by Ana Johns
She smiles. “Hair will fill in.” She looks to the other nun and they chuckle. A secret shared from knowing.
I soak up every detail, needing to see every minuscule inch. She is so thin. I stroke her cheek and trace the diminutive indent in her chin, then laugh. Just like Hajime. I smile at Sora and the nuns and point it out. “It’s like her father’s. Just like his.”
They gather close and we admire her.
Her puckered lips quiver. Every breath a soft gurgle.
“Her lungs aren’t fully formed, but you are lucky to have a girl,” the nun says. “With boys, the lungs develop last—at least she has a chance.” The sister adjusts the cloth to better see her face. “A small one, but there is a chance.”
The baby’s hand springs free from the blanket to wave in the air. I bring it close to inspect. Five slim fingers with delicate nails wrap around mine on instinct. She is early, sick and perfect.
“Hello, my akachan.”
Her huge, liquid eyes strain to focus.
“Look at that,” says the older nun. “She knows you.”
I bring my early baby close and gaze into her dewy eyes. They are like deep waters, reflective and inky, and I am lost in them. Yes, my child knows her mother. We share a private conversation then and there. It says, I have been waiting for you and Here I am, here I am.
Yes, here you are, Little Bird, here you are.
Awake.
* * *
Humming...a soft throaty hum stirs me from my sleep. I blink. Afternoon light fills the small room and falls across the chanting nun’s face. She smiles without showing her teeth. Her nose wrinkles like an accordion, and deep, long lines frame contented eyes. I cannot help but smile back. In my arms, my tiny baby sleeps.
We are warm, together and safe.
She is early, and struggles for air, but she lives and my heart could not be fuller.
When they offered to take her, so I could rest, I refused. I cannot let her out of my sight. So, someone stays with me instead. This is to ensure her safety as we sleep.
Bundled, her little head peeks out, and her arms pull up tight. Since she is no longer red from crying, I can see her skin. She is a shade lighter than me but there is an odd sickly tinge. It is offset by jet-black hair, dark lashes and pink squished lips that should suckle more than air. Tears well because she is weak, but she is beautiful.
“You have been so kind,” I say to the humming nun. “I’m so lucky we are here, thank you.” The room is bare, holding only the side-by-side futons and a chair, but it is filled with peace. One I have not experienced in some time.
“Many have luck, but few have destiny.” The chanting nun’s voice is raspy but soft. “You can toss the coin, child, but fate covers both sides. This is where you are supposed to be. Luck has nothing to do with it.” She smiles, gathering in her lips as if she doesn’t have teeth.
Maybe she doesn’t? I smile back and cast my gaze to my baby’s fingers. They tremor near her open mouth as she yawns. I laugh. Her every movement is amazing.
The partitioned door slides, and the nun with glasses, Sora and another woman walk in. This new woman is not a nun. She wears a dark winter wool kimono with snow-covered pine trees woven into the design. Her hair is pinned tight in a twist at the nape of her too-short neck. Her gaze drops to my baby.
“Oh, hello...helloo,” the new woman coos with a soft melodic tone. Her crescent eyes carry warmth, even if the color is flat black.
I hold my baby tighter.
“Naoko, do you remember my name?” the head nun with wire glasses asks. “I am Sister Sakura.” She points to the chanting nun who has been sitting with me. “She is Sister Momo, and this is Hisa. She’ll be your baby’s wet nurse.”
Wet nurse?
Sister Sakura stifles a laugh, and her glasses slide farther down her nose. “You barely have meat on your bones. I doubt you will be able to bring enough milk, if any at all. So, we’ll fatten you both up, eh?” She holds her hands open and wiggles her fingers for me to hand over my sleeping baby.
I look first to Hisa. Her round, full face conceals any wrinkles that would snitch her age. My gaze casts down to my baby, her sunken cheeks with creases like crumbled paper. She needs to nurse.
Reluctantly, I loosen my hold. “She will feed here, though, okay? Only here.” I want her in my sight always.
Hisa bows with a soft smile, and I relax a little.
