"He Know Maroo" by Minamoto Yoritomo, October 2011

Disclaimer: All characters presented here are product of a fiction. Any resemblance to real characters is of a pure coincidence. No intention was made to insult anyone for any reason.

AN: This story is an act of fiction. No one is should attempt to act in the same manner as described.

AN2: None.

Summary: How is it to be Japanese emigrant to the United States of America after the World War II was over? Could you fit into the society?

He Know Maroo

After being beaten up by three tugs at the schoolyard for approaching the American girl much too close for their liking, I knew that morally I won, within me. I didn't let a single moan out of my beaten and crushed body.

Being of Japanese descent I could not expect any consolation from my parents, Haruko and Shuji Yamamura. After all, they themselves were foreigners in the post war U.S.A. and one could not hide being of Oriental origin among the predominantly Caucasian men and women.

Then, after the Police Officer stopped me on the street, inquiring about my wounds and labeling me wordlessly as a possible wrongdoer, although it was ME who was the victim, I have instantly made a firm decision.

That night I dressed like a samurai warrior and even smuggled the traditional "nihonto" sword from my house. Enraged, I felt a distant taikos, Japanese drums, humming, calling me towards the rising sun, towards the Motherland Japan.

- No my son!, my father Shuji intercepted me from the bushes. It looked almost as if he was waiting all that time just for me. For a moment I wanted to treat him like an enemy, like the deserter of his own nation and race. There will be other, brighter days in your life, his voice was assuring and godly warm. When I noticed a tear in his eye, I instantly "knew" that he was probably suffering much greater pressure, feeding me and my sister, keeping us all together, emotionally undivided.

- Father!, I cried and embraced him suddenly, crying as if I was five years younger ...

Man with a hat and glasses, walking his dog, stopped and stared at us, inspecting the unusual situation. His dog barked at us, then lifted his eyes towards his master. A taxi driver slowed down, watched my national costume, then threw another disinterested look and continued along the road. Wind was scattering thin clouds on the night sky. Another autumn day was about to close up.