Analog SFF, June 2011 (24 page)

Something in her expression told him not to waste time with questions. A few minutes later, they were walking together down the sodden road. Hakaru did not see the children from before. “We're going to the village school,” Dr. Nakaya said. “A local councilman, Miyamoto, is there now. Knowing what he thinks of me, the meeting might go better if I bring a man along."

Hakaru heard a note of bitterness in her voice. Around them, the rain had slackened. He stepped aside to make way for a pair of women who were coming up the street, signing rapidly to each other. “What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing. If he asks who you are, just say that you're affiliated with the university. When I give you a signal, get up and talk to the schoolteacher. It doesn't matter what you talk about, but try to make it look like you're discussing Miyamoto's performance.” She looked over at him for the first time since leaving the inn. “What do you know about the situation here?"

"Only what I saw in the articles you sent. I know, obviously, that this is an historical burakumin village—"

She shot him a glance. “Careful with that word. Make sure you don't use it around Miyamoto. The locals don't mind, but the townspeople across the river can be sensitive about these things."

"Of course,” Hakaru said. Discrimination against the burakumin, the descendants of outcaste undertakers and leatherworkers, had been illegal for more than a century, but old prejudices still remained. Many burakumin still lived in separate, impoverished villages or neighborhoods, but most Japanese reacted to the situation by refusing to acknowledge it. “So what does this have to do with us?"

"The burakumin on this side of the river have been isolated from the rest of town for a long time, both geographically and culturally. At the moment, there's a proposal before the town council to merge the entire village with another town a mile away. A merger wouldn't change the lives of most villagers, but it would mean that the children would be bused to a larger school."

Hakaru understood the problem at once. “Including the children in your study."

"Exactly.” She quickened her pace. “As soon as I heard about the merger, I rushed back, which is why my usual cameraman wasn't available. I understand you've had experience with child development studies. We'll be taping subjects of all ages, but without the children, we have nothing."

They reached the school. In the dingy playground, which was still damp, an afternoon class was at recess. The students, dressed in matching white shirts and kerchiefs, ranged in age from six to eleven. Most laughed and shouted as they ran, but a few were noticeably silent, and even the loudest ones were signing at the same time, with nimble, fluent gestures of their hands.

Going inside, they entered a classroom lined with tiny desks. At the front of the room, a teacher in her twenties was seated next to a man in gray slacks and a pink collared shirt. The councilman, Miyamoto, appeared to be going over some records, a stack of folders on the desk by his elbow.

As the newcomers entered, the teacher and the councilman rose. After a round of the usual pleasantries, Dr. Nakaya got down to business. “We need to talk about this merger. I've petitioned the council several times for an audience, but haven't received a very receptive response."

"This is a busy time,” Miyamoto said, taking a seat as the teacher excused herself, moving to the other side of the classroom. “Perhaps we can schedule something for after the merger—"

Dr. Nakaya sat down. “At that point, it will be too late. The vote needs to be postponed. I don't think the council understands what it has here. If the merger goes ahead as scheduled, a unique opportunity will be lost forever."

"I was born here,” Miyamoto said. “I think I know something about this place."

"I'm not sure you do,” Dr. Nakaya said. “Let me remind you of the situation. Two centuries ago, this neighborhood was founded by an outcaste fisherman. We don't know much about him, except that his family was very large, and nearly every resident on this side of the river is descended from his sons. We also know that he was deaf. More specifically, he was a carrier for a form of recessive deafness that has been passed down to a substantial percentage of his descendants."

"This is common knowledge. You don't need to lecture me about my own village."

"I'm not finished. Because the village was an outcaste community that was shut off from the surrounding population, it became endogamous, with a high rate of intermarriage. As a result, of the thousand living residents, nearly five percent are deaf. And in just the past few generations, they've spontaneously developed a functional language for signing with each other and the rest of the village. A
new
language, with nothing in common with existing sign systems."

