FANFIC: where happiness lies
11 April 2023 06:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyanoscarletWord count: 3,476
No one in the Armed Detective Agency knows about Kenji’s coconut plantation.
Its existence is a puzzlement to the few who’ve heard of it in passing, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders at the nigh-impossible endeavor of growing tropical plants in temperate, volcanic soil— out in the nowhere of Ihatovo, no less. Yet it still grows and thrives, a couple dozen tall trees with long palm branches that bow to the weight of the sweet, white fruit.
To the even fewer who know of it, it’s a miracle that stands the test of time and a memento of a friendship that lives forever.
Kenji had never presumed himself more than an applauding audience to this brotherhood of old, yet bore witness to it he has, and the sacred duty of honoring its legacy has fallen on his young shoulders. It is a task he willingly undertakes with delight and reverence, every minute in the sun and every bead of trickling sweat a testament to this undying labor of love.
When night falls, he rests under the shade of the biggest tree, losing himself in pleasant musings not unlike the gentle swaying of the low-lying branches. The golden yellow flowers will be bearing fruit soon, and there will again be a plentiful harvest. This humble patch of sloped land has seen its fair share of disasters since its soil was first tilled, yet the trees grow back again the next spring, resilient as the Mother Nature that had warmly accepted them.
A fond smile crosses Kenji’s lips at the thought. “It’s just as you said, Mister Juan.”
.
They had met four summers ago, when the rice paddies were still young and green and everything was still right with the world. During those days, every able-bodied villager would rise at dawn, share breakfast over tea, and pray together for a good harvest before setting off to the fields. Sometimes the women would bake bread, and everyone would savor the soft, chewy treat with fresh milk and boiled eggs, or pack it in their lunches instead so they wouldn't be late for the sunrise.
Kenji also helped out however he could, a mere youth of ten years already a powerhouse with his uncanny strength of ten men. Back then, he had no concept of the wide world beyond the borders of his small village, where the only truths were the circle of life, the changing of seasons, and the sense of common identity and belonging to which everyone ascribed.
He had been guiding a small herd of cattle across the shallow riverbank, staying with the youngest calf that had lagged behind due to a prior hind leg injury it sustained at birth. “Just a little more,” he coaxed the animal, taking a few steps forward before motioning it to do the same. Patience is a good thing, Mother says, so no one ever gets left behind.
They were almost at the other side when a worn, bloodied scarf got caught in his leg. Kenji regarded it with concern, wondering if anyone from upstream had gotten hurt while crossing the river themselves. He untangled the wet cloth and wrung it dry, then left his herd to go check the situation for himself, just for a little while.
From far away, he spied an old man beside an overturned cart of fruit, nursing what seemed to be an injured ankle by the riverside. Immediately he made his way through the rocky path, climbing over some of the larger boulders as he did. “Hello, Sir! Do you need help?”
The old man grunted in response, slowly craning his neck in Kenji’s direction. “Never mind me! Can ya fix my cart an’ put back the coconuts innit? There should be thirty of ‘em.” He then pointed with his nose and lips towards the mess of plywood and round green fruit, some of which had begun to roll downstream towards the river.
“Got it!” Kenji grinned, then quickly caught up to the couple of runaway fruit, scooping them up one at a time with his free arm before they got swept away by the current. He then set them down by the old man’s feet before working on the wooden cart. It wasn’t too badly damaged, all things considered, save for a side wheel that had come loose after the impact. Most of the fruit that had been trapped underneath were likewise still fine, sustaining only light scratches on the outside thanks to their sturdy wooden husks.
“... Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Kenji triumphantly called out as he returned the last of the coconuts into the cart. Beside him, the old man sighed in relief, hobbling towards his restored fruit cart on his injured leg before falling forward into Kenji’s arms. “Please don’t force yourself, Sir!”
“Ah, ‘s fine,” the old man mumbled, waving him off and reaching for the handles to use as a support to right himself. “‘Twas a close one. Thank you, boy.”
“You’re welcome! You’re also headed this way, right?” Kenji then went over to the front side of the cart, lifting it up only ever-so-slightly, enough to help the old man push it along the riverbank. “Us men of the field are always proud to pull our own weight,” his own grandfather had once said, even after already injuring his back multiple times during past harvests.
