The Street of a Thousand Blossoms

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “Be careful,” his uncle warned.

  Of what? Kenji thought. He was safely in the countryside.

  “More and more people are coming from the cities,” he added, answering Kenji’s silent question. “They’ll do anything for food. You can never be too careful.”

  They walked farther out into the fields, away from the row of trees where the grass hadn’t sprouted to an area that received more sun. Hideo threw his cloth sack over his shoulder and reasoned the grass would be longer there, and, if not, the weeds certainly would be. They walked farther out, the open space always loosening their tongues and putting them at ease.

  “It must be much different living in Tokyo,” Hideo said. “With so many more people.”

  Too many, Kenji thought, but answered, “Yes, it’s very crowded. But the city’s exciting.”

  “And the schools must have many more students?”

  Kenji nodded.

  “I hope to go to the city to study later,” Hideo added. “What do you want to study?”

  “Engineering.” Hideo smiled.

  Kenji smiled back. “I’ll show you around Tokyo. And you can meet my brother, Hiroshi. He’s a formidable wrestler.”

  “Sumotori?”

  “Hai.”

  “Then I’ll be welcomed everywhere in Tokyo with a famous sumotori as my cousin. And you? What do you want to do, Kenji-chan?”

  Kenji hesitated. He hadn’t said the words aloud or told anyone that he wanted to be an artisan; only Hiroshi and his grandparents understood his desire.

  “I like art,” Kenji answered, “and the theater.”

  Hideo readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “My father always says that it’s hard to create something out of nothing. That’s why art is truly a gift.”

  Kenji was surprised to hear Hideo quote his father, a sullen man who hadn’t said ten words to him since he had arrived.

  Hideo seemed to pick up on his thoughts. “If you’d met my father before the war, you would have met another man. Do you know that all the pottery in our house was made by him?”

  Kenji was amazed. Even his cousin’s respect and admiration was unexpected. Then he remembered the lovely raku vase in the hall. He never guessed that Uncle Toki had made it. He couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to lose not only his arm but also his art. In that instant, Kenji realized that the war had taken away much more from his uncle than just flesh and bone.

  Out in the fields, it was difficult to fill both sacks with anything but weeds, so Kenji strayed farther. He stopped pulling when he heard a distant, low buzzing. For a moment he felt immobilized by the faraway hum, a sound he knew all too well from Tokyo, where he always made a mad dash for the air-raid shelter. He wanted to believe that warplanes would never be flying so far out into the countryside, that they would leave Imoto untouched, as his aunt had said. But the drone grew louder. He dropped his cloth bag and looked up to the sky, shading his eyes against the sun. At first, in the glare, he didn’t see anything, but then, just beyond the horizon he spotted the dark shadows approaching. Two planes. This far away from any city, they were most likely on reconnaissance missions. Uncle Toki had warned them to be careful, but he never expected planes. Kenji waved and yelled for Hideo to take cover but he was too far away to hear. He turned and ran toward his cousin as the roar of the planes grew closer, and he felt their enormous dark shadows swallow him as they flew overhead. He looked up and caught a glimpse of the American flag on the tail of one of the planes.

  He prayed it wasn’t worth the pilot’s time to return and chase down two teenagers. In the distance, he saw Hideo running toward the trees that bordered the field. Kenji’s heart pounded as he struggled for breath and paused long enough to see one of the planes circle in the distance and return in his direction.

  “Run,” Kenji shouted, “run, run, run!” He wasn’t sure if he was saying it aloud or in his head, but he knew Hideo had a good chance of making it to the trees even if he couldn’t. He suddenly felt as if he were Kenji the ghost again, with all the kids in the yard chasing after him. He heard the thunderous roar of the plane come closer, its engine sputtering behind him just as he heard the footsteps of his classmates within reach of grabbing his shirt. Kenji ran faster, turning back to see the plane banking and coming in low, but his foot struck a depression in the ground and buckled under him. The pain in his ankle was sharp and excruciating as he fell to the ground. On his back, he faced the oncoming plane, the way he should have faced his classmates all those times before.

