by Ana Johns
I crossed another busy street and dabbed at my forehead. The short walk to the central business district turned into a thirty-minute hike under an unforgiving sun, but as I turned the final corner, it eclipsed behind the Yokohama Landmark Tower. The fourth tallest structure in all of Japan housed a five-star hotel, restaurants and shops, and various corporations, including the Nakamura Trading Company.
I picked up my pace.
As I cut across the garden plaza toward the mirrored door, I remembered the walk alongside my father to the hospital entrance in Ohio. How we strolled side by side, and our exaggerated reflections bounded forward to greet us. And as I neared, just as before, my reflection shrank in size, slowed in gait, and I faced my current self.
Only this time, I stood alone.
The vaulted lobby opened into an expansive five-story shopping mall with roman columns and two grand staircases on either side. People bustled along, but quietly, and the wheels of my carry-on warbling across the tile floor were anything but. I retracted the handle and opted to carry it to the elevators. According to the Landmark Tower directory, the Nakamura Trading Company was on the thirty-seventh floor.
I stepped inside, punched 3 and 7 on the digital screen and tried to calm my nerves with each passing floor. The family might be there, and I wasn’t really prepared.
I knew from research that Western culture had seeped into Eastern traditions and muddied the waters after the war. And how Americans were a curiosity for the young and an abomination for the old after the Occupation. And how babies born between Japanese women and American military were often abandoned just as Yoshio had said.
But my father abandoning a child?
Pops?
It was a horrid thought. A sickening idea. I could not believe it was true, but what if the Nakamura family did? What would I say? I’m sorry? I had my father’s letter of regret, money from the sale of his Caddy, and while I needed answers, I had none to give.
My stomach dropped as the elevator slowed, then opened.
Straight across the hall was a frosted glass wall with the etched logo of the Nakamura Trading Company. My heart pounded my chest as I walked across the small lobby. I’m here, I’m going. Wish me luck, Pops. I opened the door.
Stark white walls, red upholstered chairs and a curved desk with a vase of oversize white flowers.
The receptionist, smartly dressed in an ivory blouse and thick-rimmed glasses, smiled as I approached. “Hello. May I help you?”
English. I gave a smile of relief. “Hello, I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping to speak with someone within the Nakamura family?”
She glanced at my luggage. “Are you wishing to establish an account with us? We have several salespeople available.” She placed a finger on her headset as though to call for one of them.
“No, thank you. I’m actually wanting to speak with a member of the family regarding a traditional home they own. Well, I believe they own it. It’s registered under the Nakamura name, and I was hoping to get some information.”
“Are you in real estate?”
My heart jumped; she didn’t even blink. “I’m actually a journalist. Is someone in the Nakamura family here I could speak to? Or set up an appointment with?” I found myself glancing over her shoulder for someone in the back offices.
“I am afraid Mr. Nakamura is away on extended business, and he is the only founding family member.” She pushed up her glasses.
The only? “Do you know when he might be back? I would only take a few minutes of his time.” I held my smile.
“I would be happy to give Mr. Nakamura your information when he returns.”
“Of course.” She wasn’t going to tell me. I reached into my pocket for a business card and handed it to her. “Do you mind if I take a company brochure?”
“Please...” She motioned to the stand that held them.
I took one and looked it over as I made my way to the door. It repeated some of the information I found on the website, but this included several photos of family members who held the title of CEO over the years, including the original founder, a man named Nakamura Kenji, who currently held the position. He was maybe sixty with a slight tinge of gray bordering his widow’s peak. It listed Nakamura Taro as his brother and former CEO. Just as I was about to ask if he was available, I noticed the dates below his name. He had passed several years ago.
I turned back and held the brochure up. “Thank you again.”
* * *
After I checked into my hotel, I hiked to Zushi Beach, needing a moment to wander and think. The Miura Peninsula, known for its broad and rugged coastline, was beautiful and Zushi was no exception. Since it was early evening, the swimming crowds had thinned, leaving only a rash of red umbrellas to speckle the still-fevered sand. I chatted with Yoshio on the phone as I walked barefoot through the wide, rolling swells that lapped the shore.
I’d amused him by my impromptu visit to the Nakamura Trading Company. “That is why I love Americans, always so inventive.”
“You mean impatient.” I smiled, knowing he was just being polite.
“Hai.” Another laugh.
“What do you think about actually writing a feature on NTC in Tokyo Times?” I stopped and toed the wet, gray sand. Although technically a volcanic beach, Zushi’s wasn’t the characteristic black. “You think you could arrange that?”
“I thought this wasn’t a real article, that it was of a personal matter?”
“Well, yes, that’s true.” I switched the phone to my other ear and continued walking—a slow, hand-in-the-pocket type of stride. “That part is personal, but I was reading through the company’s brochure, and the history is interesting. They survived the Great Kanto Earthquake and somehow managed through the postwar depression. And the eldest son, Taro, took over after the father died, but he died prematurely, leaving everything in the hands of the youngest son.”
“The current Mr. Nakamura?”
“Yes, and although he’s in his sixties now, when he took control, he was the youngest CEO in NTC’s history and has by far proven to be the most innovative. So what do you think? Worth a story in the paper?”
