She opens the paper. It’s completely covered in kanji and it smells like cookies.
“Daichi must have given this to Mum. Isn’t the paper beautiful? I’m sure it says something important. It’s a good thing I didn’t give it to your mum or it might have ended up in Grace’s grabby hands.”
Nana Ruth hands the note to Kenichi. “Please read it to us.”
He bows, respectful of the words history had hidden away, until this moment. “My name is Okano Daichi. I thank you for your kindness.” Kenichi pauses to clear his throat. “I must ask a favour to help my friend, Himura Shin, whose true name is Nakaruma Masaki of the fishing port Onagawa. He asked me to deliver this photo to his baby daughter. As I have dishonoured my family, I have no choice but to stay here. Please return the photo for me. I do not want to fail twice. I will send money for postage when I can.”
I can’t believe I missed it. I should have known the moment Nana Ruth brought out her albums. A family photo doesn’t belong on the wall in a Visitor Centre, thousands of miles across an ocean, in another country. I’m so excited I jump up and fist-punch the air.
“That’s it. To help Masaki and Daichi, we have to get the photo back to Masaki’s family.”
Nana Ruth furrows her brow. “I think Onagawa was in the news not too long ago.”
“I remember. The village was washed away by a tsunami,” Kenichi says. “Thousands of people were killed.”
“His family must have survived,” I insist. “The photo is sad because it wants to go home. It hasn’t given up hope and I won’t either.”
Kenichi opens his phone. “I’ll text my father. I’m sure he can trace what happened to them now that we have Masaki’s name.”
“You’ve got a bigger problem,” Nana Ruth says. “Grace Beadle. That woman treats the Historical Society display like it’s her own private property.”
“I’ll ask nicely. She understands the importance of family. She gave me a lecture about it. I’ll explain how the photo belongs to me and it’s my duty to return it.”
“I’ve known Grace a long time. She’s impossible to reason with. She wouldn’t give it to me and I don’t think she’ll give it to you, either.”
I’m not worried. After all I’ve been through, this sounds like the easy part.
“There’s one more thing that makes sense now,” Nana Ruth says.
She disappears back down the hallway. When she returns, there’s an envelope in her hand. She passes it to me.
“Have a look at what’s inside.”
I place the contents on the table. An old five-dollar note and a message scribbled in awkward child-like handwriting. “For the postage. Please reply if it’s not enough. Thank you.”
“It came in the mail many years ago addressed to me but with a Japanese name and an address in Orange on the back.” Nana Ruth adjusts a paisley cushion and settles back into her chair. “I never connected it to Elsie’s soldier. That was fifty years ago. I used to knit Australian animals and sell them through Anne’s Florist on Lachlan Street. They were popular with Japanese tourists. I figured Anne must have posted one for someone and given them my address. She said she didn’t and the money wasn’t hers. I intended to return it but forgot. One thing still doesn’t fit. The name on the back of the envelope isn’t Okano Daichi.”
I turn the envelope over.
“Ikeda Manabu.” Kenichi gasps. “That’s my great-grandfather.”
“But your surname’s Chue,” I say. In Japan, surnames come first so Kenichi is back-to-front while he is staying in Australia.
“My father’s family name is Chue, but I’ve been looking for my maternal great-grandfather’s grave. My mother’s grandfather. I’ve been looking for Ikeda Manabu.”
I hear the click of jigsaw pieces falling into place and locking together.
“That explains a lot,” I say. “You and I were both connected to the photo, right from the start. Our great-grandparents were both involved. And Shin and Daichi were both using false names.”
Kenichi runs his shaking fingers over the handwriting. “The letter my great-grandmother received from the government was a lie.” He puts the note on the table and pushes it towards me. “My great-grandfather abandoned his wife. How could he let her grieve when he was still alive? Great-grandmother said he loved her more than anything in the world. She was wrong.”