  The plane angled in so low Kenji saw a goggled face behind the windshield. He saw the sparks fly first—quick flashes of light from the guns, followed by the rapid popping noise as bullets thudded across the ground and kicked up a dry storm of dirt in two straight lines rippling toward him. Lightning first, always followed by thunder. In that split second, Kenji knew he’d have to get his body between the stream of bullets or roll to the side before they reached him. He rolled just as the bullets careened past him. Kenji covered his head with his arms against the spray of dirt and rocks as the shadow of the plane roared over him. He looked up as the bullets chased Hideo into the trees before the plane pulled upward. As soon as it vanished into the clouds, Kenji pushed himself up. He could barely stand. His ankle throbbed but he didn’t think it was broken. He hobbled as fast as he could; he dragged his foot toward the direction he’d last seen Hideo, praying that his cousin had made it to the safety of the trees. The plane hesitated, then flew off rather than circle and drop down for another round of strafe. Kenji stopped and sank to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hideo running toward him.

  Later, aside from a badly twisted ankle and minor cuts and bruises, Kenji and Hideo were otherwise unhurt. Kenji wondered if that American pilot had had any real intention of killing them, or whether it had been just sport? Sport, he decided. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Now he knew that even the countryside of Imoto wasn’t safe from the storm. The swelling in my ankle has gone down and I can stand on it again. I’m going home, where I can be of some help to my family, he wrote a week later, the night before he boarded a train and returned to Yanaka, not five days into March.

  Fire

  Haru had kept her word to Aki. By the first days of March they were sent home to Tokyo, replaced by another group of students evacuated to Ikaruga. For the six months they’d been in the countryside, Haru never told Aki how much she missed home and wanted to return. She hated the strict teachers and long hours working at the factory making mosquito nets. But she had to be strong, to help her younger sister endure what she herself could barely stand.

  The moment they arrived home, Haru breathed a sigh of relief. Aki ran from room to room and out to the sumo stable, hugging her parents and wanting to be picked up as if she were a little girl again. Haru wanted to do the same, but something stopped her. In the months since she’d seen them, her parents had aged years, especially her mother, who appeared pale and gaunt, her once black hair now sprinkled with gray. Darkness had fallen over her father’s beloved sumo stable; the constant search for food, the weekly visits from the neighborhood associations, and the death of one of her father’s young sumotori, Makahashi, who had been killed in the Philippines, where another wrestler had had his leg amputated, had taken their toll.

  When Aki followed her father out to the keikoba, Haru took the chance to speak to her mother.

  “Okasan, is everything all right?”

  Her mother touched the back of her hair and laughed nervously. “Of course, why do you ask?”

  “You seem so thin,” Haru dared to say.

  “We are all too thin,” her mother answered. “It would be strange if I weren’t thin during this awful time.”

  “Hai, but—”

  “But what, Haru-chan?” her mother interrupted. “What are you saying?”

  For the first time, Haru heard fear in her mother’s voice, and saw it in her beautiful, dark eyes. She glanced away from Haru and waited for an a
nswer.

  “Nothing,” Haru replied. She wanted to ask her mother when this awful war would be over, but Haru felt some fragile thread might break in her mother if she asked too many questions. Like Aki, she wanted life to return to the way it was, when their days were filled with noise and laughter, when her father’s teaching voice and the rough grunting noises of the rikishi at practice meant her father was doing what he loved best. Back when the reception room was filled with gifts her father used to receive—tins of fish eggs and dried beef, expensive foreign chocolates, bottles of sake and whiskey—and her mother’s days were filled with her dance class and afternoon teas with friends and there were no fears.

  “Shall we make some tea?” her mother asked, suddenly smiling again.

  “Hai,” Haru answered, happy to see the mother she knew and loved back again.

  Still, something in the air made Haru feel heavy, as if some great weight were slowly descending on all of them.

