“Ice cream cones,” Michiko read in astonishment. “Who would send us ice cream cones? Don’t they know we live above a soda fountain?”
Michiko’s mother passed the box to Sadie. She shook it. “Too heavy for cones,” she said.
The second discovery was a box of disposable diapers. Taped to the side were two blue panty covers. “Whoever sent it doesn’t know Hiro has grown,” Michiko observed.
“Whoever sent it,” Sadie responded, “has money. Those cost about six cents each.”
Next was a large box of detergent.
“Why send detergent with disposable diapers?” asked Sam. He chuckled at his own joke.
At the bottom lay a large brown envelope addressed to Mrs. Sam Minagawa.
Over a cup of steaming tea, Michiko’s mother opened the envelope in front of them all. She pulled out a letter, a small blue envelope, a cheque, a card, and a photograph.
Across the top of the letter ran the words, THE IMPERIAL CONFECTIONARY COMPANY OF CANADA. “It’s from Mr. Riley,” she exclaimed, scanning it from top to bottom.
Finally Michiko knew who sent the box. Mr. Riley was her father’s Vancouver boss.
“Dear Mrs. Minagawa,” her mother read aloud. “I am sorry to report that we have had to fill the position your husband held in our company.” She gave a loud sigh before continuing. “Fortunately we knew of your location. I have forwarded a photograph from your husband’s desk drawer and a money order for his outstanding commissions.”
Michiko’s mother turned over a dog-eared photograph of Sam, Eiko, Michiko, and Hiro. Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Every New Year we dressed up and went to Mr. Fujiwara’s studio,” she said, lowering the photograph into her table, “until it closed down.”
Then she picked up the cheque and held it to her breast. Michiko dared not ask how much. Her mother placed it face down, lifted the small blue envelope, and opened it.
“Dear Mrs. Minagawa,” she read, “My aunt isn’t much for writing, but she did let me know you arrived safely.”
She looked at the signature on the bottom. “It’s from Paul Morrison, Mrs. Morrison’s nephew.”
She continued reading. “I hope everyone is well. The staff put together some items we think you might like. We think of Sam often, Paul.”
Michiko’s mother returned the blue paper to its envelope. The Christmas card brought them all greetings from the staff of the Imperial Confectionary Company.
“Now can we open the boxes?” Michiko asked in exasperation.
Her mother nodded and they rose from the table.
“This one first,” Michiko said, indicating the ice cream cone box.
The carton contained a brown teddy bear. Its nose and the insides of its ears were golden brown. “It’s so sweet,” Michiko said giving it big squeeze. It surprised her with a squeak.
She handed it to Hiro. He clutched it with a wide grin.
There was a giant-sized package of coloured pencils, several orange scribblers, and a large puzzle of two kittens in a basket. At the very bottom lay a thick book. Michiko grinned.
Another carton held wool, knitting needles, and long rolls of digestive biscuits. There were tins of peaches, evaporated milk, and bags of candies that looked like tiny golden pillows.
Michiko squealed when her mother pulled out the box of candy canes.
“Candy canes,” Michiko told everyone. “We have candy canes.”
Michiko closed her eyes. Her thoughts drifted back to a once-upon-a-time Christmas in Vancouver. Stacks of presents sat beneath the tree in the corner of their living room. Christmas cards danced along the mantelpiece from a green ribbon. Special smells came from the kitchen.
Michiko opened her eyes. Last year all they had was a pine tree with paper ornaments stuck in a bucket of sand. This year they had candy canes!
Covered in red silk and dressed with a large black tassel, the last box was unlike any of the others. Her mother lifted the lid to reveal a thick wooden brush, an ink stick, an ink stone shaped like a cherry blossom, and a roll of rice paper.
Michiko rubbed her eyes. “Sadie,” she called out, “look.”
Sadie nodded. “The four treasures,” she said with a smile.
Michiko suddenly remembered an elderly Japanese man saying those very words. Her art teacher at Japanese school called them sumi, suzuri, fude, and kami, Japanese for the ink stick, ink stone, brush, and paper. The Four Treasures were all you needed to paint.
