Akira was holding one of Hanako’s hands and one of Jiichan’s as he looked with fright upon the market. She squeezed his hand. “They’re not mean; they’re just hungry,” she told him.
“I think they’re dangerous!” he said.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
“They mean because they hungry,” Jiichan clarified. “So you must be careful. Black market not good place for innocent children. I heard black market are run by gangster. Some children not so innocent; they may go.”
The consulate turned out to be a solid-looking stone building. Strong, like America, Hanako thought. The inside reminded her of a bank. There were several simple armchairs around a square coffee table with a fake plant for a centerpiece. Mama, who had decorated the restaurant, did not believe in fake plants. She bought plants called philodendrons from a Japanese man who had one hundred thousand plants in his nursery. Hanako used to water the philodendrons. But then, as her family was closing the restaurant down, she had forgotten, and they had all turned dry and brown. She heard later that the man had sold his nursery and one hundred thousand plants for five hundred dollars.
A wooden counter stretched across the room, and behind it stood a woman. She was Japanese, but there was a white man at a desk behind her. He had that look of “I’m the boss.” Papa had told Hanako that one of the main purposes of an American consulate was to help and protect Americans in a foreign country. That’s why the consulate was giving butter and sugar to Americans.
Jiichan approached the counter like he was an important man. “I am grandfather of two American,” he said to the woman in English. “I have their passport and come for two butter and sugar.” As he spoke, he made his squeaky voice lower and firmer than usual.
“Of course,” the woman said. She took the passports and walked away. Jiichan winked at Akira like they were pulling a fast one.
Then Jiichan broke out in a huge smile. “It worked! I admit I had a doubt!”
“Yay! I want to eat a lot tonight!” Akira said happily.
The woman returned with four bags and handed them to Jiichan. “Ahhhh,” he said. “You are good woman. America is can do.” He bowed his head to her. “We thank you. My grandchildren will eat well tonight.”
“You’re very welcome.” She had a heavy accent, so she wasn’t American Japanese. She smiled at someone in line behind them, and Jiichan furtively hid the bags in the food basket, which he now took from Hanako.
Outside again, they were back in the powerless world of Japan. In Tule Lake, Hanako used to feel the power of America constantly, beating them all down. Before the camps, Nikkei were trying to ride the American power like some surfers she saw once at Manhattan Beach, muscular men balancing on long, colored boards atop the rushing waves. It was beautiful to watch the surfers. Back then a feeling would well up in her sometimes, like she just really, really loved America.
But Jiichan was talking: “Must go to market for rice, and then catch train.” Three men suddenly accosted them, asking loudly all at once if they wanted to sell their rations for yen.
Jiichan cried out like an animal: “EEYAHHHH!” He looked like a wild thing! The men seemed surprised, and then Jiichan snapped at Hanako, “Come, bring your brother and follow me!” He was holding the basket with both arms as he pushed through the men.
After they’d quickly walked a ways, Jiichan explained, “We don’t sell for yen. Yen is paper. You cannot eat paper.”
Akira leaned over and threw up, out of nowhere. “Oh, no, Akira!” Hanako said.
He shook his head. “Those men scared me!”
Hanako had a handkerchief she kept in her coat pocket, and she wiped his mouth with it. Then she hesitated. What should she do with the handkerchief? She could not throw it away; that would be wasteful. But she could not put it in the pocket of her precious purple coat. So she stuffed it into Akira’s pocket, and he didn’t seem to mind.
When they reached the market back by all the rubble, Jiichan paused to think. “I cannot bring you into market, but I cannot leave you here by yourself.”
Hanako thought it over, and she did not want to go into the market, but she also did not want to remain here without a grown-up. She waited obediently for Jiichan to decide.
“Come with me,” he finally said.