“Of course.” Sister Sakura lifts my baby and hands her to Hisa, leaving my arms too empty.
“Naoko...”
My eyes are on Hisa and my baby, every muscle on alert ready to snatch her back. She’s hungry but fails to latch on to the breast. My heart aches because I am unable to feed her and she struggles.
“Naoko, Sora tells us you were being kept at a maternity clinic, by a Housemother Sato?” Sister Sakura asks.
The mention of the home and the demon midwife’s name grab my attention and sends chills. I shift my gaze and nod. She and Sister Momo exchange a nebulous look.
Sister Sakura pushes the wire glasses higher on her nose. “And you could not leave, you are both sure of this?”
This time, Sora and I share a look. A confused one. There is something in her tone.
I shrug. “Yes, why? Did the housemother contact you? Is she here?” My heart hammers hard.
“Sister Momo will bring you some lunch, then assist you with a dried ginger root sponge bath to aide in healing.” With high brows and a soft smile, she nods.
Why doesn’t she answer? “Sister, what about Housemother?”
Her eyes sideswipe to Sister Momo, then back to mine. Her lips pull tight. “Brother Yuudai, our abbot, wishes to meet with you both when you’re able. You’ll discuss Housemother Sato with him.”
She nods again to close the subject and glances at the wet nurse, Hisa, and my baby, who has yet to feed. Her brows lower, causing her glasses to slip again on her nose.
My stomach rocks uneasy. “She’s not feeding.”
Sister Momo sighs. “She’s early, child...sick and frail. We will keep trying. But let us prepare for you to eat, as well, yes?” Another nod in my direction, and she swishes out, followed by Sister Sakura.
I meet Sora’s eyes, worried for my baby and for us. Why does the abbot wish to talk about Housemother Sato? What if they’ve contacted her?
As soon as Hisa leaves, we have much to discuss.
Like Little Bird, I am also awake.
THIRTY-FIVE
Japan, 1958
It’s been a few days since Little Bird’s arrival, and until today, I partook only in sponge baths with dried ginger root. Even now, after a full bath, its sharp smell sticks to my skin and burns my nose, just as the kerosene from the small paraffin heater Sister Sakura brought us does. At least it keeps away winter’s bite and our room is cozy.
Hisa, the wet nurse, rocks my baby and sings a lullaby while I tug at my still-damp hair, working to untangle its knots and the uncertainties in my mind.
It’s January.
Hajime left in September for Formosa. His service was up soon after, so he’d have traveled back to America for release. Has he returned to our little home in the village and found me missing? Did he go to Zushi to look for me there? I fear Grandmother and Father have sent him away with lies, so I asked Sora to seek news and leave the truth of my situation with my neighbor Maiko.
My baby has lost weight she couldn’t spare and struggles with every breath, but she is still alive, so we continue to try to feed and fatten. Sister Momo brings me warm meals of soup and mochi, rice cake, to see if I will plump, too. My head and body ache from lack of Housemother’s poison tea. Does the baby’s hurt from the withdrawal of poison? I glance to her in Hisa’s arms. My baby is swaddled, contented, cared for and loved, but does she suffer?
“What song is that, Hisa?”
&
nbsp; “Oh, just an old cradle tune. She likes it, though, I think. You do, yes?” She lifts my draped baby higher and makes silly smiles near her face. “Oh, yes. Yes, you do.”
I laugh. “I like it, too.”
Normally, after birth, a daughter stays in her mother’s home for almost four weeks. Okaasan would have loved to sing lullabies. Even Grandmother would make a fuss if things were different.
If Grandmother were different, she still could.
I do not expect to remain here four full weeks, but where will I go? And feeding my baby is still in question. How will I pay Hisa? My weary heart plummets, so I sigh from the length of my soul, then blink to refocus. With the way Hisa holds Little Bird, only a tuft of blue-black hair sticks out. I set the brush on my lap and smile. “Her hair crowns her head like a strawberry cap.”
Hisa tries to press the stem flat with two fingers. It stands right up. She laughs. “Have you thought of a name for this little berry?”
