A Place to Belong

by Cynthia Kadohata

  But something occurred to Hanako. “Am I bothering you, asking so many questions?”

  “You ask many question as you want. Even though it hard work answering your question!” She had completely cheered up as she stirred the soup.

  “Well, what do you think of America now?” Hanako asked.

  “I live in America eleven year. America very strong. You can feel how strong is America.”

  “Papa has a friend whose father used to beat him. So the man wanted to love his father, but it was hard because of the beatings. Papa says that’s how he feels about America.”

  Baachan’s brow furrowed. “I like for your father to live in America. America very strong, country can protect, you can be safe. But I like him here too. I like him here for me, not for him. When I see my grandchildren, happiest day of my life.” And suddenly, Baachan was crying. Sobbing.

  Hanako shot to her feet and quickly moved to where her grandmother was stirring the soup. She reached out her hand and let it hover for a moment over Baachan’s back, then laid it firmly on the curved spine. Baachan tried to stir the soup as she sobbed.

  “What is it?” Hanako asked.

  “I just think of day I sell my wedding kimono! I did not want to sell!” She spoke through her tears. Then she half shouted, “You go! You go! Now! I don’t like cry over something so stupid!”

  Hanako hurried out of the room, feeling panicked. She could hear Jiichan talking with Mama in the bedroom. She sat alone at the kotatsu, her face in her hands. She would go to school, and then she would get rich, and then she would find a kimono just like the one Baachan had sold, and she would buy it.

  But Baachan had shown her the only three pictures she owned, and none of them was of the kimono. So Hanako would not find one that was just the same. That one was gone. All the money in the world would not get it back, nor get back Baachan’s straight spine.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Hanako was alone.

  But the thought of Baachan selling her wedding kimono just—it just made her suddenly want to be even more alone. It seemed so hot at the table! She got up and slid open the front door before climbing down the steps and walking cautiously into the yard. She went as far as the path in front of the house and looked around the darkness and saw nobody. Maybe this was the actual most alone she’d ever been. The half-moon hung over the pines, partly hidden by small, glowing clouds moving slowly across the sky—the sky changing each moment. She knew that Japanese were obsessed with the way everything was temporary, the way everything was always changing. You celebrate each precious moment in your changing world. That was the Japanese way. Probably during the war, this had all been forgotten as everybody suffered. It was certainly not something she herself had thought about in the camps. But it turned out that the camps, which had seemed to go on forever, were, after all, temporary.

  Hanako looked back up at the sky and was surprised to see that the clouds had already disappeared! Faded away? Moved somewhere else? She would never know.

  She thought suddenly about how the woman they’d given twenty-seven dollars to, to take care of Sadie, had never responded to the letters Hanako had written to her.

  So she didn’t know what had become of her cat.

  So there were some things that she, too, just couldn’t have anymore: they were simply gone. But what was it Jiichan had said? “So we move forward in life, neh?”

  And she had her grandparents now. It was what she needed to concentrate on as she moved forward.

  She heard Baachan calling out, “Gomen nasai, Hana-chan! I hurt your feelings?”

  Hanako spun around. “No, not at all! No!”

  “I don’t mean to yell at you.”

  Hanako began walking toward the house. “It’s all right. I was just thinking.”

  When she arrived at the door, Baachan seemed embarrassed, then said, “Well, I very sorry. You eat now? Not hurt your feelings?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine!” She slipped her arm through Baachan’s. “Nothing ever hurts my feelings!”

  They ate dinner before Papa got home again, because he told them that he wouldn’t be home until eight each night. Surprisingly, Mama came out for dinner with Akira. He was wrapped in the heavy blanket and plopped down at the table, declaring, “I’m hungry! Hana, how come you didn’t feed me?”

  Mama petted his head, saying, “I will feed you, Aki-chan!” She spooned food into his mouth like he was a toddler, which he seemed to enjoy a lot. He ate all his soup, then looked longingly at Hanako’s bowl. She gave him what was left.

