Mr. Ishida was talking about a special hand-carved stick with a calligrapher’s kanji interpretation of his name. Although many Japanese last names were identical, supposedly each person’s inkan was unique and therefore valuable proof of agreement when stamping official documents. It was conceivable an auctioneer would prefer an inkan to be used for a bill of sale. But Mr. Ishida also had a driver’s license and plenty of business cards. I thought he could have closed a deal without having his personal stamp.
I put my skepticism on hold as Mr. Ishida continued.
“Mayumi-chan caught the bullet train to Sendai and then a bus to Sugihama. She met me midway through the auction. About thirty minutes later, the quake struck.” He shuddered. “I don’t remember everything, I’m afraid. There was such a terrible shaking with items falling all over. Everyone who could move was trying to get outside.”
“Yes,” I said, “I heard that’s what people did in Tokyo, too. It’s an instinctive reaction. Nobody wants to be buried in a collapsed building.”
“I hit the ground hard and remember putting my hand to my head and touching blood. Mayumi pulled me back up to my feet. She was crying and wanted me to come outside with her and make an escape. However, I was quite weak, and we hadn’t my van to drive away in—I’d gone by train. Mr. Morioka, the auction owner, said that he was moving his valuables as quickly as he could to the top floor, and if I needed, I could stay up with him.”
“So you decided to take advantage of this shelter?” I asked, remembering Dr. Nishi’s summary of what the police had reported. “But how incredibly lucky you were. So many people who stayed on upper floors of homes drowned anyway.”
“I didn’t immediately go upstairs. Mayumi-chan ran outside, trying to find space for us in a vehicle driven by any of the other auction-goers. She took my satchel because she thought showing people my identification might lead to our being assisted.”
I nodded. Mr. Ishida was a senior member of the Tokyo antiques community. His name had opened important doors for me. Probably Mayumi thought it could open at least a car door.
“She didn’t come back.” His voice broke. “I waited, but in a few minutes, I spotted the wave from the window sweeping through the lower part of the town. I guessed that there might have been room for just one person in a car offered to her—and she’d had to go so fast that she could not tell me. In any case, Morioka-san allowed me to stay upstairs along with a few other people who didn’t drive cars to the auction. I remember Morioka-san saying that the building was tall enough and so strong it wouldn’t be swept away.”
“He sounds quite confident for someone who is a newcomer to Tohoku,” I said, remembering what Akira Rikyo had said about Mr. Morioka.
“And he was correct! The wave flooded the ground level, where the auction had been held, but did not come up to the second and third floors. It was frightening nonetheless to be up there for so many hours—to see the destruction from the window.” He shuddered slightly. “The next morning, we were rescued by boat. But when I came to this shelter, I couldn’t find anyone who had heard about Mayumi-chan.”
If she hadn’t been found, it meant that she’d gotten out of Tohoku altogether—or that she hadn’t survived.
“While I was upstairs, I thought I heard her voice calling, but I knew it must have been impossible.” He shook his head. “I should have told her to stay with me instead of letting her look for transportation. I did not protect her.”
“She sounds like she had a mind of her own,” I consoled. “Everyone reacts differently in emergencies. But what we can guess is that she didn’t return to Tokyo, because there was no sign she went back to the shop.”
“I know that she would not have left Tohoku without finding me. The thing is,” Mr. Ishida said, lowering his voice, “Mayumi is a girl who’s had some hard times. She looks at me like a grandfather.”
So he felt the same way about her that I felt about him. “It must be hard—”
“And her family probably has no idea what’s happened. They would be so worried. Shimura-san, I beg you. Help me find Mayumi.”
Chapter 13
My job was supposed to be over. But now that Mr. Ishida had made his plea, a new ordeal was beginning.
I sent Michael a text message laying out the new problem. There was no response. Perhaps he was busy at work, or actually traveling to Japan, or was somewhere without wireless access. Or he was asleep. By the time I’d walked from Yamagawa to Sugihama, it was five—which translated to ten p.m. in Hawaii.