They moved through the crowds as Jiichan studied all the tables. People bargained and haggled loudly, while others hung back, as if waiting for their chance to strike. It was so noisy and crowded. Sometimes the seller would just laugh at the buyer, but Hanako didn’t know if that was just to get the buyer to offer a higher price. One seller yelled at her to get out of the way; shocked, she stepped quickly behind Jiichan. It was such a different way of shopping than going to a store with price tags on the products! There were pots and pans, spoons and hashi, cigarettes and lamp oil, tea and leather. There was one table with nothing on it but what looked to be used, uneven pieces of wood. There were coats, candy, and a few items that she had no idea what they were. Jiichan spotted some wick that he could use in the lamp, so he bought that. Much of the oil had spilled, but there was still some left.
One lady screeched at Hanako in Japanese, “I will buy your coat!”
Then Jiichan spotted a man selling rice. Immediately, Jiichan transformed into a different person. He barked in rude Japanese, and the man barked back, calling Jiichan jijii, which was the disrespectful word Baachan had used to call him “old man.” Jiichan didn’t seem to notice the disrespect. He was like a bulldog.
“Jijii, you ask too much! The answer is no! Go away now! I don’t like jijii. Jijii are too cheap!”
This went back and forth, until finally Jiichan shook his head to Hanako. “No can get fair deal from here.”
Hanako felt a stab of disappointment—in her mind, their precious goods would get them anything. They started to leave, but all of a sudden the seller called out, “Oi, jijii!” When they turned back around, he nodded yes. “I do it for the children,” he said. But he said it as if he didn’t care a whit for them or anyone in the world, for that matter.
But honestly, Hanako didn’t care a whit what he cared a whit about—after all, this was not the time to be sensitive. In exchange for the butter and sugar, the man gave them two bags that looked like about fifteen pounds of rice each. Jiichan checked inside each bag, then nodded.
He changed back into his sweet self as he handed Hanako one of the bags, which he placed in the basket for her. Then he said solemnly, “You must guard this as you would guard your brother.” He thought that over and added, “Never mind. Your brother always come first. But you must guard very well. If you cannot, I will carry both.”
“I can do it!”
Akira looked worried. “Hana, let him carry it. Someone might take it from you!”
“Aki, I’m one of the bravest people in the world!”
“Oh . . . okay, then.”
They wandered around the market for a few minutes searching for anything else interesting to eat—they’d brought two American dollars—but they didn’t find anything Jiichan wanted. Then Hanako spotted something that she wanted.
“Jiichan, please!” She pointed to a table covered with mochigashi. “This is the best cake in the world! Have you ever had it?”
Akira jumped up and down. “Mochigashi! Please, Jiichan!”
Jiichan looked like he had a sudden headache. “Ahh, ahhhh! It very hard to say no to grandchild! Even though this is not useful food, neh?”
“Please!” Hanako and Akira begged.
Jiichan slumped over. “I lose. I must say yes.” He walked with slumped shoulders to the seller. The seller’s face came alive at the sight of one of the American dollars, and as Jiichan bargained, Hanako and Akira eagerly picked out five cakes apiece, just as they had in the train station. Hanako felt as excited as she had the first time she’d picked out cakes. These were prettier than the others, if that was even possible! She held on to them, just staring.
“Put in basket. We will save for later
,” Jiichan said. “When you save treat for one hour, it will taste better! I learn this from my mother many year ago.”
“But, Jiichan!” Hanako and Akira both exclaimed.
“It is trick I learn!” Jiichan exclaimed back. “I learn from my own mother!” He seemed as excited as they were. His face was actually turning red, he was so excited.
Hanako thought this over. If they waited, it would taste even better. It was hard to say no to that. So they obediently put their beautiful cakes into the basket. She leaned over and touched her nose on Akira’s. Then she crossed her eyes at him until he laughed.
“I know many trick,” Jiichan said, “and I will teach you everything I know. We have many long time until you grow up! Many long time!”
So they went to the train station carrying their precious items, and after boarding, Hanako and Akira sat patiently in their seats. The basket was on the floor under Hanako’s feet, and her grandfather had pushed the other bag of rice under the seat in front of them.
Then, as the train chugged along, suddenly Jiichan announced showily, “NOW you may each eat a cake! It is time!”
