The Wistful Voyage
Could a man wash away what the state had done to him? Yamato Nakamura stood at the edge of the cypress swamp, the water tea-colored and still, reflecting the grey sky of the famine year. He was thirty-four, an oyster warden in a border town where two languages clashed like stones in a mortar, and his uniform bore a stain that no detergent could lift. It was a dark, spreading blotch on the left...
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