elementary

students would ever want. He was a good businessman and knew what his customers

would buy. Anything that wouldn’t sell wasn’t worth his time. There were several isles

in the store that held candy, chips, pretzels, and one row of refrigerated cases that held

onigiri in neat, black triangular shaped packages. And those rice balls are delicious! The

most popular flavor was tuna. But, that had always been an old-time favorite.



Old Takahiro wrinkled his nose as the jingle bell that he’d tied onto the handle of his

door five years ago chimed with the sound of a customer coming in.



Two sets of sneakers padded into the store a little too quickly.



“Boys, don’t run.”



Takahiro dropped his newspaper onto the counter with a startled look. That was English.

Clearly, English. What was an English speaker doing in this part of Aomori? The

college, Aomori Public College, was in the opposite direction and, even then, most of

them studied economics. Takahiro found them frightfully boring at best. But, now…



“Boys,” a woman’s voice intoned the possibility of a strong grounding, or worse, if they

didn’t obey.



To Takahiro’s surprise, two identical gaijin children about age eight stopped in their

tracks in front of his counter. Both had remarkably red, red hair and aquamarine eyes.



He couldn’t help but stare. They were so strange looking. So alien. So outside.



They were also sunburned across their noses.



The one on the right blinked at him while the one on the left started picking his nose with

his forefinger.



“Kevin? Cole?” It was followed with an impatient sigh that was more of a hiss.



“Mom?” The first said over his shoulder as his mother returned from the back of the

store. “Why’d ya go back there?”



“Because that’s where the candy is.” She flopped her arms at her sides with

exasperation.



“Can we have some?” was said in unison.



Two sets of eyes glittered at the prospect.



“Go take a look.” She thumbed in the appropriate direction before her sharp eyes caught

Takahiro behind the counter.



Her English was just a jumble of choppy sounds to his ears. Nothing but mumble, chop,

chop, and a few English words, like “candy,” that he understood thanks to English

seeping its way into Japanese and, in Takahiro’s humble opinion, contaminating it. But,

he would blame that on the war, too.



The elderly Japanese man made direct eye contact with her, which he hoped she’d take

for rudeness, and straightened his back.



The woman didn’t notice.



Typical American, he grumbled under his breath, hoping she’d go away with her brats in

tow.



“Dr Pepper?” She asked hopefully, leaning in. “Do you have…Dr Pepper?” She laughed

a little lightly to herself and ran fingers through her shoulder length blond hair. “The

hotel’s a ‘Pepsi’ hotel and I’m a Dr Pepper gal.”



Takahiro raised an eyebrow. Oh, he got it. He pointed to an old metal “Dr Pepper” sign

that had been part of an advertisement series in the 1950’s during the American

occupation of Japan.



“Dr Pepper…huh?”



The woman turned to it and her eyes brightened. “Yes!”



“Hai, hai,” the old man said as he got from behind his counter. He walked with a slightly

rambling gait as he showed her where he kept it. He didn’t have a lot of bottles or cans

of the stuff, but he did have it.



It was when Takahiro passed the woman by that he noticed how large she was. This

American woman practically towered over him. He looked up like a tourist does a

skyscraper. Whoa, she’s a monster, he thought.



She beamed down at him.



Why did she have to smile at him like that? It unnerved him.



Too strange. Too unusual. She stuck out.



Old Takahhiro steeled himself as he stood next to her and pointed at what he had to offer

with the quick jab of an index finger.



“Great!” Then, she turned back and called to her children over several isles. “Boys, grab

some candy and meet me at the front counter.”



Takahiro scratched the side of his nose. More choppy words that made no sense to him.

Hopefully, the giant would get what she wanted and go now.



To his surprise, she grabbed two six packs of drinks and said “Thanks,” meeting up with

the two boys who had each decided to grab orange Pocky and mushroom Pocky.



“Mom, we found ‘salad flavor,’ too!” A twin peeked from behind and growled “Yeah” evilly.



She threw them a dark look and pushed the boxes of candy further up on the counter

towards Takahiro who easily added up the prices in his head. He punched the register

and was pleased with himself that his numbers and the register’s matched exactly.

So much for modern conveniences. The old ways were still good, too.



