“You may be right, little bird. Knowing another’s story can help you through your own. Come.”
We squat in a circle, the three of us.
“My husband and I ran a bakery in the Fukagawa district of Tokyo. Our son, Toshio, played at our feet as we worked.” Kotsuru smiles. “We made kasutera.”
“What’s that?” asks Carolina.
“Sweet, eggy bread. It was our specialty. Everyone loved it. Some mornings the line went all the way to the corner. But the military needed cooks—as you girls know too well—and bakers were prized. My husband, Daishi, somehow wound up in battle instead of in a kitchen. He was killed at Attu.”
“I’m so sorry, Kotsuru,” I say.
“Poor Toshio,” says Carolina. “Poor you. It’s good to sleep when you’re sad. You must have wanted to sleep for a month.”
“I’m Buddhist,” says Kotsuru.
“Everyone is Shintoist and Buddhist,” says Carolina.
“Yes, but I am a Chinese-style Buddhist. The Buddha has a saying that everyone needs to understand: Satori-no ato-ni-mo sentaku-o. Do you understand?”
Satori-no ato-ni-mo sentaku-o. After enlightenment, laundry. Maybe I understand that.
“No,” says Carolina.
“It means that no matter what happens to your mind and soul, you still have to do the necessary things of daily life. So I went right back to work the next day.” Kotsuru looks away a moment, then back at us. “But things were different for a widow—a woman without a man. Military police came to the bakery, picked up food, and left without paying. Over time, there was less sugar, then none. Less flour, then none. Then the military police took away my iron oven. They said everyone must make sacrifices. Okuni no tame ni.”
For the sake of the country. How many times have I heard that? I’ve come to hate that saying. “That’s what Keiko’s mother said when her brother was killed.” I don’t add that Riku died at Attu, too.
“The military police said there were no more iron chains on the graveyards because every bit of iron went to fight this war…so how could I complain about losing an oven? I revere my ancestors. But…” Kotsuru shakes her head. “The dead don’t need those chains; the living do need bread. I took Toshio to live with my mother.”
“Family should be together,” says Carolina.
I cup the top of her foot with my palm.
“Except, my mother had a cough. It turned out to be tuberculosis. Toshio caught it and died quickly, even before my mother died.”
Kotsuru’s face is dry, but tears roll down my cheeks.
“You couldn’t have known,” says Carolina. “It’s not your fault.”
Kotsuru smiles. “Thank you, Carolina. You think clearly. But at the time I couldn’t think clearly. I couldn’t think about laundry. I couldn’t think about the Buddha. I couldn’t think at all.”
“That’s when she met us,” says Fujiko. “None of us could think straight alone. But together we found a path.”
The sound of Sanae’s noisy old truck makes us look up. The house door slides open and Sanae comes inside.
“School time,” I say. Sanae gives Carolina and me daily lessons. She’s a far better teacher than my teachers in Tokyo. Carolina and I stand and go to the drawing table to put away our manga materials.
“No school right now,” says Sanae. “I heard news. Something you two should know.”
“Us?” I go on the alert. “Something bad?”
“Italy’s Mount Fuji erupted earlier today.”
Italy’s Mount Fuji? Oh. I can hear Papà in my head, equating Mount Fuji with a volcano in Italy. “Vesuvius?”
Sanae nods. “The Allied troops are evacuating everyone. A whole village will burn from the lava flow, for sure. But maybe no one will die.”
“What village?” asks Carolina. Her face has gone pale. I realize she doesn’t know where Mount Vesuvius is.
“San Sebastiano. Do you have family there?”
“No,” I say. “Lido di Ostia is far from there.”
“Good,” says Sanae. “Let’s celebrate that your grandmother is safe.”
“We can write her an extra page tonight,” says Carolina.
Now that we have paper and ink again, we write in our ongoing letter to Nonna every night, even though no mail goes from Japan to Italy anymore. We’ll hand her the letter when we’re finally with her again. Just like we’ll hand Papà the letter we’re writing to him, once we’re with him again. I still have to figure out a good plan to get us back with him. I will. Soon.