Normally, the entire family would gather for the meimei, naming ceremony. My baby will have no ceremony, but yes, she will have a name.
“I thought of naming her after Okaasan,” I say, twisting my hair into a braid. “But then she would have a traditional Japanese name, and...” I glance at Hisa and speak the obvious. “She is not a traditional Japanese baby. So, instead of a name that attempts to blend in, maybe one to stand out? But I have not decided.”
Hisa just nods. What is there to say? With my baby’s lighter skin and rounded eyes, my Little Bird will stand out regardless.
“Hello, Naoko, Hisa.” Sister Sakura heads straight toward the baby as she walks in. Her robe of mustard spice hangs stiffly as though freshly dried from the sun and not yet loosened by her movements. The burnt ochre fades where the cloth has worn, but the rest is bright like the smile lifted on her cheeks. “And hello, little egg with eyes.”
I stifle a laugh with memory. Hajime thought “egg with eyes” is an odd term for beautiful. I told him it is a great compliment to have a perfectly shaped oval head and big beautiful eyes. Our baby’s eyes are massive on such a little face.
The sister’s smile fades as she and Hisa speak in hushed tones. She has brought a syringe to siphon collected milk for the baby. They fear she is dehydrated, she is not gaining enough; her cries have weakened. Worrying builds nothing but sorrow and empties the day of strength.
Little Bird needs my strength.
With the syringe filled with milk, they prepare my baby. Shifting, I pull myself upright and move to sit beside her.
“Hold her up, we don’t want her to choke.” Sister Sakura places the dropper into Little Bird’s mouth and squeezes. “We want just a dab on her tongue, so she can manage it.”
I stroke her head, whispering words of encouragement. “There you go.” I smile when her lips close to taste. “You can do it.”
“It works!” Hisa laughs. “Look at that.”
Sister Sakura pushes her glasses up. “And you will be able to feed her, Naoko. Here, try.” She hands me the dropper. “Careful. Only one drop. And only after it is gone do you add another.”
I beam, delighted. “At this rate, she will always feed.”
“Yes, this way there is hope, yes?” Sister Sakura places her hand on my arm. “Are you ready to meet with the abbot?”
My smile and stomach drop in tandem.
“Why this face?” Her brows bunch, and the wrinkle of her nose causes her glasses to slide. “He only wishes to talk with you and Sora. There is no need for concern, child.”
I nod with a compulsory smile, then refocus on feeding my baby, but my mind circles scenarios. Housemother Sato lost not only my fee, but Sora’s, and Hatsu’s. I imagine she is out looking for us.
Unless she no longer needs to.
When Sora steps in from the doorway, she won’t meet my eyes. My heart falters. Something’s wrong.
“Hello, child.” Sister Sakura looks over her spectacles at Sora, then shifts her gaze to me.
“Can Sora and I have a moment alone?” I look to Sister Sakura, then to Hisa.
Hisa stands, but I object to her leaving with my baby. “No, I will take her. It’s okay. I will continue to feed her as soon as she wakes.” My arms are already outstretched. Housemother may be near.
Hisa carefully hands her over, then eyes Sora with a curious expression.
Sister Sakura pats my arm. “I will let the abbot know you both are here.”
I nod, then make room on the futon when they leave. “Please, Sora, sit. Tell me what you’ve learned.”
She sits, but her lips hold a tight line.
I need to pry them open, need to know what secrets are inside. “Sora, did you find my neighbor Maiko?” My heart rises high in my throat while I wait.
“Maiko wasn’t there.” Sora’s shoulders drop with a sigh.
“Was her daughter there watching her little brother?” Tatsu’s handsome face flashes in my mind: big eyes, long lashes and covered in mud. I lean closer, causing the baby to stir. “Sora?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “There wasn’t anyone living there. It was empty.”
“Empty? Did you go the right house?” My heart pounds an irregular beat. “Did you go to mine?”
Her knowing eyes level to my desperate ones.
