Skye’s heart pounded in her ears. “But … we haven’t finished the kite. He hasn’t seen it yet.” She wondered if she had spoken aloud or if the words were trapped in her head.
Her dad went to put his arm around her, then led her to a chair. He took her Japanese book and laid it on the table. Skye stared at the picture of the Japanese cartoon children smiling on the cover of her textbook. Why were they smiling?
Her dad picked up the phone. “I’ll call your Japanese teacher and postpone your exams.”
“No.” The word flew from Skye’s mouth before she’d had a chance to think. She hadn’t made Grandfather proud. But she would.
“I’m taking the exams.”
32
Hiroshi
Hiroshi didn’t know what had woken him with a start so early in the morning. He sat up in bed, wide awake, and looked around his room. The morning light had already begun to play at the edges of his window shade. Pushing aside his covers, he got up and walked over to the window. When he tugged at the shade, it rolled up with a snap.
Something didn’t feel right. Not a single leaf swayed on the branches of the tree outside his window. Nothing stirred in the early sunlight. The wind had ceased.
He heard the low sound of Father’s voice. Opening his door a crack, he heard Mother’s voice, but he still couldn’t make out any words. Something about their hushed tones kept his feet from making a sound on the stairs. They probably didn’t want to wake Grandfather.
“Yes, yes, I called the rest of the family. They can be here in two days.” Father sounded tired. “No, he’s still asleep. And Sorano?”
Hiroshi crept closer to the bottom of the stairs. Father said good-bye to the person on the other end of the line, then hung up. Hiroshi stood there, ready to walk into the kitchen.
Mother’s soft crying stopped him mid-step. Father murmured something to Mother, then, “Let’s go onto the deck so we don’t wake Hiroshi.”
Hiroshi heard the back door open, then Mother’s words: “I cannot believe he is gone.” And then the door shut behind them.
Hiroshi froze. He raced back up the stairs to Grandfather’s room and flung the door open. Grandfather’s futon was empty.
It couldn’t be true—Hiroshi wasn’t ready yet. He and Skye hadn’t finished the kite, and they hadn’t tested it and hadn’t painted it, and the kite battle—
Hiroshi flew out of Grandfather’s room and down the basement steps into Grandfather’s workshop. Without turning on the light, he stood in the middle of the room. Grandfather’s workshop was lit only by the sun filtering in through the high, small windows. He took a deep, quivery breath and closed his eyes.
The smell of bamboo still hung in the air. He pretended he was standing in Grandfather’s workshop in Japan. Grandfather would come in any minute now, eager to get started on the next kite.
He opened his eyes. Everything was in its place; the paints on the shelves, the brushes, the stacks of washi paper, and the kite that he and Skye had been working on all week. And there was the magnificent dragon kite. He removed it from its place on the wall. Hiroshi didn’t care about the broken bamboo and the rip that Ravi had made—it was still Grandfather’s masterpiece.
But wait—Hiroshi peered at the kite, then turned it over and inspected the underside. The bamboo pole had been replaced with a new one, and the dragon had been repainted. Grandfather must have done all this while Hiroshi had been at school. But how could he have fixed it when he’d always been so tired?
The silence was broken by the tapping of a rosebush branch against one of the high windows. Hiroshi went and stood below the windows, looking at the sky—a bright blue interrupted only by a few puffs of billowy clouds gliding by.
The wind had arrived.
It was a perfect day for flying kites.
33
Skye
Skye’s pencil hadn’t stopped moving for a full three hours. Her hand was starting to cramp, and she ached to stretch her fingers. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop, because the more she wrote, the more Japanese words—verbs, nouns, rules, adjectives, more rules—swirled inside her head. History, reading, calligraphy. More words meant fewer thoughts that could creep from her heart into her head.
“Time.”
Kumamoto Sensei’s voice echoed over everyone’s heads. The sound of pencils hitting desks sounded like firecrackers, and Skye jumped, pencil still in hand. Kumamoto Sensei’s glare forced Skye’s pencil to her desk. Skye had insisted that her dad drop her off at school without talking to Kumamoto Sensei. Skye could only hold herself together if no one knew, if everything was business as usual.