“Good idea,” says Sanae. “And I have another idea. Last week I bought seedling potatoes for planting on the first good day. Today is bright and getting warm, a perfect mid-March day. Everyone’s planting in the countryside, so we should, too. Who’s going to help me?”
“Me!” Carolina’s hands fly wide. I catch her ink jar before it can spill and ruin our work. She skips once around the room, then pulls on her heavy kimono and runs out the door.
Everything could have gone so wrong. Nonna could have been in danger. But she’s not. And Carolina skips. My sister skips, like she did before all of this. I wish I could feel like I did before the war.
I go over to the clothes shelf. Carolina and I have stacks of clothes now. Fujiko bought reams of silk, and in the evenings we sit in a circle sewing. We each have two new pairs of school pants now, and two new shirts and a warm kimono. In my stack are also two long strips of material that I have secret plans for. In Carolina’s stack is a lightweight summer kimono. We haven’t yet made me a summer kimono. I pull on my warm kimono and follow Carolina outside.
Sanae hands me the hoe. “You’re the expert,” she says. “You showed us that when we planted onions.”
I feel Carolina’s envious eyes on me. “But Carolina can put in the potatoes,” I add quickly. “And mound them into hills. She’s expert at that.”
“You’ll never guess what I got at the market today,” says Sanae.
“Let me guess,” says Carolina. She squats in front of the seed potatoes and touches them, one by one, as though counting inside her head. “Hmmm. You were gone a long time, so you drove far. That means it’s got to be really good. Hmmm.”
I hope she won’t guess something too extravagant. We want Sanae to be proud of what she managed to find. Last week Fujiko asked everyone what their favorite foods are. She’s decided that we all need to fatten up. She gave Sanae extra money for shopping at the local black market, and some beautiful handpainted bowls to barter with, too, all so that Kotsuru can cook lovely things. Sanae has been managing to bring home the right ingredients.
“Fresh eggs,” guesses Carolina.
Sanae grins. “How many?”
“Five,” says Carolina.
“Double that,” says Sanae.
Carolina’s eyes widen. “Ten eggs!”
I work the ground even harder. Ten fresh eggs. It’s like the best holiday ever.
“All wrapped in wisps of rice straw. And guess what else.”
Fresh eggs. That’s more than enough. We mustn’t be greedy. “Vegetables,” I say.
“Of course. A whole box. But guess something more. A delight.”
“Sugar,” says Carolina.
“Right!”
My jaw drops. “Sugar disappeared a year ago!”
“Our little cabin in the woods is better stocked than the best hotels in Tokyo,” says Sanae. “But you guess now, Simona. There’s still something more. Guess what your mouth most wants.”
I laugh. “I don’t know.”
“We do. We watched you eating that first meal here. Your face spoke.”
I blink. Could she really mean it? “Wheat flour?”
“A big bag.” Sanae touches the tip of my nose. “Kotsuru can make enough noodles to satisfy even you.”
�
�And she can make kasutera,” says Carolina. “Her specialty.”
I get an idea. “What vegetables did you buy?”
“Spicy leaves and lotus root and bamboo shoots and soybeans—from Nagasaki.”
I look at Carolina. “After Kotsuru makes noodles and kasutera, there might be some eggs left over,” I say. “Fresh eggs—eggs that will froth up just right. We can cook something, too, Carolina.”
Carolina looks at me. A smile comes. She beams. “Something that was Papà’s specialty. It can be our specialty for now. Frittata.”
“What’s that?” asks Sanae.
“Italian omelette,” says Carolina. “You’ll love it. Everyone does.”
24 MARCH 1944, MOUNT FUJI, JAPAN
I fold a manga into a small square and hand it to Carolina. She tucks it into the package. I fold another. She tucks that one in. “We’ve finished the whole pile.” A month’s worth of work.
Sanae seals the package and addresses it.
“Sweden?” says Carolina. “Why are you mailing them to Sweden?”