While trudging, I had plenty of time to think about the irony. Mr. Ishida was besieging me with the same feverish request to search for someone that I’d presented to Michael just a week earlier. I knew Michael hadn’t believed a rush trip to Japan was really necessary.
Now I wondered how I could possibly suggest I didn’t have time to help. There were about two days left before the volunteer bus returned to Tokyo. To learn where Mayumi went was probably just a matter of checking records of rescues and deaths. The end result of the search, however, might be bad news.
My first opportunity for research came during the evening dinner hour. I’d arrived just in time to assist with the shelter dinner: another miso-based stew, though this time it featured kale, turnips, and tomatoes. When Mayor Hamasaki appeared in front of me, I held onto my ladle for an extra moment before serving him and asked about the day’s progress.
“I was overwhelmed to see another road cleared,” the mayor said. “Sometimes I think, why were we so lucky to get your group helping us? There are quite a few towns with similar destruction, but not a committed volunteer group.”
“Sugihama deserves the help—and I wish I were doing more. So far I’ve fed people. I haven’t done any outdoor cleanup. That’s the hard part.”
“Didn’t you travel on the medical detail to Yamagawa?” The mayor studied me with kind eyes.
“Yes.” I realized this was a good opening for my query. “When I was in Yamagawa, I heard from someone about a young woman who disappeared in Sugihama during the tsunami. I would be grateful for any advice on the best way to find out if she survived.”
The mayor put down his bowl. “Sorry, I’m confused. I heard from Yano-san that you are searching for an elderly gentleman?”
“Yes. I was thrilled to find my mentor, Ishida-san, in good health at the injured persons’ shelter.” I paused, remembering how incredible that moment had been. “But Ishida-san is quite anxious. He told me his apprentice was with him at the Takara Auction House. He lost sight of her between the earthquake and the tsunami.”
“Oh, that’s very tough. Did he tell you her name?” Mayor Hamasaki’s voice was soothing, and I imagined he’d said this kind of thing hundreds of times over the last week.
“Kimura Mayumi. She is not a Sugihama native, but a nineteen-year-old from a town about an hour away, Kinugasa. She moved to Tokyo about a year ago.” I explained about Mayumi helping Ishida-san after his fall and then rushing outside to find passage for both of them to escape the tsunami. I added that when she didn’t return, Mr. Ishida had gone up to the building’s third floor with Mr. Morioka.
“It was his only option,” I explained. “He cut his head during the fall and was disoriented. He talked about sirens and hearing Mayumi calling. I understand that deciding to stay in the tsunami zone went against evacuation orders, but fortunately he and Morioka-san survived.”
“That auction house is quite tall—and it’s at the top of a street, which gave it higher elevation. I’ve been making rounds of all homes and businesses, so I spoke to Morioka-san when he was cleaning up a few days ago. There was flooding on the first floor only. But he was very upset about whether his insurance would pay to replace the floor.” The mayor shook his head. “Floors can be replaced. They are not as important as people.”
I nodded, thinking that with a few words, the mayor had effectively communicated his disapproval of Mr. Morioka. “I’d like to talk to Morioka-san about the events, just in case M
ayumi came back. I gather from what you said, he didn’t shift to a shelter, despite the problems on the first floor?”
“No. He’s done some preliminary cleanup and felt strongly about staying on his second and third floor. Everybody who has a chance to stay home does that.”
“Can you tell me the way to his shop?”
Using a pen from his coat pocket and a paper napkin from the stack near the tureen, the mayor drew a map. “It’s about three kilometers from here, but no car can go all the way because of obstructions. So many people tried to drive through that road to escape, but unfortunately the tsunami caught them. Cars were tossed about, blocking the road.”
“Is it possible for Mayumi Kimura’s name to be added to all the search lists? I’ve heard that her hair is colored bright blue. Is it possible to note that down as well?”
“Blue hair?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising. “Certainly I shall alert the police, military, and hospitals.”
“And how about all the Tohoku shelters? Just in case she wound up in another town like Mr. Ishida did.”