  The dishes were washed, and everyone was sitting at the kotatsu talking when the front door slid open and Papa stepped through. He held up his rucksack triumphantly. “I’ve got some things!”

  He took his time making his way to the table, teasing them. Then he took even longer to open his bag. Hanako was ready to burst. At last he held up a big green-bean can, grinning in a way that Hanako could not remember ever seeing before. Like a pirate or something. “Bacon grease!” he exclaimed. “They gave it to me instead of cigarettes today.”

  Jiichan stood up and took the can excitedly, opening it up and inhaling deeply. “Ahhhh! Ahhhh! The children will need this. My mother said children need fat and oil. She was not educated, but she could feel that this was true. She fed us fish whenever she could get.” After closing the can again, he set it carefully on the table. Then he looked very proud of himself, as if he had obtained the grease. “I raise good son. Yes, I very satisfy about that. I did good job.”

  Akira grabbed at the can, and he and Hanako sniffed at it. Then they both dipped in a finger and sucked the grease off—delicious!

  “I have more,” Papa said. “I have boku zukin for Hanako and Akira.”

  Hanako and her brother looked at each other. Boku zukin?

  “What’s that?” Hanako asked.

  “All the children wear them, even now. They wore them during the war to protect themselves from bombs.”

  The boku zukin was a quilted cloth hood with a short cape. It had a tie at the neck. Hanako had no idea how this would protect anyone from a bomb, especially an atomic bomb like the one that had destroyed Hiroshima. It would not be possible for this little hood to stop a bomb, would it? No, it wouldn’t. She picked it up and tied it around her neck anyway.

  “I brought it so you could wear it to school,” Papa said. “You’ll fit in better.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Hanako said obediently.

  She wondered yet again what school would be like here. School in the camps had been simple and disorganized, and Hanako hadn’t learned much. After they moved to Tule Lake, she changed from American school to Japanese school. Unlike many of her classmates, she hadn’t gone to Japanese school before the war, which was why she couldn’t read and write the language. The sensei—or teacher—had conducted class in Japanese, and while she could keep up with the spoken language, she couldn’t keep up in the reading and writing. No, she was not looking forward to school at all.

  But Papa wasn’t done. Now he was holding up his bag like an insane Santa Claus, a ridiculous smile on his face.

  Akira jumped up, screaming, “I know, I know! I can smell it! You got fish!”

  Papa turned his bag upside down on the table, and out fell a package wrapped in newspaper. Akira and Hanako ripped it open: a mackerel! It smelled maybe a day too old, but at the same time Hanako did not think she’d ever smelled anything better.

  “I passed the fish seller on his bicycle,” Papa said. “Let’s eat it right now!”

  And so Baachan cooked it alone, because she said she had a secret way of cooking old fish so that it didn’t taste old. “Someday I will teach you secret,” she told Hanako. “But tonight it will be something special I do. I am only person in world who know this secret.” Her face was red with excitement.

  And she cooked the fish in secret. And it tasted like it had just been caught an hour ago. The best fish in the history of the world!

  C
HAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  When it came to the first day of school, not having a mirror was truly a catastrophe. And there was not even a glass window where Hanako could see her reflection. She’d dressed in a white blouse and her new plaid skirt. And she’d let Baachan do her braid, even though she really wanted Mama to do it, because she knew Mama could braid her hair just right. But Baachan had insisted, and Mama gave Hanako the stink eye when she started to protest.

  Hanako stood in the living room, with Akira, Mama, and Baachan evaluating her. Then Baachan placed her hand on her heart and said, “This sound like something your jiichan will do, but I have to brag. I have to say, I make perfect skirt for perfect girl. I very proud with myself.” She lowered her hand and shrugged modestly. “All right. All right. I stop brag now. Make sure put on coat, very cold today.”

  Hanako fingered her braid to make sure it felt like it did when Mama braided it. It seemed to feel normal. And she knew the skirt was perfect . . . although if nobody had ever seen a plaid skirt before, they might not understand how perfect it was. Did people from all different countries think the same things were perfect?

