A Place to Belong

by Cynthia Kadohata

  “Tomorrow I bring wheelbarrow to make easier to carry,” Jiichan said. “But I just think of this plan right now. I was not prepare with wheelbarrow. Tomorrow I be prepare.” He had tears falling down his face.

  No one said a word the rest of the way, just doggedly dragged their bags. As the house grew closer, Hanako felt more and more brave. They were doing the right thing! They would sell this wheat on the black market—yes, that was a good idea. Everybody did it—that’s why the black markets had wheat and rice for sale. They would have more money. Akira would grow absolutely chubby. When they emerged from the woods, however, her bravery dried up into dust. Literally anybody could see them now.

  And, in fact, as soon as they were in the open, Hanako saw a woman walking by, seemingly studying them. Hanako concentrated on looking like a normal person, just out for a stroll while dragging a big bag. Her head held high, she didn’t even glance at the woman as they passed on the path.

  “Hanako, I’m talking to you!” she suddenly heard Akira shout.

  She turned quickly, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was talking to you. I was right behind you, and you ignored me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “How could you not hear me?”

  The woman was glancing back at them, then kept walking. But Hanako got a good feeling from her, like, “We’re all in this together.”

  “What did you want, Akira?”

  “I asked if your bag was heavy.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she replied, pulling it up the steps now.

  Once inside the house, she waited impatiently for the others. Mama came in looking a little dazed and lost. “Well. Here we are,” Mama said.

  Jiichan came in then, heading directly into the big bedroom. Hanako and Mama followed him. He went to the closet and moved a little rug, uncovering a trapdoor. “We made it!” he said triumphantly. “Hana, put your bag in.”

  She heaved her bag over and looked into the dark hole below. “Should I just drop it in?” she asked.

  “You must climb down,” Jiichan said. “There is ladder.”

  She looked down doubtfully. What if there was a rat down there? She had a friend who got bit by a rat once. But she made her way down a few steps of the rickety ladder. Then she held out her arms for her bag. Jiichan handed it to her, and though she almost lost her balance, she held tight with one hand, using the other hand to clutch the ladder. She set the bag near the ladder. It was very dark. Why hadn’t someone given her a lamp?

  In a few minutes all four bags were on the floor. They were already knotted on top, and the material was very thick. But couldn’t a rat get at the wheat anyway? But probably the bags would not be down there long.

  She scrambled back up, eager to get out of this hole. When Jiichan had lowered the door and moved the rug back over it, she took a big breath. “That lady won’t snitch on you, will she?” she asked.

  “Lady?” Jiichan asked.

  “The woman we passed on the path.”

  “She would not tell!” Baachan exclaimed. “It her son we save that night. He spent long time in locker. We sleep right here whole time, like nothing different. He sneak out in middle of night.”

  Jiichan pursed his lower lip, his eyes going far away. “I remember that night. I lie in bed and think, ‘I know him when he baby, then little boy. Now he hiding in my closet.’ Seventeen year old. This was 1944. Before that, must be twenty to fight in Army. Sometime they even pressure fifteen-year-old boy to join.”

  “Imagine how scared he was in your closet!” Mama exclaimed.

  Hanako thought of those boys with ducktails on the barge, what it would be like for one of them to hide in a closet for such a reason. Then she wondered with alarm if there would still be wars when Akira was grown up, and whether he would have to fight in one. The thought of it made her whole chest hurt. She would make sure to build a locker under her house too, in case he needed to hide in it. She looked at her brother’s burgundy Australia, the way it moved when he blinked.

  “Stop staring at me,” he said. “It makes me scared.”

  “How can I make you scared? I’m your sister!”

  “You’re looking at me funny.” He frowned, annoyed.

  She turned away so as not to scare him with her staring. She thought about how he did not give a twit about the future, how he thought about the here and now. He did not think about being hungry tomorrow; he thought about being hungry or full now. He was scared or he was happy or he was sad now. He did not know how he would feel tomorrow. He did not think about future wars; he did not think about the next day or the next or the next. It was for everybody else to think of these things for him. She had a feeling that even when he grew up, it would be this way. He was just . . . Akira.

