Just as quickly, she suddenly felt filled with doubt. “But how do we move forward?” She paused, knowing her father might be upset over what she wanted to say next. But she said it anyway. “Look at what the camps have done to Papa! Look how old he’s gotten!” She didn’t look to see her father’s reaction.
Jiichan didn’t hesitate. “The way to move forward is through kintsukuroi. Do you know this word?”
Hanako shook her head.
“When you break pottery, it is in pieces. Then you repair each crack with lacquer and paint the lacquer gold. It is very rare and expensive, but my father was given such a piece of pottery when he save rich man son. It is family legend. The boy ride off on his own on his horse. He fall to ground, and my father pick him up and run with him all the way to doctor house in next village. It is one of proudest moment in our family history.”
Jiichan then waited, his face filled with expectation. So Hanako said, “Your father must have been very strong.”
That seemed to satisfy him. “Yes, is so. So you see, in the end, bowl end up more beautiful than before it was broken. This is kintsukuroi. Thing break, you must fix with gold. It is only way to live your life. I will show you.”
He walked to the kitchen, obviously trying to hurry but in truth moving quite slowly.
Papa stared after his father and said, “Children, you must promise to come see me at least once a year when you’re grown. Hopefully, we will live in the same city. But you must not move to another country. I won’t allow it!”
“But, Papa, you’re the one who moved to another country!” Hanako said accusingly.
“I know . . . and if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met your mother, and I wouldn’t have the same children.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose you will both have to move wherever is best for you after all.”
“I already told you I don’t want to grow up,” Akira said. “I don’t want to. I want you to take care of me.” He burst into tears, and Mama and Papa both immediately reached out for him, Mama getting there first and sweeping him into her arms.
“Aki, Aki, we’re always going to take care of you, no matter if you’re grown up or not. All right?”
Akira nodded tearfully.
Hanako looked forward to growing up and making her own decisions, but as soon as she had the thought, she had its opposite: The decisions she would have to make someday might be too hard for her! She didn’t want to make them!
But then Jiichan was coming into the room whistling in a sorry fashion—he could hardly whistle, and he couldn’t stay on tune at all! He was so full of joy, though, that the whistling was, well, it was amazing. It was the whistling of someone so full of joy, he was almost a madman. Hanako half expected him to jump into the air and shout in ecstasy. It made her suddenly not care at all about growing up or not.
He was holding two pieces of pottery: one a plain, boring blue-gray bowl, and the other an amazing blue-gray bowl with random cracks that were filled with shimmering gold. It was the most beautiful bowl Hanako had ever seen. Jiichan set them down side by side. “The rich man gave us two bowl, special bowl and plain bowl. He was very good man.” It was hard for Hanako to take her eyes off the bowl with gold cracks. She wondered, If this bowl had cracked a little differently and then been repaired, could it possibly be as beautiful?
Jiichan said, “Hanako, while you are here with us, this will be your bowl.”
He handed it to her. She felt like she was holding something remarkable, like the entire planet Earth, in her hands.
“Be careful with it,” Mama said, and Hanako set it down carefully. Mama was leaning toward Jiichan, her face earnest, and laid her hand on his. “We don’t know how long we’ll need to stay. We’re very grateful.”
Hanako thought Jiichan felt a flicker of wanting to lean back—Mama often got so close to people’s faces.
“AHHH!” Jiichan said. “No need to be grateful. Stay as long as you want, as long as you want. Please do! But we have not much. I wish we have more for you. Most of rice we must sell to who and where government says. But we happy for share. It is our delight. Many day people from city come knocking on door begging us for food. They walk all this way. Busy parent send out their children to find something to eat. Children as young as Akira come to our door. Food, food, food. It is all people think about. If you have never been starved, you cannot understand. But we cannot share with stranger again. Everything we have is yours now.”