“I’ll do my best, but please know that if someone hasn’t been reported found by this date… the news is probably not going to be good.”
“I agree with you. And I’m sorry I’ve kept you so long. You must be very hungry,” I said, belatedly remembering to spoon stew into his paper bowl. I looked to see how many people might have been waiting behind him, but saw nobody else.
Of all the displaced people in Sugihama, the last one to take a meal was its mayor.
It was eight o’clock when I finished with my labors and was able to return to the volunteers’ dormitory to carry down some refreshments for Hachiko’s evening meal. I found the personal hygiene situation had also improved. Two enclosed toilet stalls stood about thirty feet from the shelter. Someone had placed a framed picture of a cartoon little girl on one stall’s door; the other stall was decorated with a collectible baseball playing card showing the smiling face of a Yomiuri Giants baseball player.
I carried a bowl of food to Hachiko, who did not get up from where she was lying near the high school’s cafeteria door. She looked despondent, although I might have been projecting my own worries on her. After eating, and drinking the bowl I filled with water from my bottle, she nuzzled my hand.
“You’re very welcome, Hachiko. And you’ll stay with Ishida-san once I get him out,” I whispered to the dog as I walked her away from the building to relieve herself. “It’s really better for the two of you to go straight home than stay in the shelter here—don’t you think?”
Hachiko thumped her tail, and I thought she was agreeing with me until I realized that a little girl who looked around seven years old had slipped out the kitchen door and was following us.
“Please may I pet your dog?” she asked. She was wearing a school uniform with a coat, which was grimy enough to look like she hadn’t been able to change in the eight days since the tsunami struck.
I had seen enough of Hachiko to know she was good with most people, so I smiled my assent. The girl’s small fingers went straight underneath Hachiko’s chin, ruffling the soft fur. I wasn’t sure how Hachiko would react to the child’s bold greeting, but her lips curled charmingly. Could a dog actually smile?
“We have an Akita at home, only he doesn’t have patches like this one. Is yours a boy or girl?”
“She’s a two-year-old girl named Hachiko. Her owner is staying in the injured persons’ shelter in Yamagawa, so I’m taking care of her for a bit. But tell me about your dog, please.”
“My dog is a big boy, about seven years old. He’s called Butter, because he’s the color of butter.” When she spoke the name, she grinned, revealing an adorable gap between some upper teeth. So her grown-up teeth were coming in.
“What a cute name. Is he like yellow butter or white butter?”
“White. Have you seen him?” Her eyes widened hopefully.
“Not yet. Sorry.”
“Well, my father probably has him. He was looking for Butter when my mother took my sisters and me away in our neighbor’s minivan. Butter was scared by the earthquake, so he ran away.”
“I’ve heard a lot of animals got scared,” I sympathized.
“We waited for Otoochan to come back with Butter, but the sirens were loud and the neighbors said we must drive away right then. No more waiting! I didn’t want to, but my mother was yelling and crying.”
I nodded, bending my head toward Hachiko so the girl wouldn’t know that my eyes had started to water. From what she’d said, it sounded like both her father and dog could have died.
“Otoochan and Butter are coming later. There are too many trees and cars thrown about in the street. That is why they haven’t arrived.”
Hachiko was leaning into the girl’s palm, looking up at her with melting eyes. As the little girl giggled, Hachiko rolled onto her back, offering up her stomach.
“I wish Hachiko would sleep with me until Butter comes.”
“I’d really like that too, but Hachiko’s place is supposed to be here outside. Look, I’ve made a big box for her with her blanket.”
“People inside our area have dogs,” she whined. “Why can’t I?”
“That’s nice they’ve been allowed.” I gestured toward the darkening sky. “It was very nice of you to visit. May I walk you back to the other side of the building, so you can see your mother? She must be worried.”
“Only if Hachiko comes. I want them to see her.”
Cautiously, I said, “As far as they’ll let me bring her—”
“Come, come! What’s your name, anyway?” The girl gave a polite half bow. “I’m called Miki. Age seven years and two months. My sister Chieko’s three, and Baby Miho is one. My mother’s twenty-nine.”
