The fan’s front grate and blades were lying on the floor, and he was busily unscrewing another piece. The cord was cut through, and the metal wires inside the cord were split apart at the cut section.
“Papa, are you all right?” Hanako asked after watching for a minute.
“Mmm,” he said, only glancing up. “What are you doing awake?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep. I was just wondering what you were doing.”
He looked up again, studying her, then lay down his screwdriver. “I have a lot on my mind. But tell me, how are you fitting in at school?”
“So-so. Not so much yet.”
He nodded seriously. “Do you miss America?”
She thought about that. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. She thought about how she fit in this house, but she didn’t fit in Japan. “I was wondering, when do you think we could start a restaurant in Japan?”
His eyes glazed over, then he said wistfully, “It was a good restaurant, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Can we open a new one?” she persisted.
“It’s complicated. . . . I guess I never told you that for three years out of the decades my parents worked this farm, they turned a good profit. All three of those years, they sent me the money. That money helped me start my restaurant. Since then they’ve gotten deeper and deeper into debt.”
“How come they can’t make money?”
“The cost of fertilizer, the cost of renting the farmland, the rent on this house, bad crops for a few years.”
“So they’ve had bad luck?” Hanako asked.
“Oh, no, the same luck as most tenant farmers. That’s what happens when you’re a tenant farmer.” He sighed. “And . . . your mother got four hundred dollars from her parents when they died. And I took out a loan from a Nisei man I knew. All these things, that’s how we were able to start the restaurant. Those things will never happen again.” He looked at the fan, seemed to be speaking to the metal parts. “I had just finished paying the man back when we were sent to camp. And a loan from the bank to expand, I paid that back too.”
And?? “But did you ever send Jiichan and Baachan money?”
He closed his eyes and rolled his head in a circle twice, then stopped with his head bent backward for a moment before raising it again. “Only once. I prioritized paying back the man, paying back the bank, buying whatever you and Akira needed. So we were out of debt, and maybe I should have gone into debt to send something to my parents. But I wanted to buy a house someday, and they wrote me not to send them anything. They wanted you to have a house. It was a dream they had.”
“But, Papa . . .”
He looked directly at her and spoke fiercely. “And that’s what I want you to do to me someday, if you have to. Buy your children a house.”
“But, Papa . . .” She noticed the fan was rusty and dirty, like it hadn’t been used in a very long time.
“I never cared about my future. I cared about your future before you were even born and before I even met your mother. What is the future for you and Akira? That’s what’s on my mind.”
Hanako considered that, then said, “I care about your future, Papa.”
“I know, Hana-chan. But you mustn’t. You just study hard. Do everything you can to help your grandparents. Do everything you can. But go on to bed now; you need to get up for school.”
He gave her a hug, and she went back to their bedroom. Akira was whimpering in his sleep, like he did sometimes. He sounded like a little animal. Sometimes he even cried out, but not like a human. He had done this his whole life. When he was a baby, she had looked at his wine stain and listened to him whimper in his sleep, and she’d thought he was the strangest and most beautiful baby in the world. Now she lay next to him, wrapping an arm around his side and listening to the odd sounds coming out of him. For some reason, it made Hanako think about how someday Akira would grow up, grow old, and die. She could not see his future, no matter how hard she concentrated. She remembered the last thing Papa had said when the military police took him away. “Do everything you can, Hanako!” And then, right as he was passing through the doorway, “Always take care of your brother!”
At the time she’d interpreted his words as “Take care of your brother.” But now she realized the “always” meant that, in the future, she would always have to watch out for Akira. Maybe she was just feeling this because she had her arms around him now, and he was so small. But she thought she would have to make sure to live longer than him, in case he ever needed her for anything. When Mama and Papa grew old, it would be her and not Akira who would be responsible for them, just because. He was the oldest son, but she was certain it was not his fate but hers to take care of them. Maybe she would own a restaurant too, like a little noodle café here in town, with eight or even ten tables. And maybe she would see farther than this town, she would understand the emperor and even beyond. In America she’d felt she could judge President Roosevelt; she had felt she knew him. So. What she wanted was to take care of her home like Baachan but to see beyond it too. But listening to the whimpering near her ear, and feeling her brother’s warm breath on her cheek, mostly, mostly, she just wanted to outlive Akira, so he would never be alone. And . . . just like that, she forgave the boy for stealing the rice. Kiyoshi was feeding his little one—nothing more, nothing less. That was the way it should be. From now on, Hanako would protect the rice from Kiyoshi if she ever encountered him again. But she was not angry. She could sleep now.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
At school Hanako had a day when she was a celebrity. Her father had brought home three American pencils, and he gave them to her to take to class. Her classmates wrote with pencils, but there were no erasers—they used dried squid bone to white out their mistakes. So when Hanako showed everyone her pencils with erasers, they caused quite a stir. That day she seemed almost popular. Then she gave away her pencils so everyone would like her, but that didn’t work. It was as if she had never given anything to anyone.
Another day the sensei gave Hanako a second-grade reading book to work on. This made the other kids quite surprised. “I thought she was smarter than that!” one of them said.