Hanako looked from her mother to her father. Would they have enough food? Would they have to walk the unfamiliar roads and knock on strangers’ houses to beg for food? Would Mama and Papa send her out on such a mission? And Akira? She looked at the bowl with disappointment. It was still beautiful. But while kintsukuroi was fine for a bowl, she figured life was much more complicated.
Jiichan, however, did not appear worried in the least. He was sitting with his elbow on the table, his chin resting in his palm as he stared dreamily at Akira. He nodded, then nodded again. “I love this child,” he said. “Yes, I do.” Then he smiled so hard at Hanako that his eyes scrunched up. “This one too. I have not met them before, but they have my feet. His are small too; I have seen it.” Then he thought that over. “Even if they don’t have my feet, I will still love them. But it is good thing. My son leave, and then his babies have my feet. That is kintsukuroi, neh?”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Jiichan!” Akira suddenly shouted. “We have no clothes! Tell him, Hanako!”
“We lost our bags,” Hanako explained. “That is, somebody lost them. They’re gone. They weren’t there in the pile of luggage from the ship. One of my skirts was really cute too! And Akira had a baseball jacket.”
She was surprised when Jiichan looked genuinely horrified. “A baseball jacket!” he cried out.
For a second she thought he might be making fun of her. But then he looked brokenhearted. “A boy should not lose his baseball jacket. We like baseball very much in Japan. There is no baseball during war. Everybody miss it.” His face filled with pride. “I play shortstop when I seven year old. I play one season. Pretty good too. Maybe would have become professional one day if I have time.”
“We can buy cheap clothes,” Papa said. “What we need to worry about is food. All right, Hana-chan? We may not find you cute skirts, but we will find you skirts that are wearable.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said obediently. But she felt a little disappointed. In camp she had thought that when they got out someday, they might have a few nice things—not very nice things, but maybe a little house, their own choice of what to eat for dinner, and, yes, a couple of cute skirts. They could get Sadie back. . . . Anyway, she still had her coat. If necessary, she would never take it off.
Suddenly, Mama took hold of Hanako’s braid and started stroking it. She leaned in very close and said, “Hana-chan, we will find you one cute skirt somewhere in Japan. But you have to make sure to hold your head high no matter what you are wearing.”
Hanako could hardly hold her head up because Mama was clutching her braid. “Yes, Mama,” she mumbled.
“Good!” Mama said passionately. Then she cleared her throat dramatically and said, “I have forgotten something important to mention! I learned some good news on the ship. They said that we’re entitled to two monthly rations of butter and sugar from the United States government, since the children are still American citizens. The American consulate in Kobe will distribute the rations for each US passport.”
“Ohh!” Jiichan cried out. “The Americans have so much butter and sugar they can give away! Ah! It is hard to imagine.”
That was wonderful and amazing! Maybe now they wouldn’t have to beg for food. Could a person survive on just butter and sugar? Hanako wasn’t even sure how to beg. Would she drop to her knees and say—what would she say? Please, my family is very hungry, could you spare some rice? She was so glad that Mama had kept the passports tied in a small purse to her waist with the sixty dollars!
“We can trade butter and sugar for rice. Everyone in Japan, they think of rice day and night,” Jiichan was saying. “Rice has gripped their mind.” Then he tipped his head toward Akira and said, “Do not worry, little one, all will be fine and you will eat every night!”
Just then there was a knock on the door. “Who is that?” Jiichan asked. He made a long, loud grunt as he stood up from the floor. Hanako was so curious that she followed, standing behind him as he slid open the front door. It was an old woman, very old. Hanako started to cry out, “Baachan!” But she saw that her grandfather didn’t know the woman.
The woman bowed deeply. “Onegai desu. Zutto tabete inain desu.” (“Please, I haven’t eaten for a long time.”) Hanako could see that this was true, for the woman’s clothes hung limply on her, and her shoulder bones jutted out from under her lightweight black kimono. Then the woman looked directly at Hanako and pulled up a kimono sleeve to reveal her very bony arm. It seemed to be only weird indents and veins. There was no flesh at all. Hanako gaped, then caught herself and looked up into the woman’s eyes. The woman seemed glad that she’d made an impression. She added that she had grandchildren she must feed as well.