“This is perfect,” Sadie announced. “Next week we are starting special classes.”
“What kind of classes?” Michiko asked.
Sadie lowered her voice and said, “The kind of classes that will probably cause trouble.” She cupped her elegant hands around her mouth and whispered, “Japanese culture classes.”
“Who’s giving them?” Eiko asked.
“Whoever we can get,” Sadie’s said. “We are looking for talented people.”
“Mr. Katsumoto could teach origami,” Michiko told her aunt.
“How do you know that?” Sadie asked.
“He shows us stuff in class,” Michiko replied. She pointed to the little blue vase filled with paper flowers. “Kiko taught me to make tulips but Mr. Katsumoto showed us the iris.”
“He is a man of many talents,” Sadie replied with a faint smile.
“You can teach dance,” Michiko said.
“I plan to,” Sadie said as she unrolled a pale yellow sheet of rice paper and grimaced. Tiny threads danced beneath the surface. “This paper is not as creamy as it should be.” She sighed. “But it’s not as if anyone can send away for better supplies.”
“We should be grateful to have it,” Michiko said as she filled the small well in the ink stone with water. If she remembered correctly it should only be half-full. She dipped one end of the ink stick into the water and then placed it straight up on the flat surface. She rubbed the ink, grinding down the stick. It ran down the sloping surface and mingled with the water in the well. It seemed to be right, but she wasn’t sure. She had only done this with a master present. Michiko propped the stick on the edge of the stone. Everyone gathered to watch as she picked up the brush. She put it back down.
“We never painted on good paper first,” she said. “We always started out on newspaper.”
“I’ll get one from downstairs,” her father offered. They didn’t keep newspapers in the upstairs apartment. Her mother had forbidden them.
Michiko dipped the brush into a small jar of clean water and wiped it on the side. She dipped the tip of the brush in the ink and took it to the newspaper. “I’m not good at this anymore,” she mumbled looking at the bamboo leaf she tried to make.
“What did you say?” asked her mother from across the room.
“It is supposed to be art,” Michiko complained, putting down the brush.
“Chokuhitsu,” her mother called out. “Chokuhitsu and sokuhitsu.”
Michiko nodded. She knew she was always supposed to practise the two basic strokes first, before trying to make anything else. That’s all they ever did in class. They practised nothing but strokes, curved and straight, horizontal and vertical, thick and thin, and then circles. But Michiko, always impatient with these exercises, wanted to paint pictures.
Michiko sighed and put down the brush. “Too bad Uncle Ted can’t teach carpentry,” she said. “Remember Hiro’s small wooden boat?”
The word boat suddenly made Michiko nervous. Would George King tell the RCMP? She pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
Chapter Sixteen
THE EXPEDITION
“Does everyone know where we are going?” Mr. Katsumoto asked the group of bundled children standing in front of him. Michiko’s scarf, damp from her breath, smelled of wet wool. It covered her mouth like the others’ and muffled their answers. “We will board according to your assignments,” he said, stopping in front of the horse-drawn wagon.
The children looked at each other, not knowing what their teacher mea
nt.
“First group,” he announced, “are the Horsemen. You will drag the tree out of the woods.” He read out four names. The four largest boys stepped forward.
Mr. Katsumoto opened his burlap sack. He placed a round object in each of their hands. “Every horse should have sleigh bells,” he said.
The boys opened their hands and their eyes widened. With a grin they shook the small string of little gold bells. Mr. Katsumoto waved them over to the waiting wagon.
“Next group are the Woodsmen,” he called out. “Your job is to identify and mark the best tree to cut down.” He held up several long pieces of red ribbon. Kiko stepped forward when Mr. Katsumoto called out her name.
The Merry Men were to make merry music and sing. Michiko received a small tin flute.
Mr. Katsumoto gave each of the Axe Men a helmet of cork, but he carried the axes.
