Kyūshū. The boy who gave us his family’s pot said they were moving to Kyūshū because the farmers there had food. That poor boy, that poor family. “Did anyone die?” I ask.
The professor turns his head quickly to face our screen. “Do you have family in Kyūshū?”
“Neighbors here moved there.”
“Yawata had little damage. The Americans targeted the steelworks. So your neighbors are still alive. But they won’t be for long. Kyūshū is the most southern big island; it’s easy to reach. And it’s Japan’s breadbasket, as they say. The Americans will destroy it soon enough.”
When the professor leaves, he puts extra money on the counter, like always.
Obasan takes her price for the laundry and hands the remainder to Karo-chan. She takes out her button box. “Here,” she says, holding out the wooden box.
Karo-chan takes the box. “Buttons?”
“I found another home for my buttons,” says Obasan. “You and Simo-chan can use that if you want.”
“For what?” I ask.
“The professor is not a fool. We may need to get out of Tokyo soon.”
“How?”
“Trains. You can have treats each week, or you can save the money the professor gives you. In that box.”
“I hate trains,” says Karo-chan.
I just look at her.
“I hate traveling,” says Karo-chan.
I look away.
I hear Karo-chan go into the inner room and slide the partition shut.
The button box still sits on the counter. I look inside it. Karo-chan left the remaining money there.
21 JULY 1944, TOKYO, JAPAN
I wake to the radio. Obasan keeps it on constantly now, and all last week it talked about how the Americans captured the island of Saipan and the people there killed themselves rather than be taken prisoner. The radio played traditional songs praising honorable suicide.
Right now the radio is talking about what a fine start Premier Koiso is off to. But we know that the government is a mess. Premier Tōjō’s cabinet resigned. Then the premier resigned.
And it’s not just Japan. Everything is falling apart. Yesterday in Germany an explosion plot to kill Hitler failed. We’re supposed to celebrate his survival. But how can he lead when his own officers have turned against him?
There’s no news about Italy. No one here cares what happens there.
I wish Obasan would turn the radio off.
I wish someone would turn this war off.
And I wish I could turn on my brain. We got here at the beginning of April, and now it’s late July and I haven’t come up with a plan to reunite us with Papà. Ever since Obasan’s declaration that we are family, I have allowed myself to rock in her warmth. Papà is close by, but both Fujiko and Papà warned against going to the prison camp. Karo-chan and I are all right without Papà for now. But sometimes I wonder—I swallow—what if Papà is not all right without us? He wouldn’t want me to ask myself this; he’d say it was absurd. We are children. What can we do?
I go to the front door and look out. It’s raining. For over a month it was dry. No one could plant. People entered the laundry with haunted faces. The rains finally came, and now they won’t stop. There are lots of floods.
A man comes hurrying along the walk carrying a package under his arm. He holds his umbrella high so that I see his face. I recognize him; he’s the one who brought the haiku from Obasan’s brother. I run into the inner room, where Karo-chan still sleeps.
I hear the messenger come in and talk to Obasan. Then he’s gone.
“Did you get a present, Obasan?”
“Open it and let’s find out.”
I open the package. “It’s stuffed with dried-up leaves.”
Obasan runs her fingers through them.
I take a deep whiff. “Is it more tea?”
“It’s just dead leaves,” says Obasan. “Junk.”
Karo-chan comes from behind me, wiping sleep from her eyes. “What could it mean?”
“My brother is telling me to come to Hokkaido or I will be nothing more than dead leaves.”
Karo-chan grabs my hand. “Will you go, Obasan?” My sister’s hand squeezes mine. I squeeze back.
“No. We have our garden. We have our work,” says Obasan. “And both are thanks to you. We are surviving here.”
I rush and get the ink and brush and paper. “I’m ready to write your message back to him.”
“Who needs to receive more packages of leaves?” says Obasan. “Messages are over. Put the ink away.”
We spend the morning at work. No customers come.
“Obasan.” I fold up my sewing. “I’d like to go for a walk.”
“It’s still raining,” says Karo-chan.
“So I bet there’s no one out and about today. It’s a chance to be outside without worry.”
Obasan stays silent.
“Where are we going, Simo-chan?” asks Karo-chan.
“You don’t have to come,” I say quickly.
“If you’re getting drenched, I am, too.”
“My umbrella is strong,” says Obasan. “Karo-chan, please go fetch it.”
Karo-chan runs into the inner room.
I tiptoe to the kitchen shelf where the writing tools are and grab a jar of ink. I slip it inside my shirt. When I turn around, Karo-chan is there, staring at me. “Are you ready?” I ask, as though everything is normal.
We pull the gauze sashes over our eyes and step outside. Rain thrums on the umbrella.
The streets are empty, so we can keep our heads up and go fast. I twist in and out of blocks. It feels safer that way. No one who sees us can point out to a policeman where we went except to say we turned at the corner.
“Slow down a bit,” says Karo-chan. “Look at the gardens.” Vegetables rot in the ground. Some plots are huge puddles. “Soon they’ll have nothing at all to eat. What will Papà cook for the prisoners then?”
