The Bridge To Nihon (BOOK ONE)

Chapter 24 - Kaido's Story

Kaido told,

"I was born in a mid-sized town halfway between the border and the ocean, which had somehow become permanently stuck between progress and backwardness. People still washed their clothes in the river, but there was a fabric industry that rivaled the best in the whole world. It was not merely industrial in its approach and size, but also extremely ambitious in its craftsmanship. The speciality the town was known for - and still is - was an intricate brocade pattern that is used for trimmings and wall hangings.

The pattern consists of two geometrically shaped twigs in an almost parallel line, its tiny branches intertwined with each other without ever touching. Stylized birds, made of only a few stitches, sit next to the twigs, their delicately spread toes barely touching them so that you never know if the bird is landing or taking off. The result is a pattern that is both still and serene, and alive.

I only lived there for eight years, but I can still see it in front of me, and sometimes when I come across something similar, it fills me with memories and nostalgia that not even the smell of my mother's soap could bring up.

Everybody in my family was engaged in this business, as were most people in town. My father was a very talented weaver. No thread was too fine for him and he possessed almost supernatural patience. To him, an hour at the loom felt like a minute. My mother worked as a supervisor in one of the larger houses. All-day long she would make her rounds, spotting the tiniest deviation from the pattern, or noticing when a loom needed to be tended to. She had the eyes of a hawk, my mother.

It is strange to think that they must long be dead by now. In my mind, they are still exactly the way they were when I was living at home. Getting up early, making breakfast and requiring me and my brothers to be reasonably quiet, so that they could enjoy their morning before heading off to work, not returning until late in the evening.

My brothers - I had two brothers, I don't know what became of them, probably they followed in my father's footsteps and became weavers, too -, my brothers and I would visit one of the more or less improvised schools that were attached to the factory buildings, and that rather minded the children than teaching them. We were allowed to enter the factories, as the industry was so much a part of our lives that it was beneficiary to spend as much time there as possible. This was our real education, and it prepared us perfectly for the lives that were waiting for us, ready-made, if not tailor-made.

I do pity those who disliked the fabric industry. It must have made for a very unhappy life for them. But most people, I am fairly confident to say, had a good life there.

Once, when I had been on the road with Mica for about two decades, we were invited to give a week-long performance at Hill Castle. The walls of their banquet hall were covered in hangings that must have originated in my hometown. I was overcome by a sudden emotion, and I had to leave the room. Outside I wept and wept, for the first time grieving for what I had lost.

You can believe me, I never had to work so hard on my composure as during that week, and, having mastered it, I finally felt confident in my ability to blend in and make Nihon my home. As much as this is possible for the homeless.

I had let go of my childhood, even though, oddly enough, I had assumed that I had done that ages ago. Yet, recalling all of this, and feeling the sadness rise with an immediacy and freshness as if I was recounting yesterday's events, I guess we never completely shed our childhood. We are not snakes, after all.

When I was taken, it was partly my fault, although Mica always tells me that I shouldn't look at it that way. I was unlucky, she says, and that nothing defines our lives more than luck, good or bad. Of course, she insists that my bad luck was her good luck, so we had better not question the past, but accept it.