Her lungs were bursting. At any moment, she would open her mouth and breathe in the fatal waters of the lake. Snatches of her brief life came to her: her mother’s face, her father’s last words, her brother’s cry for help before he disappeared. She had been one of the few survivors after the massacre in Miyako. Now her life was over, and she and Takemaru, the baby she clutched desperately, would join the dead. Tears formed in her eyes, only to be lost in the ebb and flow of Lake Kasumi. Then suddenly there were dark shapes next to her, strong arms seized her. She was pulled upward toward the light, miraculously still holding the baby. She retched and coughed, gasping for air, taking great gulps of it into her lungs. Hands reached down from the side of the boat and took Take from her. He was limp and pale, but, as she herself was pulled on board, she heard him scream in ragged, outraged gasps. He was alive. The boat bucked like a living animal in the strong westerly wind. She saw the ocher-colored sail lowered quickly, dropped on the deck, while the helmsman struggled with the oar at the stern.
