by Ana Johns
We form an informal circle with Sister Sakura to my left, Sister Momo, Sora and the abbot to my right. I am still on edge and ready to snatch my baby from Hisa and dart away.
“I would like you to start at the beginning. How you came to be at our door.” The abbot folds his hands inside his oversize sleeves and rests his eyes on me.
They are kind, but are they understanding? “We were at the Bamboo Maternity clinic down the road.” I wait and gauge reactions but get none, so continue. “My mother just recently passed, so I was home, and...”
The baby stirs, allowing me pause to consider my words. How to explain everything?
“I had some trouble with the pregnancy. We were afraid I could lose the baby, so my Grandmother sent for a midwife. She wanted to do further tests, so I was taken to the maternity home, but...” I tense and look down, not sure how to speak of Grandmother’s intent. “How do I explain what I myself don’t understand?”
“Naoko, just speak your truth.” The abbot’s voice is soft and reassuring. His lips turn up at the corners. “Sometimes you have to push the stick in the thicket to drive out the snake.”
The words find their way to my lips, and once I start, I cannot stop them. They flow in a rapid sequence to string together the events of the last year and a half. I tell them of Hajime, our wedding, about my family. Even Satoshi and how he was my family’s choice. I explain how Housemother locked the gates and then, glancing across to Sora, I tell about the babies.
All those babies.
How they cried, and how they did not. Yoko’s, Jin’s, Aiko’s, Chiyo’s...so many more.
I do not just push the stick, I jab it, to reveal Housemother Sato.
They listen without interruption and, as far as I can tell, without judgment. Hisa’s eyes have moistened with tears and she dabs at them. The sisters shake their heads. Even Sora’s eyes water. She was not with Jin, Hatsu and me. Maybe she didn’t know the full extent of Housemother Sato’s heartless cruelty?
Sora picks up where I left off to explain the state she found me in, the tea, our escape and journey here.
The abbot sighs. His smile vanished as though it were never there.
The baby fusses and I reach for her. Hisa hesitates, but I insist. I don’t care if this pulls their patience. Right now I’m still unsure of everything. Everyone. Better hungry than missing. “Is she here?” I blurt, not able to hold it in any longer. “Has she come for us?”
“That woman?” Sister Sakura asks, her face folding. “No, no, child. We simply wanted to learn your story.”
“And I wish to thank you both for sharing it,” the abbot says, sitting taller. “And for your bravery.”
Small nods of soft agreement fill the space.
“What will happen now?” Sora asks.
Sister Sakura readjusts her glasses. “We will inform local officials, so they may consider the matter, of course.”
“But they will not do anything,” I say in protest, looking from one face to the next. “An inquiry won’t make a difference.”
“That depends on who you ask,” the abbot says. “Once, a man was walking along the shore when he spotted a monk reaching down to the sand, picking something up and very carefully throwing it into the ocean.” The abbot frees his hands and uses them to demonstrate. “As the man got closer, he called out, ‘What are you doing?’ The monk paused, looked up and answered, ‘I am throwing starfish back into the ocean. The sun is up, and the tide has left them here to die.’”
I rock my baby and listen.
“The man looked up and down the vast shoreline, then back to the monk. ‘Do you not see the miles and miles of stranded starfish? You surely cannot make a difference.’ The monk listened politely, then threw another starfish into the sea, past the breaking waves and said, ‘It made a difference for that one.’” The abbot grins, his eyes shine in amusement. “See, Naoko?” The abbot lifts his chin. “Did you not help Hatsu? Did you, Sora, not help Naoko? Did your actions not make a difference for that one?” He nods to my Little Bird.
The abbot leans forward to stand. The sisters and monks rise, as well. Only Sora and Hisa stay behind. I glance again at my sleeping baby. Grandmother always said, “Even nothing is something.”
She is something.
“Brother Yuudai?” I call out.
The abbot turns, stepping back through the door, brows arched high. “What is it, child?”
“Please, if you can make arrangements, I need to see my father.”
I have not come this far for nothing.
THIRTY-SIX
Japan, 1958
Hisa suggested I nap while my baby does, but I only slept for a moment. Now I stare at the tall pine silhouettes through the shoji window screen and sigh. My nightmare haunts me.
It was summer, and I was running through the open fields of tall grass. With my arms outstretched, my fingertips raked the seed heads. Feathery plumes swayed before me, like a sea of cascading waves. I stopped, lifted my chin to the sun and let the heat warm my cheeks.
In the clouds, I saw Hajime’s ship. The breeze kicked up, and he sailed farther and farther away. Then Brother Daigan took my baby, and when I called out to him, he disappeared, my voice lost in the wind.
All around me were cries, the mizuko, water children, waiting for Jizō, waiting for me. They wailed. Then birds. A dozen, maybe two, flew overhead in a panic. I watched their soft underbellies until they blended into the sky, and I was alone in silence. Then something stirred behind me. I turned.
The majestic tiger.
Amber eyes with pinprick pupils fixed right on me. There was a familiarity to his stare. His lips curled into a snarl, a warning growl from deep within its throat. I could feel his breath; we stood so close.