I sit back and swallow, biting at my worried lip so hard I taste blood. Not knowing is bad, but not knowing doesn’t change what is. “Sora, please, just tell me. Whatever it is, it’s okay.” I nod to encourage her.
She takes a deep breath. “An old woman who calls herself Grandmother Fumiko—”
“Yes!” The familiar name gives me hope. “She helped me get ready for my wedding.”
“She said Maiko’s family moved on to another village.”
“Oh...” I nod. “Okay, yes. I guess this is common within these—” I stop on the word. Eta move where there is work. I just never thought of it. “Did she say where? Did she see Hajime?” My thoughts are frantic, so my words are rushed.
Sora pulls back her shoulders, looks at her hands.
“Sora?”
She looks up and shifts so she’s closer. “He...well...” She wrings her hands. “Naoko, Hajime has not returned.” Her chin drops. So does her gaze. “I am sorry.”
“He has not returned? At all?” My heart writhes from the pressure. I don’t understand. He’d have left word. I reach for her arm and shake it. “Were there any letters left at the house?”
She tilts her head. “Since your house sat vacant, another family has moved in. So, there was nothing.”
Nothing.
My fingers fall away from her sleeve.
Now I cannot breathe.
As Hajime was detained, I feared we’d lose the house, but I expected word. I thought Maiko’s family could take me in for a while. Grandmother Fumiko lives with another family already. I glance at my sleeping baby and try not to panic, but it bubbles up. “Now what?”
Sora takes my trembling hand in hers.
I look up. “In my mind, Sora, I saw Hajime’s return at least a hundred times.” My shoulders fall, my words a mere whisper. “He’d search for me, frantic to know where I’d gone. I even saw him traveling the train to Zushi. Running up the hill to my family’s house and calling out for me.”
“Then what happens?” Sora asks, leaning over, pressing her forehead to mine so we form a triangle over my bundled baby.
“‘Naoko,’ he’d say, and Obaachan would hobble to the door, wearing such a frown.” I blink Sora into focus through tears.
She squeezes my hand.
“Hajime would believe nothing she’d say. He’d keep looking until he found me. Then he’d pull me into his arms, saying, ‘I love you, Cricket. Where is our Little Bird?’ You see, in my mind, Sora, it was always Grandmother’s or Father’s lying that would send Hajime away.” I blink back
the daydream and lift my eyes through wet lashes. “I never imagined they wouldn’t need to.” I shake my head with quivering lips pulled high and wide to hold it in.
Sora’s hands cup my cheeks. “Maybe he couldn’t get back, and his letters went unanswered? Maybe he learned others inhabit your house, and he thinks the return trip isn’t welcomed?”
Or maybe he’s left me.
Maybe I was blind, after all.
The baby stirs and with puckered lips cries in silence. I cry loud enough for us both. My shoulders shake from the earthquake of emotion. Sora strokes my hair, and I think of Obaachan. My family. Hajime.
How much I have lost.
I cry and cry, then exhausted from it all, I think of nothing.
Has this all been for nothing?
* * *
“Sora, Naoko?” Hisa leans in. “The abbot is on his way.”
Sora and I share a look of “what if...” What if Housemother has contacted him? What if she is here? What if they expect us to leave with her? But before it’s given to voice, the abbot has arrived.
“May I enter?” His rich robe colored of boiled bark and tubers hangs heavy without ornamentation. He is slight in size but centers the community and commands the space.
If the abbot is of fertile earth, then the sisters and monks are its bounty. A succession of spice in shades of curry, cumin and turmeric follows him in.
Sister Sakura has her glasses off and makes quick introductions as she cleans them with a cloth.
I hear nothing except the beating of my heart.
Is no one else coming? Sora and I share a curious glance.
“Hello, girls and new little life,” the abbot says, observing my baby as Hisa attempts to feed her with the dropper. His joyful smile pulls high and rounds out his cheeks. His eyes squint with soft crinkles in the corners. It is infectious, but I do not smile. Neither does Hisa when he asks if my baby now feeds? Instead, she shakes her head.
“She will,” I say to them both. “Please, keep trying.”