When we came into the shelter and met her mother, I was shocked. Japanese women typically look younger than their age: a combination of genes, near constant humidity, and zealous precautions against the sun. But Sadako Haneda was so worn-looking she appeared a good bit older than me—and I was slightly her senior.
The overwhelmed, fatigued woman was so busy giving a bottle to a baby wrapped in a pink blanket that she barely looked up at us. At her side, a three-year-old daughter who looked like a miniature version of Miki turned the pages of a grubby picture book.
The Hanedas had been assigned a small space on the high school’s auditorium floor that was bordered by unfolded cardboard boxes. There were families in similar confinement on either side of them. The only thing softening these dismal pens were coats and dark-green military blankets.
“Okaachan, we have friends, and they’re not from Sugihama!” Miki beseeched her mother to look up, and she made a tired smile and head bob in my direction before anxiously returning her attention to the whimpering baby.
I introduced myself as one of the Helping Hands volunteers, and Hachiko as a dog who was awaiting reunion with her owner. “Hachiko and Miki-chan enjoy each other so much. If there’s ever a time you don’t know where Miki-chan has gone, it’s probably behind the cafeteria door. That’s where Hachiko’s been tied up.”
“Hachiko doesn’t like the tying,” Miki said. “Look, she’s trying to eat her leash!”
“Shimura-san, thanks for bringing Miki back. I was a bit worried I didn’t see her, but I didn’t want to move her sisters and start a search. I also thought, where could she possibly go? There are no streets anymore—just mud.” Sadako’s voice was soft and sad.
“I’m so sorry about the conditions here. If Miki-chan can visit Hachiko when she’s bored, it might be a good thing.”
“Yes. She will enjoy playing with your dog because she really misses our Butter.”
“Okaachan, Hachiko-san is so cold sleeping outside. Can’t I please give her this for the night?” Miki bent over a pile of clothes and pulled out a large black down parka. I grimaced, imagining how quickly it would be covered with fawn-and-white dog hair.
“But that’s Otoochan’s,” Chieko, the middle sister, p
rotested.
Sadako Haneda reached out a hand to stroke Hachiko, who cocked her head and looked soulfully at the woman. “Yes, she can lie on the coat. If the dog would like it, she is welcome to sleep here with us.”
“Okaachan!” Miki squealed, her face pinkening. “Truly?”
I was momentarily speechless, because the offer was so unexpected. “But… isn’t… that’s too great an imposition,” I stammered. “Your space here is limited, and you have the girls.”
“There’s a family two rows over with a St. Bernard,” Sadako said. “The thing is, Miki usually sleeps with Butter, because her little sister and the baby still sleep with my husband and me. Having a dog to cuddle keeps Miki from being lonely. And it will be much warmer for all of us.”
“That would be absolutely wonderful. I’ll bring her food and bowls to you, so she can eat right away tomorrow morning. And I thank you from my heart.” I thought to myself, three small children without their home and a missing husband. Yet she had the generosity to take Hachiko in.
Hachiko clearly understood the outdoor alternative, because she didn’t whimper when I left her. I walked the short, chilly stretch to the volunteer shelter, feeling glad that yet another thing had gone surprisingly right.
Upstairs I found almost everyone had unrolled their sleeping bags and tucked in. Here and there, white lights glowed: volunteers were using their cell phones to read or send messages. My sleeping bag was wide enough that I could change into the double-layered, cotton long-underwear set inside of it. Only a three-foot-high wall of supply boxes separated our side of the room from the men’s—not that any of them were looking.
Reiko and Yuki, the college girl friends, had set up their sleeping bags on one side of mine. Nurse Tanaka was on my other side. I thought she was asleep until I heard a choking sound.
“Tanaka-san, are you okay?” I put a light hand on the part of her sleeping bag where I guessed her shoulder was.
“Yes.” She rolled toward me, and I saw that her cheeks were wet. “It’s just that I talked to so many people who lost family members today.”
The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) Page 10