Shimenawa

By Naoko Kumagai

This is a story I was told.

It was August 1973. My brother Jiro was four, sitting at dinner.

“E tadaki mas,” my uncle said. Jiro picked up onigiri, a rice ball, with his hands and mashed it into

his mouth. Fish and rice on his plate, untouched. He stuffed another onigiri in his mouth, bits of rice

falling.

“Jiro-chan…” A warning from my mother. Jiro opened his mouth wide, splayed his tongue

covered in tiny white beads of rice. Kazuya stood up and roughly pulled Jiro out of his chair.

“What are you doing?” My mother asked, getting up.

Kazuya went out the back door, carrying Jiro firmly under his arm. With the other hand, he

picked up a circle of rope hanging on the fence by the shed. In the yard was a large oak tree with heavy,

twisted branches. He wrapped the rope around my brother once, then pushed him to the trunk of the

oak, winding the rope around and around.

“He must eat his dinner properly.” My uncle tied a thick knot at the end. “He needs to learn to

be a man.”

My mother was shouting at my uncle; Jiro was screaming, the sound flooding the sky. Kazuya

went back into the house, relaxed and entitled, as if he had just finished a long day’s work.

No one remembers the rest. My mother never forgave my uncle. My father wasn’t there. Jiro

can’t recall any of it. He jokes that the incident is possibly the reason he always, intuitively eats

everything on his plate.

Shimenawa - Short Story

Grade 7 Filipino

Bonga National High School

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