  But it was time to leave—Baachan was putting on her own coat. Hanako hesitated. She did not like first times very much. First times made her shy, even scared. First times made her ask, Why? As in, Why do I have to do this? She started to feel a little annoyed. Why wasn’t she being given more days at home? What was the rush to get her to school? She suddenly stomped her foot, but Mama and Baachan happened to be looking at Akira at that moment. So then she stomped again, but nobody paid any attention.

  So she resignedly put on her coat, and on top of that she wore the boku zukin. She didn’t know if that was how you were supposed to wear the cape, but Baachan suggested it. On her feet she wore her leather shoes. None of the girls at school would own leather shoes, purple coats, or plaid skirts, so she wouldn’t fit in the way she liked to do. But how could she not wear her special things for the first day of school?

  Mama was staying home with Akira, so it was just Hanako and Baachan walking together. Right before they went out the door, Akira pulled at her sleeve.

  “You pulled at my sleeve!” she accused him.

  He screwed up his face angrily. “You and your coat!”

  “Oh, stop,” Mama said. She leaned in until her nose was touching Hanako’s, and then she rubbed back and forth a couple of times. “All right?” she asked, as if she had said something more.

  But Hanako didn’t like first times! So she said, “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Then Baachan took her arm and pulled her gently outside. They strode down the narrow road through the village, past people bustling about. “Ohayō gozaimasu!” someone called out to Baachan.

  “Ohayō gozaimasu!” she called back.

  Hanako was clinging to Baachan’s hand like a little child. Baachan’s coat was old with frayed sleeves, but it looked heavy, so she was probably warm enough. Because of the curve of her spine, she had to kind of tilt her head back so she could see where she was going.

  “Thank you for walking me to school,” Hanako said.

  “I enjoy. I use walk your father to school every day. He use go to same school you be going! You bring me good memory.”

  “Was he a good student?”

  Baachan chuckled. “No. You be better, please. I appreciate.”

  “Then he grew up and started a fantastic restaurant. I wish you could have seen it.”

  “I see up here,” Baachan said, pointing to her head. “I see everything in your father world up here.” She pulled her coat tight; the top button was missing.

  “Are you cold?” Hanako asked.

  “I use to it. No worry, just me. There!”

  Hanako followed her grandmother’s eyes and saw a plain, one-story building. The dark wood looked like it was a hundred years old, chipping and discolored and cracked. Like the houses, there were no glass windows. Children milled about. She half expected to see the pink boy, but he wasn’t there. She looked around. Did he go to school in the open air in Hiroshima? Did he go to school at all? Some of the kids dressed colorfully, and some quite plainly. But if you looked closely, you could see even the colorful clothes were old and threadbare. The girls wore their hair cut above their chins, with bangs, and had plain skirts or monpe. A few of the children were barefoot, a few of the boys wore geta, and the others wore straw sandals. Hanako felt instantly regretful that she was dressed differently from everybody else. Still, she was very pleased with her outfit.

  “I remember where office,” Baachan said. “I never forget anything about your father. Come, please.”

  Hanako and Baachan took off their shoes and went into a small office attached to another small office. The inside looked as old as the outside, all brown and dark and discolored. Baachan spoke Japanese to the woman at the front desk, explaining who Hanako was. She bowed, and the woman gave a slight smile. The woman called to someone in the other office, and a man came out. Baachan explained who they were. “Ooooh, America-gaeri,” he said. “Aaaaah.” He looked at Hanako with open curiosity, almost as if waiting for her to do something American-like.

  Then Baachan turned to Hanako. “I go now. I be here pick you up when school over. Wait if I late.”

  “What? You’re leaving already?”

  “You fine. You will learn many thing. I see you later.”

  As Baachan headed out of the office, Hanako felt a pang of worry over how bad her Japanese reading and writing were.