“You mustn’t judge too harshly.” Nana Ruth rests her hand on Kenichi’s arm. “It would have been a difficult decision for a young soldier who believed he had disgraced his family. I’m sure he did what he thought was best. He was an honourable man or he wouldn’t have sent me the money. He must have known Elsie had passed away by then. How old was he when he went missing?”
“Twenty. He should’ve come home.”
Inside my head the numbers juggle and rearrange, snapping into place with a seismic ripple that makes every nerve cell in my skin start flashing signals. I’m so excited I can hardly form the words.
“He’d be really old, but he might still be alive.”
The numbers somersault between us as Kenichi calculates. Nana Ruth’s eyes widen as she does the maths too.
“I’ll check the phone book for his name,” she says.
“I’m on to it. Snap.” I hold up my phone screen.
“How can I get to Orange?” Kenichi asks.
“It’s only about an hour and a half by car. Mum will take us. She often goes there to shop.”
There’s one small problem. Now I have to explain how we found out.
“You’re the best.” I hug Nana Ruth and resist the urge to do a ballerina twirl across the room.
“Let’s wait and be sure before we start celebrating,” Nana Ruth says.
“It’s him,” Kenichi insists. “It’s the final piece of the puzzle, the reason why it had to be me to help Shallot, not just any kid from Japan. It’s how I fit in.”
“Mum is picking us up from the library this afternoon. We can see Miss Beadle to organise getting the photo back and then ask Mum about Orange.”
“I hate to be the wet blanket but I’m not convinced you’ll have any success with Grace,” Nana Ruth says. “She’s a dragon. I’ve never known her to change her mind about anything for anyone.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let her stand in our way. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Masaki’s photo home.”
“We’ll do whatever it takes,” corrects Kenichi.
Nana Ruth places her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear anything that might be incriminating.” She winks. “Let me know what happens next.”
At the door, Nana Ruth hugs us both. It feels like we’ve never been apart. My heart is singing inside me.
It’s an easy walk to the library just a couple of blocks from Nana Ruth’s house. It’s especially easy when I’m feeling this good. Wednesday is glowing, bright and yellow, the seesaw perfectly level. My world is in balance again. Now I don’t have to worry about a lifetime of stomach aches, nausea and weird visions. No more taiko drum inside my head.
“Do you really think Miss Beadle will help us? Your nana wasn’t very hopeful.” Kenichi kicks a stone at a garbage bin. Dead on target. When I try, the stone skitters across the road.
“She doesn’t like me much but she likes you a lot,” I say. “Our best chance is if you do the talking.”
I reach in front of him to push open the library door. “Mum thinks we’ve been here all afternoon. I used it as an excuse. Now it’ll be sort-of true.”
Which is good. I don’t like lying to Mum.
“We’re off into battle.” Kenichi raises an imaginary sword as he walks through the door.
“Into the dragon’s lair,” I respond.
Miss Beadle is hoarding a treasure that doesn’t belong to her and that’s what dragons do best. If Nana Ruth is right, we’ll need more than one imaginary weapon to recover the photo. I’ll need a sword too. Eli would love to be part of this. The library and mock sword fights were two of his favourite thing
s. But we’re not playing games today. And we need a plan.
“We’ll hang around the back shelves for a while before we let Miss Beadle see we’re here. She’ll think we’ve been researching all afternoon. That way we’re covered if anyone asks,” I say.
“Being sneaky is new to me.” Kenichi looks left and right with cartoon-like furtiveness.
I stake out a desk in the reference section and Kenichi sits on the opposite side, tapping his fingers. I’ve got homework I could start, but I’m too nervous.
“It’s been ten minutes. Let’s find Miss Beadle.” Kenichi puts his hand on the sword that isn’t there.
“Okay. First I need to borrow a few books to make our visit look legit.”
I let Kenichi play the knight in shining armour, carrying my pile of books to the checkout area. Miss Beadle is nowhere in sight. A machine scans a barcode on my books and spits out a receipt.
