“Blossoms on a Poisoned Sea”: Disdain for the afflicted

Author’s note: Yuki, one of the two protagonists, is the only one in her family who has not contracted the Minamata disease. Victims could receive a tiny compensation from the government if they are certified that they have the disease. Yuki’s family is on the verge of starvation and goes into Minamata City to get Yuki’s baby sister , Tomoko, certified. This chapter shows how victims are treated by the non-afflicted people. 

Who Was That Man?

The next day the family set off to Minamata to apply for Tomoko’s certification. Yuki had offered to take her alone and fill out the paperwork, to save bus fare. But her parents insisted the officials would require them to sign. 

Sweat glazed Nobuyuki’s face as he swayed laboriously down the road in the sweltering heat. It took enormous  effort for him to remain upright. Yuki, Tomoko on her back, put her hands on his back to steady him as he heaved himself up the bus’s steps. He swayed, then regained his balance and staggered to a seat. 

Passengers on the opposite side of the aisle made disgusted faces. Some rose and took seats farther away. Yuki pretended not to notice, handing Dad a handkerchief to mop up his perspiring face. When the bus lurched off, gears grinding, she was thankful for the cooling breeze through its open windows. 

They got off at a stop in the middle of the city, and walked slowly down the bustling main street lined with small shops. Salarymen at stationary stores checked the quality of the paper, or ordered business cards and announcements. A mechanic at a bicycle repair shop was replacing a broken chain. Mothers at curbside produce stands called to children to stay close as they chose the best tomatoes and cucumbers stacked neatly in wooden boxes. 

Yuki drank in the luscious scents wafting from ripe strawberries and shiso. She noted a few tourists were dining in restaurants as madly spinning fans ruffled their short, modern hairstyles and stylish clothes.  

Down an alley between two buildings across the street, Yuki was surprised to spot the main Chisso office, barricaded behind a wrought-iron fence. No wonder the clackety-clack of the train had sounded so close. 

“Look.” Kazuko pointed to a basket of bruised peaches with a 75% OFF sign. “We could afford that. Let’s buy one and split it.”

Dad nodded. Yuki chose the least damaged peach and strolled inside to pay. The shelves of the small produce market were packed with watermelons, apricots, yuzus, cherries, plums, eggplants, bell peppers, and edamame. Canned and bottled goods were stacked on shelves in back. Her mouth watered; her first peach of the year. She plucked money from her coin purse and offered it to the sour-looking shop owner with an apron tied over a faded yellow dress.

“Get out.” The woman narrowed her small eyes and breathed hard. Her breath reeked of garlic. 

Yuki resisted the urge to step back. “I need to pay for the peach.”

“I won’t touch your money. I don’t want the Disease. Get out.” She backed away, into the wall behind her.

A bitter taste flooded Yuki’s mouth. “We’re not contagious.”

The owner shook her head. “Leave. Now!”

“It’s not our fault my family has the Disease.”

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, but you people give our city a bad name. No one wants to come here anymore. I work hard, but have to pay taxes to support you.”

“My parents can’t work. They would if they could.”

“Just leave.” The woman made a shooing motion with big callused hands. “Go away!” 

Yuki set the peach on a shelf stacked with blocks of dried noodles. The owner picked it up with a square of newspaper and started to toss it in the trash. 

Someone behind Yuki said, “I’ll buy that.”

She turned to look. A gentleman in a gray suit with polished black shoes and nicely-trimmed graying hair was holding out his hand. The saleswoman gently set the peach in his palm and dipped her head. He gave her a coin and handed the fruit to Yuki. 

“It looks delicious,” he said, and then walked out.

She stared open-mouthed after the stranger as he crossed the street and headed toward the Chisso office’s tall smokestacks.

Dashing outside, she yelled, “Thank you!” And tried to smile, but a hot tear rolled down one cheek. Such cruel treatment by the shopkeeper; such compassion from an unknown man. Drying her face on her sleeve, she held out the peach for her parents to admire.

“We’ll have it with lunch,” she said brightly, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred.

They walked in silence the remaining five blocks to the office of the Committee to Certify Victims of Minamata Disease. Yuki was trying to calm down, but her stomach knotted up whenever she recalled the incident at the shop. Doctors and health officials constantly reiterated that the Disease was not contagious, yet city people still shunned and berated the afflicted. 

Inside the small government office a fan rotated, alternately blowing a warm breeze towards two men at separate desks. The one at the newer, moss-green metal desk had a deep scar running down his left cheek. He looked middle aged and seemed like the supervisor. He glanced up at them, then continued shuffling papers. 