When the teacher turned away, Hanako closed her book in defiance, slipped off the straw sandals that Baachan had made her, and looked under her desk and wiggled her toes. She loved being barefoot in school; it made her feet feel free. So that was the best thing she could think of about going to school in Japan. Then she returned to her reading. She was happy to discover that she could get through most of the first story, a fairy tale about a girl who wore a big hat that wouldn’t come off, ever. The illustrations were gorgeous, even though the pages were faded and torn.
When recess arrived, the other girls began talking softly about a book they were all reading. All Hanako could make out was that it was a “bad” book, something they weren’t supposed to be reading. They giggled and screeched as they discussed it. Hanako hung on the outskirts of the conversation, hoping someone would include her. But they all ignored her. So for once she decided to speak up.
“Do you know if there’s a Japanese translation of Little Women? I love that book,” she said. She added, “I’m a very good reader.”
They all looked at her, then turned away and continued their conversation.
Hanako’s face got hot. She was so tired of standing by herself. Suddenly, she asked, “Would you like me better if I cut my hair?”
One of the girls evaluated her. “Maybe,” she finally said, and turned away.
But Hanako didn’t think she could ever cut her hair, especially not for a “maybe.” So maybe she would never have a friend here in Japan. But she thought about it: What was more important to her—maybe finding a friend, or her hair?
Then, during history, Sensei decided to suddenly ask Hanako what she knew of the war. Hanako, surprised, said, “Well, I know Japan lost and the United States won.”
How can you be more silent than silent? But t
hat’s exactly what happened at that moment: everybody was even more silent than they had been a minute earlier. Hanako looked around uncomfortably, expecting everybody to be staring at her. But mostly they weren’t. Some had downcast eyes, but they sat very still. Then the teacher went on with the lesson.
That day after school, Mama was changing Akira’s clothes when Hanako got home—he’d soiled them for some reason, something he hadn’t done in several years.
“Mama, your face is dirty!” Hanako suddenly noticed.
“I took Akira out to the fields and left him alone while I was working,” Mama said. “He didn’t think to just pee in the grass.”
“You were working in the fields?” Hanako asked incredulously. She knew Mama had helped Baachan once, but she hadn’t realized she was still working in the fields. And she felt bad, because she could suddenly see that Mama was very tired—very tired!
“Pulling weeds,” Mama said wearily. “I want to help as much as I can. They’ve done so much for us.” She paused. “Remember, I had that vegetable garden in our backyard one year. So I can work in the fields.”
“Your garden died, Mama!” Hanako paused. “I can help too. After school.”
Mama replied sadly, “I think we will all need to help eventually. But you wouldn’t have to help until you have vacation from school.”
Even though Hanako had just offered to work—and had been sincere—she realized she hadn’t expected Mama to say yes. But she immediately said, “Yes, Mama!” It made sense to help in the fields, just as she’d had to help in the restaurant. You had to do part of your family’s work.
Mama put a fake cheerful look on her face and said, “Hana-chan, how was your day? Let’s talk about that! I don’t want to talk about my day.”
Hanako’s mind jolted back to her day, then back to Mama. Then to both at once. Mama was doing something completely new. So Hanako exclaimed impulsively, “Mama, I want to try something new. I’m ready to have my hair cut!” She shook her head once and thought about what she’d just said. Cutting her hair? The words had simply popped into her head.
Mama looked surprised. “Are you sure, Hanako? You love your braid! And you really don’t know with hair. One day all the girls will be wearing it one way, and then two months later they want to wear it another way.”
Hanako reached back and fingered her braid. She squeezed it as hard as she could. She did want to keep it. She remembered how when she was young like Akira, she didn’t care much if she had friends. Her family was her world. But now, if she could have just one friend, it would be worth it to cut her hair. Wouldn’t it? Suddenly, a “maybe” was enough. She wanted to try. She had to do what she could do—right? “I want to fit in more,” Hanako said. “I do.” She squeezed as hard as she could. “Please! I want to have a friend! Do it before I change my mind!”
So while Akira stared, fascinated, Mama cut off Hanako’s braid with sewing scissors. She didn’t cut it to the ears, just to Hanako’s shoulders. “I can’t do shorter,” Mama said. “I can’t bring myself to do it. It looks cute like this!” Then she cut Hanako’s bangs. Then she spent about an hour making little snips here and there. She kept going “Hmmm.” Hanako didn’t know if that was good or bad. Mama was concentrating so hard, Hanako thought her mother’s head might explode. Mama even started to sweat on her forehead, though it wasn’t warm.
Akira lay on his stomach, chin in his hands. Sometimes he made a face like Hanako’s hair looked great, and sometimes he made a face like it looked awful.
When Mama was finished, she picked up the braid and said, “I will give this to Baachan—she’ll like it.” She wiped her sweaty forehead. “Thank goodness I’m not a hairdresser, the stress is unbearable! But it looks very kawaii,” she said. That meant it looked cute.
“Does it look better or worse than before?” Hanako asked. “Can we get a mirror someday? Are there any . . . I don’t know . . . shops somewhere?”
