Countryhumans Oneshots! [Historical Fiction・No NSFW]

Shimaenaga

A fresh scent, carrying notes of cedar, wafted towards the engawa¹ where Japan sat in concentration. His hair followed a rhythm of gentle waviness — that is wherever those early morning winds took his dark strands. Dappled light bore its way through western-made trellises blanketed by his beloved climbing hydrangeas. Bathing in such a familiar, warm glow offered refuge through chilling weather. However his greatest comfort lay in his crafts. Japan tightly cupped a small bundle of white wool felt, reminiscent of a cotton ball.

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"Shimaenaga."

"A shiman-what?" America questioned.

I calmly repeated, "A Shimaenaga; it is a subspecies of long-tailed tit found on the island of Hokkaido. Shima means island, while enaga generally means long-tailed tit. They are seen in large flocks."

"Well whatever that thing you're making sure looks like a puffball to me..."

I quickly cut him off, "I suppose you could call these tiny, life-like models fashioned tediously by hand a figurine of sorts. However the one you are referring to right now is in its early stages, as in I have not worked on it yet."

"Oh yeah, definitely," America exclaimed brimming with enthusiasm, "can I touch one, please?"

America was always shameless in conversation. Saying without thinking, and doing without saying. Before you even knew it he would already be up in your things, touching before permission was even granted — just like how he was doing right now.

His hands floated up to my shelf where I displayed tiny, felt shimaenagas for my own viewing pleasure. Each one made possible only through ceaseless work and deliberate focus, such crafts calmed my mind during stressful periods, yet here was America happily bopping each one on the head as if it was an amusement park game.

His last few taps caused the wooden variety of shimaenaga statuettes on the end to bobble. These tiny birds were different. Obviously they were of different material compared to what I use now, but they were different in other ways as well. They were crudely worn down by time itself, yet one could see the commitment I had to sculpting it, even if it was in such a messy state.

No, that can't be right? Was it time that had shaped it, or was it by my own hands that I had carved erratic, jagged depressions into the figure leaving a terribly misshapen bird? It was as if I had attempted to perfect this craft — carving beauty into its shape — except now more than ever it became clear to me that I had failed. I attempted to cover my mistakes by digging into it deeper. Of course I couldn't undo the carvings. Every etch told frustration.

"I... remember when you started making these cedar birds," America sentimentally smiled half-heartedly, "hell, I didn't even know these were birds you were making. I mean just look at it? It didn't look like one to begin with."

"Ah-"

"When you told me these were birds at the start I seriously didn't believe you! Nowadays I see its different. It feels more complete, more like you."

"Yes, I see it is different," I curtly acknowledged.

I hid the slight frown that tried to break free with every word America said. His voice carried genuine faith, while my voice became distant. My mind became trapped in the past. Those emotions I once had carved deep in my heart. It couldn't be undone.

"I like the new ones you're making now. It has a different vibe to it, you know? Seriously, it feels different. It feels different than after that war."

He slowly turned before me standing. Words echoing through my ears. A pang of sorrow encapsulated my heart. I embraced lamentation.

"After what we did to each other, we forge on don't we? That cedar bird — physical proof of our desires. Etching away at ourselves revealing selfishness..." America trailed off.

"... we carved a deeper hole into our hearts. I remember thinking it was so beautiful at the time," I snapped, "it's disgusting that I still keep this. I'm not sure why I do..."

After World War II, the battering of bombs, bloodshed, and heinous acts left a dark stain on history like none before its time. Was I relieved the war was over? Simultaneously yes and no. I buried my feelings of hatred and reprisal along with my pride. After everything I had done it was all for naught.

America muttered, "I don't think it was disgusting. I never thought it was disgusting."

"What?" I stammered.

"Rather I see this shelf as a proof of progress. Each bird was made possible only through hard times and sorrow. Isn't it obvious to you that after each one is made, you manage to craft it into something you appreciate even more? In my opinion, some were never beautiful because you never intended it to be," America continued, "your art is your expression. I think just throwing away the remnants of a past is almost like forgetting it. If someone truly moved on they wouldn't be so irked by its presence, right?"

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Even through his attempts of comfort his words lacked assurance. It was strange, as if he too questioned what he thought so confidently. A truth all of us nations felt was an uneasiness that our minds were so entangled with human thoughts and desires, despite leading an existence that was so far from anything human. The only assurance we had were those very same human thoughts and desires that solaced us.

The shimaenaga was done. It was delicate, fluffy, and round. I gave it a slight squish and placed it on the shelf. Nearly 60 tiny birds later taught me the skill to craft the one I find the loveliest of all, that is until I make the next one that I'll find even more dearer. Only true sorrow showed the path I could take to find fleeting comfort in a near immortal life.

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¹ An engawa is a covered corridor that wraps around a house, similar to a veranda at ground level, separating outside and inside space.

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Author

Wowee haven't written in a long time :D
Just trying to write every once and a while, so please take all the stories lightly!
I'd consider this more of a study about the nature of CH rather than a critique of Japans sentiment after WWII, and I do apologize if it comes off more than the latter (my writings not the best okay? sometimes what comes out feels nonsensical)

Not sure what I'm doing.. lol

[1074 Words]