“Now, let’s see…” She opened her wallet to take out the money and her driver’s license

fell onto the counter.



Takahiro blinked at it owlishly.



The ID had a bad photo of the woman. It must have been a horribly humid day because

her hair stuck out at the ends. But the smile was definitely her. He couldn’t make out

much on the ID. He’d hated English. Didn’t bother to learn it. Didn’t want to. The

Americans had caused little Japan all kinds of trouble during the war. And, even now, he

still had memories of that night in July when the Americans sent their B29 bombers to his

home and wiped out ninety percent of Aomori. And, as bad as that time was, it still

wasn’t the worst in his life.



He scanned the ID again—something nagging at the back of his mind.



“I’m from Texas. See?” She pointed to the part of her driver’s license that said “Texas.”

Yes, he’d heard of the place. Most Japanese had the idea that everyone in Texas still

took a horse to work and fought valiantly against plagues of cacti and jackrabbits.



“Texas” he responded evenly and in his typical Aomori Japanese accent.



“Yes, that’s right.” She smiled at him again. “And there’s my birthday. Month. Day.

Year.”



He froze. He didn’t understand exactly what she said but the day and month and year…

He stared up at her in shock, taking in her face.



The date—October 8, 1968—haunted him. And it had all of these years.



That date. It was the same. How could it be the same? Had he not prayed and done all

that he could do? And, yet, here it was before him like a promise or a poorly thought-out

joke which the gods had decided to play on him.



It simply wasn’t fair.



But the date was unmistakable and this stranger, this person, couldn’t have known.



“You know,” the woman said to him from watching him frown, “I’m really taking up a

lot of your time.” Then, she remembered her manners. She bowed lowly. “Gomenasai.”

The apology was given with a thick American accent and poorly enunciated, but he got

the feeling just the same. And guilt began to eat into him. She must have thought him to

be strange.



The woman whose ID said “Diana Goodman,” bowed again awkwardly, as though she

had very little practice at it, and pushed the cash across the counter.



Now, he began to feel worse, taking money from her. Takahiro chewed his lower lip a

little as he got the change out. He handed it to her and she chuckled slightly as he

dropped the change into her large hand.



But the laugh. The giggle was just like her. The voice was different but the pattern was

the same.



The same.



A thought then struck him and he waved to her in an animated way. He gestured to the

calendar he had pinned up against the wall. “In two days, I’ll have more of that drink.”

He gestured to the Dr. Pepper. “In two days.” He pointed. “More…Dr Pepper…here.”



Her eyes widened.



“You’ll have another delivery of this?” She pointed to her purchase. “On Wednesday?”



He nodded, not at all sure what she was saying.



“Okay!”



That, he understood. Yes, she would be back.



Once the lady disappeared with the twins, he snuck to the door to watch them leave. The

boys were skipping, ripping open the Pocky packages and cramming in the candy as

though their lives depended on it. The mother was lugging the drinks but laughing with

them, encouraging them on. Takahiro tensed up as they approached the stop light,

holding his breath for a second and, then, slowly relaxing as they made it across the busy

street.



The old man stepped out the door of his shop, locked it, and made his way for the bus

stop. He knew where he had to go next.



The place.



Half an hour later, Mori Takahiro stood before a small grave. He lit some incense he’d

bought on the way and put his hands together to pray.



He knew the date. He knew it.



It was the same—the same as that woman, Diana’s.



Takahiro wondered why he’d come full circle. Why he was fated to meet her again. It

was stupid and unfair. He’d been coming here for forty something years and been

praying that her soul was safe, happy—that it had moved on to the afterlife.



The image of a smiling Diana, outsider, foreigner, filled his mind.



She liked Dr Pepper. Asako-chan had liked the drink, too, even if it was too Western in

his opinion and his wife indulged her and the three boys way too much. It was so hard to

raise a family back in those days.



Takahiro took out a packet of tissues from his pocket and dusted off the grave. He really

should have brought some water to clean it off properly as he usually did. But, this was

an impromptu visit. He had to make sure that Asako-chan’s grave was still here.



And that date.



He shook his head at it.



There was no mistaking it.



He lowered his head in defeat and acceptance.



