In a Flash

by Donna Jo Napoli

  Staying alive is also a game of luck. So much depends on luck. Three women in a cabin in the woods. A blind washerwoman. But luck can run out.

  We need help. From nowhere comes an idea. “We’re going to other Italians.”

  Karo-chan’s eyes light up. “To Papà’s prison.”

  “No. But to people who will take care of us.”

  “What about Naoki-kun?”

  I look at Naoki-kun. “These people will take you in, too. It’s their duty. Say you’ll stay with us.”

  “I’ll stay with you. I’ll be like a brother.”

  Naoki-kun has no belongings. I take off my winter kimono and hold it out to him.

  He shakes his head. “I’m used to the cold.”

  I take off my summer kimono and hold it out to him.

  “No.”

  I put both kimonos back on. And I give a small smile. “You could be our real brother, you’re so stubborn.”

  “Stubborn,” mumbles Karo-chan. She’s putting on her clothes, but so slowly I could scream.

  I go into the front room for one last search. The professor stands there. I yelp in surprise. Naoki-kun comes running out and stops. Karo-chan follows.

  Karo-chan and I—our eyes are uncovered.

  The professor stares. “Western girls. Who are you?” Then, “Ah! Tanaka-san’s girls!”

  I give Karo-chan the signal, and we pull the sashes over our eyes and go to move past him.

  He steps to block our path. “Are you German?”

  “No.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  What point is there in lying? “The Vatican embassy.”

  “It’s full of Italians! You can’t go there.” Then he gasps. “Are you Italian?”

  “No,” I lie. My heart crumples inside my chest.

  “Why on earth would you want to go to the Vatican embassy?”

  “The Vatican is its own country. A neutral country, not at war with anyone,” I say. “It’s safe for us.”

  “Rumor has it that the Vatican harbored spies. Who even knows if that embassy is still standing? But if it is, it’s full of Japanese military police.” The professor looks around the empty room. “She’s left already.” He slaps his palm onto the back of his head and sucks breath in through his teeth, as if to say sorry. Then he sighs, and his hand falls to his side. “How old are you?”

  I’m thirteen now. Is that too old for him to see me as a child? “Does it matter?”

  “You’re as clever as Tanaka-san.” He wags his head. “Tell me you’re not American, at least.”

  “We’re not! We hate Americans,” says Karo-chan.

  The professor nods. “My car is packed, ready to take you girls to Karuizawa.”

  “We stick together,” I say. “All three of us.”

  “We’re family,” says Karo-chan. “Naoki-kun is our brother.”

  Naoki-kun blinks, and puts a hand on Karo-chan’s shoulder.

  The professor looks at Naoki-kun. “There’s always room for family.”

  25 MARCH 1945, TOKYO, JAPAN

  The professor puts Karo-chan and me in the backseat of his car, bundled up with blankets, the gauze sashes over our eyes. Naoki-kun sits in the front by his side.

  We go north toward the road to Karuizawa. But the road turns impassable. Knee-high, crusted, ash-covered snow lies everywhere.

  “That’s all right,” says the professor, turning the car. “That’s better, in fact. We’ll go to Kyoto. They bombed Kobe and Osaka, but they won’t bomb Kyoto. Not beautiful Kyoto. They’ll want to preserve it so they can visit it as tourists in the future. That’s how Americans think. I can find a place for us to stay in Kyoto.” He lights a cigarette, and the car fills with smoke. “We’ll take the mountain route. Pass fewer people. Fewer nosy people.”

  The roads toward the mountain are just as bad. The professor has to turn again. “We’ll go south along the coast. The traffic of military vehicles undoubtedly made that road passable. We can be in Nagoya by early afternoon, and take the road from there to Kyoto.”

  “Nagoya?” says Karo-chan. “We’ll pass Ofuna?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our father is there, in the prisoner-of-war camp.”

  “I’ve never heard of a prison-of-war camp at Ofuna.”

  “It’s secret,” says Karo-chan.