"Once again, you aren't telling me anything I don't know,” Miyamoto said. “We're all aware that this village is special—"

"More than special. It's extraordinary. I've been a linguist for my entire professional career. We have theories about how languages grow and develop, but almost never have a chance to observe it in the field. This is the only place in Japan, perhaps in the world, where we can watch a new language evolve. The first generation with a large number of deaf villagers, born seventy years ago, signed with a simple pidgin, which the second generation turned into a real language. And the children who are alive today have given that language form and complexity. No one taught them how to do this. They did it themselves. And it needs to be studied."

Miyamoto's smile had grown increasingly forced. “So what is it that you want?"

"I want to document this language properly. We need to videotape conversations with deaf children and adults, analyze the recordings, and compile a dictionary and grammar. We've already begun the process, but it takes time. And if you send these students to the school across the river, the unique properties of this language will be altered at once. They'll be taught all day in Japanese and standard sign language, and the culture they've created will be lost."

"All right,” Miyamoto said impatiently. “You've made your case. Now let me tell you my own point of view. There's no question that this merger is good for the town. I also happen to believe that it is best for these children. You see, it's our responsibility to help people like this—"

As the councilman spoke, Hakaru felt a gentle pressure against his leg, and realized that Dr. Nakaya was pressing her foot against his calf. He remembered that he was supposed to go up to the teacher. As he rose, Miyamoto broke off for a second, watching him warily. Walking across the room, Hakaru approached the teacher, who was looking out at the children in the yard. “Hi there."

"Hello,” the teacher said, smiling nervously. “Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I wanted to speak with you about arrangements for taping,” Hakaru said, glancing at the councilman, who was watching them with poorly disguised concern. “You've worked with Dr. Nakaya before?"

"Yes, several times over the past year,” the teacher said. She led him into a short corridor that ran alongside the classroom. At one end, an open door looked out at the schoolyard. The wall was covered in children's drawings, a grid of bright pictures in crayon and watercolor. “We usually put the camera here."

Hakaru checked the spot, confirming that there was an electrical outlet and room for his equipment. When he was done, he wanted to ask the teacher what she thought of Dr. Nakaya, but something held him back. Instead, to delay his return to the classroom, he made a show of studying the drawings on the wall. There were many pictures of fishing boats. Elsewhere, there were a number of drawings of the school itself, with stick figure children playing outside, and—

He paused. Set among the other pictures was a rough drawing in crayon, barely more than a sketch. It showed a figure with a yellow face, its head bald, its throat a distended pouch. The creature's mouth was a black, screaming hole. He pointed at the picture. “Do you know what this is?"

The teacher frowned. “I'm not sure. It was done by a child in the morning class."

"I see,” Hakaru said. As he spoke, however, the teacher turned her eyes away, and he had the sudden impression that she was lying.

Before he had the chance to ask about this, he heard something bounce lightly across the floor of the hallway, followed by a set of footsteps. A large plastic ball came to a stop at his feet. Running a few steps behind it was a tiny girl, pigtails flying, chasing the ball with her arms extended.

Hakaru picked up the ball. Handing it back to the girl, he said, “What's your name?"

The girl said nothing. Holding the ball, which was nearly the size of her head, in both hands, she glanced into the adjoining classroom. Following her gaze, Hakaru saw that she was looking at Dr. Nakaya, who was speaking in a low voice to the councilman, her face tense and angry.

The teacher smiled down at the student. “Her name is Amaya. She is six years old."

Turning back to the girl, Hakaru found himself pointing to the drawing of the yellow face. “Can you ask her what this?"

The teacher seemed bothered by his request, but finally signed the question. Amaya turned away from the other room, then looked up at the drawing. Reaching up with one hand, she made a curious gesture, as if shaping a pouch under her chin. Then she ran back outside. Hakaru watched her go. “What did she say?"

"She said it was a kawataro,” the teacher said. “I should have known, of course—"

Hakaru was about to ask what this meant when he saw that Dr. Nakaya had risen, leaving the councilman behind, and was walking in his direction. “Come on. We're leaving."