The clerk at the scratched, dented desk had such a sharp widow’s peak his hairline looked like a bat attempting to fly away from his head. But when Nobuyuki wobbled in, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. 

The family bowed.

“We’re here to apply for certification,” her father said.

“What’d you say?” Widow’s Peak muttered.

“We’ve come to apply for certification for our baby daughter,” Kazuko repeated. Yuki unstrapped her sister and held her up so the man could see her.

Widow’s Peak curled his lip. “She’s too young to have even eaten fish.”

“She has Congenital Minamata Disease. Dr. Harada Masazumi examined and diagnosed her.”

“That Harada.” The official growled and yanked some forms from his desk drawer. “Fill these out. We’ll need to see her birth certificate.”

There were only two wooden chairs for visitors. Yuki let her parents sit in them, and presented the required certificate to the scowling clerk. Then she bent over the desk, filling out forms.

Tomoko began to cry; Yuki checked the diaper and told the clerk, “I need to change her.”

The office had a tall filing cabinet and wall shelves, but no place like a table on which to do so. Yuki set Tomoko on the pitted wood floor, replaced the soiled diaper with a clean one and stuck the folded up one carefully next to the water bottle in her cloth bag, away from the peach and their lunch. 

Widow’s Peak wrinkled his narrow nose in distaste and slapped a mosquito on his forearm. “You should do that somewhere else.”

Yuki was tired of being abused by those not affected by the Disease – the ones who acted as if they were superior because of luck, or their ability to buy and eat foods not from the Bay. But she swallowed back the angry words threatening to fly out of her mouth, and loosened her clenched fist. These ignorant men could decide her family’s very survival. They enjoyed abusing the little power they held. Her family desperately needed that money. She hated to grovel, but said, “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I would’ve if I could. Please forgive me.”

He exhaled a long annoyed breath. “Let’s just get this done.” He reviewed the completed form, squinting as if farsighted, studying the birth certificate. He stared at Tomoko as if he thought her deformed, and insisted Nobuyuki sign the document despite his nearly-illegible signature. 

When it was time to use the family’s seal, though, Yuki pressed the Akaji stamp proudly and firmly on the paper. 

At last, the clerk dismissed them. “We’ll let you know.”

She prayed they’d be approved for the small allowance. When she’d first met Kiyo, she hadn’t understood what a windfall he was: fine-looking, smart and kindhearted, he also kept her family alive with food faithfully and regularly delivered. All she had to offer to him in return was her love.      

But she had to stretch the seasonal vegetables from the garden, a few eggs, the rice subsidy and Kiyo’s gifts to last a whole month. Some days, no matter what she did, there wasn’t enough. 

The family bowed to the still-glowering clerk and left. It was lunchtime; restaurants and food carts were busier. The aroma of udon noodles and grilling chicken made Yuki’s belly grumble. She saw the furtive looks her parents gave to eateries, their noses twitching, stomachs longing – no doubt as much as hers – for more than just potatoes.

“I saw a school a block down that way.” She pointed away from the busy avenue. “Let’s eat there.”

They walked slowly to the end of the block. They passed an open-air café. A woman eating at a sidewalk table there wore a bright dress with oversized buttons down the front. She looked over and shouted at them, “Quit trying to close Chisso.” 

A schoolboy next to her in a pink-stained white shirt and brown shorts was kicking his feet and eating a large slice of watermelon. Other diners stopped eating and drinking to gape at Yuki’s family. 

She savagely wished they would all fall down dead.

A man in a blue coveralls at a food-cart counter lowered his chopsticks and stared. “You lazy bums pretend to walk funny so you don’t have to work, and get government dole.” 

His insult was the last straw. “My father’s not pretending, you idiot! He has the Disease. He can’t fish any more. We’re the victims, not you.” 

A pregnant woman carrying a large shopping bag stopped on the street, fanning herself. “Chisso built us a hospital. What will happen if my child – ” she cradled her belly – “gets sick, and there’s no hospital because the company moved?”

Yuki felt exposed, almost naked. But she couldn’t let such ignorance go unchallenged. “You respect a company that throws away the people it harms, like garbage. The hospital’s for everyone in the whole Bay area, not just you. But so long as you’ve got what you need, to hell with anyone else. Who cares about the fishers, who provided you with seafood all these years, before the Bay was turned into a cesspool?” 

The man with the pregnant woman yelled, “You’re going to ruin the lives of 50,000 people. The whole city will die if Chisso leaves. My shop will close.”

“Yeah!” shouted a mechanic, straightening from bending over a car engine. “Where’s your loyalty to Japan? Chisso is rebuilding our country.”