He was a monster of ginger orange. His length was of two full-grown men, and his girth, of four. Its tail, as long as me, twitched in aggravation.
My heart beat like a jackrabbit. He stepped to the left and crossed one giant paw over the other in a slow, calculated movement. I stepped to my right. Our eyes stayed locked. Another sneer bared yellowed teeth, but he did not attack.
Instead, we circled one another, around and around in the tall grass. I woke, his roar held in my ears even as I shifted over from sleep. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I wondered if he could still devour me.
I wonder that now.
The partition door slides open, and Sister Sakura leans into the doorway. “Hello, Naoko. Are you ready?”
“Do you remember the story of the two tigers?” I cannot shake my nightmare.
“Yes, of course. Hello, little-chan.” Sister Sakura’s voice rises and falls in singsong as she holds her finger under the baby’s reaching hand. “It tells of the man who climbed a vine to reach a strawberry and was trapped there by two mean terrible tigers. Then mice nibbled away on either side.” She makes faces to Little Bird as she talks. “Yes, they were very scary.” Sister Sakura’s glasses slip, but instead of pushing them up, she lifts her chin higher and continues to flirt with silly expressions. “But you’re not scared, are you?”
“I am,” I say, watching them. “I’m like the trapped man reaching for the strawberry.” I reach for her now.
Hisa appears in the doorway. “Your father’s here, Naoko, are you ready?”
* * *
The monastery grounds are expansive. It is a training center with over one hundred monks and nuns in residence. Between the lecture hall, bathing houses, living quarters, temples and classrooms, there are at least thirty structures. Meditation gardens surround them. I have only seen the front gate and my room. And now, at dusk, the sun rests on the horizon with its arms outstretched in a wide yawn of yellow and orange, so I see it only in shadows.
I follow the abbot and Sister Sakura, a half-step behind, staying close to Hisa, who carries my bundled baby. We turn into one of the many covered
corridors. It’s narrow with exposed beams along the high ceiling. Small lanterns attach to the supporting poles and tease with flickering light to guide our way.
The corridor opens to a wide room that acts as a reception hall to the attached temple. As we pass, I cannot help but glance inside to the monks in colored robes of rust and brown who sit in a lotus position or with foreheads to floor. The nightly devotional pulsates through the building, through the floor, and reverberates even in my weary bones.
The abbot turns to find me stopped. “Meditation serves to quiet the monkey mind. Close your eyes, Naoko. Listen.”
I shut my eyes and picture Jin and Hatsu while listening to the long-drawn-out syllable sung over and over. Some hold the note, while others begin. With theirs held, the others start again. The layered chants reverberate deep from their diaphragms. The hum is many voices as one, and it speaks to me. It fills the cracks in between my racing thoughts and overtakes them, like the rise of a quick tide over a rocky shore.
“What is it you wish? What is it you need? What is it you seek?” the abbot asks.
I open my eyes. Chanting is not a prayer, it is not asking. “It is nothing.”
The abbot smiles so every line in his face pulls high. “Then you are ready.” He crosses the wide room and slides open the door to another.
I fix my baby’s hair again, then share a look with Hisa. She will stand in the hall outside the entry with Sister Sakura when I’m invited in, then when the time is right, I will present my baby and ask for my father’s acceptance.
My stomach winds tighter into a knot, the truth of my situation settling in. I am nervous and excited. It is as though fire ants crawl over my skin and bite. Despite everything, I have missed my family, but what will my father say?
My hands wring one inside the other, not feeling as confident to meet with him. I know in my heart Father would let Grandmother tend to women’s things. But then is Grandmother the tiger from my nightmare, or are they both tigers like in the story, waiting to devour me and my little strawberry in the middle?
The door slides open.
I look at my baby’s sleeping face in Hisa’s arms and say a quick prayer for strength. If I keep my head and my heart focused in the right direction, my feet can follow. One step then another leads me closer and closer. Then I peek in.
Father faces the abbot, his back to me. He wears a white dress shirt and tan pants. They hang off him now. Has he lost weight? I step inside, stealing a glance at Hisa and my baby, then with shaking fingers I close the door behind me. When I turn, I’m eye-to-eye with my father. I do not move. My skin bumps.
It is just as in my dream.
The abbot beckons me with a wave. The russet sleeve swallows the motion. “Come in, child.”
Father’s eyes are black with contrasting bands of red jasper and deep honey. I search them. Do they hold anger? Hate? Will he pounce? But I see only sadness. Guilt fills my churning belly, and I shrink so small. A child hiding behind a parent’s leg, but I have no parent.
Instead, I have become one.
“Please, Naoko, come in.” The abbot waves again.
Father is larger than life. His word within the family is law. Am I still family? I close the distance between us and bow low to show submission.
The abbot nods with a soft smile. His voice is melodic and calming. “Naoko, your father and I have spoken at great length about the maternity home and how you have come to be with us...”
The rest of his words fade under my racing thoughts. My eyes shift from the abbot back to my father. The gray that clings around his temples has whitened and is more prominent than I remember. Creases sit deeper between his brows and hug the corners of his mouth to camouflage any pleasing expression. He is regal and intimating.