“Papà’s smart, Karo-chan.” I speed up again. “He tends the prison garden properly.”
“How do you know he works in the garden?”
“Of course he does. He mounded the dirt properly. He staked the vines. It’s a better garden than even ours with Obasan.”
We turn the corner onto a street full of shops. On the other side from us is a restaurant we went to long ago with Papà. People used to say it made the best dumpling soup, and Papà took us there so he could learn how to make them. The line goes halfway down the block.
An air-raid warning siren goes off; these days there are warnings day and night.
No one gets out of the restaurant line. Hunger wins over fear.
Karo-chan and I don’t rush to a bokugo, either. Last week there were three warnings in a single night. We just listened to the sirens at home and waited for them to stop.
We turn another corner. And another. We stop in front of the postbox. Someone painted over Naoki’s rakugaki.
“We can’t paint in the rain,” shouts Karo-chan above the sirens. “Besides, you didn’t steal a brush.”
“We were never going to paint.”
“So what are we doing here?”
“Looking for Naoki,” I shout.
“He’s probably hiding somewhere.”
The sirens end, and the sudden silence makes everything feel slow, even the rain. Up the road, people are climbing out of a bokugo.
Karo-chan and I get the same idea at the same time. We walk toward those people. A woman, two small children, two old women. That’s all.
We turn to leave, but one of the old women goes back to the bokugo and calls down, “Come out!”
After she leaves, we walk up and peer in. Someone is curled over his knees. The rain pelts his back. “Is anyone there?” I ask, like a blind person would.<
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Silence. Then, “Simona? Is that you?”
Hearing my name out in the open turns me cold. Simona is strange for a Japanese name, but possible. Carolina, though, is definitely Western. I must stop him from saying her Italian name. “Karo-chan is with me,” I say quickly.
Naoki uncurls his neck. He looks through the rain at us. “Come down.”
Karo-chan and I go into the bokugo. We squat. Naoki doesn’t join us under our umbrella. He’s already soaked through. I turn so my back is to him. Karo-chan does the same. If anyone looks down into this bokugo, they won’t know we’re friends. That’s safer. No one will be able to report they saw us talking with him here. After all, what Naoki does is illegal. I must protect Karo-chan.
“Welcome to my home,” says Naoki.
“You live here?”
“Here and other places.”
I want so much to look him in the eyes. “It’s good to see you,” I say.
“Can you see me? Really?”
“Not behind us,” says Karo-chan.
Naoki laughs.
“Where’s your mother?” asks Karo-chan.
“One day she didn’t come home.”
“What happened?” asks Karo-chan.
“If I asked you that, would you want to answer?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Oh, Naoki, I’m so sorry.” It’s all I can do to keep myself from turning around to face him. But I mustn’t. No one can know we’re friends. “I brought you something.” I reach inside my shirt and put the jar of ink on the ground behind me.
“Is this something to eat?” His voice is closer.
“It’s ink.”
“Next time we’ll bring something to eat,” says Karo-chan.
“Ink is better than food.”
“We’ll bring both,” I say.
“You can’t. It’s enough that you brought me ink. If anyone sees…”
“Where will we meet you? And when?” It’s been so long. I stretch my hand backward.
He holds it.
20 AUGUST 1944, TOKYO, JAPAN
“I was right,” says the professor. “Back in June, I told you they’d destroy Kyūshū. They bombed our breadbasket three times—to starve us.”
The radio is on. It says we should all stand tall, ready for the coming victory of the Japanese air command forces.
“Turn that thing off, please,” says the professor. “Is there really anyone left who believes that nonsense?”
Obasan turns off the radio and goes about preparing tea.
He says, “You know there isn’t, my good friend. You don’t answer me when you agree with me. You help me know I’m right.” The professor puts his laundry on the counter. He’s holding something else in the other arm, wrapped in newsprint. He puts that package on the floor and slaps his hands together. “Guess the latest, my mysterious little girls behind the screen. They tapped my telephone lines. They listen in on all dissidents now.”
Obasan kneels. The professor sits on the mat. She pours him tea.
“After the theft, I had the remainder of my things packed up and sent for safety to good friends in Karuizawa. Way in the west.”
“You are preparing to leave Tokyo, then?” asks Obasan.
“I’m preparing to flee. Most of my friends have already.” He leans forward. “Listen to me, please. Tokyo will be bombed. Go to Hokkaido with your girls. Your brother wants you. Hokkaido isn’t a target in this war, not yet. That’s where I’d go if I still had family there.”
“We are managing.”
“You will starve.”
“Ah, how foolish I am,” says Obasan suddenly. “I should have offered you a treat before the tea. Let me prepare one.” She goes to the kitchen cupboard and brings back a cucumber, a knife, and a board. “Will you cut it, please?”
“Where did you get this? Not the ration lines. It isn’t even shriveled.”
“We have a kitchen garden. The cucumbers came in early. We’ve been eating them all week. The eggplants are now ready.”
The professor slices the cucumber. “Your vegetables will die off when autumn weather starts.”
“Our plums and peaches will be ready then.”
“And in winter?”
