Harp of Burma by Michio Takeyama

Author:Michio Takeyama [Takeyama, Michio]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tuttle Publishing
Published: 2011-12-19T17:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

THE NEXT day, however, the captain started acting strangely. He retrieved the green parakeet from somewhere and trained him to perch on his shoulder. The bird had been neglected for such a long time that his plumage was dull.

“There, there,” the captain said, stroking his feathers. “It’s too bad nobody’s been looking after you, but I’ll take good care of you from now on. And you must learn to speak Japanese for me.”

The parakeet shivered as if overjoyed. He snapped his hard beak together several times, and darted his cold, black, rubbery tongue at the captain’s hand.

After that the captain shared all his meals with the bird. “Hey, Mizushima!” he would say, and when the parakeet repeated it the captain fed him rice out of the palm of his hand.

Then he would say, “Let’s go back to Japan … “ When the bird repeated that, the captain gave him some meat. And then, “ … together!” The captain gave him a bit of his ngapi. Then he had the bird say it all in one sentence.

He kept this up for about ten days, until finally the parakeet shrieked the words out in a piercing voice as soon as the captain opened his mess tin.

No one could imagine why the captain was doing this. Whenever he started in we looked at each other anxiously, wondering if he might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown from his grief over Mizushima. Anyway, we felt a helpless sadness, mingled with annoyance, when the bird roused us in the middle of the night screeching, “Hey, Mizushima! Hey, Mizushima! Let’s go back to Japan together!”

At last the old timer spoke out with blunt sincerity. “Captain,” he said, “what good does it do teaching the bird to talk that way? No matter how bad you feel about Mizushima’s death you shouldn’t give in like that. You sent him on his mission, but that doesn’t mean you ordered him to die. After succeeding so well, Mizushima must be satisfied that he didn’t die in vain. But if you keep on grieving, and the bird keeps calling for him day and night, it’ll ruin our morale. Morale means a lot in this miserable P.O.W. life—when everybody is so anxious to go home they’re apt to get depressed. So please try to keep your spirits up, sir.”

For a moment there was a painful silence. Then the captain answered hesitantly:

“It may seem foolish, but I still can’t give up hope.

Somehow or other I want to learn the truth about that monk. If he isn’t Mizushima, that’s that. But I can’t rest without knowing.

“The trouble is, I have no way to get in touch with him, so even though it’s unreliable I’m thinking of trying this parakeet. How else can I send a message? I’ve already trained the bird enough, and now I’d like to have him say those words in the monk’s ear the next time we catch sight of him. The two birds are brothers, so ours ought to fly over to the other one.

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