Cherry Blossom Baseball

by Jennifer Maruno

  Carolyn had a small rubber ball in her hand. “Catch,” she said, throwing the ball.

  Michiko turned to avoid the impossible, but the ball hit her hard in the arm, and she dropped the berry baskets into the dust.

  “You knew I couldn’t catch it,” Michiko shrieked. “My hands were full of strawberries.”

  “I wanted to see you make one of your famous plays,” Carolyn said with a smirk. Strawberries scattered the road like red raindrops. Michiko crouched to upright the containers. “They’re all dirty,” she said.

  “I’ll help you,” Carolyn said.

  Michiko didn’t look up until a white majorette boot came down on top of one of the thin wooden containers. It collapsed.

  “Oops,” Carolyn said, lifting her boot and scraping it on the grass. “I didn’t see it.”

  Michiko had to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue before she could talk. “Yes, you did,” she said. “You did that on purpose, just like you threw …” but she stopped talking as her throat tightened and her anger rose. She reached for a handful of the strawberries lying in the dirt, and threw them. The crushed red berries landed on the starched lace collar of Carolyn’s white blouse and slid down the front, leaving a juicy red trail.

  Carolyn looked down in shock. “Look what you’ve done,” she said, staring at the damp red lines down the front of her blouse. “My mother just bought me this blouse.”

  “You wanted to play catch,” Michiko said. She gathered another handful of crushed berries and threw them in Carolyn’s face.

  “You are in big trouble, Jap girl,” Carolyn sputtered. “I’m going to tell.”

  Michiko walked toward the house cradling the remaining fruit boxes in her arms. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it would explode.

  Carolyn followed her down the lane with her hands on her hips and called out. “I’ll get your father fired.”

  Michiko’s eyes narrowed. As she reached the garden, Mrs. Palumbo stood to stretch her back, holding a handful of freshly pulled weeds. Her mother was nowhere in sight.

  “See that girl,” Michiko said to her in a low voice. The man’s harsh words echoed in her mind. Mrs. Palumbo furrowed her brows and looked in the direction that Michiko pointed. “She just said that all Italians should go back to where they came from.”

  The old Italian woman turned slowly toward Carolyn. Her lips pulled pack into a snarl as she raised the handful of weeds.

  “Va!” she screamed.

  Carolyn’s face blanched as she backed away from the terrifying old woman.

  “VA!” Mrs. Palumbo screamed even louder as she moved forward. She spoke with such force, it was as if Mr. Downey’s tractor was backfiring.

  Carolyn turned and ran for her life.

  Michiko looked around to see if anyone had witnessed what had just happened, and then she opened the gate and bent to pick more strawberries. Her heart was full of fear. Carolyn can’t really get my father fired? Can she?

  Mrs. Palumbo returned to the garden, muttering words Michiko didn’t understand. Michiko felt a pang of regret for involving the old woman. What if Mr. Palumbo gets fired as well? She picked strawberries until her mother called her for dinner.

  That evening, while drying the dishes, Michiko was struck by the most terrifying thought of all. Why was Mr. Leahey visiting Billy’s father? Is he going to get Billy’s dad to speak to my dad about getting me off the team? Her stomach sank.

  Michiko slid out from under her sheets just as the low rumblings in the sky turned to rushing rain. She jumped at the flash of lightning that filled her bedroom with light. The next flash brought a large crack of thunder that seemed to split the house in half. Hiro’s bare feet raced down the hall and into her parents’ room.

  This is good, Michiko thought as she made her way to the bathroom. Their game would be cancelled, and she wouldn’t have to worry about whether to show up or not. Lightning lit up the entire back field. She could see the trenches her father had dug for the corms running like tiny rivers. Someone approached the Palumbos’ house with collar turned up and hands burrowed into the pockets of an overcoat. Michiko waited by the window to watch.