Hanako rested her eyes on his face for a brief second, just because she was so amused by how red with excitement he was. Then she opened the basket, and she and Akira stared at the colors. “Jan-ken-pon on who picks first!” Akira said.
So they did rock-paper-scissors, and Hanako won. She leaned over the basket and studied her mochigashi. There were pink, lime green, and yellow. She only had the one yellow, so if she ate that, she would have no more yellow. Therefore, she decided to save it.
“Hurry!” Akira was pulling at her coat.
“You’re not supposed to pull at my coat!”
“But you’re taking too long!”
Then she hesitated. “Jiichan, do you want to pick one first?”
“What?” He thought this over. “Children should pick first. But I very thank you for asking. All right, I will take one.” He gazed into the basket. “Hmmm. This one . . . no . . . maybe . . . no . . .”
Hanako and Akira glanced at each other.
“Ahhh . . . I don’t want to choose wrong. . . .”
“Jiichan, they will all taste the same!” Akira half shouted.
“You think? Then I will take green. I have not eat a green cake before.”
Hanako selected pink for herself and waited for her brother to choose his—he took a tan one with green sprinkles. Then Hanako bit eagerly into her cake and . . . it tasted like . . . nothing.
She turned to Akira. He was leaning over with his face twisted up. She took her vomity handkerchief out of his pocket and let him spit out his food. She spit out hers as well.
Jiichan nodded thoughtfully. “I was tricked. Yes, I was. I saw the pretty color and believed it was sweet. I know there is no sugar in Japan for cake. But I saw the pretty color.” He thought more. “Maybe my mother wrong this one time. Treat did not get better in one hour. All these year, I think my mother never get anything wrong. Very smart woman.” He was babbling, like he was trying to figure out what had gone awry. He seemed more upset than Hanako and Akira!
“It’s all right, Jiichan,” Akira said, looking worried. “I can eat one if you want.”
Hanako added, “They’re very pretty. We can put them on the table for decoration!”
But Jiichan was still sad. “All my life, that trick always work. How come it don’t work today? Now you disappoint.” He shook his head again, but then sat up extra straight. “But I think . . . before you come, every day is same. Now everything very emotion. So this is good. It is very good. I will grow old and have many emotion, neh?”
But he still seemed a little sad, so Hanako said, “Your mother was right. But the whole world just had a war, and when there’s a war, all the rules change. So maybe there’s new rules now.”
“Ahhh, yes, make sense. We will find out the new rules together then. Ii ne?”
“Hai, Jiichan.”
“We have had good luck with rice, brought to us by tanuki. We cannot complain.”
“How does that man stay in business?” Hanako asked. “Doesn’t everybody know his cakes are phony?”
“I should have realize,” Jiichan explained. “Maybe to some people this cake is good. Probably baker use sweet potato to make it a little sweet. Maybe to some people they like to get something pretty and a little sweet for their children. Who am I to say that is not good idea? Maybe same thing make you sad, make Japanese children happy.”
And there was Akira, doggedly eating the rest of his tan, fake mochigashi. “I won’t waste it,” he said.
That made Jiichan nod with a grin, then laugh. He turned delightedly to the man across the aisle. “That my grandson. He good boy.” The man nodded politely, and Jiichan settled back, well pleased.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
In a station in the middle of the night, a few barefoot children—maybe orphans?—ran onto the train yelling and laughing. They ran down the aisle shouting, “Banzaaaaai!” One of them stopped and pointed at Akira’s eye and shouted, “Banzaaaaai!”
“Leave him alone!” Hanako shouted back.
“No!” Akira barked out, hiding his face. Then he turned and snarled, lifting his sharpies.
“No!” one of the boys barked back. But they seemed surprised by the sight of his sharp nails—to Hanako he looked exactly like a little wild beast. The kids ran off laughing, a conductor chasing them.
Everybody in the car settled down, and Hanako went back to sleep. She awoke to find the conductor leaning over them saying quietly, “Sumimasen.”
