Kimonos in the red earth, of Rodolfo Walsh KIMONO IN THE RED EARTH
came from afar with their tractors and their songs.
Nine years later, secular face disgrace del campesino japonés: no era esta la tierra prometida.
Sobre la tierra roja que se abre muy cerca en perspectivas de selva, las muchachas bailan vestidas con el kimono y el obi multicolores y tocadas con grandes sombreros de paja. El tiempo, el sol y el agua han propiciado la cosecha que las conmovidas voces agradecen al cielo en su canto, mientras las manos miman el movimiento de sembrar.
Las campesinas que en la media luz del crepúsculo reviven las antiguas invocaciones mágicas se llaman Yashiko Takeichi, Aíko Kanmuse, Sachiko Kawamura, Yoshiko Koto, but on the merits of the photograph that records their dance, trimmed dark in the sky a lapacho.
Because this is not Japan. This is missions.
Alonso When Paul and I are going this evening in Cologne Lujan, the penalty we did not stay longer with these wonderful people and unhappy. And in the most unexpected places haunt me kono melody ionomers Hana, tearing afternoon, I smile with imperturbable seriousness Sinichi child, or dialogue without words as possible with the old woman who lost Yatsuda who knows what mists of separation and sorrow to go sew your packages.
is already much later on a bus rattled by roads impossible to exit or entry of any people, or yellow ocher dust of boredom and fatigue, I hear Paul murmuring in his sleep:
"Princess.
And I certainly possible that being appointed to Yuki, and is watching as I see it, removing his shoes to enter his room, his hands from the sheets of music or her notebook beautiful face saying words I can never understand.
THE LAND OF PROMISE
On Route 14, halfway way between Posadas and Puerto Iguazú, the 3,100 acre spread purchased in 1957 by the Japanese government to file migrants ninety families. The nearest town is Garhuapé and influence central Puerto Rico.
How you got here Shigemori Matonaga summarizes how the others arrived. Farmers in the province of Niasaki, owned four acres. They offered him thirty in the remote missions. "Missions? They showed movies which were orange color even, gentle hills covered with pine, tung trees with pink flowers. He sold his farm, he paid the first installment of the unknown land that was worth two thousand dollars and came with his family of seven people.
What was not told that half of his farm was covered with forest, the rocks that outcrop on earth would shatter the plowshares that the rain ruined again and again their harvest of snuff.
A Yamato Sadehiro they painted an even more idyllic. In a short time would become so rich that would have a black car, and his wife a red car, and their children a green car. Three years later, a contrite look at Hitachi recorder that is being printed the story of his disillusionment.
-Yo recorder before I have, "he says. Sold. Picture machines, two I have also sold Radyo, motobizicureta, terra Japanese, all sold. This vendo motor years, nothing remains.
had brought their machines, vehicles, equipment generators. Today only three jeeps, a tractor. Men plow the land with oxen slow, women carry water in buckets subject to long poles, kerosene lamps flickering at night in the houses.
-all thinking how to live, "says the man in the administration of round glasses framing a small dark eyes where lies a mysterious joy. Settlers very poor ones, if not help Missions colony lifts colony.
Suso Sekiya laughs briefly after this dramatic statement. Everyone knows that Mission, which is undergoing its worst crisis of the last thirty years can not help. In fact, the colony is depopulating itself. Last year there were fifteen families, Posadas, Buenos Aires, or return to Japan. This year, another fifteen.
In Puerto Rico, the dealer Osvaldo Brandt explains what happened:
-Initiated long-term cultures: tung, citrus, wood. These plantations yield after several years. They ran out of money, nobody financed, had to sell the machines for living. It is a shame because more would soon surfaced.
In the winter of 1966, the general exodus was a certainty unless some miracle.
THE MOOR
arrived on the roads of the colony reduced to a farm where the family lives malezal Nisiuchi. A shack made of wooden slats lags (a gift from the nearby mill) shakes in the wind.
The father is out working. Mrs. Nisiuchi, dressed in patched pants, hunched walking, looking sideways with a toothless smile.
"There prata-repeated endlessly, comprising the desolate landscape. Capueras everything, everything.
That "everything" explosive, almost monosyllabic, defines the world reduced to moor, lost hopes in the days and nights of work on drills and linens, poverty preys on the six kids (two Argentineans) that flit around.
arrived after an incredible high, disemboweled reed and straw barn, which is both home, house, drying of snuff. An old white-haired and sweet face walks into the hazy twilight of sunlight split, lost and alone and sad like a ghost.
-Going "he says. Going.
Is all that is understood before again recites an elegy unfathomable to herself, walking, playing the drawers where he packed his things, under the high ceiling, paper-thin walls where the wind is bitter and strained cold.
laughs like crazy when he discovers Pablo crouched trying to photograph. He is now sitting on a bed, sewing a small pouch in which case your clothes. Glasses has been and still muttering that deep litany, until suddenly come clear in Castilian those two words "husband die", followed again by the flow indecipherable: Magoga rokuni ... This is Mrs. Yatsuda, oblivious to herself, a symbol, a shadow, returned to a childhood in which humming and walking through a meadow, far away, and is happy because no one has died.
His son tells the same story for everyone. The snuff. Rain. September snuff plant. Snuff harvest in March. Snuff sold in July. But always rain, rain rot snuff. Smile that smile impregnable, and is perhaps a moment of weakness that is when he says:
"Here, so few friends.