The old man bared a toothless smile at him in silent gratitude. “Aye, boy. Let’s go there.”
.
“Say, you’re not from around here, are you?” Kenji asked between mouthfuls of coconut meat, watching intently as the old man slurped down the clear juice like he would a bowl of cool water. The fruit was perfectly ripe, with just the right amount of freshness and sweetness that hit the spot for parched throats and sore muscles on a hot summer afternoon.
They had taken up shade under a nearby cherry tree overlooking the rice fields while the small herd of cattle grazed nearby. The green stalks had almost reached their full height, though they had yet to begin to flower. The young farm hands still remain under the sun to tend to them; now is the most crucial time to ensure a good harvest.
“Hmm. I live along the border on the other side of the village, actually,” the old man answered thoughtfully, setting down his emptied coconut husk and wiping the juice that had dribbled down his chin. “I jus’ don’t come down the mountain often. Been busy growin’ these little ‘uns, ya see.” He then gestured towards his cart sitting nearby, the coconuts in it seeming to glow in response as they basked in the afternoon sunlight filtered by the yellow-green leaves.
“—Though, methinks that wasn’t the answer ya were lookin’ for, huh.” He then propped his elbows over his crossed legs and laced his bony fingers while staring intently. The sudden seriousness with which he said this line took Kenji by surprise, and he likewise set down his half-eaten coconut on his lap, rubbing his index finger along the rough edge of the husk along which it had been cut in half.
“Yer called Kenji, right?” He asked gruffly, doing the lip-pointing thing again. “Listen carefully, boy. This probably the first an’ last time you’ll hear it.”
Kenji gulped audibly at this, nodding and leaning in to hear more. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” There was that toothless smile again. “Name’s Juan. I grow coconuts. And I wasn’t born here, no.”
.
“I grew up in Daraga, Albay, in the Philippines. ‘Tis just like here good ol’ Ihatovo, all rugged an’ rural, unlike the big city down south with them bright lights and dancin’ all night. Back home, we also got up at the hour of cockcrow, went to church, and worked in the fields. Ya should see ‘em, boy— we may not have the biggest hacienda on the island, but we were proud of what we had.
“Methinks I was probably yer age, went ta school like any good boy and learned English ‘cause Inang said so. So ya got a future in the big city down south, she said. Bah, she knew not what she was sayin’, yeah? I didn’t want no life in the big city down south. Imma become a man of the field, I said. Heh, didn’t get dinner that night ‘til I apologized.
“So we went, Manoy and I. The building looked like a small church. Inside the classroom, the chairs and tables were arranged in neat rows. The teachers spoke real funny. ‘Tis probably the accent, yeah? They’re havin’ a hard time, but they tried their best. We read books, sang songs, counted apples and oranges— only the Americans know ‘bout those fruits, though they said they enjoyed our coconuts, too.
“‘Twas at school that I first met my best friend. Everyone called ‘im Kampanito. His uncle’s the parish priest at our church. No other family left, all devoured by the anger of Mayon in Twenty-Eight. He worked as a sacristan in the evening Masses, then rang the bell at the belfry in the mornin’s before school. A hardworking one, that boy, everyone said.
“His favorite subject was science. Said at first he wanted ta be a doctor— a real one, like those in the hospitals, workin’ with those shiny lights an’ tubes an’ machines. He was also interested in outer space ever since Missus Smith taught us ‘bout the sun, moon and stars. Hah, he actually skipped afternoon class ta read in the library, that sneaky one. I had ta explain to the teachers so we could go home together that day.
“Ah, yes, that day. We were skippin’ along the riverbank, an’ Kampanito was pointin’ at the stars again. I remember there bein’ a forest of coconuts nearby, and we hadn’t had dinner yet because Missus Smith didn’t let us go until he promised not to skip class again. My mouth was also waterin’ at the sight. Ya know how they call bukos the fruit of life down in the city, yeah? We grow a lot of these back home. ‘Tis everywhere, I tell ya.
“Anyway I said, c’mon, let’s get us some food, ya know. He didn’t want to; said his uncle doesn’t want him ta sin by stealin’. He ain’t wrong, really, but he gonna starve, and I didn’t want him ta starve. So I picked up a stone, went to the nearest, biggest tree, and threw it at the fruit. Took several tries to get it right. When the buko finally fell down, Kampanito ran toward it and caught it before it made a sound. Nice one, I said! And ya didn’t sin at all, I added. You should’ve seen his dumbstruck face— looks like the face yer makin’ now, boy.