  The front door of the neighbour’s house flew open. Mrs. Palumbo, in a dressing gown with her grey hair in a long braid down the side of her shoulder, pulled the person inside.

  Michiko slipped back under her covers, listening to the heavy patter against the roof, wondering what was going on in the house next door.

  ANTONIO

  Michiko always held Hiro’s hand when they went up to the road, but this morning he broke away from her and began to run. “Hiro,” she called out, “you’re supposed to walk with me.” She sighed at the thought of having to chase him down. But before he made it past the big house, someone scooped him up.

  “Where are you going, little guy?” a deep voice asked.

  “Who are you?” Michiko asked the young man. He wore a new houndstooth jacket over trousers with a sharp crease. It was clear he had spent many minutes polishing his black leather shoes. His wild, curly black hair flopped over a pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses.

  “I’m Antonio Palumbo,” he said, “but everyone calls me Tony. Those shoes look pretty good on you. They’re mine, you know.”

  “But …” Michiko sputtered.

  “I’m just pulling your leg,” the young man said. “I grew out of them long ago. Good thing for you Mamma kept them.”

  To Hiro’s great delight, Tony hoisted the little boy onto his shoulders. “My father used to lift me on to his shoulders when I was a kid,” he said. “I thought I was king of the world being up so high. I could touch the branches of the tree and pick off some of the best apples.”

  “You couldn’t have made him happier,” Michiko said. “You’ll have a friend for life.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  “Just up to the mailbox,” Michiko answered.

  “You go,” Tony said. “I’ll keep him occupied.”

  One of the letters was addressed to her mother. Michiko could tell by the writing that it was from her Aunt Sadie. To Michiko’s delight, the other one was from her uncle. She sat down on the grass and opened it.

  Dear Michiko,

  Just think after three years of being pushed out of Vancouver, I am back. When we reached the place where British Columbia begins, the train made a ten-minute stop. All of us got out to fill our lungs with fresh air. One of the guys with us couldn’t wait to show us his father’s strawberry farm in the Fraser Valley, but when we passed through it, he was really disappointed to see the fields full of hay. At the CPR station there were army officers on the platform. We were a bit nervous, but they were there to greet us and take roll call. They even had trucks waiting for us to take us to the school. It turns out the Allied Translator and Interpreter School is right beside the Vancouver Technical School. Tell your dad that, he’d know exactly where.

  Michiko stopped reading. She hadn’t told anyone she got letters from Kaz. There was no real reason to keep it secret; it just got so complicated, and she didn’t want to get in trouble for not minding her own business. She stuffed it into her overalls to finish reading it in her room.

  Hiro sat on the porch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, staring at the ground. Tony sat beside him. Together they were watching a small green snake make its way through the grass.

  Tony looked up. “My father told me you’re pretty good at baseball.”

  Michiko shrugged. He’ll probably make fun of me for playing.

  “So when’s your next game?”

  Michiko gave a great sigh. “Tonight,” she said. “If the ground’s not too wet.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll be there to see it.” He got up, dusted off his pants, and patted Hiro on the head.

  “Why don’t you live here anymore?” Michiko blurted out.

  “Better money in Toronto,” he said as he walked toward the lane.

  Her father followed her into the house
, but the air in the kitchen changed with the package he carried. Michiko’s eyes began to water.

  “What on earth is that smell?” Eiko cried out.

  Sam pointed to the long, damp package he had put on the table. “Okoko,” he said in protest. “It’s a present from Mrs. Takahashi.”

  Eiko muffled her mouth with her apron to stop herself from gagging. She grabbed the package and threw it out the open window.

  Michiko covered her nose with the tea towel but also covered her smile. Mrs. Takahashi had sent them the stinky yellow pickle that smells up Japanese households.

  “You are not going to stink up the whole house for a few slivers of pickled turnip,” her mother said, slamming the window shut. “If you want to eat it, keep it in the barn.”

  Sam went outside to retrieve the package.

