Formosa: Swim

He dives into the water. The chill wetness invigorates him as he thrusts back up for air. He is instantly comforted by the embrace of the water, which has been hugging him since he was just a small child. He looks to the horizon, still fish-gray colored at the crack of dawn.

Sitting on a boat beside him, Tamu stretches out his arms and yawns, “So how many kilometers are we going for today?”

“Eight. We don't have school today.”

“Good grief!” But he is smiling and starting the motor, “Let's get started!”

He starts to swim along the coastline, with Tamu guiding his way so he won't drift into the open sea, and every forty minutes or so, Tamu gives him the squeeze water bottle while he treads water.

“Eight kilometers is probably just around that rock where Father caught that massive Mackerel.” Tamu looks at his map.

“I can make it today. I was so close yesterday!”

“Well then start hustling, brother.” Tamu takes back the water bottle.

He dips his head back in the water and starts to swim again, one stroke after another, legs kicking, steadily moving forward. The ocean is his happy place, and he's known that since before he has memories. Somehow, the world seems clearest to him when his head is dipping in and out of the water while swimming, when his vision of the world includes the vast deepness that's underneath him.

When he was six years old he read in a library newsprint about the swimmer that swam across the English Channel, and he was instantly intrigued. “I want to do that,” he told his Father.

His Father took a long look at him and replied, “It's good to have a goal in life.”

The next morning he woke him up way earlier than usual and took him to his fishing boat.

“Let us begin your practice.”

That morning he swam about five hundred meters before he had to be pulled up.

“That's not bad, son. Not bad at all.” His Father wrapped a blanket around his shivering body and rubbed his back, “If you want to achieve your goal, you must practice like this every day. You must push yourself to swim further and longer each day without fail. It is a HUGE commitment. Is this still something you would want to achieve?”

“Yes!” And his Father smiled.

After that, they began this practice every day before the sun rose. During the first few weeks, he would uncontrollably fall asleep in the afternoons. His Mother would often find him dozing off in the chicken coop, next to the water buckets, and in the yard while trying to help organize his Father's fishing lines. But he got used to it really quickly, and by the time he started elementary school, he was able to keep up with his practice and school work at the same time. Even in tropical weather, winter mornings can pose a strong challenge; Some mornings he would whine and try to negotiate with his Father, but only to no avail. And then gradually he learned to only take breaks when Mother Nature intended it to happen: when there were typhoons that made the waters treacherous.

By the time he hit junior high school, his Father said, “Your brother is old enough now. You guys can take the small boat and let him help you with your practice.”

Tamu had seemed eager to help and to participate in this daily activity, and that relieved him. He had never known how to interact with his brother's natural outwardly sunny disposition, and this was the perfect way for them to bond.

“Good morning, brother!” Tamu's smile is always infectious and warming and resembles something that he never knew he needed. Tamu never even complained during the winter months. Practicing with him instead of Father shifted his energy, and Tamu's cheerfulness seemed to help him reach further and further in his own record.

And today, he is reaching another milestone. Eight kilometers, almost until the next village by the coast.

He pushes on in the water, thinking of how long it has taken him to come this far, and how much longer it will take for him to reach his goal. The English Channel is approximately thirty-three kilometers, a little more than four times what he can possibly achieve right now, but he is still young, he still has the time.

“You're SO close!!” He hears Tamu yelling and looks to see the rock within his eyesight.

He signals a thumbs up and continues pushing one stroke after another. He can feel his shoulders tensing and aching, his legs starting to feel soft like tofu, and his breaths quicken and shorten. He can feel his spine as if it is the only structure holding his body together, and his vision beginning to blur into a tunnel up front. “NO, NOT TODAY,” he tells himself. Yesterday at this point, he had succumbed to the physical pains and the fear of being swallowed by the waters, but not today; Today, he will persevere.

Suddenly he hears Tamu cheering loudly. In the haze of his vision, he sees his brother jumping up and down, rocking the little boat he's on. “You did it! You did it!” Tamu is screaming with laughter, flapping his arms in the air, his mouth wide open from cheek to cheek; Tamu is now the physical expression of how he is feeling mentally. He smiles at Tamu while he gets closer to him, and musters up the last energy he has to get back on the boat.

“You did it today, brother!”

“Thank you.”

“You're now one step closer to your goal!”

“Thank you. And thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure! This has been so fun.”

He chuckles, “I'm glad you think so.”

“So what's next? Fifteen kilometers?”

“Maybe ten first?”

“Yes, that makes sense.” Tamu laughs, “I'm getting ahead of myself!” And then, “Do you think I can come with you and be on the boat when you finally do it?”

“Of course! You and Father, and Mother! I couldn't have done it without all of you.” Suddenly he feels embarrassed, “Now I'm getting ahead of myself!”

The brothers share a smile.

Later, in the middle of the night, there is a gentle but quick knock on their window. His Mother looks out and finds her brother squatting and gesturing her to be quiet.

“Sayta!” she whispers. “You're back? What's going on?”

Sayta swiftly climbs through the window and finds himself the center of the family's attention.

“They're coming!” The sense of urgency is not lost in his whispers.

“What happened?”

“They found out where we were hiding. A bunch of them came and we managed to kill most of them. Now they are retaliating. I tried to get here as fast as I could to tell you to get out of here, but it might be too late.” He pants a little and receives a glass of water from Mother. “I saw the trucks. They've already surrounded the area.”

“Do they know you're here?”