“I think you are feeling guilty for your American cowboy antics.”
“Grateful. I’m feeling grateful that my cowboy antics confirmed they are in fact the same family. Plus, it gives them a real reason to call us back. So how about you use your Japanese charm to wrangle them a real story?”
“I knew you thought I was charming.”
I stopped and laughed, letting the cool water surge over my feet. I blinked toward the setting sun, low and sleepy, decided that I was sleepy, too, and turned to head back the way I’d come. “Oh, wow.”
“What is it?”
High hills hugged the peninsula coast, untouched islands dotted the horizon and, in the gray-pink haze of an early-evening sky, Mount Fuji floated majestically between them. “Mount Fuji.”
“Ah, yes, Mount Fuji,” Yoshio said. “You are wise to climb it, but a fool to do it twice.”
“And that is why I love the Japanese, always so insightful,” I said, teasing him with his earlier words.
He laughed. “Actually, it was on my tea bag.”
“Of course it was.” I smiled. I planned to head back to my hotel, but after we hung up, I found myself sitting on the beach, watching the sun feather the sky in pinks and reds across a restless ocean. I was just as restless. Had my father been here? Did he see this, too? I didn’t find a photo of Mount Fuji among the pictures, but I had to assume he had.
I dug out a small piece of driftwood and drew the kanji lines that meant Nakamura in the sand. They owned the house. And although a tour of the property hadn’t been arranged, I wasn’t leaving Japan without seeing it.
I had the address, so I would find it in the morning.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Japan, 1957
Hatsu, Jin and I sit on the steps of the maternity home’s wraparound deck to enjoy the cool evening breeze. Summer packs its flowered bags in hues of mossy green in preparation for its upcoming departure.
We do, too.
Safe from prying ears, we talk of nothing else. But I grow impatient.
It has been two days since we made our pact to help the lost spirits cross over by making Jizō statues. Two days since we pledged to seek out Brother Daigan if we cannot keep our babies or keep them safe. Two days of checking the gate’s lock and searching the grounds for ways to escape.
It has been two days too long.
So far, we search in circles. I sigh with a substantial breath. It can’t be helped. I have a heavy heart.
“What’s wrong?” Hatsu asks with a nudge.
I glance over my shoulder to ensure Aiko and Chiyo are not in earshot, then lean in. “It’s just we search these grounds several times a day and every time we find only more of the same. We know there is a front path between the locked gate and the maternity home and a back path to where the spirit babies wait. But the rest is an infinite wood surrounded by an endless fence.”
“That’s why we keep looking.” Hatsu lowers her chin.
“But there’s too much ground to cover and too little time to search. Housemother’s only gone for quick errands, so we mostly cover the same ground.” I sit tall to gather my thoughts. “We’re like the three blind monks who are asked to describe an elephant. Their perception is only a fraction of the whole.”
Jin and Hatsu glance at one another.
Hatsu crosses her arms. “But what else can we do? We cannot just walk out a locked gate.”
My eyes pop wide. My heart thrums. Why not?
It is as if I climbed on the elephant’s back and can see what is obvious. “What if we could?” I ask, looking between them. “The surest way out is the way we came in, right?” I take a deep breath, excited by this revelation. “We do not need to find another exit, we just need to find the key! We know she keeps it in her room, right?”
Hatsu’s eyes round, then cloud with worry. “But how? If the key is here, Housemother is, too, and she is always nearby. When would we have the opportunity?”
“We create one.” I am giddy with possibility. “When they are inside, we draw them out to the clearing. You and Jin create a commotion of some sort.”
“Like what?” Jin asks with nervous eyes darting from me to Hatsu.
I shrug. “I don’t know, pretend you are hurt or fighting, something. Anything. Who cares? Just create a big distraction. Then I will go in screaming like crazy for help.” I almost laugh. This could work. “When they come out. I will stay in and find the key. It is simple.”
“It is risky.” Hatsu shakes her head.
“It is a bigger risk not to try.” I sit tall, resolute, hoping my spine is strong enough to support their doubts. “I know I can find it. Then we can leave. I cannot stay here.”
“Stay here? What is this whispering, hmm?”
We startle and turn. Housemother stands at the door with suspicious eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her unlit cigarette dangles from her starburst mouth.
I paste on a smile. “Oh, we were just discussing friends and family, right?” I face Hatsu and Jin and speak as if continuing a previous conversation. “And like I said, Kiko may not even know I am staying here.” I raise my brows to encourage their participation.
Hatsu plays along. “Kiko is your sister?”
“Like a sister. She is my childhood friend.”
Satisfied, Housemother pushes the brass lighter’s thumb button and inhales deeply.
“Or at least she was.” My chin drops, no longer pretending. “At my mother’s funeral, she still held her grudge and refused to look at me. My grandmother would say, prosperity grows friends, adversity proves them.”
Hatsu, sitting between us, bumps my shoulder, then Jin’s. “Then we are the best of friends. The three monkeys.”
We smile at one another. This is what we call ourselves. Hatsu is the one who covers her sad eyes—she’s seen too much. I am the one who covers her ears—haunted by the cries of spirit babies. And Jin is the silent one, who speaks quiet and with few words.
