Dream Of Ocean
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I was on a boat. I don’t know what kind of boat it was, but the sea wasn’t rough and there were no waves. There were only two people sitting at the back of the boat – me and my friend. The sky was blue, almost cloudless, with not a single trace of any kind of haze or smog; just pure, unadulterated blue sky.
I remember feeling so much joy as we sat there in silence, enjoying each other’s company, and watching the sea for miles ahead, and the white foam that formed in front of us, before slowly dissolving into thin air. I remember thinking to myself, ‘I’ve never seen a sight like this one before.’ And then I started feeling sleepy.
‘You look tired,’ my friend said to me.
‘I am,’ I replied.
‘It would be better if you went to sleep now while I still had some strength left. We have to make landfall soon after sunset tomorrow. You can rest properly tonight in your hut, and we’ll leave at first light tomorrow morning.’
He smiled and nodded toward something behind us. I turned around and saw my wife standing next to a small wooden hut with a tarpaulin roof. She was smiling at me and beckoned me to follow her to our hut.
I followed him inside the hut which was surprisingly well-built for such an improvised structure. It looked exactly like the hut back home in the village where my parents and brother lived. I was surprised because there was no way they could build something like this out here.
I looked at the ceiling and noticed that there were holes in it. My eyes moved from one hole to the next, trying to figure out what was going on, when suddenly, one of them opened up and revealed the stars above me! At that moment, I realized that these were no holes; instead, they were windows.
They weren’t really open windows though; I don’t think there were any panes of glass, or screens of wood, or iron bars, or any type of metal for that matter, keeping the windows open. Instead, what stood between me and those beautiful starry skies was a piece of paper made of some kind of plant fiber that looked and felt almost like cotton, but stronger than cotton itself.
And then I realized something else: that all the windows that I’d been looking into until that point were actually shuttered, but they hadn’t been closed since we left port earlier today. They had simply been left open throughout the whole day, allowing the sun and wind to come in, drying everything out, and preventing rot.
In fact, the whole interior of the hut was completely dry as if it had been built inside an oven. I wondered how long it had taken my friend to put together such a sturdy house, especially considering how difficult it would’ve been to find enough firewood or bamboo to build such a hut without being caught by the soldiers patrolling the area.
It had probably taken him a lot longer than he initially estimated; after all, he didn’t even know what tools to use to build something like this in the first place. But somehow, he did it.
I thought to myself, ‘That’s my friend for you; he always seems to figure things out.’ His ability to improvise amazed me sometimes and I had learned to trust his judgment ever since I met him four years ago. We spent our days playing cards against each other and discussing the different ideas we had about life back in the village.
He was very intelligent, and he knew more about philosophy and science than anyone in our village. Sometimes I couldn’t believe how many different types of plants we had growing in our village.
I was always curious to learn new facts about nature from him and to hear his theories about what we should do with all the knowledge we had gained over the past few years, as well as to ask him questions about how everything worked.
As I walked to our hut with my friend, my mind began to drift to other topics of conversation. What if the soldiers catch us? If we get captured, will I ever see my family again? Will I be able to take care of myself if I’m imprisoned for a year or two or maybe more?
Should I start practicing some of the techniques that he teaches me every time we play cards? How would I know who the guards are if they attack us? Or what if the soldier is the same one as last time and he remembers me…
My thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling out to me. It was my wife, asking me to follow her. As we walked through the grass and towards the hut, she told me that she had made rice porridge for dinner and that I should hurry because it wouldn’t stay warm for long.
The smell of cooked food reached my nostrils as soon as we entered our hut, and I knew it had been cooked in the same pot that was still sitting in front of our door.
‘Come eat,’ she said, smiling, and sat down at one end of the table while I sat across from her. The table consisted of a slab of wood that was about three feet wide and five feet long with a large bowl placed at its center, and a smaller pot next to it.
On top of it, there was a plate with a slice of bread in it, and a wooden ladle resting on top of the plate. There was also a knife and fork on the table. After I washed my hands, I picked up both utensils and began eating the porridge that smelled and tasted wonderful.
‘How did you make this?’ I asked.
She smiled and replied, ‘It was easy, wasn’t it? When you’re hungry, just heat water in the pot and then cook rice grains with some salt.’
I nodded in agreement before asking her, ‘Did you cook it all alone?’
She nodded her head in response and added, ‘Yes. You can’t let the porridge get cold, right?’
I looked at her in surprise as I realized how much effort she had put into preparing this meal, especially with how little food we have in our hut. I thought back to when we were still living with our parents. Our mother used to always prepare big meals for our father and the rest of the family.
She would spend hours cooking and cleaning up afterward. My father, however, always complained that she spent so much time doing it. ‘Why does she do all this work?’ he would ask whenever she would go upstairs to clean up. ‘We don’t need fancy dishes or a nice dining table to sit around at home; it doesn’t really matter to us anyway.’
But my mother never stopped cooking for us. She said it was because she loved cooking, and she always seemed happy to cook for my father. I think it made her feel good knowing that she could do something he appreciated, even though he rarely said thank you for the food she prepared.