“I see you’ve got some substantial reading lined up.” She materialises from nowhere, smiling widely, her teeth glittering like dragon fangs.
The dishwater nausea in my stomach churns anti-clockwise and Wednesday tips just a little in the wrong direction.
“I’m sorry my search was unsuccessful,” Miss Beadle tells Kenichi. “I took good care of your photo. You might like to reconsider donating it to the Historical Society. If it was on display, more people would see it. We might discover new information about your great-grandfather.”
“That’s not necessary anymore. I’ve accepted he can’t be found,” Kenichi says.
That’s the lamest excuse ever. Luckily, all Miss Beadle sees is a challenge and the photo disappearing across the ocean.
“You mustn’t give up. Just leave it here for a few months,” she wheedles. “I guarantee it will be in safe hands. I’ll personally look after it.”
“I would need to discuss that with my father. I’d like it back until I do,” he says, flustered.
“It’s in the Historical Society Room.” She gestures to us to follow. “I’ll get you to write your father’s contact details down for me so I can get in touch with him. We might be able to get this resolved before you return home. It would save posting the photo from Japan and risking it being lost.”
The door clicks open to reveal the dragon’s inner sanctum.
“Just imagine,” Miss Beadle enthuses. “A new exhibition with your great-grandfather taking pride of place.”
Kenichi doesn’t respond.
Her words are sweet, but they taste sour to me. It’s a good thing she isn’t the sort of dragon that has eyes in the back of its head, because I poke my tongue out at her. Kenichi copies me. We’re definitely a team now.
Miss Beadle unlocks the top drawer of an old, battered filing cabinet and removes Kenichi’s photo from a manila folder.
“Another unsolved puzzle.” She hesitates. “What if I keep this until we hear what your father says? I’m sure he will be thrilled to donate it.”
Kenichi shakes his head and she reluctantly hands him his photo. Now we just need one more.
“We’re discovering a lot of new information about Himura Shin,” I say.
“I’d love to hear all about that.” Miss Beadle’s magpie black eyes glisten with anticipation.
I nod to Kenichi. I trust him to tell our story. It’s the best chance we have of getting her to agree. She might be a bit miffed with him but we’re in a stronger bargaining position than we were before. He’s got something she desperately wants. She’ll have to be nice.
Fingers crossed he knows how to string her along.
“We discovered Himura Shin’s real name was Nakaruma Masaki,” Kenichi says.
“Well done. What an excellent historian you would make. In just a few days, you’ve discovered more than the Historical Society knew about its own photo.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Beadle starts applauding, but I’m happy to encourage her fangirling.
“Shallot worked it out with me.”
“I’m sure she was very helpful, but I can see you’re the one with the research skills. What else did you find out?” Miss Beadle asks.
“Masaki was sick and knew he wouldn’t survive the breakout night but he wanted his photo returned to his family, so he gave it to his friend, Okano Daichi,” Kenichi says.
“Who gave it to Elsie. Let me record those names.” She takes a writing pad and pen from a desk drawer, writes quickly, then pushes the pad towards Kenichi. “You can add your father’s phone number for me. How did you manage to find all this information so quickly?” Her voice is soft and spider-like, silky and sinister.
That’s one too many questions. I don’t want Kenichi getting stuck in her web of words.
“Nana Ruth has a letter written by Daichi. Kenichi translated it for her,” I interrupt.
“A letter! Handwritten primary evidence is exactly what we’re missing. This is turning out to be a most wonderful afternoon.” Her hands flutter excitedly. “I’d like to verify its authenticity. With all the fancy printers and paper around nowadays, it’s easy to create forgeries. Most people can’t tell the difference.”
“Are you saying it’s not the real thing?” I ask.