“We’ll face winter when it comes.”
“Maybe it won’t be starvation for you three, then. Maybe it will be fire from bombs.”
Karo-chan stops sewing and sits like a statue.
The professor eats a slice of cucumber. Then he picks up his package again and waves it around in the air. “Can you smell this?” The pungent, spicy odor of cedar saturates the room. “Do you know what it is?”
“I think I do,” says Obasan.
“Please do me the honor of accepting it and teaching these two girls the finer things in life.”
Obasan sets the package on the counter and opens it. Mushrooms tumble free. They have light, bell-shaped caps and thick stems. Obasan feels them, then holds her hands to her nose. Delight fills her face. “Matsutake.”
“They’re early this year because of the rains. I hope you will enjoy them.”
A man comes to the door with a basket, selling candy. When the professor asks the price and the man answers, I put my hand over my mouth to hold in the gasp. Fifty times what candy cost the last time Papà bought us some—only a year ago. But the professor buys a packet. “Girls like sweets.” He holds the candy packet high, like he did the mushrooms. “Please, come sit with Tanaka-san and me and enjoy it.”
Karo-chan and I slip the gauze sashes over our eyes. My forehead breaks out in a cold sweat. Please don’t let him insist.
Obasan stands. “You are immensely generous.” She bows. “But I regret that I cannot permit such an extravagance. Mushrooms are enough.” She bows again. “The girls have work to finish now. They mustn’t be disturbed.”
The professor is silent for many minutes. “Children work. No time for sweets.” He crawls toward us. Karo-chan and I grab each other’s hand. He puts the bag of candy on the mat in front of our screen. Then he stands and leaves. Without a bow.
I set the candy on the counter. The newspaper that held the mushrooms lies crumpled there. Newspapers are rare now because there are no trees left to make paper from. Most people get only radio news. I spread out this unexpected treasure and read to Obasan.
But I don’t read everything. And I don’t let Karo-chan look on with me. I don’t want them to know. There on the front page is a photo of an American office girl. On her desk is the skull of a Japanese soldier. The look on her face is triumphant. The article says she is a typical American. I know better than to believe newspapers; maybe that isn’t even a Japanese skull. Maybe in America that girl is considered hideous because she is so full of hate.
But I still hope I never meet an American.
That night we cut mushrooms and garden eggplant in long slices, Papà’s way, but cook them spicy, Obasan’s way. When Karo-chan and Obasan are asleep, I burn the newspaper, and I go out in back of our home with a bowl of dinner for our guest.
I sit in the dark and wait for his visit—my Naoki. Really, though, he’s our Naoki. It’s just that he comes so late that the others rarely get to see him.
Naoki walks on silent feet. He sits beside me, takes the bowl, and eats fast.
“Naoki, do you ever see Aiko?”
“After her brother died, her mother took her to live with relatives in Shiga prefecture.”
My heart hurts. I remember promising Aiko that Gen would not die. How foolish I was. “It’s good to know she’s safe.”
“If she were here, she’d tell you not to say stupid things. No one is safe.”
“We felt safe,” I say quietly, “only five months ago, in a cabin, at the foot of Mount Fuji.”
“Tell me about it,” Naoki says.
/> I tell him everything, every detail I can remember. Fujiko, Sanae, Kotsuru. Like angels, like a fantasy. But, oh, they were so real.
We sit in silence a long while
“I wish I had met them,” says Naoki. “If I had enough talent, I would draw manga, not rakugaki.”
“You are talented. It’s not talent you lack,” I say. “But—no studio and paper and paints. You’re a good artist. You could be a mangaka cartoonist.”
“Thank you for the meal,” says Naoki.
I will ask him about his day now, and he won’t answer. He never does. “What happened to you today?” That is his cue to leave.
He hands me a rolled-up cloth. “Careful.”
I cradle it in both hands. “Should I open it now?”
“No, no. Put her inside a box with a lid.”
“Her?” I bring the cloth up close to my face. It smells of nothing but the hemp it’s made of. “What’s in here?”
“A gecko.”
I push my hands toward Naoki. “We won’t eat her.”
He laughs. “I knew you wouldn’t. I remember. Don’t pick her up. But you can touch the back of her, just soft. Like this.” He touches my cheek, soft as a feather. “Put lots of dirty leaves in the box. Full of bugs. And soon—two or three days—take off the lid. The box will be a gecko home.”
“Animals don’t get tame that fast.”
“She won’t be tame. And it won’t be her home.”
“But you said…”
“She will lay an egg or two. I felt her belly. I think it’s two. Little white eggs. It will take a while for them to hatch.”
I can’t think of a box to use. But, oh, that old pot that the bottom fell out of—we still have it. Obasan hid it so no one would take the metal for the war effort. I can put it on the floor, and it will make a cozy home. I’m grinning into the night. “How long?”
“More than a month, less than two. If you hold the babies right away, they will be pets. One for you, one for Karo-chan. They will keep your home bug-free.”
I hold the cloth to my chest and curl around it ever so gently. “Thank you, Naoki-kun.”
But he’s already gone.
In a Flash Page 21