  “All right. But you said you were going to the Vatican embassy, not Ofuna. If I dropped you at Ofuna, would your father be expecting you?”

  Karo-chan won’t answer.

  “They haven’t seen or heard from him in almost two years,” says Naoki-kun.

  “Not two years!” says Karo-chan. “Eighteen months and two weeks. That’s all.”

  The car slows down, and the professor clears his throat. “There’s a blockade ahead. Do exactly as we agreed.”

  The car stops. Karo-chan and I lie curled up, pretending to be asleep, our arms over our heads to cover the sashes that hide our eyes. The air is dark from Tokyo ash, and military police shine flashlights in, searching for spies.

  “Name card.”

  The professor: “Here, Officer.”

  “Who are these children?”

  “My son and my two daughters.”

  “Names?”

  “Naoki. Sango. Kaori.”

  Is the flashlight playing over us? I hold my breath.

  “You can pass.”

  The car moves again. After a while the professor says, “You did fine.”

  We hit another blockade. The same routine.

  We hit a third blockade. It doesn’t get easier.

  We drive a long while. “We’re past the outskirts of Tokyo now,” says the professor.

  “Are you taking us to Ofuna?” asks Karo-chan.

  “We passed Ofuna.”

  “No! Turn back!”

  “Think, girl. If I dropped you off at Ofuna, even if there really is a prison there, what would they do to me? What would they do to Naoki? We’re harboring Westerners—and you’re not German, so whoever you are, you’re enemies. And your father isn’t…waiting for you. I’m sorry to say it, but he could be dead, for all you know. What on earth do you think they’ll do to you—two young Western girls?” The professor’s voice goes raspy. “Four lives are in my hands now. We are not turning back to Ofuna.”

  I put my arms tight around Karo-chan, and she strains against me, but she doesn’t cry. It’s me who’s crying.

  The professor hits his palm against the steering wheel. “You are not my children. If you three decide together that you must get out of the car, I will stop and leave you by the side of the road. But it’s suicide. There have been more than enough suicides in Japan.”

  We drive on in silence.

  “Can we look out the window?” asks Karo-chan at last.

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “There could be another blockade at any moment. You might not duck in time.”

  We drive on in silence. My legs ache in this position. My neck hurts, too.

  “It’s been an hour since the last blockade,” says Naoki-kun.

  “How do you know?”

  “Your watch is on top of your bag.”

  “Please,” says Karo-chan.

  “All right.”

  We sit up, pull our eye sashes down, and stare out. The world is gray. The winds blew ashes from Tokyo all the way here, wherever here is. It’s not as dark as Tokyo, but it feels later than it is, later than midday.

  The roads are bumpy from the frozen tracks of truck tires, so we travel slowly. “It’s good that we have to go so slow,” says the professor. “This way we conserve gasoline.”

  We pass military vehicles, and Karo-chan and I have to duck down. Every time, the professor says, �
��It’s good there are so many of them. Those big tires help to flatten the way for us on the road ahead.”

  When we pass cars, the professor says, “It’s good to see a car. That means somewhere ahead there must be gasoline stands that serve the public, not just military vehicles.”

  He says, “It’s good there’s ash everywhere; without that, the road would be more slippery.”

  He says, “It’s good my car was made in 1940 by Mazda, a prototype that can go a long way on one tank of gasoline.”

  Everything is good; everything is for the best. He isn’t his old complaining self. Still, his shoulders hunch around his neck and his voice grows raspier.

  We pass through areas that seem almost normal, except the streets are empty. The professor says, “If this fog weren’t here, we’d be able to see Mount Fuji off to the right.”

  I press my face to the window and wave. Fujiko, Sanae, Kotsuru. Please let them be safe.

  Soon we see a big city ahead. “Shizuoka,” says the professor. “It hasn’t been bombed yet. I bet I can find a gasoline stand. We’re almost on empty.” The professor puts a hand into his pocket and holds up a bulging wallet so we can see it from the backseat. “Hundred-yen notes.” He pulls into a gasoline stand, and Karo-chan and I curl up with the blankets, the sashes over our eyes. Soon we’re on the road again. The professor inhales loudly. “We’ll be all right, so long as I have money. Right, children? It’s a slow journey, but we’re already halfway to Nagoya. And the going is less difficult. The car will use less gasoline.”