“It doesn't matter. They will kill everyone in this area who is not Japanese. They are mad and crazed from blood.”

Father starts to pace, “Are you certain?”

“They've already burned down the village next to where we were hiding. No one survived. Not even the babies.”

Mother lets out a quiet yelp. Tamu puts his hand on her shoulder, “what can we do now?”

“We can take my boat and go out to sea,” Father said.

“How long will we last out there?” Sayta asked rhetorically. “And they have already set up cannons by the coast. They will shoot us down the minute we're spotted.”

“What if we leave now?”

“I'm sorry, but the cannons are guarded twenty-four/seven, and by now for sure they've received the messages.”

“Will they really hunt us down like that?”

“Yes. I saw it with my own eyes."

“Then what do you suggest we do, Sayta?” Mother asks frighteningly.

“I'm not sure,” Sayta buries his face in his hands, “I tried to think and think on my way over here.”

He looks at his family and his uncle helplessly. His mind cannot grasp the idea that the war is now spreading to his rural, peaceful, and quiet village. Sure, he is aware that there was a war and now his island is a part of the Japanese colony; And sure, he has caught wind of the rebellions rising when the Japanese came. He himself had bid his uncle farewell when he left to join the rebels. But back then all that was just the happenings of the world outside of his, far away in some “made-up land” he's never been to, with logic he's yet to understand. And now that “made-up land” with all its chaos is in his little house, threatening to wipe out his entire family and village.

“There might be a way,” his uncle looks up to his Mother, “do you remember that hidden cave we used to play in as kids?”

“You think we can hide out there?”

“I don't know for how long, but it's better than doing nothing.”

“Is there anyone that can possibly help us? Help our village?” Tamu asks.

After some silence, Sayta looks at Tamu and tries to sound hopeful, “There is an English missionary living in the next village. If we can somehow get to him and tell him what's going on, maybe he can send a message out there to the world, and...maybe...maybe some countries will help. And...and,” he is now choking on tears, “and the world would know...would know how we were treated...how we were...slaughtered.”

Father puts his hand on Sayta's shoulder, “We will gather everything we can and hide out in the cave.” He gestures to Mother, “Gather all the salted fishes and dried fruits we have. Tamu, go with your brother and see how much water we can bring with us, and I'll bring my bow and arrows for...just in case.”

“Do you think we can bring anyone else from the village?”

Another silence.

“I'm afraid that would cause an unwanted commotion.” As if the air around them couldn't get any grimmer.

Mother gets up and starts to bring out bags and cloths to pack, Sayta pulls himself together and begins to help her. As Father goes around the house quietly to retrieve his weapons, he and Tamu go to collect bottles and vessels for drinking water.

When he is filling water into a bottle Tamu looks at him with great intention. “Brother,” he whispers. “You should go.”

“What?”

“You should go to the next village and find the missionary.”

He stares at Tamu, processing this information.

“You can do it now. You can swim there. You were just there this morning, all you have to do is find a spot to climb up to land.”

“Tamu, I barely made it this morning.”

“But you made it, right? You know you can do it.”

“But I wouldn't have you to guide me!”

“You don't need it. Just look to the shore constantly and you will be fine. Heck, half of the time you weren't paying attention to me anyway. You know the way. You've been doing this for how long now?”

“Tamu...”

“It's now or never, brother.”

He swallows this. There is now a hard rock grinding in his chest and gut.

“NO!” His Mother cries almost out loud. “We have to stay together!”

“Then we'll most certainly die together.”

“So what? We're a family, we live together and we die together!”

“You said you made it there this morning?” His Father asks.

“Yes.”

“Do you know where you can find a footing offshore?”

“I'm sure I will be able to.” He bluffs a little.

“You can't possibly be allowing this!”

“You've heard Sayta, this is the only way we can possibly get some help. Or at the very least...some recognition.”

His Mother hugs him tightly and sobs. This is the first time his Mother has hugged him after his voice cracked, and it may be the last time.

“I will head out at the break of dawn like I usually do,” he said.

His uncle walks over to him and puts both his hands on his shoulders. His eyes are watery but there are no words.

The rest of the family grabs onto bags, baskets, and a lantern with a tiny candle inside. They head to the doorway.

“I left you some eggs that you can eat before you head out,” his Mother said solemnly.

“Thank you so much, Mother.”

“I believe in you, brother.” Only Tamu has the capacity for hope.

Before he turns to join the family, his Father looks at him long and hard. “Son,” he said with great difficulty, “I am proud of you.”

Tears burst out of his eyes.

In the next hour, he walks around their little house, touching every piece of furniture, every tool that is left behind, every little crack in the walls. He makes himself some eggs and packs a water bottle. He walks out to the chicken coop and puts down chicken feed for the last time but leaves the gate open.

It is almost dawn and he notices smoke rising up from not far away.

It is time.

He walks to the ocean. A million uncertainties are running through his head: Is he going to make the journey? Can he find a way to shore? What will he say to the missionary when he finds him? Will he help them? How long will it take for the countries to intervene? Will they intervene? How long can his family stay hidden and alive? Will he ever see them again? Will all his relatives die? Will he die?

But there are no answers. All the answers lie at the edge of his world, at the edge of his ability.

There is more smoke rising in the sky now, and he starts to hear faint screaming.

Standing by the water, he can now hear the screaming and crying spreading rapidly towards him. He looks to the horizon, it is fish-gray colored.

He dives in.