“...and I will leave now, so you may discuss your future.” The abbot bows to us both, and on the way out, touches my arm with a reassuring squeeze.
Father motions for me to sit, and I do, but not with my back to the door. I need to watch the shadows, to know my baby is just outside. The image of Brother Daigan disappearing with her keeps replaying in my mind.
I meet Father’s eyes, but I cannot find any words. Breathing is hard enough, so I wait for him to begin.
“I am glad you had the abbot contact me.” His voice is raspy, as though he has not used it in some time, or have I forgotten its coarse sound in my ears?
I focus on my hands, look to his face, and then to the screen over his shoulder. The shadows. My baby. My words rise in anger. “Did you know what that...that place was?”
“No.” His eyes close for a moment. When they open they are softer. “And yes.”
“Yes?” My jaw drops slack. So, he is the beast? To consider something and to believe it are not the same things. “Why? How co—”
“Wait.” His hand is up. “With the bleeding, Obaachan feared, we both feared, for your health. We believed the baby was lost, it was too late, you see? When that happens there are certain things...procedures that must be—” His hand lifts and stirs the air, as though it could wave away the uncomfortable words he leaves hanging there.
We stay fixed. His words go around and around and stalk me.
His lips tighten, and a guttural sigh heaves from his chest. “I know this because your mother lost a baby once.” He does not look at me. Instead, he looks somewhere in the past. “It was after Taro. A boy.”
My shoulders drop. She never told me.
“They had...procedures that had to be done to clear the womb. This I remember.” For the first time in my life, I witness my father in battle. A battle of his own emotion. His face tenses to mask it, but just like in the last war, there is nothing to be done except surrender. The building moisture is released only to be quickly pushed away with a clearing of his throat. “This is why you were allowed to go there. Understand? It is a place for such things.”
“I did not lose my baby.”
Father’s lack of response is response enough.
“So why did you continue to pay Housemother Sato?”
His thick eyebrows furrow. “What do I know of these things? I was told you needed this to be well, and Obaachan agreed, so of course I paid.”
I sit taller and ask the next difficult question. “Obaachan agreed? Did she know?”
His eyes narrow. “Obaachan has her strong opinions of the matter, but her intent was to ensure your health. We’d just lost your mother and...” His head shakes, and he scrubs a hand over his jaw.
The shadows shift behind him, and my thoughts return to my baby. “I wish for you to meet your granddaughter.” The words are said and I cannot take them back.
Father straightens but says nothing.
This is my chance, maybe my only one. I stand, bow and walk with purpose to the door. The sudden movement as it opens startles Sister Sakura and Hisa, but Little Bird is ready.
“Please.” I hold out my arms.
Hisa hands her to me, and I peer down at my daughter’s face, her determined sprout-like hair and blameless eyes. Then I glance up to Sister Sakura. Nothing is said, but the implications of this first meeting hang thick between us.
I am desperate for my father to see her beauty and innocence. We are expected to leave the monastery in a few days, and we have nowhere to go. We need his acceptance.
I make myself breathe deeply to steady my nerves. Turning, I walk back in, shut the door and march right in front of him. “This is your granddaughter.” My voice is soft, hope hidden in its tone.
He observes the bundle in my arms.
The ground beneath my feet shifts, causing outward tremors in all directions. We stand on a cultural fault line, the fracture running miles deep, and the potential aftermath catastrophic. My intent may displace sides, but this baby connects us all like a bridge. If only my father is willing to cross. Please let him cross.
My baby stirs and makes a gurgling noise. Her eyes are open wide as if she knows how significant this meeting is. I wet my fingers and push down her stubborn hair.
“She rarely cries.” I study him as he takes her in. “She is not much trouble at all.” Stepping closer, I tilt her up, so he can really see her.
Father scans her from top to bottom, but his face is unreadable.
This is his granddaughter regardless of the baby’s father. She blows a spit bubble and wheezes.
My father has no response.
I do. My heart is sinking. I scramble for the right thing to say, tears welling. “Her skin is only slightly lighter, and look...” I step even closer. “Her eyes, almost black just like mine.” Her hair sticks up between my fingers. “That is only tsumuji.” A cowlick is thought as a sign for genius. “See? There is no curl or wave. She will not stand out. And she will get stronger. I know it.”
My father lifts his chin and stares past me.
He is done looking at her.
His hands clasp behind his back, and he rocks on his heels. My arms reposition my baby across my middle. I brace myself, to not only speak the truth, but to face it.
“Hajime was called away. You know about the threat with Taiwan. And now his service is up.” I swallow my pride and continue. “He has not returned.” My eyes fill with tears, but I will not cry in front of him.
“So, you will return to your house and wait.”
“No.” I focus on his chin, the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, anywhere but his eyes, his empty eyes. The lump in the back of my throat grows, so I almost fail to get out the words. “I cannot return there because...” My head lowers in humiliation. “Because without payment, the house has been rented to another family.”
He puffs a breath from his nostrils, flaring them, and steps back to process this new information.
I wait. Ten seconds. Twenty? It seems a thousand until he speaks again.
“And do you expect his return?” His tone is even and soft, as though he knows the strength of his words might blow me over.