“In any case, I used a sharp, jagged stone ta break it in half, and we each got half a fruit to eat. Like the Lord hath said, break thine bread between thyselves and thou shalt be blessed. It’s his uncle’s favorite passage in the Mass. It was only that time that I fully understood what he meant, even if it’s not bread we’re eatin’. Food is always best eaten with company, I tell ya. Just like now.
“We just lay on the riverbank for many hours after we ate, the freshwater gently lappin’ at our outstretched legs. Kampanito traced the path of the stars, like the crazy studious boy he was. It leads upstream like the river, he said. And at the end of the path is the North Star, like the end of the river is the church with its belfry, where home is.
“I’m going home soon, Juan, he said with a smile. At that time I didn’t know what he meant. Of course he’s going home, and so will I after I pray at the church. And we will meet again tomorrow at school, in the classroom with Missus Smith and all our friends.
“I was very wrong, boy... Regrettably so.
“Them big planes came swoopin’ at us the next mornin’ while everyone was asleep. All our fields burned, our hard-earned rice and wheat close to harvest time, gone in an instant. ‘Twas nothing at all like the wrath of Daragang Magayon in Twenty-Eight. Immediately, the big soldiers rounded up everyone in the village, tellin’ us to hide in the school ‘cause the church was gone.
“Immediately my whole body froze and I thought of Kampanito an’ the coconut we shared last night. Where was he? I asked Inang with tears in my eyes. She couldn’t answer me, but I knew what was comin’. I… Sorry, boy, gimme a minute.
“... After all that, we were allowed ta return home. I took a shortcut, plied the riverbank on my own. ‘Twas true, the coconut forest was burned to nothin’. And when I got to the end... the church was gone. Only the belfry was left. Even the bell was taken. I remember cryin’ and cryin’ ‘til all my tears be gone. Can’t help it, I was but a little boy then, still too young ta be a man of the field. But after my tears were gone, I went home to Inang. Manoy also came home. We promised to help rebuild everythin’.
“The whole time, I never forgot about Kampanito, even as I grew up, finished school an’ moved to the big city down south, like Inang wanted me to. Yet I never forgot. Never found a girl, never married, never started a family. Even after Inang died, and Manoy soon after him. Hah. Funny how things don’t happen like you want ‘em to. I thought the Lord be playin’ tricks on me, yeah?
“Then... it happened. I got a letter from ‘im. Yeah, a real, honest-ta-goodness letter. ‘Twas a good fifteen years after the war ended, I think... At that time, ‘twas already been so long, I really thought he was gone. But no, my eyes were not playin’ tricks on me. Kampanito was alive— here in Ihatovo, he said. And he sent a photograph of him with coconut trees. Can you believe it? Grew ‘em bukos all by himself! There was no mistakin’ it, I would know those bright eyes anywhere, despite everything else of ‘im grown old an’ all wrinkled up.
“So I packed my bags and moved here— all the way to Japan, to Ihatovo. And we hugged when we met, cried many, many tears ‘til they all be dried an’ gone. I couldn’t believe it. My best friend was alive. My best friend was here. And we were together again.
“Livin’ here was like a different world altogether. Didn’t know no Nippongo an’ all. But I was excited. It was like school all over again, and I was a young boy all over again. Kampanito felt the same. He and I would talk about all sorts o’ things, from our good ol’ school days to grown-up things. He did become a doctor, but only for a while. He didn’t want to talk ‘bout what happened after that, though. It didn’t matter anymore, I said. All that mattered was that I was with my friend again, ya know? And he said yes.
“We split a coconut between us for our first dinner together, a fruit he grew an’ harvested himself. Can you believe it, Juan? He said. This small patch of foreign soil on a sloped hill managed ta bear fruit that reminds us of home. It’s amazing! Still don’t know how it happened. It must be a miracle.
“I agreed with him with tears in my eyes. An’ the North Star shone brightly over us, remindin’ us that no matter where we are, or however long has passed, wherever we are happy is home. ‘Tis true even now, boy. Here— Ihatovo— is home.”
.