Our father was a very busy man; he would usually arrive home from work around midnight every day. That meant he spent most of his time working during the day and sleeping at night. Even though he always ate dinner with my mother, she would often have to leave early on those nights to clean up the house before going to sleep herself.
This meant that most nights she’d be gone until late, which made it hard for her to wake up early the next morning to begin her chores.
‘It’s alright, Mom. I’ll clean up after dinner tomorrow,’ I would say whenever she came downstairs crying every night. But she kept insisting that I help her; after all, I am the oldest son of our family now, and the responsibility falls on me to do as much as I can to care for the rest of the family.
So, whenever I saw my mother upset or angry because of my father’s lack of appreciation for the time she invested in making meals for our family, I felt helpless. And then there were my father’s constant complaints that my mother worked too much: ‘Why do you keep doing all this work?! Do you want to kill yourself?’ he would say.
Then he would turn to me and say, ‘You can cook better than your mother anyway! Why don’t you cook for us sometimes?’
I would just shrug my shoulders and tell him that he’s probably right. I knew I could cook better than her, but that didn’t mean anything since my father wouldn’t appreciate my efforts if I started cooking for our family more often.
In fact, it almost made him angry whenever I offered to help her with any of her chores. ‘Do men ever learn how to cook? No,’ he would say, ‘because they don’t have to!’
As time passed, my father’s comments only became stronger, and I noticed the way he looked at my change from admiration to resentment. He seemed to take pleasure in reminding me that I was the ‘man of the family now’, so he should start acting like a real man, instead of an incompetent child who couldn’t even handle the simplest household tasks.
I remember when he first told me that, my heart dropped. I felt so embarrassed. My face turned red, and tears filled my eyes. I wanted to run away from the kitchen and crawl back under my bed, but I had to remain strong for my mother. So, I swallowed my fear, grabbed the broom we used to sweep the floor, and walked over to my father’s side.
I tried to be brave, but when I looked up at my father, he glared down at me and sneered, ‘You’re not the man of this family yet. Just wait until you’re married and have a wife who will cook for you!’
With that, he pushed past me, walked out of the kitchen, and slammed the front door behind him.
***
After that incident, I learned that my father had left my mother and me.
The next morning, I went outside and found my mother sitting by the front steps looking dejected. ‘Where’s Dad? Has he finally come back?’ I asked as I came over to sit beside her.
‘He hasn’t.’
My mother sighed before adding, ‘I wish I were dead.’
I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there silently with my arms crossed across my chest and stared down at the ground.
When my father did return, he brought a man along with him: an older-looking guy with a white mustache and bushy eyebrows. I thought maybe the man had taken my father captive and forced him to marry him, but it turns out that wasn’t the case.
My father’s new wife was named Yumiko; she was the same age as him, but her face was more refined and prettier than mine. The moment I set eyes on her, I knew she was an extremely beautiful girl. She reminded me of the girls I’d seen in the magazines I read when I was younger.
Her skin was porcelain pale; she had long black hair that she tied into a ponytail; and her eyes were deep blue, like sapphires. I could see why my father fell in love with her. It also didn’t help that my father’s new bride had three servants who looked exactly like her – the exact same height and build. They served as perfect examples of why women were superior to men in society.
My mother and I both lived in the master bedroom while my father and his wives stayed in their own rooms. When one of them came home from work, she immediately changed out of her maid uniform into casual clothes and put on makeup.
All five of them spent hours each day working out in the exercise room, which I thought was absurd because they weren’t even trying to get healthy! Their sole goal was to make themselves attractive and physically appealing to other people.
I was so ashamed and embarrassed by my father’s new family. I never once went to school during those days, and all I did was stay in my room and hide from everyone. Whenever Yumiko’s servants entered through the door to serve us lunch or dinner, I ran into my room and locked myself inside until they left.
I hated the idea of them seeing me and knowing that I had to be part of this family too.
One night after my mother had gone to bed, my father knocked on our door and stuck his head in.
‘Why aren’t you eating dinner with your sisters?’ he asked.
For some reason, my body began to shake. My heart started racing as I wondered what would happen if my father came out to look for me, so I quickly pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed. I took two steps toward the door, but then suddenly remembered how much pain it caused me to move my legs, so I paused to catch my breath.
My father looked around nervously before speaking again. ‘If you don’t eat with them, I’ll feed you the same food that you’re feeding your sister,’ he threatened.
It was as if I were in a dream – a really terrible, nightmare-like, depressing kind of dream. I couldn’t believe this was happening. What was wrong with me? Why was my body acting this way? This can’t be real. I must have been imagining things – I’m probably just hungry.
‘Please let me go to my room now,’ I whispered to him.
My father’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. ‘You better start eating with them,’ he demanded. Then he pushed me back onto my bed and walked away.
***
As the days passed, I realized that my father would continue to force me to eat at the same time as his wives and his servant girls. If I tried to sneak off to my room alone at any point, he would come out of nowhere and pull me back to where everyone was gathered.