  Karo-chan’s looking at me, but without expression. Then she sings the song about the crow crying. A pang of longing for Obasan makes my breath short. Karo-chan is right—Obasan is all alone. Singing is the best way to send energy to her to help her along on her journey. I join Karo-chan, and we sing at the top of our lungs. Soon Naoki-kun joins. We go from one song to the next, through all that Obasan taught us. Even the professor joins in on some songs.

  After a long while, the professor asks if we are hungry. I laugh. Who in Japan isn’t hungry?

  Karo-chan says, “Don’t ask unless you have food to offer.”

  “Look under the jacket by your feet.”

  We move the jacket aside, and there’s a large straw bento box. Inside are rice balls. I swallow so hard, my ears pop. The outsides are sprinkled with black sesame seeds. The smell of the pickled plums inside makes me flush.

  “Thank you,” I say, awestruck.

  Naoki climbs into the backseat.

  “There’s only three sets of chopsticks,” I say. “I’ll divide this into four parts, and Karo-chan and I can take turns with one set.”

  “Three parts,” says the professor. “None for me.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Karo-chan asks.

  “I’ll eat in Nagoya.”

  Karo-chan eats first, greedily. Watching her, I almost drool. “Thank you,” she mumbles with a full mouth.

  She passes the bento box to Naoki-kun, but he passes it to me. “I’ll go last.”

  “There’s chrysanthemum tea in the jar,” says the professor. “It’s cold by now, but it’s good. Sweetened with sugar.”

  Real sugar. This is a feast.

  Soon we see the outskirts of Nagoya. Naoki-kun climbs back into the front seat, and Karo-chan and I sink down, so that our heads are barely high enough for us to be able to see out the window. The professor doesn’t scold us, even though a passing military vehicle might see us before we duck. Maybe he doesn’t notice. Oh no. Buildings in ruins. Ash again. I forgot! Nagoya was firebombed the day after Tokyo.

  Apparently the professor forgot, too. He stops the car and calls out to a passing woman, “Where’s the closest gasoline stand?” The woman gapes at him as if he’s crazy. He asks, “The closest rice-soup restaurant?” The woman scurries away.

  “Even hundred-yen notes can’t buy anything when there’s nothing to buy,” he mutters.

  We drive through town. On and on. Till the engine coughs. We’re on the south side of Nagoya when we run out of gasoline. The professor has been muttering to himself for quite a while. It’s late afternoon, and the cold outside the car quickly frosts the window. We took off our winter kimonos, but now we put them back on.

  “Don’t worry,” says the professor. “I have containers of gasoline behind the backseat. I’ve been saving fuel for this drive for nearly a year. I have everything under control.” He gets out, opens a rear door, and pours gasoline into the tank.

  We drive another half hour and stop to add another container to the tank. “We mustn’t add it all at once, you see,” says the professor, “…in case we come across a gasoline stand where I can fill up the tank and still save the other containers for the future. This is all planned. All under control.”

  I don’t point out to him that if we come across a gasoline stand, he can fill the tank and fill the empty containers, too. I don’t point out that there are no big towns between Nagoya and Kyoto, so there won’t be any gasoline stands anyway. I don’t want to worry him even more.

  The road meanders through mountains. “We just crossed into Shiga prefecture,” says the professor. “Kyoto isn’t far now.”

  “Shiga prefecture,” I say. “Naoki-kun, you said Aiko is in Shiga prefecture. Do you know the town name?”

  “It’s a tiny place,” says Naoki-kun. “Omihachiman.”

  “I know Omihachiman,” says the professor. “Who is Aiko?”

  “A friend.”