Kenji didn’t realize that tears had fallen from his eyes until Mister Juan gently wiped them with his thumb. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he stammered as he pulled back in surprise. He really enjoyed hearing the old man talk about his life, both heartwarming and heartrending at the same time. Moreover, he found himself identifying with him a lot more than he had expected.
“Nah, ‘s all good,” Mister Juan only laughed heartily, grabbing the other coconut he had set aside and cracking it open in one fell swoop. “Here, have some more buko.” Kenji accepted the proffered fruit, appreciating its weight in his hands. He bit off a small part of the thinned-out fruit on the top, before sipping the juice in it. For some reason it tasted a little different now— of youth and friendship. Of life, love, and of home.
“This is really delicious, Sir,” Kenji said after finishing off the rest of the fruit.
“‘Course it is,” Mister Juan bragged. “I grew it myself.”
It was already sunset by the time they finished talking and eating, and it was time to go home. Kenji offered his hand to Juan once more, leading him back to his cart. “Are you sure you don’t need me to carry you back?”
“Bah, us men of the field can pull our own weight ‘round here. I’ll be fine,” Mister Juan waved him off dismissively, despite limping on his good leg. “You go home, boy. Yer mom’s gonna scold ya if the cattle ain’t home by sundown, yeah?”
Kenji chuckled to himself at that; he was absolutely right, of course. “Can we meet again tomorrow afternoon? There’s a lot of things I’d like to ask you.”
Mister Juan only bared a toothless grin in response. “Well, who knows?”
.
No one in the Armed Detective Agency knows about Kenji’s coconut plantation.
It has already been four years since Mister Juan had passed, and apparently eight years since Kampanito had before him. Even the village elders had found Mister Juan’s last will strange, indeed: a single coconut fruit, completely emptied out except for the seed inside it. So Kenji planted it, just as Mister Juan had taught him to, dutifully tended to it, watched it grow alongside the others, and harvested its fruit every year. And just like that, the circle of life continued amidst the change of seasons, and the buko fruits remained to be part of him— of Ihatovo.
He returns to Yokohama today, having tended to the flowering trees on the small patch of sloped land after paying his respects to his friend. Everyone is surprised at the haul of tropical fruit stacked on his desk, with Ranpo begging Mister Fukuzawa to slice one up for him with his blade. Kunikida tries to get everyone to settle down while preparing the kitchen for the surprise afternoon refreshment.
“Mmm, I must say, this goes perfectly well as a cocktail,” Yosano remarks while sipping the juice directly from the fruit with a straw. “Something light for a summer afternoon, perhaps.”
“You drink too much,” Tanizaki grumbles from beside her, while Naomi adds condensed milk to her bowl of shredded coconut. “And that’s way too much sugar already!” As if in response, Kyouka holds out her bowl to Naomi, as well, who gladly drizzles more milk into it.
Kenji watches the daily squabble unfold with much amusement. He has to admit, their motley bunch of misfits work really well together, despite all the odds. It has barely been a year since he has joined the Agency, but he already feels comfortable with everyone. He has always made friends easily, after all, whether within his village or outside of it.
He walks over to the window overlooking the street, and offers Atsushi an opened-up fruit, a small metal spoon in it. “Where’s Dazai?”
“Dazai will be back in the evening, I think,” Atsushi says, gratefully accepting the fruit. “Said he had something to take care of earlier.” His grip on the fruit tightens as he looks downcast. “Truth be told, I can’t help but worry about him sometimes, especially when he takes off so suddenly like that.”
“Hmm.” Kenji sets down his coconut on the desk and leans back on the windowsill, feeling the draft of warm wind blow into his hair. “Dazai will be all right. He probably just needs a little thinking space for himself is all. Don’t we all?”
“... I guess you’re right.” Atsushi carves out a small portion of fruit for himself. “I mean, we all consider this place home, one way or another.”
“Yup, that we do,” Kenji agrees. “No matter where we are, or however long has passed, wherever we are happy is home.”
Just as Mister Juan said.
“Eh, did you say something? I don’t think I caught that,” Atsushi suddenly asks. For some reason, everyone else turns to Kenji, too, probably expecting some form of explanation, as well.
He merely laughs at that. “Oh, it’s all right. Just a long story, if you all want to hear it.”
Dedicated to the Buko Stray Dogs server.