“I don’t know much about that. But I can promise you that your hair looks darling.”
“It looks worse than before,” Akira said bluntly. “But it’s kawaii too.”
“Aki!” Mama scolded.
Akira was frowning; Hanako was surprised that she didn’t even feel like crying. She felt a little sad that Akira didn’t like it, but she also felt a little happy and hopeful and even excited. What was the harm in trying a new thing? If she didn’t make a friend, her hair would grow back. At least she had a chance now. She whipped her head around, feeling her hair swing. That felt good. Mama lovingly laid the braid on the table. She gave Hanako a look that was honestly a little silly. Goofy, even. Like the way she had looked the first time Akira took a few steps as a baby. It was a my-little-baby-is-growing-up look.
Then Mama said she wanted to return to the field to work for another hour.
“But, Mama, you look so tired!” Hanako told her.
“Remember how tired you used to look some evenings when you got home from working at the restaurant?” Mama said. “Of course I’m tired. But I’m not more tired than your father or your grandparents.”
“But, Mama . . .” Then Hanako couldn’t think of anything to say.
So they all walked out together. Hanako felt the air on the back of her neck. That was something new. Still, she was starting to feel some regret, and now she was glad her grandparents didn’t have a mirror. She tried to enjoy the way the days had been turning warmer, the grass wilder and greener. Everything was overgrown; the plants scratching at her calves. Hanako paused in the path. She felt older. She felt like a young woman. Well, not really a young woman. But older.
When they arrived at the fields, Mama headed immediately into the yellow field of wheat. There was already a blanket laid out on the ground. Akira began picking blades of grass and carefully arranging them into a . . . mess. He would pick a piece of grass, think for a couple of seconds, and then set it down any old place on the blanket. Pretty soon most of the blanket was covered. Hanako was a little jealous at the way he could get so engrossed in stuff. She herself would not be entertained by placing grass randomly on a blanket.
“Do you want to play tag?” she asked, but he shook his head sharply. So she asked, “Do you want to play hide-and-seek?” This time he just ignored her.
She leaned over to touch her toes, letting her legs hang over the blanket so as not to disturb any of her brother’s grass. Her hair fell into her face as she stretched. This was something new, and she liked the feeling of her hair bouncing on her cheeks. She stayed bent over and swung her hair.
“If you froze into place like that, you would be unhappy,” Akira mused. “That’s how Baachan feels.”
Hanako sat up. “But Baachan isn’t unhappy,” she said.
“That’s true.” He pondered the blanket and carefully set down a blade of grass. “I made her smile five times today so far. I try to make her smile ten times every day.” He drew a piece of paper and a broken pencil out of his pocket. It had hash marks all over it. He pointed at a group of five marks. “This is today.”
Movement in the field caught Hanako’s attention. It was her grandparents and her mother starting to come out of the field, though it was still light out. They were dragging big bags—Mama clutched two. What were they doing? When they reached the blanket, Jiichan stared at Hanako for a moment—her hair—but then hissed with wide eyes, “Every day we will take some wheat to sell on black market.”
“Nani?!” Hanako spoke softly, stretching out the last syllable. “Is that all right to do? I thought the black market was against the law.”
“Yes, is against law. Government tell you what to do with your crop. But I will not listen! We will make more money this way! Sell on black market instead of to government.” Then he snapped at her, “Hurry!”
Mama handed Hanako a bag and repeated, “Hurry!”
Hanako suddenly felt like throwing up. She remembered how she had felt a little sick to her stomach when Mama had sewn the twenty dollars into her pajama seam. She
had thought, What if a soldier finds the money somehow? And yet, if the government was trying to stop you from having what was yours, then that was wrong, wasn’t it? But wrong or right, the problem with governments is that they were very big and you were very small.
“Hanako, look alive!” Mama barked.
Hanako’s heart was pounding. She didn’t really understand any of this. She knew people sold wheat and rice on the black market, because she had seen it on the tables. But she hadn’t thought that the sellers might get it from people like her grandparents. She hadn’t known where it came from, really.
“Hanako, you must move!” Baachan said urgently.
Akira suddenly hopped up and pushed her away. “I’ll do it!” He grabbed the bag, but Hanako snatched it away from him.
“We take chance by steal from government,” Jiichan said. “I am too old to be arrest, but I feel we must do this.”
There was sweat all over his forehead, dripping down into his eyebrows.
“But why can’t you just sell it the regular way?” Hanako asked.
“More money this way to feed you.” His eyes were shining brightly.
“But . . .”
“Why don’t you buy the land?” Akira asked.
“We have no chance. There is no money. My parent farm here, and we take over, but we have no chance to buy.”
Hanako gazed at the brown burlap bag she was holding. She looked up: the sky was blue, beautiful, cloudless. She looked at the bag. Her bag. She thought about Kiyoshi. Did he feel fear when he stole things? “I’m not scared,” she lied to Akira. “I’m never scared.” She clamped a hand around the bag and pulled, walking off without waiting for anyone. “Come on, Akira. I’m not scared!”
She heard the others following behind her and felt so frightened, she wanted to run all the way home.
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