I didn’t want to spend my whole life like that, so I decided that I needed to run away. I figured the best place to do that was to leave the palace and go live on my own. But first, I’d need money.
I had been keeping a few coins hidden inside one of my shirts, and I knew that they were worth quite a lot since my father had paid the goldsmith who made them a hefty fee. I had no idea what I was going to do with them yet, but I had no choice. I couldn’t stay with my father forever.
The next morning, I dressed up in a maid costume and headed out through the back gate of the palace. I was careful not to draw any attention to myself, but as I was crossing the street to get to the main road leading outside of town, I heard someone yell. A young boy was running toward me wearing nothing but his pajamas and slippers, so I stopped.
‘Hey!’ he called. ‘That’s the Princess of Yamato! That’s my Princess!’
He was pointing at me, and his mother stood behind him with wide, terrified eyes, watching her son. The poor woman was clearly afraid of me, especially when she saw the gold crown on my head.
‘I’m sorry! Please forgive me!’ I exclaimed as soon as she spotted me. ‘Please don’t tell anyone about me!’
Her fear turned into panic, and she grabbed her child and fled down the path.
The boy turned around and glared at me with hatred in his eyes before running after them. As I watched the mother disappear over the hillside, I suddenly felt an intense burning sensation in my chest. It felt like a hot flame was being slowly driven into my flesh. At the same time, there was a loud pop inside my head, and I dropped to my knees as everything went black.
I could hear someone saying my name, but I couldn’t see anything. My vision began to clear, and a man who appeared to be very old sat beside me with kind blue eyes. His face seemed to glow, almost as if he were wearing a white mask.
‘Who are you?’ I asked him.
‘Oh…you mean your father, right?’
His voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d heard it before.
‘Yes!’ I said, trying to stand up. ‘You’re his servant? Is he the one who gave me this mark?’
He nodded. ‘And you know how to read?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘But I’ve seen books before.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you the story of the King of Yamato once I’m done healing you.’
‘Can you heal me now? It hurts so much!’
He placed a hand on my forehead, and the flames in my chest finally disappeared. When my vision cleared, I found that the man’s face was covered in a white mask, and his hair was tied up in a bun. There were strange markings covering both of his forearms.
‘You are the daughter of a very powerful man in this land, aren’t you?’ he said to me. ‘But unfortunately, he has no idea that you even exist.’
‘Where is he? Where did they take him?’
‘They took him to another country. Your mother died in childbirth. You were given to a noble family by the King himself so that you would grow up as a proper princess. Now that he knows that you still live, he is going to come back for you, but first, he wants you to meet some people who are very important to him.’
I tried to ask questions but couldn’t speak for some reason, and the old man continued. ‘Your father sent you away because of something terrible that happened here. But we will explain all of that later. All you need to know now is that these men have come to make sure that everything goes according to plan.’
He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of paper. On it was written the name ‘Kojou Akatsuki’. I stared at it with horror in my heart as I realized what that meant: they were going to kill my beloved master.
I was so shocked that I fainted again.
When I came to, I was lying on a wooden bed in a room filled with light. Everything was so peaceful as if I were dreaming. The only person present was a beautiful, golden-haired girl sitting beside me. She had large, dark eyes and long eyelashes that made me think of an angel. And she wore a silver dress with golden trim and a necklace around her neck bearing a sparkling gemstone the size of my palm.
‘Who are you?’ I managed to mumble.
She looked like an angel herself, but she just shook her head and smiled gently. ‘That is not important right now.’
‘Where am I?’
‘This is a secret place,’ she explained. ‘It belongs to those who serve the King of Yamato.’
Her smile grew even more gentle. ‘But you won’t be able to stay here forever. They will send you back to your father as soon as possible. So, you must learn to use the power that’s inside you while you can.’
My eyes widened in surprise as she continued. ‘Don’t worry. These are good people—my friends—so please don’t be afraid.’
‘What…do you mean by “power”? What do you mean by “learn to use it”?’
The girl leaned over close enough that our cheeks touched, and her warm lips brushed against mine. A sweet scent rose from between us. My whole body trembled as I felt heat rush into every inch of my body.
Then, everything around me started shaking violently; the walls and the floor, and the ceiling, too. A strong light flashed in front of my eyes and a roar echoed through the room. It was as if the world itself had opened its mouth.
Suddenly, I remembered: This was what she was talking about!
The girl turned into smoke, her skin taking on the color of moonlight and spreading like a cloud. A second later, she returned as a beautiful young woman. She wore a dress that shimmered like gold, and a necklace that shone with gems as big as eggs swung around her neck.
‘You can see them, too, then?’ she asked.
‘Y-yes. They’re glowing!’
As I spoke, a light appeared in front of me. It looked like two hands touching together, and in the center of that light, there was another figure. It was an old man wearing a mask, his hair tied back neatly behind him. He held something in his hands: a piece of paper. Then I noticed the writing on it and read the words aloud.
‘It says Kojou Akatsuki.’
The End