"Now?” Hakaru thanked the teacher, then followed Dr. Nakaya outside, passing the councilman without a word. “What did he say?"

"He promises that the council will take my advice under consideration,” Dr. Nakaya said coldly. “Which means that nothing will happen. The council won't dare to interfere with the merger."

They left the school, heading back toward the inn. After they had walked for a moment in silence, Hakaru remembered what he had meant to ask. “At the school, I saw a drawing on the wall. It reminded me of a statue I saw on the way here, by the side of the road that leads to the village—"

"The kawataro,” Dr. Nakaya said. “Yes, of course. It's a kappa. A river spirit. They say it drags children under the water and sucks their blood.” She gave a short laugh. “I've noticed some of the children talking about it. I'm not surprised that they believe in such a thing. They're burakumin, and they're deaf. The world is more than ready to suck them dry—"

They turned the corner that led to the main street. Behind them, at the school, Miyamoto stood at the door of the classroom, watching as they left. He waited until they were out of sight, then closed the door.

Miyamoto headed back to the desk. The encounter with that unpleasant woman had left a bad taste in his mouth. No matter what either of them wanted, the merger was bound to take place. The government, loaded down with debt, was pressuring villages to merge. Refusing to do so was not really an option. But he knew that the woman would never understand this.

When the students returned from recess, Miyamoto took the records into an office next door. He worked silently and patiently for another two hours, taking notes on class size and each child's history. As evening fell, he finished up for the day. Going back into the classroom, he saw that the students were gone. He handed the files to the teacher with a word of thanks, but as he was about to put his notes away, he frowned. “Have you seen my briefcase?"

"Your briefcase?” The teacher looked around the room. “I thought it was with you."

"No, I left it here, by the desk. Brown leather, brass hinges.” Miyamoto checked the desk, looking around it on all sides, but the briefcase was not here. Neither was it back in the office he had just left.

As they searched the classroom without success, he grew increasingly annoyed. The teacher seemed worried as well, an uneasy smile fixed on her face. “Perhaps you left it in your car."

"It's possible,” Miyamoto said, although he was sure he had brought it inside. Leaving the classroom, he went out to the street, where a light rain had resumed. His car was parked where he had left it, not far from the entrance to the school. He was nearly there, keys in hand, when his attention was caught by an unexpected movement out of the corner of one eye.

He turned. Standing in the schoolyard was a boy in a red raincoat. The briefcase was in his hands.

"Hey,” Miyamoto said, heading for the playground. “Where did you find that?"

The boy in the raincoat said nothing, but only stood in silence, the briefcase clutched to his chest. As Miyamoto approached, the boy continued to look straight ahead, staring vacantly. “All right,” the councilman said, feeling his wet shirt adhering to his body. “I want you to—"

Before the councilman could finish the sentence, the boy turned, the raincoat flaring around his legs, and ran off, heading for the rear of the schoolyard. Miyamoto stood there for a second, too surprised to move, then ran after the boy, puffing and cursing under his breath.

At the rear of the playground stood a fence meant to keep the children from wandering into the woods beyond. As he ran clumsily forward, feeling foolish, Miyamoto saw the boy dash through the gate, which had been left unlocked, and continue up the path under the gray trees.

"Stop!” Miyamoto shouted, his lungs already aching. He was not used to running like this, and could already feel a cramp in his thigh. Going through the gate, he found himself on a path that led into the forest. Up ahead, he saw a flash of red as the boy vanished around the bend.

Miyamoto swore again and continued up the footpath, damp needles squelching beneath his feet. The path was at an incline, rising as the ground climbed toward the bluffs. Glancing down, he saw that his shoes and the cuffs of his slacks were already covered in mud. As he rounded the bend, bringing him out of sight of the school, he found himself thinking that this behavior could only be the fault of the outcaste animals who had raised such a child—