  “Sometime life good,” Jiichan was saying. “Sometime life bad. This is the world, neh?” Then he beamed at Hanako. “But don’t worry. I know you scared today. But it good day. If you knew Japan one year ago, you would see this is true. Today is very good day, this I can promise. So darō.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-THREE

  Later, while Hanako cooked dinner, she could hear Akira and Baachan laughing in the living room. It made her happy, but for some reason that feeling of loneliness engulfed her. It was a funny loneliness, though. It was a Japanese loneliness, something she’d learned about from studying poems in school—just a sense that everything at that exact moment was kind of perfect, and yet also really sad. With the excitement of stealing their own wheat, nobody had even seemed that interested in her hair yet! She did not know if she was sad or happy right now—she was free but lonely, surrounded by love but hungry. She couldn’t figure out how she felt. And then she did not feel like thinking anymore. She just suddenly ran into the living room and jealously pushed Akira away from where he lay against Baachan’s chest.

  “Hanako, that’s not fair!” Akira said accusingly, tugging at her arm.

  But she just closed her eyes and leaned against Baachan and smelled her musty smell, a kind of old smell, the smell of your grandmother. And then she wasn’t lonely anymore; she was only happy. Baachan stroked Hanako’s hair a couple of times. Then and only then, Baachan said approvingly, “Ahhh, haircut very cute.” She petted Hanako’s hair.

  Akira started to push at Hanako to get her to move, and then she pushed him away, not hard but firmly.

  He placed his hands on his hips, furious. He looked kind of adorable, so she relented and pulled herself away from her grandmother. He said “HAH!” triumphantly and snuggled into their grandmother.

  Hanako finished cooking the rice, listening to the sounds of everybody talking especially excitedly tonight. She guessed it was good they’d gotten some extra wheat to sell. But later, during dinner, she started to worry that someone would come to take away the wheat they’d hidden. She wished Papa would come home; it would make her feel safer. After she’d eaten and cleaned up, she sat outside until finally she saw her father’s dark form appear down the road. He was walking swiftly yet somehow seemed tired. So, as much as she wanted to talk to him about the wheat, she didn’t want to trouble him. He left the house at five each morning and returned at eight each night, every day except Sunday. When he arrived, she could see how exhausted he was. “Hi, Papa.”

  “Hanako! Waiting in the cold again?” Then he cried, “What?!” He turned her face in one direction, then the other. She’d been so worried about the wheat, she’d forgotten about her hair!

  “I asked Mama to cut it. I was tired of my braid.”

  He closed his eyes and reopened them, as if unsure what he was seeing. “But . . . That is, it’s very cute.”

  She could see he didn’t mean it, and for a moment she wanted to cry. Instead, she said, “Thank you, Papa.” She could see the fatigue in his face. He looked like he was fifty. “I just wanted to wait out here for you.”

  He reached out to touch her hair, and then he lifted a lock before dropping it. “It’s very c
ute,” he said more convincingly. “Did you save your braid?”

  “Yes. Mama is going to give it to Baachan.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing, I guess . . .”

  When they went inside together, Papa handed his rucksack to Akira, saying, “There’s something for you in here.” Many nights, he handed his rucksack to somebody and spoke the same words. Aki excitedly opened it up, reaching and reaching and finally pulling out three tiny, green, wooden houses. “Houses!”

  “They’re from a game called Monopoly,” Papa said. “It’s a board game. One of the soldiers gave them to me to give you.”

  “Thank you, Papa!” He looked joyously at his little houses and set them on the table to admire. Then he picked them up and sat in a corner to play with them.

  Baachan left and returned in a few minutes with a big bowl of hot soup. Papa always ate very quickly as if starving, with everybody watching him and waiting for him to finish. Then he always stopped when there were a few bites left and said what he said now: “I’m full. Does anybody want what’s left?” That was Akira’s cue to jump up. Today, though, Aki wanted to keep playing.