  “A good friend?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  The professor is silent a long while. Finally he clears his throat. “Omihachiman has nothing of value. No factories. Hardly any people. It will not be bombed. And you have a friend there. And…” He hits his palm against the steering wheel. “You are not my children. I got you out of Tokyo. I did that much,” he says. “But you endanger me. I’m sorry. I’m no hero. I can’t be expected to do more. And you have a friend in Omihachiman. I will drop you off at the edge of town.”

  25 MARCH 1945, OMIHACHIMAN, JAPAN

  “The snow isn’t so deep here. The wind isn’t so bad.” The professor peels off money from the pile in his wallet and hands it to Naoki-kun. “Some problems can’t be solved with money. But this may help.” We try to thank him, but he drives away.

  The town lies ahead. The professor didn’t dare drop us off in front of a home.

  “We can’t walk on the road,” I say. “A car might come.”

  We move a good ways off the road.

  “If car lights come, drop flat onto the ground, and no one will see us,” says Naoki-kun.

  The rear lights of the professor’s car disappear over the next hill faster than I thought was possible. He was wrong; the snow is deep here. It rasps its way under our school pants and up our legs. There isn’t a wind, but the steady cold hurts my face. A curl of smoke comes out of the chimney of the first house.

  “You hide outside,” says Naoki-kun. “I’ll ask where Aiko lives.”

  Karo-chan and I stand touching sides, trying to fold in on each other. Naoki-kun takes a while. Too long. My feet are so cold, it feels like knives shoot up them.

  Then he’s with us again. “The old couple said it’s all old people on their street. But on the next street, on the corner, a house has children. Wait here.”

  “I almost froze once before,” says Karo-chan. “We’re coming with you.”

  I stamp through the snow, and Karo-chan walks in my footsteps. We go up to the door of the little house. Naoki-kun opens it, just like that, and we all step inside.

  A woman stands up quickly. She has a young boy with her. No shadows move behind the translucent partition of the inner room. These two are the only people in this house. The woman’s face is lined with worry; the boy goes behind her and peeks out. We’re a threat—a half-grown boy and two girls with round ey
es—half frozen. A mortal threat.

  I bow and clench my teeth to stop the chattering. “Please. We are at your mercy.”

  “Please,” says Karo-chan.

  “Go away!” The blood vessels on the woman’s neck stand out like ropes, she shouts so loud.

  “We are looking for Aiko,” manages Naoki-kun. He can hardly talk. He shivers violently.

  “There’s no Aiko here. Go away!”

  “We have nowhere else to go,” I say.

  “We had to leave Tokyo,” says Karo-chan. “Obasan went to Sapporo without us.”

  The boy says, “There are bears up there. They eat people.”

  “Obasan won’t get eaten by bears. Don’t say that.” Karo-chan shakes her head. “She’ll be all right. She’s going to live with her brother. She’s blind.”

  “Get out!” the woman says.

  “We can’t. We’re too cold.” I bow. “We have nothing. No one.”

  “Someone got you here,” says the woman.

  “The professor did,” says Karo-chan.

  “Go back to the professor.”

  “He left us and drove away.” I hold out my frozen hands toward the woman, palms upward. “You’re our only hope. Please help us. For one night only. Then we’ll find Aiko.”

  The woman’s eyes flash in alarm. “How do I know who you are, what danger you bring?”

  “She’s Simo-chan,” says Karo-chan. “She’s my sister.”

  “I’m Asahi,” says the boy.

  “We are pleased to meet you,” I say. “This is my sister, Karo-chan. And my first friend, Naoki-kun, who is now my brother.”

  Karo-chan smiles with blue lips. “Can we move closer to the fire?”

  Asahi looks hard at Naoki-kun. Then he leads Karo-chan to the hearth. Naoki-kun follows.

  I meet the woman’s eyes. They are dead like stones. Would I let a stranger come into my home and put Karo-chan at risk? Still, I whisper, “Please.”

  “I’m frightened,” says the woman. She looks at Karo-chan and Naoki-kun, and turns to me again.

  “We won’t hurt you,” I say. “Don’t be frightened of us.”