Michiko remembered this wagon when she climbed aboard. The old farm horses in their long straw collars and heavy traces often pulled it past the farmhouse. When the front wheel hit a bump, the load rattled. Once a few potatoes rolled from the top of the pile and landed on the road. Her grandfather leapt from his chair and ran down the steps. She could still see him waving away the dust as he bent down to pick them up. He walked back with pockets bulging. “Special delivery,” he told her with a wink.
From then on, Michiko stopped and waited whenever the wagon passed by. Once it drove by piled high with crates. The strong smell told her it was cabbage, but nothing fell off.
Mr. Hayashi drove the horses along the old orchard trail into the forest. The snow-covered pines towered around them. It was still, almost tense with expectation.
“Let’s have a song,” Mr. Katsumoto shouted, “since we are dashing through the snow.”
The boys with the bells began the chorus. Michiko and the others with the flutes joined in. Kiko sang out in her high tinny voice. In no time at all they arrived at the clearing.
Once the children were off the truck they started throwing snowballs. Kiko bobbed up and down, firing them quickly. She raised her arms in the air and stuck out her tongue, daring the boys to hit her. Michiko giggled until she saw a flash of gold.
“Let me see your bracelet?” she asked excitedly. “When did you get it?”
“My father bought me a watch for my birthday,” Kiko said, tugging her jacket to cover it.
“Your father bought you a watch?” Michiko said in amazement. Kiko’s birthday wasn’t until the spring. “That was a generous of him,” she said.
But Kiko wouldn’t let her see it.
They walked to the rocky ledge. From where Michiko and Kiko stood, they could see the whole community of tiny wooden houses. Smoke rose straight up from the rows and rows of shacks. Some of the small children were out on the slope behind the old Apple Depot, sliding on rice bags.
“We still haven’t had any news about Mrs. Morrison’s husband,” Michiko said.
“He’s probably just floating around the ocean,” Kiko said with a sigh. “D-E-A-D.”
“What?” Michiko screeched. She turned to Kiko, her face red with fury.
“What I meant is,” Kiko said, taking a step back, “it’s not as if they have any children. It’s not like he’s someone’s father.”
“So what?” Michiko screamed. She picked up a great wad of snow and threw it at Kiko. “I would think you of all people would care about people going missing. How would you like it if your father went missing like your mother?”
As soon as the words spilled out of her mouth, Michiko wanted to take them back. The pale, ashen look that came over Kiko’s face told her she had said the wrong thing.
Kiko brushed the snow from her shoulders without looking at what she was doing.
“I am so sorry, Kiko,” Michiko cried, rushing to her side. She helped brush the snow away. Then she removed the woolen scarf from her own neck and wrapped it around Kiko’s. “I think some snow got down your neck. This will keep you warm.”
But Kiko did not reply. She stared straight ahead as if she had seen a ghost. Then she walked back to the wagon and took a seat. All the way back to the school she stayed silent.
The inside of the Hardware Store School seemed fusty compared to the fresh air of the forest, until they smelled the hot chocolate. Some of the mothers had made it as a surprise.
But the best surprise of all was the gift bag each child received from the Timothy Eaton Company. It contained a small bag of hard candies, an orange, a yo-yo, crayons, and a red kaleidoscope.
The giant pine breathed the delicious smell of Christmas into the whole building. They put fir boughs everywhere. Mr. Katsumoto tied a large spray of greenery to the school’s front door.
All week long Michiko’s class prepared decorations. Sadie supplied the class with soft white paper, scissors, and glue to cut snowflakes to spin from the ceiling. The class transformed the bleak dilapidated building into a Christmas hall.
Each day Kiko worked without a sound. Her tinny laugh never rose above the noise.
Mr. Katsumoto taught them how to make a wire handle and punch holes in a tin can for a lantern. Michiko worked diligently on a star pattern. Kiko worked on a heart.
Each time Michiko tried to apologize for the awful thing she said, Kiko just moved away to work at a different table.
Finally, Michiko went to her side and put her arm around her friend. “I really didn’t mean what I said about your father.”