The day of Asako-chan’s death and the day of Diana’s birth were the same date.

For some reason, which he could not comprehend, Asako-chan’s soul had been sent back.

He crammed his hands into his pockets as he made his way out of the graveyard. Maybe

she remembered being here. On Earth. Being his. Maybe, she didn’t and it was just a

smattering of instinct—or fate—that allowed them to be together again.



Fate…



Once he thought about her, the woman in his store, she wasn’t really all that bad. Yes, a

typically loud American. But, even when she was little Asako-chan was tomboyish and

loud—screaming in the store as her brothers chased her holding a garden snake.



The snake was the most terrified of all.



Takahiro chuckled to himself.



The boys were all grown now—middle aged men working good jobs in Kyoto. He’d seen to their future.



And his wife, the bitter old bitch, still spent her days in front of the television with the

same best friends she had in high school. He didn’t miss the fact that she referred to him,

almost openly, as “toilet paper on my shoe.” Someday, she’d cross the line and he might

smack her one on the butt to punish her like the child she is.



That got him back to Diana.



She would be back in two days. So, once he got to the shop, he’d make that call and get

in a delivery of the brown soda that she liked so well.



“Ano….”



Takahiro had gotten off the bus—joints stiff from the ride—and he was promising

himself a nice cup of hot tea once he got back. In fact, his corner store was within his

sights, if he squinted hard enough, when his ears caught the “Ano” again. He narrowed

his eyes as he turned around. Who?



It was an older teen in a black, high collared high school uniform.



“Hello.” He grinned a little too broadly. Like a monkey, Takahiro thought sourly. Then,

the teen bowed low and that was when the old man knew that he wanted something from

him. He had a suspicion.



“I was wondering if you needed any help in your store.”



Ah, that’s what it was. I thought so. The old man folded his arms across his chest and

eyed the teen grimly.



Passers by began to stare and Takahiro squirmed a little—hating the idea of causing a

scene in public or standing out in any way.



The teen was still bent over in a profound bow.



“Straighten up,” Takahiro grumbled, cocking his head to one side. This kid was good.

Not as good as he was, of course, because he’d been a businessman his whole life. But,

the kid was good at getting attention and keeping it without coming across as an

annoying, loud-mouthed American.



The image of Diana popped into his head again.



Two days. She would be back in two.



“Do you speak English?” he asked abruptly and got an odd reaction, almost a jolt. He,

then, smirked to himself. Yes, the young pup in front of him had expected other

questions besides this one.



“English?”



“Did your hearing go bad?” he huffed as old men were known to do.



“No… I mean…yes.” He laughed at himself and ruffled his own black hair nervously

behind his head.



“Well, which is it? Yes or no?”



“Well, my hearing is fine and I do speak English. I’m in the English club after school.

I’m the secretary.”



Takahiro scratched his chin as he nodded. This would work. He pulled out a small

notepad and a pen. He scribbled some numbers down and remembered what his close

friend, Midorikawa, offered to his new part-timer last week. Takahiro was thankful for

their evening games of mahjong now.



“This would be what I can offer you.” He tried to look disinterested.



The teen’s eyes widened. “Thank you so much.”



He bowed again deeply.



More strangers stared at them.



Takahiro turned on his heel and began walking back to the store. “You got a name? Or,

should I just call you ‘Monkey King’?”



The teen blinked at him.



“Well, come on, part-timer, or I’ll call you that until the day you die. Me? I’m gonna out

live you by one hundred years.”



The teen followed with a chuckle. “My name is Sasaki Ken.” He glanced at the sheet of

paper with his hours and new salary on it. “And feel free to call me anything you like.”



“As long as you can speak English, I don’t care.”



Young Sasaki glanced around the neighborhood—an ordinary place with street signs,

storefronts, and advertisements all in Japanese. He shrugged mentally. “Is there much of

a call for that here?”



“You’ll see.”



____________





Two days later, the door chimed and the sound of choppy English struck Takahiro’s ears

again. It was her. But, this time, the boys weren’t with her. Three men came, too.

“And they have Dr Pepper and, believe me, I’m just about out thanks to the boys raiding

the fridge yesterday…”



“My kids do the same with Fanta.”