  Eiko muttered, “If there was trouble to be stirred, that woman would hold the spoon.”

  While making dinner, Michiko’s mother spoke with great enthusiasm about Sadie’s new job. “It looks as if her experience in the dress shop has paid off. She got a full-time job dressing the windows for a department store.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Michiko said. She could just see her aunt adjusting the bodies, hands, and heads of the mannequins to create scenes that showed the latest fashions.

  “She is also able to put her paper cutting skills to work,” her mother said. “Apparently she filled the windows with wax clouds and raindrops and put everyone in raincoats. Lots of people in the street stopped to admire it.”

  “She’ll make the windows beautiful,” Michiko said, imagining windows full of the Japanese rain chains her aunt had taught her to make, “and she’ll make lots of money.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I met Antonio Palumbo today,” Michiko said. “He makes lots of money in Toronto.”

  “People always make more money in the city,” her mother replied as she waved her apron about the room. “They pay more for everything else as well.”

  Michiko found Tony sitting at the fruit stand when she went to replenish the berries.

  “Old Mr. Downey must be doing well,” he said. “How much is he charging for these?”

  “Five cents a pint,” Michiko replied. She hoped she wouldn’t have to rescue this crop from free samples as well.

  “Must be making money elsewhere to afford this fancy stand,” he said. “When I sold them, all I had was an old kitchen chair, a wooden box, and an umbrella.”

  “My father built it,” Michiko said as she lined up the boxes in a neat row. She looked up at the tiny roof and once again admired the perfectly laid shingles.

  “You’re kidding,” Tony said.

  “He made my sister’s playpen, and he made me a cedar chest,” she bragged.

  “Can I see them?”

  Michiko shrugged. It seemed strange that a grown man would want to look at a baby’s playpen and a girl’s hope chest. “Just ask my mom,” she said.

  It took less than an hour to sell her day’s harvest, with two customers buying the whole lot. Michiko skipped down the lane to the house. Hannah had just learned to crawl, and she loved spending time on the floor with her. Whatever Michiko did, her sister laughed and clapped.

  When she walked into the house, she could hear her father talking to someone. She found him and Antonio on their knees, examining her hope chest.

  “Is there something wrong with it?” Michiko asked. She always thought her tansu was too plain. The grain and the colour of the wood were its only decoration. Even the clasp was simple.

  “Everything is right with it,” Tony said. “Your father should be making furniture instead of planting flowers.”

  Her father waved the compliment away. They put the chest back against the wall. “I don’t have the tools I used to have in …” Sam paused, “Japan.”

  “Where I work, they have walls of tools. You can use anything you want, as long as they are all put back in the same place, clean.”

  Sam nodded in approval.

  “Except me. They won’t let Eye-ties in the workshop. They only let us deliver.”

  Sam patted the boy’s back. “Gaman suru,” he said. “Gaman suru.”

  Tony looked at Michiko. “What does that mean?”

  Michiko rolled her eyes. “You have to be patient,” she said.

  “You’d think with this war over, they’d give people like us a chance,” Tony said as he opened the kitchen door. “All I want to do is build furniture.”

  And all I want to do is play baseball, Michiko thought as she flopped down on the chair.

  That evening, Michiko waited for Coach Ward to pull into the parking lot.

  “You must be anxious to play,” the coach said as unlocked the trunk.

  “I’m not going to play,” Michiko said. She kicked at the gravel with the toe of her shoe.

  “You not feeling well?” the coach asked as he threw the duffle bag to the ground.

  “I feel fine,” Michiko said, although she really didn’t. Her stomach churned. “You are going to make me quit anyway,” she said. “I’m just saving you the trouble.”

  “Why would I want you to quit?” Coach Ward looked at her in amazement.

  “It’s in the regulations,” Michiko said. “No girls allowed.”