Housemother harrumphs from the doorway. “You are three foolish monkeys grasping at the moon’s reflection to believe such nonsense. You arrived alone, and you will leave alone.” She stifles a smoke-filled laugh.
I cover my ears. “Did you say something? Sorry, I cannot hear you.”
Hatsu covers her eyes. “Who said that?”
Jin covers her mouth and giggles.
Housemother rolls her eyes and blows out another smoke-filled breath.
We wait out her presence with everyday conversation. “Do you miss school?” I ask.
“Not math club,” Hatsu says with a laugh. “Why do our parents get to choose our club? Then we are stuck our entire school career.” She says under her breath, “If my baby wants to switch, I will fight the teachers to allow the change.”
“What would you have chosen?” Jin asks.
“Mmm...” Hatsu crinkles her nose. “Calligraphy—no, dance. What about you?”
Jin does not say; she just shrugs, staring at the blade of grass she rolls between her stained thumb and finger. She isn’t feeling well. I am sure Housemother’s toxic smoke cloud isn’t helping.
“I am in dance,” I say, fanning the air, then quietly add, “Maybe my little bird will be a dancer, too.”
Hatsu straightens. “Did you study Nihon Buyō?”
“We studied many traditional styles, but my favorite was Nō Mai. Do you know it? The Mai masks are magical. The carved hinoki wood allows light and shadow to alter the expression.”
From inside, Aiko and Chiyo yell in disagreement.
“Quiet down!” Housemother yells, then clucks her tongue with a long exhale of smoke.
I keep talking. “Mai means to dance, but only after one’s studied do you move.”
“I am going to move everyone into locked quarters,” Housemother gripes when something inside crashes. “Maybe three days’ punishment for all, eh?” She spins on her heels to scold the girls inside.
My heart jumps. “We need to begin our own performance before she makes good on her threat. Please. We are the three wise monkeys, right? Let us not act like the three blind monks.”
My pulse races wild. I nod. They nod.
“Good, go! Before we lose the chance,” I say, pushing at Hatsu’s shoulder. She grabs Jin by the arm and they run to the middle of the clearing.
We stare at one another.
“Did you say Jin fell?” I yell out, hoping to spur them on.
“Yes, Jin fell. She hurt herself!” Hatsu shouts back with cupped hands. Hatsu gently shoves her arm. Jin just stares. When Jin still doesn’t respond, she prods her again.
We both motion for her to fall. When she finally does Hatsu almost laughs until Jin shrills an ear-piercing screech. Hatsu and I both look at her, surprised.
Jin smiles.
“I will get help!” I yell, not wanting to lose momentum, but trying not to laugh. I wave for them to keep going. Hatsu shouts of blood and broken bones while Jin sits folded over, pretending an injury with fake cries. Together they create quite a commotion.
“Housemother, come quick!” I howl, running inside. I find them in the kitchen. “Jin is hurt!”
“Now what?” Housemother lifts her arms in exasperation.
Aiko smirks, drying the dish she was forced to wash. Chiyo laughs and hands her another.
I point to the door. “She’s hurt and—”
Another piercing scream from Jin. This one even louder. She is quite an impressive actress! Maybe her club was theater?
“You must hurry, Hatsu said blood and bones! She is in so much
pain, her mouth spits fire!” I say, not to be outdone in performance.
Another cry, but this one’s from Hatsu. It inspires fast movement from all three. Aiko, Chiyo and Housemother dash for the door.
I stay behind.
My heart thuds so loud it almost drowns the commotion. As soon as they are out of sight, I dash into Housemother’s room to search for the key. Two futons positioned side by side rest center against the back wall. Low tables on either side give balance. A single sumi-e painting hangs on the facing wall.
I slide the storage door and peer inside. Linens, clothes, boxes for personal items. Everything is neat and orderly. Pushing my hand between them produces no key.
Heart racing, I peek out and listen. Jin’s screams curdle in my ears. Housemother’s voice matches in volume, but not in pitch.
Their voices draw closer!
I look left and right, then fix my eyes on the decorative box on the side table. I open it and stir the contents. No key.
There is another scream and Housemother’s voice barking for Chiyo to help propels faster movement. Kneeling, I feel between the futon and tatami mat. Nothing. Their voices gain in volume. My heart slams my ribs. Where, where, where?
I turn, eyeing the room.
Something glints from under the box I had just looked in. The space underneath created by its feet. I lift the entire box and there it is. A single key.
“Naoko!” Jin cries out.
I spring to my feet, stepping from Housemother’s room just as they step through the door.
My brows push down. Jin has one arm slung over Chiyo’s shoulder, the other over Hatsu’s. Aiko and Housemother prod them forward from the back. “What’s wrong?”
Did she hurt herself for real?
Jin’s hunched, crying and...
Wet.
“What has happened?” My voice shakes as I step close to help. Did she learn of our plan? Did she strike out at poor Jin?
Housemother barks, “Chiyo, help Jin to the back. Aiko, help me with these two so they do not interfere.” She grabs Hatsu by the arm and yanks, throwing her off balance.