Kiko looked up. “He’s not my father,” she said in a low voice.
At first Michiko thought she had heard incorrectly. After a long silence, she whispered, “What do you mean he is not your father?”
“He is my uncle,” Kiko said. She laid her head across her arms. “I thought if I pretended he was my father, I might not miss my parents so much.”
“Did your father go to Japan too?” Michiko asked.
Kiko dragged her bottom teeth across her lip before speaking. “My father refused to evacuate. He left me with his brother before he ran off. If they catch him, he’ll go to jail.”
She put her face down into her arms.
“Good thing you have an uncle to count on,” Michiko said, patting her friend’s back.
“Count on him?” Kiko said raising her head. “All he ever does is count on me. I’m counting on you to do this, he says. I’m counting on you to do that.” She uncrossed her arms. “He counts on me so much I could be an abacus!”
Michiko had to smile. “My mother is baking Christmas cookies today,” she said. “Why don’t you come home with me?”
Kiko raised her head. “I’ve never made Christmas cookies,” she said. She sat up straight. “Would I get to eat one?”
“You can eat mine as well,” Michiko offered.
Hiro jumped down from his chair when the girls entered the kitchen. “Kiko,” he said putting his arms in the air when she entered the kitchen, “horsie.”
Kiko pulled him on to her lap. She bounced Michiko’s little brother up and down.
“Faster,” Hiro demanded.
Kiko bounced him up and down on her knee making his black fringe bob and as his eyes grow wide. It was then that Michiko saw Kiko’s watch. A watch that looked exactly likes Mrs. Morrison’s.
Chapter Seventeen
HATUSYUME
Michiko woke with a sense of anxiety, but she didn’t know why. She reached her toes down to the heated brick wrapped in flannel at the end of her bed, but it was cold. Then it came to her: she needed to take a closer look at Kiko’s watch.
In the kitchen an orange scribbler lay open next to her bowl. Beside the can of milk with two holes punched in the top lay a sharpened pencil.
“Did you dream last night?” her mother asked as she stirred the oatmeal. She seemed pale and there were hollows under her cheeks.
Michiko looked up in surprise. How did her mother know? She dreamt every night, mostly about Geechan. Not bad dreams, but ones where he was riding with her on the train, working in the garden, and wa
lking along the river. He would always stop, look at her, and smile.
“You need to practise writing down your dreams,” her mother explained. “All the people in Japan record their first dream of Hatusyume.”
Michiko thought about last night’s dream as she played with the pencil. In it she was playing baseball. Clarence was the pitcher and Geechan the catcher. The ball floated toward her in slow motion. She swung the bat and hit it. The ball soared over the lake and landed in her old backyard. She started to run the bases. When she got to third her legs turned hard. She looked down and they had become bats.
“Run home, run home,” Geechan called out to her.
Michiko reached down and lifted one of her bat legs forward. She did the same with the other. Halfway home she was too tired to continue. She started to cry.
“Run home, run home,” Geechan called to her from home base.
She desperately wanted to get to home base. She looked at her legs again — now she was wearing geta. She ran on the Japanese shoes, but when she got to home base Geechan was gone.
“What if I don’t understand what it is about?” she asked.
“All the more reason to write it,” her mother told her. “The meaning will come later.”
“Are we moving back to Japan?” Michiko asked.
Her mother whirled about, her eyes flashing. “I am Canadian,” she said in a loud voice. Her face was angry and red. “This is my country. It’s not a question of going back for me.”
“But Kiko says,” Michiko began to say.
“Kiko says a lot of things,” her mother snapped. “I have had enough of this silly talk.” She brought the saucepan to the table and ladled porridge into the bowl. She lifted the can, poured a steady stream of yellow milk over Michiko’s porridge, and slammed it down.
Things are so different at Kiko’s house, Michiko thought. She can speak her own mind, disagree, and even change the topic of conversation. Here no one is even interested in discussing my ideas. I am to speak only if spoken to first.
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