“Of course not. In fact, I’m hoping Ruth would like to donate it to the Historical Society. It would make an excellent display piece and it would give her a chance to make amends for trying to trick me into giving her Masaki’s photo. I was very upset by her behaviour.”
“I’ll suggest the letter would look good on display,” I offer, biting back the urge to explain you can’t steal something that you own, even if someone else gave it away.
“Marvellous.” Miss Beadle claps her hands together. “History is chock full of surprises. I never thought I’d see such a thing happen. Two new exhibit pieces, after all these years.”
It’s not going to happen. She hasn’t got a chance of getting hold of the letter or Kenichi’s photo, but I need to keep her in a good mood.
“I’m glad you think it’s important that photos end up where they belong. We’re hoping the Historical Society will return Masaki’s photo to his family, now we know it was his last wish.”
It’s like I’m standing under a shower and someone turned the hot water off. The air turns frosty and sharp, its metallic edge acrid against my tongue.
“Did Ruth tell you to suggest that?” Miss Beadle folds her arms.
“No, it was in the letter. Masaki’s family deserves to know he thought of them in the last hours of his life,” Kenichi says. “When you reminded us of the importance of family yesterday, you were right.”
The air temperature plummets another five degrees. His charm is not working this time.
“I’m sorry. I’d really like to help you both, but I can’t hand over valuable Historical Society property just to facilitate some sentimental gesture that should’ve happened decades ago. His family are probably all dead now.”
It’s my responsibility to set things right and complete what Great-nan Elsie didn’t know she was supposed to do. “The baby in the picture will still be alive. She’ll care,” I insist.
“Masaki’s photo wasn’t Mrs Cartwright’s to give away. A family tradition says it has to be given to the eldest daughter,” Kenichi argues. “The photo belongs to Shallot.”
“I know Great-nan Elsie would want me to return it,” I add.
Miss Beadle shakes her head. “The Historical Society paid a substantial sum of money to have the photograph professionally framed. Coralie was adamant that it was a condition of the donation. We kept our side of the bargain, so the photo will be staying on the Visitor Centre wall where it belongs.”
“Please, Miss Beadle. It’s about family,” I say.
“Ruth did send you, didn’t she?” Miss Beadle is breathing fire, her dragon tail lashing in anger. “Well, you can tell her to stop meddling. I’m not a fool. However, I’m still happy to help with your project. If you have any more questions, you know where to find me.”
She holds the do
or open.
I’m glad to leave.
Outside, the late afternoon sun is pale green, its warmth fading.
“That didn’t go well,” Kenichi says.
“I never trusted her. Let’s go ring the World Peace Bell.” I point across the road. “The sound always helps me think.” Time is running out. In four days Kenichi will be going home, but I’ve got a plan. I need to find out if I can count on him to help me.
“I can get a photo for my journal and maybe it will help me think too.”
He takes his Nintendo camera everywhere.
The bell hangs in a pagoda-like gazebo in front of the Council Chambers. It’s made of melted-down copper coins from United Nations countries who want to remind the world never to go to war again. Japan gave this one to Australia.
Whenever it rings, the sound always tickles like soap bubbles exploding inside me and I feel happy. Yet whenever I’ve touched it, I’ve felt nervous and uneasy. After what happened this week, I understand why.
Kenichi removes his camera from his backpack and takes photos from lots of different angles. I place my hands on the metal. My stomach twinges. I might have a plan, but the photo’s not home yet.
I’ll never be too old to ring the bell. I swing the knocker and the tone peals clean and pure like spring water. The sound pours over us, rolling on towards the river. It’s decision time. There’s only one option. Is he with me or not?
“The bell is tolling for what we need to do.” I search Kenichi’s face for his reaction. “We need to take the photo from the Visitor Centre. It’s not stealing when it belongs to me.”
He nods. “Miss Beadle didn’t leave us any choice.”
“I can’t believe she thought you would give your great-grandfather’s photo to her.”
“My father will never say yes, if she ever gets hold of him.”
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