It was still dark. Jiichan took both the bag of rice and the basket, and Hanako grunted as she lifted Akira. She didn’t want to awaken him, because that would require yelling on the train. Jiichan seemed reluctant to let the conductor touch the rice and basket, so he simply threw them down and quickly jumped off. Hanako handed Akira to the conductor, who held him while she stepped down. Then he handed down her brother and bowed before closing the door.
“Akira!” she shouted. “Aki!” She set him down, and he fell over as the train rumbled off. “AKI!”
He sat up and jumped to his feet, holding out his hands in the same funny fighting stance Jiichan had used before they left for Kobe. “Oh. Are we home?”
“We have to walk.”
“Can you carry me?”
“You’re too heavy.”
“On your back?”
“I have to help carry the rice.”
On the train Jiichan had put the wick in the lamp, so they had a little light. All around them they heard strange calls, but this time Hanako knew it was tanuki, maybe the very same one that had brought them luck. There was a rainbow halo around the moon, partially cut off by dark clouds. Then it was cut off entirely as it started to drizzle.
It was very dark, but Jiichan’s seemingly supernatural eyes could see with just the lamp, and he didn’t lose his balance like Hanako and Akira kept doing. Hanako could make out his dark form moving slowly, stopping every so often to make sure they were behind him. It started pouring. She took off her coat and rolled it into a ball that she wrapped around the bag of rice she was carrying. She was very worried about the rice, and also about her beautiful coat. Otherwise, she was fine.
Walking through a downpour. In Japan. Her eyes were open wide; she felt once again as if she had never been so alert, so here. But Akira was crying.
“Aki, are you cold?”
He didn’t answer.
“Aki?”
“I’m freezing,” he said at last.
She unwrapped her coat from around the rice and draped it around her brother, even though it was soaked. But he kept crying. Strangely, she did not feel like crying at all. Instead, she remembered something her teacher in Tule Lake had told her one rainy day. They had been standing in the mud surrounded by the ugly barracks, and Papa had been locked up in the stockade. And a flock of big birds had flown over the camp, like magical beings. The teacher hadn’t
tried to cheer her up or say “Look at the beautiful birds,” but instead she’d spoken of feeling the sad beauty of human suffering and seeing the beauty in nature and how you’re here and feeling all these things at the same time and . . . Hanako hadn’t really understood. But she was sure she understood now, watching the torrential rain that was barely visible in the darkness. Here, in the most unlikely place, in the pouring rain in the middle of the night, she understood her teacher. It was dark and beautiful out. It was mysterious. She was here. In the mud. Just here.
Then she tripped and fell into the mud, smashing her chest against the basket, and the moment was gone. Jiichan rushed back to pull her up. Akira came close. “Don’t touch me, I’m all muddy. Don’t get my coat muddy!” she shrieked at him. She heard a hysteria in her voice. Her coat, her precious coat! The feeling from before was completely gone. She had no idea now what her teacher had been talking about. She trudged behind Jiichan, suddenly completely exhausted. If she was exhausted, how must Akira and Jiichan feel? One so much older than her, one younger.
It seemed like a long walk home. She grew so tired, she barely even recognized the house when they arrived, just trailed after Jiichan. She stripped down to her underwear on the porch, so as not to get the inside of the house muddy. Akira took off his pants and his shoes.
Inside, Baachan was asleep by the kotatsu. Waiting for them. Jiichan set down the rice on a tatami, murmured, “We must not wake her,” and went straight in to bed, as did Akira and Hanako. Hanako knew that if she hesitated for even a second, she would fall asleep right where she was.
In the bedroom she lay down with Akira clinging to her like a baby monkey—it felt like his arms were extra-long, wrapped all the way around her. Both of them had soaked hair. She suddenly cried and cried—it felt like forever—as she let the tears wash away all the years in camp. Those years were gone, and they weren’t coming back. She knew that now. She had worried before about when all the bad things would end, and now she somehow knew that they had. Her family might not rise higher, but they would no longer sink lower. She shivered from the cold, here in the middle of this tiny house in the middle of the countryside in the middle of Earth in the middle of the universe. She was here.
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