“My cousin lives there.” Sanae’s face colors a little. “He moved there early in the war. I miss him.”
“But what will he do with all these manga?”
“He’ll unfold them and iron them flat. Then he’ll send them to anti-war newspapers in Sweden and Spain and anyplace else where there are people brave enough to publish them.”
“Can we send our letter to Nonna, too?” asks Carolina.
“No one can mail letters to Italy now. We talked about that. Sweden is neutral in this war, so letters go there. Italy is Japan’s enemy.”
“But can we put it inside your package, with the manga, so your cousin can mail it to Italy?”
Sanae looks astonished. Then she smiles. “How smart you are! Go get the letter. And, Simona…” She hands me an envelope. “Address this.”
Sanae unseals the package, and we put Nonna’s letter inside and reseal it.
“Be careful,” I say. “Come back fast.”
“Oh, I won’t be home soon. I’m going to Nagoya.”
“Nagoya?” I say, confused. “That’s so far.”
“And my brother’s truck is old and rickety,” says Sanae. “But it’s best this way.” Sanae shows no emotion as she talks of her brother. He died in the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands a year and a half ago. Maybe she misses him less now. I miss Papà as much as ever. But that’s different; Papà is alive and we’re going to find him again.
“Why not go to the village post office?” I ask.
“Think about it,” says Kotsuru. “It wouldn’t be safe to mail them from a post office in a small town, because if the package gets opened by the censors, it will be easy to track down where it came from. Postal workers in small towns remember faces. The police would be waiting the next time Sanae appeared.”
“Then why not go to Tokyo?”
“Tokyo mail is the most likely to be opened,” says Kotsuru.
“We considered Yokohama,” says Sanae. “It’s the closest big city, but the Special Higher Police Section is there. They’re the strictest in all Japan, and the cruelest.”
“So Nagoya it is,” says Kotsuru. “Nagoya is big enough to have several post offices. Sanae hasn’t yet had to return to any of them more than once, even though we mail manga every month.”
“Don’t forget the ingredients for my birthday celebration,” calls Fujiko. She’s already at the drawing table, starting in on a new set of manga.
“Fresh eggs and milk and a citrus fruit,” I say. I don’t have to list wheat flour and sugar because there’s still plenty left. Carolina and I are going to make custard baked in a crust. Just like Papà did for our birthdays. This cabin will smell like everything good.
Sanae goes out the door with the package clutched to her chest. We hear the truck rev up and drive off. I wish it were evening already and we could hear it returning.
“I’ll fold the laundry,” says Kotsuru.
“You girls and I need to check the clothes piles,” says Fujiko.
Our clothes are clean and stacked neatly on the shelf. Like always. “You make me think of Hitomi,” I say as I go over to Fujiko, who now stands by the clothes shelf.
“Who is this Hitomi?”
“She was one of the servants at the embassy. Her son, Naoki, was my first friend in Japan. Hitomi would hate your political views, but she’d approve completely of your habits. She always kept everyone’s clothes perfect.”
“I bet keeping the clothes perfect wasn’t part of an emergency plan.” Fujiko raises her eyebrows.
“Emergency plan?” I feel a bit sick to my stomach.
“Since you’ve been here, one of us has always been with you. But it’s getting warmer every day. In a week, when April starts, we’ll have lots more activity.”
“What kind of activity?” asks Carolina.
“You don’t need to know that unless it turns out we think you’d be so good at something that we enlist you to help us. Ignorance can protect you. But from now on, we might all be off and away somewhere during the day. So the two of you could find yourselves alone at home.” Fujiko puts her hand on top of her own clothes pile. “That means you need to know the emergency plan.”
Carolina picks Lella off the top of her clothes pile and hugs her.
“Nothing awful has happened to us here,” says Fujiko. “The emergency plan is intended to keep it that way. Please tell me you understand. Tell me you are ready for this.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “We’re ready.”
“Good. Because you have to be. There is nowhere we could hide you girls that wouldn’t be dangerous, to you and to us.”