“Boys and girls, the written exam is now complete.” Kumamoto Sensei nodded toward another Japanese teacher who was collecting the exams from students’ desks. “As you know, Takahashi Sensei is the instructor for the advanced class. If you pass, you will have the honor of becoming one of his pupils for the afternoon summer session.”
Skye didn’t look at Takahashi Sensei as he collected her paper.
She had seen his gentle face before, and today she didn’t want to see any kindness. She even avoided Maya’s looks from across the room.
“Takahashi Sensei will be joining us in the exam room to evaluate the written portions of your exam while I administer your oral exam. You will be given your exam results immediately.” Kumamoto Sensei picked up a clipboard and pen from her desk. “Now, who would like to go first?”
No one moved. Then Skye rose and stood beside her desk. “I would like to go first, Sensei.”
The other kids turned to look at her as if she were crazy. Surprise flickered across Kumamoto Sensei’s face for a moment, then her stern mask snapped back in place.
“Very well, Tsuki-san. You may come with me.” Skye gathered her things and followed her teacher into the hall. She knew this would be a good time to run over the list of verbs in her head, but she suddenly felt tired. She put one foot in front of the other until they reached an office.
“Dozo.” Kumamoto Sensei gestured toward a chair, and Skye sat, placing her jacket on the empty chair next to her. Her teacher moved a few papers from a desk to a side table and sat in the chair opposite Skye. “Shall we begin?”
What am I doing? Skye thought. Why did I volunteer to go first? Her breath quickened, but she couldn’t do anything to slow it down.
“Would you like a drink of water before we begin?”
Skye nodded. “Hai. Arigato gozaimasu.“
Takahashi Sensei appeared at her side with a paper cup of water. “Relax, Tsuki-san. It is only a test.” Skye looked up at him.
His kind face reminded her of another such face. She braced herself for the tears, but they didn’t come. Instead, calm washed over her. She could do this.
She took a sip of water, thanked the teacher again, and set the cup on the desk. “I am ready.”
“Hai, Tsuki-san. Let us begin.”
For the next twenty minutes, Skye was asked about her favorite foods, school activities, and the ins and outs of the Japanese tea ceremony. Skye spoke without remembering what she said, all the while wrapped in her blanket of calm. She saw Kumamoto Sensei make notes in her book, but Skye didn’t care.
Finally Kumamoto Sensei announced, “For the last question tell me about a favorite hobby. Please describe the last time you participated in this activity so that you may utilize the past tense.” Last week, Skye had planned to talk about soccer. But now she spoke of kites and bamboo and wind and string. The hill in the park. How to make a fighting kite.
When she finished, Kumamoto Sensei blinked, then rose to join Takahashi Sensei. The teachers leaned over Skye’s written exams, and she waited. Her blanket of calm slipped away, and Skye wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking. When the teachers came back, Takahashi Sensei glanced sideways at Kumamoto Sensei.
Skye wanted them to tell her that she had passed. She didn’t know how she’d gotten through the exams; she barely remembered her answers. But she wanted to pass. Not ju
st for the All-Star team. She wanted her grade to show that she was worthy of being Japanese. Worthy of being the granddaughter of Shou Tsuki, respected kite maker, renowned kite fighter, beloved Grandfather.
“Tsuki-san,” Kumamoto Sensei began. “Never in my twenty-five years of teaching have I seen results like these.”
Skye looked at her knees. She had failed. Failed herself—her Japanese self. Failed Grandfather. She didn’t want to hear anymore, so she stood to go. But when she looked up at Kumamoto Sensei, her teacher was smiling. At her. Skye sat back down.
“You passed, Tsuki-san.”
Skye stared at her teacher. The smile was still there.
“Tsuki-san, I had never heard you speak Japanese without being afraid. Until now. Today you had no fear. For your oral exam, I give you a perfect score.”