Nobuyuki’s face turned purple with rage. “Bastard,” he rumbled and lurched toward the man. His feet, unable to keep up with the sudden movement, stumbled. Yuki reached out, but he went sprawling. A few people snickered. The pregnant woman gasped.

“Dad! Are you all right?” Yuki pulled him up with one hand, the other one keeping Tomoko safely in place on her back. She brushed tiny stones from his scratched face and hands. Then pulled a clean diaper from the bag slung over her shoulder, and dabbed away beads of blood oozing from a cut on his arm.

“You’re horrible!” Mom screamed, pointing at the gawking bystanders. “My brother-in-law worked for Chisso, caught the Disease, and died in agony. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t talk or walk. Do you think he faked all of that – even his death?”

Some people lowered their chopsticks and looked away. Others kept staring, as if entertained. 

Tears streamed down Kazuko’s face. “My husband and I worked hard as fishers, but we were happy. Do we look happy now? Imagine what’s it’s like to be unable to feed your family, to see your child have to quit school to go to work and support you? I can stand being cold, going hungry, even being humiliated by clods like you. But I can’t stand to see my baby girl never walk, talk, marry or have children.” She stroked Tomoko’s cheek. “You’re the most heartless demons I’ve ever met.”

“Ah, take your filthy Disease away,” said a man in a light summer suit who’d stopped to listen. He flicked a hand as if shooing flies away. 

Yuki wanted to claw his eyes out. “Here’s some filth for you.” She pulled the rolled up, stinking diaper from her bag and hurled it at him. Her arms were strong from manual labor. The dirty nappy hit him square in the chest, unfurling, dripping feces down his jacket and pants. 

He screamed like a child, swiping at his clothes, only to get excrement on his hands. “You, you … look what you did! Where’s the nearest bathroom?” He ran away, still howling.   

Mom clasped Yuki’s arm. “Let’s go.” 

“Nice work,” her father said. Yuki knew he was laughing by the shaking of his shoulders.

She was feeling a little better by the time they arrived at the school, which was closed for summer vacation. For several minutes they sat silently on a bench under the shade of a large cedar tree. 

“Good for you, too,” Nobuyuki said to Kazuko, laying his hand atop hers.

“I couldn’t stand it anymore,” she said.

“I know.” Yuki sighed. 

They all knew, far too well.

“But throwing that diaper?” Her mother snorted.

Everyone burst out laughing. Tomoko joined in with a hiccupping chortle. 

Yuki grinned. “Yeah, that was good. Now, let’s eat.”

Her mother held the baby while she pulled their lunch from the bag. She poured water and passed the cups around. Then a small metal lunchbox for each person. She fed Nobuyuki barley, pickled cucumber and eggplants from each of the tiny compartments before eating her own meal.

The peach was dessert. She studied it, cupped in her palm. A small dark spot marred the otherwise perfectly fuzzy-skinned fruit. Her life before the Disease had been much like this peach: beautiful, full of sweet promise. The dark spot, the Disease. Starting small, the rot had spread until – as this bruise would do – it rotted everything. That was what Chisso had done to her family.

She closed both hands around the peach, fighting the urge to squeeze it to a pulp.

Mom looked questioningly at her. “Are you all right?”

Yuki sighed and nodded. 

She wasn’t, though. Sometimes she felt so sad she could barely move. Other times, the rage inside made her want to scream until her lungs ruptured. 

“Dessert.” Yuki didn’t have a knife, so they passed the fruit around, taking bites, enjoying its sweet perfume and luscious taste.

“Delicious.” Kazuko smiled; one finger blotted a drop of nectar from the corner of her mouth. Then she fed Tomoko.

Watching them, Yuki felt that familiar sensation of feathers brushing her hands. She found a sharp stone and drew a picture of her family in the playground dirt: herself holding hands with an older, adult Kiyo. Her little sister, too, was grown. Everyone stood strong and upright, smiling . . . . 

Staring at that etching in the soil, she suddenly felt repulsed. She’d done the same thing for so long, wishing their lives were like that. But they’d never be that way again. No fishing, running, talking, living normal lives. Don’t be stupid! You’re not a kid anymore, she berated herself. She must accept reality: the Disease had robbed them forever of dignity and respect. Their fate was to be shunned and mocked as subhuman by those more fortunate and ignorant. 

She stood and scuffed at the image in the dirt until her toes were bruised. Until soil jammed into her shoe through a hole in the toe. Until her ridiculous fantasy world was erased, obliterated. Just like the life she’d once had.

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