Page 93 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

His hair has no gray, and the only lines on his face are from laughing and smiling. The deer is there, too. It bounds around him and comes to stand at his side before melting away. I let out a cry—pain laced with disbelief.

I try to throw my arms around him, but when I do he wavers, like heat dancing above pavement. His face is familiar and warm.

It takes me home.

“I’ve missed my girl,” Otōsan says.

“Can you come back?” I beg. “Please, come back to us.”

“I can’t,” he says. I think I see every man’s sorrow in his eyes, as though he carries the heart of every father who’s had to leave a daughter. I know it’s true that he can’t come back. I know because if there was a way, he would’ve found it. “I’m only allowed here to say goodbye.”

“No,” I say. “We need you.”

“I know,” he says. Behind him, the deer reappears. It bounds around the desert before coming to nuzzle his hand. He strokes its back and scratches behind its ears, as though he knows exactly what it loves. “But you are strong, Violey-chan. You are my American-born daughter. You are your own woman and always have been.”

“I don’t want to be my own woman,” I protest. I take a step forward, my emotions rushing faster than the winter-swollen creek. “I only want to be your daughter.”

“You are both,” he says, and he lifts his hand as though he wishes to stroke my cheek. His image wavers. I cry out again and glance around in a panic, as though I might find something to bind him here. “Sit.” He gestures to the rock. “Tell me about your day.”

I settle onto it, and he sits next to me. His arm is around me. I can’t physically feel it, but seeing it there makes me think I can.

I tell him about my day.

I tell him about Mama.

I tell him about the fish pond.

And I tell him about Ren.

All the while, the deer reappears and disappears, coming and going in bounds. Somehow, everything changes. I smell Mama’s cooking in our kitchen. I see our shop, glowing in the setting Los Angeles sun. The green lamps are on. The type is half put away. The stack of the day’s orders sits on the counter. And I hear Otōsan’s whistle, strong and clear as it harmonizes with our radio.

Then, dust, leaves, and brush rustle around us. Otōsan’s image wavers. Gold light shimmers around his feet. It’s bright at first but begins to darken, turning to burnished amber. His face is sad, but there’s peace in his eyes, peace I don’t think I’ll understand in this life.

“I must go.”

“Where?” I cry. “Where must you go?”

His smile is gentle, as gentle as his voice.

“Nowhere far,” he says. “When you were a little girl, I showed you as much about the world as I could. Years from now, when you join me, I’ll be there to show you the next one, too. I love you, Violey-chan.”

“Wait!” I scream. “Don’t leave—”

The gold rises over him and suddenly it seems to come from him, too, as though there’s a great light inside him. I don’t want to look away, but it’s too radiant. The light makes my eyes burn, sears them. It is as pure and bright as the center of the sun or a star or the divine itself.

Then Otōsan is gone.

I hear his whistle still. It’s there, woven into nature, a sound as indelible as the hum of the sea, the wind’s whisper, the beat of my own heart. I think about Otōsan carrying me out to the waves on his shoulders so I can release my shells. My mind re-forms my memories. He’s taken me back to the sand. He’s set me down safely on my towel and returned to the waves. Wading out until they are at his waist, he dives forward and surfaces, swimming.

The waves carry him away. They know him. They accept him, and they are gentle.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ren

Telling Violet I’m going to join up was the hardest thing in the world. But maybe that’s not right. Maybe loving her is the hardest thing in the world.

Because it isn’t enough.