“I’m a Pepsi man myself.” A deep chuckle. “But I’d heard a lot about some new-fangled

kind of Pepsi that tastes like cucumbers.”



“Ewww…” came from everyone around him.



Takahiro perked up at that. He didn’t need Sasaki-kun to translate a sound of disgust.

He turned abruptly to Sasaki-kun who was pretending to wipe down the counter the

whole time. This was his first shot at hearing native speakers of English converse with

each other. They spoke a lot faster and with a variety of accents—more so than in his

English classes.



“What are they saying?” he hissed to the teen.



“Ano…well…” He said conspiratorially, “They seem to like Dr Pepper, Pepsi, and

Fanta. But one of the men said he’d like the Cucumber Pepsi and the others were

revolted.”



“Really?”



“Yes, but he wants to try it anyway?”



Takahiro scratched his balding head. “Why would one want to try it if the group doesn’t

want to?”



Sasaki-kun shrugged. “Americans are a riddle…”



From behind the counter, both raised their chins up to see the tops of heads floating near

the drinks cases. Doors opened and closed with general chatting going on. The words

“meeting,” “making copies,” and “data” came to them as well as some snickering over

“pie charts.”



Tall, blond Diana suddenly appeared at the counter with, yet again, two six packs of Dr

Pepper. Apparently, she could handle them well and had experience in doing so. “Hi,

it’s me again!” she chirped. And, this time, Takahiro gave her a real smile. “Remember

me?”



He blinked at her unknowingly and nudged Sasaki-kun with his elbow. The young teen

now knew why he’d been hired.



“Welcome to the store,” Sasaki-kun said in his best English.



“You speak English!” Her smile brightened. She turned over her shoulder, “No only do

they have the best drinks here, they speak English.”



“Oh, that’s great!” a man in the back with short, sandy hair and a large frame said,

brandishing his Cucumber Pepsi.



“Oh, you’re really buying that?” an African American man in a dark blue business suit

said with a smirk. “I’m gonna watch you drink every last drop.”



“You’re on!”



“I’m paying for this,” she put the six packs on the counter and all of those, too.” She

pointed to the drinks her companions had.



“Really?” the man behind her said. “You’re so nice.”



Diana smiled at them. “Well, thanks to all of you, we’ll get some scholarships and

international programs going between our home university in Austin, Texas and this one

here at Aomori Public College.”



“Yay, more business and economic majors,” the man with the Cucumber Pepsi said.



“What are they saying?” Takahiro whispered.



“They seem to be working with the college.” He motioned his head in the direction of

the school. “They’re mentioning scholarships, too, I think.”



Now, Takahiro felt a glow of pride. While he couldn’t figure out why the gods would

send his daughter back to him in the form of a tall and not too bad looking blond woman,

he was thankful for seeing her again. She seemed generous and happy—paying for the

drinks and encouraging her friends—or were they coworkers?—to enjoy in the

camaraderie. It was a good thing.



“We have got to come back,” Diana said to the group and they all agreed.



“They want to come back,” Sasaki-kun said in Japanese, making change. He turned to

the group with a polite bow. “Thank you so much. We appreciate your business.”



“Thank you!”



“Thank you!”



The door jingled as they left with a final, cheerful “Thanks” from Diana floating to them.



And that was how it started. Two or three times each week, Diana—alone or with

friends—would come to the store and buy something. She began to teach herself

Japanese and chatted with Sasaki-kun with a cute, determined look on her face on how to

pronounce kana and kanji—pointing to signs or produce—whatever she’d learned that

week, she’d share. Old Takahiro would smile indulgently at it. Yes, his little Asako-chan

had been learning basic kana right before she took her red bicycle into the street

against the light and the car hit her. But, now, the pain wasn’t so bad. His middle aged

children and his nagging wife noticed that the only trip to the grave, now, was with them

at the Bon Festival that year. And, even then, he had a sense of detachment. He let his

wife stand up front while he stood at the rear of their family group with a thin smile

coming to him.



They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.



Asako-chan was back. It was his secret—a delicious one. And he would never give it up

or give in to despair ever again.



Because, that’s what life is like.







_______________





Author’s note:

Mizu ni nagasu is a Japanese idiom meaning “to forgive and forget.”