  “I made it my business to read through all the regulations,” Coach Ward said. “And there isn’t one that says the team has to be all boys. The regulations just refer to the team, every time.” He handed her the cloth bases to carry. “We need you Mitch, Millie, or whatever the heck your name is. You are the team’s secret weapon.”

  “I am?”

  “Sure,” he said. “The boys who believe that girls are no good at sports are only fooling themselves. They might think playing against a girl is a joke. But the joke ends up on them.”

  Michiko jumped high, plucked the ball from the air, and fired it home. The entire team rose from the bench and cheered when the umpire called both the batter and the runner out. The next batter drove the ball so hard, when it hit her glove she went down on one knee. Michiko expected to see a hole as she stood up. Throw it to second, she thought, until she spotted the player on third running home. She spun and fired it, getting that runner out as well. The crowd went wild. She could hear Tony cheering louder than anyone else.

  “You play better than I did when I was your age,” he said at the end of the game.

  “You gotta practice,” Michiko said with a smile, “to be good at what you love to do.”

  “That’s true,” he said. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a paper.

  “See this,” he said. “I’m going to apply for a job with another company.”

  Michiko studied the advertisement. A furniture factory in Toronto was advertising for experienced workers.

  “Right now it’s just a collection of garages that the guy rents in the courtyard of an old mansion,” he explained. “He’s asking everyone who wants a job to come with a wooden box that they made themselves.”

  He looked around and then whispered, “But don’t tell my mother, she thinks I’ve come home to the farm to stay.”

  Michiko had witnessed Mrs. Palumbo’s reaction to things she didn’t like. “You have no idea how good I am at keeping secrets,” she said. “I could be a spy. Can I keep this?”

  KAMIKAZE

  The next morning, Michiko brought the blue box Clarence had made into the kitchen and put it down in front of her father.

  “For me?” he said as he lowered his newspaper.

  “I need a bigger box for my letters,” Michiko said, “and Mr. Palumbo’s son needs to learn how to build one.”

  Her father said nothing.

  “I thought,” Michiko continued with a shy smile, “that you could teach him by making me a new one, like my tansu, only smaller.”

  Her father took a long time to answer, so long that Michiko thought she would have to repeat her request, and then he put his finger to her forehead and said, �
�maho.”

  Michiko looked to her mother for an explanation, but before she could speak, her father laughed out loud. “Now I know why you’re so good at baseball,” he said. “You read minds!”

  “It’s not magic,” her mother said, placing her hand on Michiko’s shoulder. “She is a kind person, and this is a kind thing for her to suggest.”

  Her father went back to his newspaper just as Hiro came into the kitchen, crying.

  “Mrs. Morrison is gone,” he said. “I looked every­where.”

  Michiko glanced at the small dishes on the floor. Both were still full. “I’ll bet she is up one of the trees,” she said, pulling her little brother onto her lap, “like before.”

  Hiro shook his head. “She’s gone.”

  “We’ll find her,” Michiko said. “Come with me.”

  Together, they searched the property. By lunchtime, Michiko was also concerned. She didn’t want to check the road and decided to ask for help.

  “What’s up?” Tony asked when they approached the Palumbo house.

  “My brother’s cat is missing,” Michiko told him. “Would you check the r-o-a-d?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll use the bike.”

  Tony came to their door just as they were finishing their lunch. “All clear,” he said. “When did you see the cat last?”

  Hiro stuck out his lower lip and shrugged.

  “She followed me to the strawberry stand yesterday,” Michiko said. “That’s why I wanted you to check the road.” She didn’t like to think about the day Carolyn showed up, and then she felt her heart collapse like an umbrella as the most horrible of thoughts struck her.

  Michiko turned to her little brother. “I think Mrs. Morrison went to visit someone,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

  She lined the basket in front of her bicycle with a piece of worn cloth and set off down the lane toward the village. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find Carolyn’s house. She lived on the same street as Mary, and Michiko knew Mr. Leahey’s car. It being Sunday, she hoped it would be in the driveway, and it was.