  “Aki, you’re getting too skinny,” Mama said firmly. “Come.”

  He got up obediently, pocketing his houses. He didn’t use the spoon, just picked up the bowl and poured the remaining soup into his mouth, some of it dribbling down his chin. “The houses are lucky,” he declared after putting down the bowl. “It means we’re going to get a lot of rice.” He spoke shyly at Hanako. “I’ll share with you more. I’m sorry I don’t share more.”

  “You don’t have to share.”

  Mama scooted next to Papa. “You look tired,” she said.

  “I do?” Papa said, pretend-jovial. “I don’t feel tired!” He smiled at Akira. “How could I feel tired when I have such a wonderful son as you?”

  “This is true,” Akira said with pleasure, the way Jiichan would.

  Papa smiled so hard, his face got all crinkly.

  “Papa, in school today I learned that you should be careful what you say when you talk about war,” Hanako said.

  Papa nodded thoughtfully. “What did you say about war?”

  “I said Japan lost.”

  “Nobody can argue about that. But be careful what you say. We’re guests here in Japan. All right? If you want to talk about the war, you can talk to me about it. Is that a deal?”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I was asked.”

  “Just be careful,” he said, more firmly this time.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Everyone fell silent. Hanako lowered her head but looked up at the grown-ups. Who would tell Papa that they had hidden some of the wheat? She thought Mama should do it. But then Akira blurted out, “We had so much fun today! We stole some wheat and hid it in the hole in the closet!”

  Another silence. “What do you mean?” Papa said, looking displeased.

  “We did not steal!” Jiichan explained. “It was our own wheat. We took some to sell on black market. I cannot steal my own wheat!”

  “Hanako dragged a big bag of wheat all by herself! She was scared—I saw her face!”

  “I was not scared! I’m never scared!”

  “I saw your face!”

  “Children!” Mama said loudly.

  “Everyone STOP!” Papa shouted. Then he sat down to stare sullenly at nothing at all on the table.

  When Baachan rose to take Papa’s bowl to the kitchen, he said, “Ah, Okaasan. Wait a moment.” Then he said, “I’ve been thinking about something, and now I’ve just made a decision.”

  Papa looked so serious. “What, Papa?” Hanako said nervously.

  Papa cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “There’s an American lawyer who wants to help all of us who renounced. His name is Mr. Wayne Collins. If you would like to get your American citizenship returned, he will help you. President Roosevelt tried to get rid of us, but Mr. Collins thinks we should be able to come back if we still believe we’re Americans. He feels—and I feel—we made our decision under severe duress. All of us did.”

  Hanako immediately turned to her grandmother, who looked like someone had just slashed her in the stomach. But in a flash her face filled with incredible passion. “There is no future for my grandchildren in Japan! There is no food, the school is old, we have no clothes, you can never have another restaurant, you will never own land. If we are arrest for stealing food, what then?”

  “But, Baachan! But, Papa!” That was all Hanako could think of to say.

  “Hear me out. Your mother and I talked about this last night. We made our decision to renounce while our lives were in a state of turmoil, and we should make a new decision now that things are calm. Mr. Collins says Tule Lake was an insane asylum, and President Roosevelt never should have signed the law just to get rid of us. I’ve heard that in America the Nikkei are building new lives. It’s not easy . . . .” He took a deep breath, then fell silent, nodding his head a couple of times. “I heard about Mr. Collins from another man who gave up his citizenship. I’ve already contacted him, just to hear what he had to say. I did it two days ago. But I’ve decided tonight that . . .”

  “But, Papa. Papa?” Akira said.

  “Yes.”

  “They will cry if we leave.” Meaning Baachan and Jiichan.

  “I know, Aki-chan.”

  “I will cry too,” Hanako said.

  “I know, I know.”

  Mama was holding the back of her hand to her mouth, her eyes on Baachan.