Skye blinked. A perfect score?
Takahashi Sensei laughed. “I am surprised I was able to concentrate on grading your written exams. I assure you it was difficult once you began talking about rokkaku—kite fighting brings back fond childhood memories.” He folded Skye’s stapled exams and handed the packet to her like it was a secret document. “Of course there were a few grammatical errors.”
Skye stared at the folded papers. She didn’t have perfect scores. And Kumamoto Sensei had said she’d need an almost perfect final score to pass into Takahashi Sensei’s advanced class next semester. Was it close enough?
He nodded. “You did have some minor errors in each subject, but they did not detract from your overall grade—it is nothing we cannot fix in my class next semester.” He smiled. Skye opened her exams to see her final score on the cover page. At the top was a red three, the highest score possible. She bowed deeply and thanked her teachers—present and future—then turned to go.
“Tsuki-san,” Kumamoto Sensei called out, “your jacket.” She pointed to the chair.
Skye took her jacket, bowed again and left the quiet room. She walked out the double doors and sat on the bench in front of the flagpoles to wait for her dad. Usually she called him right after class to say she was ready. He’d be sitting in the coffee shop down the road now reading the newspaper, like he always did while waiting for her call.
Skye unzipped her front jacket pocket, reached in, and pulled out her cell phone. But something else brushed her fingers—silk and wood. Reaching in with her other hand, she pulled out a twig with three perfect cherry blossoms. Not taking her eyes off of the sprig, she set the phone on the bench beside her. These must have been the blossoms that Grandfather had given her a week ago. But that was impossible—the fragile flowers should have withered and died after a week in her jacket pocket.
But there they were, as fresh and delicate and pink as if they had just been picked. Skye twirled the twig in her fingers, and her eyes filled with tears until all she could see was a blurred cloud of pink against dark cherry wood.
34
Hiroshi
Over the next few days, Hiroshi felt as if he were moving underwater. Relatives traveled from Japan, some of whom he’d never met before. They all spoke in low voices, bowing deeply to Father. Aunt Cathy had invited Hiroshi to join her and Skye on a walk, but he told her he had to help Mother. That wasn’t really true, but he wanted to be alone—not easy when he was constantly surrounded by people.
“Why don’t you go ride your bike, Hiroshi?” Mother had said when she found him sitting on the stairs. “It’s a beautiful day outside. Go get some fresh air.”
Hiroshi didn’t feel like riding his bike. Or going outside. Or staying inside. He walked past Father and heard him talking with Third Uncle in the hallway about the white kimono.
Hiroshi wandered outside and sank onto the front step. The white kimono. This would be the one they placed in the casket along with sandals, leggings, and a headband with a triangle in the center. Paper money would also be laid in the casket—Grandfather might need the money to get to the next world. His favorite things from this life could also be added to the casket for his next life. Everything would be cremated together before Grandfather began his journey.
Favorite things.
Hiroshi stood up. He knew what he had to do. There wasn’t much time, with the wake scheduled for tomorrow.
Hiroshi hurried back inside the house and weaved his way through the crowd of relatives and down the basement steps. Overhead, muffled voices mingled with creaking floorboards as people padded from room to room in their slippers. Hiroshi breathed in the peace of Grandfather’s workshop.
He walked straight over to the box of bamboo and chose a few of the smallest pieces from the stack. Still too big. One by one, he trimmed them down to size; some the length of his hand, others no longer than his little finger. With a thick-bladed knife, he sliced the bamboo along its grain until each piece was thin enough. The light outside began to fade, but he kept working.
He didn’t hear Mother come down the stairs, and jumped when she set a plate of rice cakes on the worktable beside him. “You must be hungry, Hiroshi. You’ve been down here for almost two hours. Are you all right?”
“Hai. I’m just making something for Grandfather. You know, for the wake tomorrow.”
“Don’t stay up too late. Tomorrow will be a long day for all of us.”