“Jiichan!” Hanako said. “We must give her something.”
Then Jiichan pulled up his own sleeve to reveal his own thin arm. “This is so in Japan,” he explained. “But I will give her potato my neighbor give me last week. Hai, I will give her if you would like it.”
“Yes, please!”
He went to the kitchen, leaving Hanako to face the woman. She tried to think of something nice to say in Japanese and settled on “Watashi wa Hanako to mōshimasu.” (“I am Hanako,” said politely.)
The woman bowed deeply, murmuring, “Hanako-san.” Then she closed her eyes for some reason and stood there like a statue, her arms slightly raised. Hanako just stood watching, unsure what she should say, if anything.
Then Jiichan returned with a single potato, telling Hanako again, “It is my special potato from neighbor.” Hanako could see that he wanted to give it to her and Akira, but this poor woman was so old. . . . He handed the potato to Hanako, and she handed it to the old woman, who’d opened her eyes again.
The woman looked like she might cry with joy. “Arigatō gozaimasu. Oh, arigatō!” She gazed lovingly at the potato, as if that’s what she was thanking, then hid it somewhere under her kimono before turning and leaving, walking directly toward a wooded area. Where was she going? And so quickly. Maybe she thought they would take the potato back?
Jiichan was gently tugging Hanako out of the doorway. After he closed the door, he said, “I know it break heart, but it is important not to feel heartbreak every time someone ask you for food. Otherwise, you will not survive, neh? The woman is very old, but we must be careful.”
Hanako felt obstinate, though—she opened the door to see the old woman again. She was now heading in a different direction, toward another house. Hanako watched as she knocked on a door. Then, as if she sensed that someone was watching, the lady turned slowly around and studied Hanako for a moment before turning away again. The other door opened, and she bowed deeply, then dropped to her knees. The man who answered did not take pity; he closed the door.
Hanako wished she had another potato to give her! She couldn’t stand it! She shut the door and returned to the table, where everybody was talking and laughing except for Akira, who was staring listlessly into space. Then he raised his eyes at her and looked furious.
“That was my potato!” he said accusingly. He turned angrily so that his back was facing her.
“Aki, she was so skinny! You should have seen her arm.” Akira didn’t budge, though. He loved potatoes. He loved them fried, baked, and boiled. He loved them hashed and mashed and any way at all.
“You didn’t even ask me!” he said.
That was true . . . but hadn’t she done a good thing? And yet. Was it good to give the potato to a hungry old woman, or bad to take her little brother’s potato when she knew how much he would have enjoyed eating it?
And now her own stomach was rumbling with hunger. Mama started to comfort Akira. “There will be other potatoes, Aki-chan.”
Hanako looked to Papa, but he was pressing his lips together sadly. “Papa, did I do good or bad?” Hanako asked.
“Well, it was good for the woman, Hana,” he replied. “It was good for her. So that’s something.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Jiichan threw his arms into the air. “Children! I can cheer you both up! I can!” Everybody looked at him. “Hanako first. You have lost your clothes, but I must tell you, I have surprise for you. Look what I have! Something we have saved for two month.” He hustled to a shelf and brought down a single sheet of paper. On the paper was a picture of a girl about Hanako’s age, wearing a plaid skirt. Jiichan showed it to her with an air of incredible expectation.
She didn’t know what he expected her to say but finally came up with, “My best friend in camp had a plaid skirt. Her mom got the material from the Sears catalog.”
“AHA!” Jiichan said so loudly that Hanako jumped. He rummaged in a basket in the corner and pulled out a couple of yards of plaid fabric. He looked like he might cry! “Your baachan found someone who knew someone who found an American with plaid cloth. The Americans have everything. It does not matter what it is, they have it. She searched for many long time, starting when she heard you would come. She traded her last kimono for this, the one she be save for you since she heard you are born.” He nodded happily. “She think you love her kimono, but she think you love this more. She will make you skirt.”