  Three days later, a cold north wind blew all day. Before the war, a strong March wind meant the excitement of kites rippling high in the sky, an assortment of red, yellow, and green colors in all shapes and sizes. Haru remembered her father taking her and Aki to the park, along with two of his youngest sumo students, teenage boys who appeared just as excited as they were. The winds were so strong, her father had carried Aki most of the afternoon—afraid that she might be blown away, he had teased. The two students controlled the kites, their weight a solid anchor against the blowing wind.

  Now the wind only made Haru feel restless and uneasy, as if something bad might ride in on the tail end of it, and there were no more sumotori left to anchor them down. She was only too happy to fall onto her futon that night and end the day.

  The scream of the siren woke Haru in the night. It was still dark outside when her father stormed into their room to get them out of bed. Aki sat straight up as if awakened from a bad dream.

  “Hurry,” her father urged, “we have to get to the school as quickly as possible.”

  Haru rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Everyone in their neighborhood was supposed to assemble at the nearest school in an emergency. Was this a real emergency? Weren’t most of the air-raid sirens in the early morning hours? Her answer came with the scream of more sirens, followed by a volley of explosions that sounded like distant fireworks.

  Haru and Aki jumped up already dressed in their monpe, which they’d worn to sleep ever since returning from the countryside. They stumbled down the hall after their father to where their mother waited, with their cloth headgear and first-aid supplies. A series of loud explosions went off in the distance. Their house trembled and the floor shook with each impact.

  “Hurry,” her father repeated.

  Her mother hugged Aki close and stayed silent, as if she were holding back a scream.

  Outside, Haru saw the entire sky to the west alight with a strange orange and red glow. Long strips of flames fell from the dark sky. The heavy smell of smoke filled the air; it stung her eyes and made them water. She could hear the drone of planes overhead, a roar that shook the ground. “Incendiary bombs,” she heard her father shout to her mother. Wherever the planes flew over, fires erupted. Squeezing Aki’s hand tighter, Haru followed her parents through the smoke-filled air the four blocks to the school.

  “Where’s Hoku?” she heard her mother ask.

  She thought her father answered, “Nowhere …” The rest of his words were lost in all the noise. Where was Hoku? His caretaker’s house sat dark against the smoky sky.

  Neighbors were running toward the school, where they squatted in open trenches for shelter. There were so many people, babies crying and children calling for their mothers, Haru closed her eyes in all the confusion.

  “You’ll be safe here,” her father said, climbing out of the trench wearing his iron helmet. “I have to report to my duty station,” he said. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  “Please, please, be careful,” her mother pleaded.

  Haru had never seen her mother so distressed. Her father leaned over and hugged both her and Aki together, then kissed her mother on the lips, something she’d never seen before. Aki held on to her father’s arm until he jerked roughly away, leaving her in tears. The winds picked up, bringing a thick black smoke toward them. After her father disappeared into the night, Haru saw her mother still touching her lips.

  The whizzing sounds of the incendiary bombs, the deafening roar of the planes and wind overhead continued as they crouched in the trench. Haru counted the continuous explosions, as they grew louder and the line of fire inched closer and closer to the school. The American planes had never attacked their neighborhood before. Someone screamed. The oncoming fire and smoke chased people out of the open trenches, sending them running for their lives. Aki was wearing her cloth headgear, with her eyes squeezed shut, her hands covering her ears as the teachers had told them to do in school. What use was it all now? Haru thought. She could see her mother panicking, not knowing if she should listen to the shouting voices that screamed, “Run, run!” and “If you stay here, you’re sure to die!” Or if they should wait, as her father had directed? Haru’s impulse was to run. She sat up, lifted her hand, and felt the hot wind against her palm. She pulled at her mother’s arm and, without waiting, climbed out of the trench. She wouldn’t stay a moment longer in that open pit only to be burned alive. No sooner had she climbed out than her mother and Aki did the same.

  “Go south!” a voice shouted. Haru felt someone pushing her from behind. The fire was fueled by the strong north wind, the wind that left her feeling so uneasy. South was downwind. If they ran upwind, they would most certainly meet a wall of fire. They stood paralyzed; there was no safe passage. On the horizon, it appeared the entire world was ablaze as the fire quickly pushed its way toward them.