Hiroshi listened to her footsteps as she climbed back up the stairs. Rubbing his stiff neck, he stood to stretch. The creaking floorboards and low voices had faded. He popped a rice cake into his mouth and sat back down to work. He measured and cut the washi paper to fit the dimensions of the bamboo sticks, then opened the bottle of glue.
An hour later Father came downstairs. “Son, it’s time for bed.”
“Look, Father. I think it’s finally finished.” Hiroshi held a miniature, six-sided rokkaku kite, complete with string.
“Hiro-chan, did you make that yourself?”
“The glue still has to dry, but it’ll be ready by tomorrow.”
Father leaned in to inspect the kite. “It’s exquisite, Son.”
“I didn’t have time to paint it, but the kimono and other things will be white, so I thought this could be white, too.”
“He would be so proud of you.” Father sat on the stool next to Hiroshi. “He was already so proud of you.”
“Do you ever wish you had become a kite maker, like Grandfather?”
Father smiled a faraway smile. “When I was a boy, I used to think I would. I loved flying kites just as much as you do. But I was nowhere near as good as you are. Grandfather knew it, too, although he was always patient with me. My younger brother was even worse than I was, if you can believe that. First Uncle had Grandfather’s talent, but once he fell in love with Aunt Cathy, he left kites and Japan behind him.”
“Was Grandfather sad that no one wanted to help him in his workshop?”
“He may have been, but he never showed it. When I finally admitted to him that I had no future in kites, he reminded me that one does not need to be a champion to fly a kite for pleasure. He encouraged us to become whatever we wanted but to always leave room for fun.”
Hiroshi held the tiny kite up to the light. “He’s got to have a kite in his next life, you know. And maybe this will help him to remember me.” He gently set the kite on the table.
Father rested his hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “Hiro-chan, Grandfather won’t need a kite to remember you.”
Hiroshi hoped Father was right. When they got to the top of the stairs, Hiroshi took one more look at the tiny kite alone on the worktable. “You can go ahead, Father. I’ll be right there.”
Hiroshi went back down the steps, picked up the cloud white kite and carried it back upstairs. When he got to his room, he set it next to the photo of himself with Grandfather. When Hiroshi finally fell asleep, the white kite drifted in and out of his dreams.
35
Skye
If Skye had to smile and bow at another relative she didn’t know, she decided she would bow herself right out the door and walk home. Everyone had gathered at Hiroshi’s hou
se for the wake, but all they did was pay attention to her. What was her favorite subject in school? How did she like living in America? Had she been playing soccer long?
Skye had her own question: Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? Whenever she overheard snippets of stories about Grandfather, she’d edge closer, hoping for a Grandfather story that she could tuck into her heart. But as soon as they saw her, they’d smile and she’d bow and they’d ask her another school question.
Skye needed some air. But when she opened the door, she found a man no taller than she was standing on the front step in a dark grey robe, his hand poised to knock.
Aunt Naoko rushed past her. “Dozo.“
Skye opened the door wider, and Aunt Naoko invited the man in, announcing that the priest had arrived. He stepped into the foyer, setting off a flurry of bowing from the others. Skye sighed and closed the door, wishing she were standing on the other side of it.
The doorbell rang again, and this time Skye’s dad answered it. The guest offered him a white envelope wrapped with thin black and white ribbons. Skye wondered what was in the envelopes, but she couldn’t ask her dad in front of the guest. When she saw Hiroshi come in from outside, she went over to ask him.
“It’s koden, condolence money for the family,” Hiroshi explained. “You don’t have this tradition?”
Skye shook her head. “Is it supposed to make us feel any better? Because if it is, it’s not working.”
“I know.” Hiroshi looked as miserable as Skye felt.
Her dad waved them over as the guests filed into the living room. Skye spotted the tablet on the altar and nudged Hiroshi. “I know my Japanese isn’t perfect, but that’s not Grandfather’s name.”
Hiroshi whispered back, “It’s the kaimyo—the name the priest inscribed on the tablet. Another tradition.”
“So it’s the priest’s name?”
“No, it’s Grandfather’s new name.”
Flying the Dragon Page 16