Before Hanako could say a word, Jiichan spun around to Akira. “And I have found something for you as well.” He reached into the basket and pulled out an ugly rock. “This is geode—ugly on outside, beautiful on inside. If you break it open, you will see that inside it look like diamonds.” He handed the rock to Akira.
Akira assessed it as if unsure—that is, was this old man pulling his leg? “Diamonds on the inside?” he asked suspiciously.
“It is up to you to break open or not,” Jiichan said. “If you want my advice, I will give.” When Akira didn’t reply, Jiichan said again, “I could give you my advice, but only if you say you want. I don’t want to push if you don’t want.”
Hanako piped up, “What is your advice, Jiichan?”
His face brightened. “I think it is too special to break open. Maybe someday. It will have to be right day. Not any day, but right day. This is good advice, neh?” He looked as proud as a peacock over this advice.
Akira held the rock. He still seemed unsure whether it was a miracle or a trick.
Just then the door opened, and an old woman with a severely stooped back entered. At first Hanako thought it was someone else begging for food. But then the woman’s face lit up at the sight of Papa. She shuffled straight to him, hugging him hard and starting to weep. She mumbled in Japanese, but Jiichan said, “We speak English. I enjoy it very much.”
“Every moment I work in field, I think of you,” the woman said to Papa, switching to English, weeping harder now. “Every moment. Every moment in my day.”
Papa reached out for his stooped, tiny mother—Hanako’s grandmother!—and held her by leaning over. His own eyes filled with tears as well. He rubbed Baachan’s curved back as if he could straighten it out. Hanako wondered if Baachan’s back hurt. And she wondered if her back got that way from working the fields and if it would stay that way even if she stopped.
As they pulled away from each other, Baachan’s eyes landed on the plaid fabric. She seemed astonished, then angry, then as if she might cry. Her mouth fell open and her forehead wrinkled up in a pre-crying sort of expression as she turned to Jiichan.
He looked stricken as well. And then real tears began pouring from his eyes. Through his tears he kept saying, “Suman, suman.” (“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”)
Everyone was standing around them. “What is it?” Mama asked several times.
Finally, Jiichan hung his head. “I have got too excited. I have ruined her surprise. She has searched many month, then she has waited two month to surprise this girl.” His head almost touched his chest as he nodded and cried. “I have got too excited. It was not my surprise to give to girl. The rock was my surprise for boy.”
Baachan cried a little too. Hanako could not think of a thing to say! Then all she could come up with was, “It’s fine. It’s such a good surprise that . . . that I’m still surprised!” Did that even make sense? She stepped forward shyly and took Baachan’s hands. Her hands were so wrinkly, and her face, too. More so even than Jiichan’s. “It’s very beautiful cloth. It’s the most beautiful cloth in the world. I saw gold cloth in a museum once, and this is more beautiful.” What was wrong with her? That was the kind of lie she would tell Akira! Plus, she had walked through fabric stores where there was cloth so beautiful, it was like magic. But then she picked up the material and said more firmly, “It’s the most beautiful cloth in the world.”
Baachan smiled now, very, very pleased. “I think so,” she agreed. “I said same to myself when I see. I glad you think also. I will make you very nice skirt. I very good at sew. I want to be tailor when a girl, but I never get chance. But now you will give me chance to make perfect skirt. You will see. It will be perfect. It will be best skirt you will ever have.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Jiichan had gone to sit at the table with his head in his hands, muttering to himself. “I try, I try,” he said forlornly. “Not much happen to me most day. I wake up, I eat, I work in field, I come home, I eat, I take bath for hour, I go to sleep. I don’t have to try be good person, because nothing happen. So today I disappoint with myself.” He pressed at the sides of his head.
Baachan hurried over and slapped her hand through the air. “What you talk about? We move on from you tell about cloth. We talk about make skirt now!”
A Place to Belong Page 7