  Hanako turned to her grandmother, whose eyes were blazing. But to Hanako she didn’t look sad. She took Hanako’s face in her hands. “I want future for you. I will cry, yes. But look at my back. If you stay, you may end up like me. In Japan it is not easy to change your fate.” She swept her arm upward, toward the ceiling. “There is so much for you to do. You will not do it here. I say this before: especially for granddaughter of tenant farmer, it very hard for tenant farmer to escape her fate in Japan.”

  Jiichan cleared his throat twice like Papa had. Then three times, as if they were in a throat-clearing competition. He sounded as if he were trying to clear something really big out of his gullet. When they all looked, he stood tall and spoke like he was making an announcement. “Yes, it must be so. I am strong. You will not accept your fate because you know it is not really yours. You are American.” He spoke like he was the president making a speech, except in his funny little voice.

  It was very hard, because . . . Hanako knew that she did not want a back like Baachan’s. She did not want to be a tenant farmer one day. If she were going to be a farmer, she would at least want the chance to buy her farm. She had not even known Baachan’s fate was a possibility for herself; she had not really thought that she would end up that way. Baachan was perfect, but . . . it was not what Hanako wanted. Visions of her noodle restaurant withered away to nothing in her brain. She felt that old anger rise up in her, the anger that made her squeeze her fists, which she did now. But then Baachan ran a hand gently over Hanako’s, and now it was the anger that withered away until it was gone. Gone, because Baachan’s hands were somehow more powerful than her own.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FOUR

  So Papa was working on getting them back to America, but they hadn’t heard more for a couple of weeks. Hanako even wondered if it would really happen. She began to think of her noodle restaurant again. One warmish Sunday, Jiichan and Hanako set off to climb a nearby mountain together. He said she had gotten too tense. And he said it was something just for him and her, since sometimes he liked to focus on her and Akira separately. Usually he paid attention equally to both of them, but he seemed to think that sometimes it was good to concentrate on just one at a time.

  In the distance the mountain was green with foliage. Hanako felt a little shy to be with her grandfather alone. Farmhouses were scattered on the sides of the road they took. She took off her straw sandals and felt the cool grass on her feet.

  They wa
lked silently until Jiichan suddenly pointed to the grass. “Zubona! Usually it grow by river. You suck on leave.” He leaned over with a grunt, tore off a leaf, and handed it to Hanako.

  She put the plant in her mouth, sucked on it, and grinned. “Sour!”

  Jiichan plucked off a leaf. “I like zubona when I boy.” But after he sucked on his leaf, he spit it out. “Ah, why I ever like that?”

  The mountain was towering over them now. Farmhouses were clustered along the base. The road led right up to a path, which in turn led right up the mountain.

  “People live here by mountain in Kofun period. You know Kofun?”

  She searched her brain. “Well, Akira says we’re in the Shōwa period. . . . That’s all I know.”

  “Kofun, ah, maybe fifteen hundred year ago. That would be about when giant tree there was just a baby.” He pointed at a massive tree along the road. “That oldest tree in Hiroshima-ken.”

  Along the base of the mountain were many trees Hanako didn’t recognize. On the mountain itself were mostly majestic pines. Jiichan began the climb upward and did not seem to be growing tired. In fact, Hanako grew more winded than him as they ascended the path. She checked the base of each tree for mushrooms. Jiichan had mentioned a special, expensive mushroom called a “matsutake.” Maybe there would be a rogue matsutake growing early. She didn’t know what it looked like, but if she saw any mushroom at all, she would point it out to her grandfather.

  “Maybe I’ll find a matsutake!” she said.

  “Matsutake!” He shouted it like a battle cry. “If you find, your baachan cook and you have first bite. Worth many money. Nothing else taste same. Ah, I should not say, since I never eat. But I have many imagination.” There was a bush with flowers and another with hard red berries. “Many more flower in spring will come,” Jiichan said.

  They grew quiet again as they made their way up a steeper section. Suddenly, Jiichan sat down.

  “Are you all right?” Hanako asked, concerned.