“We brought you danger?” But of course we did. I never thought of that. I’ve been so happy to be here that I haven’t thought of the risk to them at all.
Fujiko shakes her head. “We accepted that. Our lives are dangerous in so many ways. The Economic Police make regular rounds among wealthy homes, not just in Tokyo, but in all cities, and lately even out in the countryside. Usually they confiscate goods bought on the black market. Or they impose a big fine. But sometimes they arrest people.”
Kotsuru brings over the fresh folded laundry. We place the clothes carefully into the stacks—all tops together, all bottoms together. “Every visit to the black market puts us in danger,” says Kotsuru. “And every manga mailing puts us in even more.”
“But we want a free life. We insist on a free life,” says Fujiko. “So we choose the risk.”
Carolina and I didn’t choose danger. It happened to us. But we chose to work on the manga. And I’m glad; I want to keep working on them and end this war. “What do we do if the police come for us?”
“You’ll hear them way down at the foot of the incline long before you see them. And they won’t honk, like the men who dropped you on the road did. So, first, you ring the bell that hangs by the window,” says Fujiko. “Ring it hard. Then put on all your clothing, one piece on top of the other, and run into the woods. We will run in separate directions. But you and Carolina can decide whether to separate or not.”
“We’ll run together,” says Carolina.
I tighten my arm around her shoulder.
“Make a clear mental plan of where you will go. Choose a direction. We’ve all done that already, but you must do that now. Never tell anyone. That way none of us can give anyone away if we’re caught and tortured.”
I tighten my arm around Carolina’s shoulder even more.
“Whatever you decide, don’t go to the prisoner-of-war camp where your father is.”
Carolina stiffens. “But—”
“Little girls don’t belong there. Especially little foreign girls. Believe me on this. Your father will find you when he can. Trust in that.”
I can feel Ca
rolina fighting Fujiko’s words. But I’m grateful. Now I see that I haven’t made a plan to meet up with Papà yet because the whole idea of going anywhere near the prisoner-of-war camp terrifies me. I’ve worked hard to forget what Papà said when we were on the train together, because the hope of getting back to him has kept us going. But now his words ring in my ears: “I’ll never let you girls go there.”
“Most important,” says Fujiko, “do not come back to the cabin. Even if it looks deserted. For sure, there will be someone here, waiting to catch whoever comes back.” Fujiko hands me a pair of scissors. “Put these on your pile. Scissors are an important emergency tool.” She looks at Carolina. “So long as you two are together, one pair of scissors is enough.” Then she hands me a small drawstring purse. “This has money. Enough, I hope. For train tickets, for food.”
I thank her and put the scissors and the money purse on top of my clothes pile.
“This is for you,” says Kotsuru. She hands Carolina a larger drawstring purse.
Carolina looks inside. “It’s empty.”
“I hope it stays that way. But it’s just the right size for Lella. In case she should want a hiding place.”
Carolina throws her arms around Kotsuru. Kotsuru holds Carolina tight for a moment, then steps away. “I can never concentrate on work when Sanae is dropping off a package,” says Kotsuru. “And all this talk of danger is oppressive. Would anyone like to go on a mountain hike with me?”
“I would,” says Carolina.
“Me too,” I say.
We look at Fujiko. She smiles. “Oh, all right. A walk in this light chill will be lovely. Much lovelier than when it turns warm. When we get back, let’s all sew together on Simona’s new summer kimono.”
We walk outside into the brilliant sun and a chorus of birdsong.
“So many birds,” says Carolina.
“Around one hundred species of birds nest at the foot of Mount Fuji,” says Kotsuru.
“You sound as much like a teacher as Sanae,” I say.
Kotsuru laughs. “Sanae taught me.”
I remember my school lessons. The study of Mount Fuji is important. Not just birds but lots of reptiles and insects, and even many mammals, live here. Foxes and squirrels and black bears. But what Japan is most proud of is the kamoshika. It’s sort of a goat and sort of an antelope, and it lives nowhere else on earth except the islands of Japan. I hope we’ll see one.
In a Flash Page 16