  “Kinasai,” the man said to her. (“Come.”)

  She followed him to a classroom where kids were just entering and taking their seats. They were all wearing what Hanako knew were their straw sandals that they used just for inside. Baachan had told her she would need these, but she had not had time to make any. Indoor sandals and outdoor ones were exactly the same, except you must never get them mixed up!

  There didn’t seem to be any heat inside, so the kids were still wearing their coats. Actually, some of the kids didn’t have coats at all, just their boku zukin. The man explained to the teacher that Hanako was an America-gaeri who’d just come with her family to Japan to live. He spoke loudly enough that the whole classroom was suddenly muttering, “America-gaeri!” To Hanako that seemed to mean “America come-backer.” They stared as she walked toward the seat the teacher indicated. The empty seat was in the back, and every single person turned around to continue to stare at her. One girl cried out, “Murasaki!” That meant “purple.”

  Hanako felt self-conscious in her outfit. And then she didn’t. She took off her boku zukin so everyone could see her coat better. After she sat, she folded her hands on her desk and gazed straight ahead. Back straight. Head high. Like the teenage boys: not scared of anything, at least on the outside.

  The man left, and a boy stood up and yelled, “Kiritsu!”

  Everyone popped to their feet. Hanako quickly stood up too.

  The boy called out, “Rei!”

  Hanako and the rest of the class bowed.

  Then, in perfect unison, the other students said, “Takahashi Sensei, ohayō gozaimasu!” The sensei was an older woman with mostly gray hair and a no-nonsense manner. She held a stick in her hand for some reason. She turned sharply and began to walk out, everybody following her in a straight line.

  They went into the schoolyard to do light exercises: bending, stretching, twisting, swinging, and a little bit of jumping and running. The entire school came out, all the children hopping around in their bare feet. She’d never twisted and stretched like this before; it felt good. The running felt good too. She felt like she might possibly fit in because she could jump and twist and stretch as well as the other kids.

  Then everybody went back in. Takahashi Sensei, waving her stick, announced that the first subject was going to be math. Hanako was glad about that, because she was good at math. But when everybody took abacuses out of their desks, Hanako gaped. Abacuses? She had seen one once before but had no idea how they
worked. The teacher quickly noticed that Hanako didn’t have one and found an extra. She called it a soroban. As the lesson proceeded, Hanako could hear the other kids’ beads clicking away. She looked at the teacher, then at her abacus, then at the other kids, who were already starting to giggle at her confusion and were murmuring “America-gaeri” to one another. Hanako’s face grew hot. Math was the last subject that she’d expected to be behind in. Her humiliation lasted the entire hour—by the end, even the teacher was laughing a little at her. But the teacher wasn’t laughing meanly, and suddenly it seemed like nobody was trying to be mean, just having a giggle. In fact, Hanako got the feeling the sensei liked her.

  Next the teacher handed Hanako a history textbook that had whole sections blacked out. She tapped on the book with her stick. The pages reminded Hanako of the censored letters she had gotten from her father when he was in North Dakota. She couldn’t read the kanji, and her leg started twitching impatiently. The sensei talked about the samurai and the feudal period in Japan, but she didn’t use the word “samurai.” She used the word bushi, a word Hanako had never heard. So it took her ten minutes just to understand that the teacher was actually talking about samurai . . . or that maybe samurai were a type of bushi . . . or vice versa. Anyway, they were kind of the same thing . . . or something.

  It seemed that in the thirteenth century, Mongolia sent a huge fleet of ships to invade Japan. The Japanese were outnumbered and suffered huge losses, but then a typhoon blew in, pounding and sinking many Mongolian ships. So the Mongolians retreated. A few years later they tried again, but by this time the Japanese had built a wall to help repel invaders. Then another typhoon struck, again destroying most of the Mongolian fleet. So the weather was called kamikaze, or “divine wind.” Hanako tried to take notes in Japanese, but she couldn’t do it quickly enough, so she switched to English.