In the farm of Yatsuda, tung fruit rots in the ground. Those who planted and had to wait six or seven years to harvest, have watched helplessly, the huge drop in price. Yamato took 75,000 pesos for his two tons of snuff, but their expenses for the year amounted to 200,000. Sasaki won 240,000 pesos, you need 350,000. Nomatica has turned his back on his planting of grass, which the crop is banned this year and defended with a small store. Yamato, again, look at his small plantation of jute and says with resigned humor:
do -Con jute twine. With rope, hanged. But others still resist.
WHICH ARE
front of the house of bricks and wood Hidesaburo Hayashi, lies the spot Black tung fruit hanging to dry. With his wife Yoshiko and son tomoto, are eighteen acres this year gave its first harvest and allowed them to associate with tungalera Santo Pipo. In the stable Twenty pigs grunt and twelve piglets. The Hayashi admit that so far worked only for food, but next year is to reach them for removal the rest of his farm.
They are safe.
old man also appears to be pregnant out of a picture walking bent unlikely angle. Takahei called Shin and has 75 years. His children tell us that not even think to leave. Spent four years in Santo Domingo, came because they had many revolutions. The old man walks into the kitchen, comes closer to the fire, where squatting a black pot boiling, and the smile that says "Thank You" when we leave it also seems inspired by an ancient fire.
In Ida family courtyard there is a jeep, and inside the house the family finishes lunch: soup of leeks (misusiru), rice with chopsticks, and as a tea, green mate and transparent pitchers Porcelain.
Harumi Ida was eighteen years old in 1937 when he went to fight in China as a private. Four years later he returned home and was stationed in Shikoku to the end of the war. When he returned to his hometown, his home did not exist and his family had died. The city was Hiroshima.
Harumi In the house, one enters in the rush something insolent demand a weary office; out by bowing and clasping instinctive feet. There is something intangible that goes beyond the certain courtesy of every movement, every word, as if among these farmers the word culture reassume its original meaning.
We ask you to sing and see, and not surprisingly, all five family members read music. There are all together around the table, rested Harumi, Mrs. Yoshiko's peaceful, beautiful Yuuki, the earnest young Shogi Ryuske and pressing a guitar. Suddenly united in the memory of the country they left, singing with sweet voices and tuned to the moon hovering over the old castle in ruins Kosy no tsuki.
Ida's family arrived a year ago. In these hopes are intact, such as wooden walls of his house, the electric motor, the jeep, the firm smile Harumi and her children.
Shinichi AND COMPANY
In the gallery of the school, Hoka Kasuya Castilian speaks in a clear but shaken by electric currents. Kasuya has ten years, a porcelain beauty and a jocund malice and outrageous.
On the way, about a small figure, with his briefcase under his arm.
"Here comes Shinichi Kasuya says.
"Oh, I answer. Is your friend?
"No," Kasuya. Is Shinichi.
"But is your friend.
"No," Kasuya. It is my enemy.
Unlike Kasuya, Shinichi has an unflinching seriousness. He walks and moves stiffly ceremonious elegance that it is ancestral.
"Good morning, Shinichi" I say.
Shinichi's eyes dilated with wonder (we have not been delivered). It seems to be smiling, but is contained and is barely perceptible gesture of fun and intrigue as you draw on his lips. It makes a little bow and says,
"Good morning.
Sinichi twelve. Take the black coat, buttoned to the neck with gold buttons embossed emblems, which they do at home the school.
Kasuya "So is your enemy," he commented.
"No," Shinichi. It is not my enemy.
"He says yes.
"No," said Shinichi. It's hostile environment. In Northeast rural teachers are used to solve difficult problems. Perhaps none more difficult than it was presented to the spouses Kiang when in 1963 took over the provincial little school number 86, which serves the neighborhood. Argentine Cesar Kiang is descended from Japanese and Okinawa, but did not speak a word of Japanese. His wife, Myriam Acevedo is Corrientes.
Castilian Kids do not understand and communicate with them seemed impossible.
-Les told little stories, following the usual method, Myriam recalls. I saw those eyes wide and fixed, after the first yawn. They did not understand anything and were bored. I appealed to the drawings and things improved. Asked dictionaries and gradually learned the Japanese. Today kids in sixth grade study with those of first grade and they serve as interpreters.
The eldest of the Kiang has eight and studied at the same school with the sixty Japanese girl. César Antonio is called, but they have renamed Koshi. It is curious to hear this little blond-haired correntino talk in Japanese with their peers. Koshi course is developing early philological skills. Cheerfully explains that "Ana" means devil, both Japanese and Guarani.
The exodus from the colony worries Kiang.
"Now that things were going well in school," says Caesar, "start to go.
VOICES IN THE TWILIGHT
There is a flower (the song said) that grows like the other but no one to see and dying with tears. It is the flower of first love.
There was a samurai who was returning from distant lands with their wounded comrade and vowed to die with him, and when he stepped on his homeland was the harakiri to the dead warrior.
There was a keeper who had a daughter, and daughter all afternoon watching the sea where her fiancé had never come back.
Evening unfolds in ancient songs, slow dances and magical on the red earth missionary gloss ivory hands, the faces hieratic beauty, splendor of silk under the last sun. A red umbrella is down on the floor. Aiko Kanmuse last dance with their partners. Tomorrow will go to Buenos Aires.
early in the shadows of the night float with poignant irony strange words thanking the good crop land. Because that, too, seems now a legend.