  Her mother pulled them in the direction of Sunamachi, in the south, where there were many bridges and rivers. “Don’t worry,” she reassured them, “we’ll be all right.” It made sense to head toward water and Haru was relieved to see her mother taking charge again, as if she’d awakened from a trance. They gripped each other’s hands and ran.

  The bridge on the Onagigawa River was crowded with people trying to cross. Houses exploded all around them, debris whipped through the air as electrical wires sparked and fell across the road, sweeping a woman with a baby on her back off her feet. Just as quickly she was lost in the thick, black smoke. The wind and flames merged with a terrific force. The air was on fire. Haru saw bodies ablaze hurl themselves into the river, smelled the burning flesh. When the vomit reached her throat, she stopped, then felt her mother’s hand slip away from hers.

  “Okasan!” she screamed, her voice lost in the howling firestorm, unable to see her mother and sister. “Okasan! Aki!”

  Haru’s voice was raw, and the smoke scorched her throat. She felt someone grab her arm and for a moment thought that her mother had found her, only to realize that she was being pulled by an old man into a small ditch under the bridge by the river. All around them, she heard screams swallowed up by the roar of the firestorm. Was it her mother or Aki? What had they all done to deserve such a fate?

  She pulled away but the old man held her down, leaned close to her ear, and said, “Do you want to get swept away? You have to live in order to find your family.”

  Haru stopped fighting and felt the old man’s grip loosen. She allowed herself a moment of reprieve from the hell just above her, leaning back against the dirt and rocks as her eyes filled with tears.

  Haru didn’t know how long she stayed in the ditch under the bridge before she climbed back up to the road again. Had she even said thank you to the old man? The howling wind swept another wave of fire toward her. Surrounded by fire on all sides, she had nowhere to go. She could barely see what looked like a slit trench on the other side of the road, dug all over Tokyo by volunteers and students during emergency air raids. Without thinking she ran and leaped through the fire, tumbling hard into the trench. Ha
ru was still stunned she had survived the jump without getting hurt when she saw Aki crawling toward her.

  “Haru-chan!”

  “Aki!” She hugged her sister tightly. On the other side of the trench, another woman who wasn’t her mother hovered low.

  “Where’s okasan?” She raised her voice against the howling wind. “Is she all right?”

  Aki didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. She shook her head and buried her face in Haru’s shoulder as they pressed their bodies against the dirt. She heard the other woman scream as the fire began showering down on them. The back of the woman’s blouse had caught fire, spreading down the length of her body. Before Haru could do anything, the woman had bounded out of the trench and was blown away by the roar of the wind and fire. It was as if she never existed. Haru turned when Aki suddenly screamed, her padded headgear ablaze. She pushed her down quickly and used dirt and her own hands to smother the flames, then ripped off the foolish headgear. Miraculously, Aki’s hair and a bit of her head were singed but she was otherwise unhurt. It was only then that she felt the stinging pain and throbbing of her own burned hands, her palms red and raw, already blistering. She shifted her body on top of Aki, to protect her from the fire, and placed her palms against the cool dirt, waiting for the pain to subside. It was the only thing she could do. She held Aki close, heard her sister whispering, “Ichi, ni, san, shi, go … I’m invisible. No one can see me.” They lay flat in the trench as the fire and wind roared just above them.

  When Haru dared to raise her head at dawn, there was nothing but silence. She saw a heavy, smoke-filled sky. The firestorm had blown itself out. They slowly climbed out of the trench to see a steaming world she no longer recognized. Most of the houses were burned to the ground, only concrete structures had survived. Trees were nonexistent and dead bodies floated in the river or lay by the side of the road, their charred remains smoldering, while other bodies were still in sitting and kneeling positions. She imagined them too hot to touch and her palms burned at the thought. She forced herself not to be afraid, to keep walking through the gray, gritty air, shielding Aki until they were away from the river.