CROSSING THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE IN A BLIZZARD Riding out to Zuni one winter, ice on the wipers, mesas whitened with snow, seven-year-old Joaquin was sitting between me at the wheel and Nanao copiloting with Japanese folk songs and stories. First he told about an old Renault given to him in San Francisco. Not knowing how to drive, he sat in the seat asking passers-by if they wanted a car—until he was free of the possession. Then he told about being drafted into the Japanese military, World War II. As a 22 year-old stationed at Izumi Air Base south of Nagasaki, he picked up a B-29 on the radar screen: “Due north, 30,000’ high. Three minutes later someone shouted, A volcanic eruption! Toward Nagasaki, there was a mushroom-shaped cloud.” My son’s eyes were wide. Nanao described the war, the size of the atomic cloud, how he climbed out of his hatch thinking “maybe Mt. Fuji erupting.” There was silence. “You mean you were the enemy?” Joaquin asked. “Yes, enemy!” Nanao answered. But he was Joaquin’s buddy, how could this be? The absurdity of war, the futility, the stupidity of it all, was never more poignantly condensed. Thirty years have passed. Wars keep going, Joaquin is a grown man, Nanao has left the world for the star path. A hard gale blows as I write. The creek tumbles under an icy crust. Snow, driving into blizzard force, slants in west from the Divide. Whitewater— the swiftness of life banked with sorrow. (John Brandi, from his new book out on White Pine Press "The World, The World")
Posted on: Thu, 03 Oct 2013 21:08:11 +0000
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