The Street of a Thousand Blossoms

by Gail Tsukiyama

  Star Festival

  With exams over and all the papers graded for Professor Ito’s class, Haru could finally relax. The next year would be her last, though she’d already made up her mind to return for graduate school. She looked forward to returning to Tokyo for the summer to see her father and Aki, but first she would stop at Hiratsuka for the afternoon to attend the Star Festival, called the Tanabata, which was held every July 7. Classmates had told Haru the festival was lively and colorful. When she stepped down from the train and walked to the center of town, huge Tanabata decorations lined the main street. Crowds of people pushed slowly ahead, admiring the long red, green, pink, and blue streamers that hung from bamboo branches along both sides. She was told the streamers represented the weaving of threads, based on the tale of the weaver princess named Orihime and a cow herder prince named Hikoboshi who lived happily within the universe. But they had angered the king by spending too much time together and not doing their jobs, so he banished them to separate sides of the Milky Way. They were only allowed to meet one day a year, on July 7. And it was a tradition to make wishes on the colorful streamers and hang them on the bamboo branches.

  Haru had always loved the story, an ongoing romance floating through the universe. She felt sorry for the weaver princess and cow herder prince, relegated to meeting just once a year. When an older woman stopped her and handed Haru a piece of pink streamer for her to write a wish on, she held the lightness of the paper in her hand before she wrote down the name Hiroshi and slipped it into her pocket.

  21

  Courtship

  1955

  It began to snow just after the New Year. Even so, Hiroshi lingered in the courtyard after practice hoping for a glimpse of Aki. He was the first sumotori to reach the rank of ozeki since the occupation and in the light of a newly recovered Japan. He immediately captured the public’s imagination as the orphan who had risen from the ashes of the war to become a champion. He read it over and over again in newspaper and magazine articles, which Kenji and Mika would tease him about relentlessly. “Even the emperor isn’t as revered,” his brother added. Hiroshi smiled. He wondered if Aki felt that way about him.

  In the four months since rising to the rank of ozeki, Hiroshi’s schedule had become impossible. Following practice in the mornings, there were interviews, appearances, and dinners that filled most of his afternoons and evenings. Wherever Ozeki Takanoyama went, fans mobbed him, sponsors courted him for his endorsements, and his photo graced the front pages of newspapers and magazines. He presided over New Year’s festivities and was photographed carrying one baby after another. A child held by a sumotori was good luck, sure to grow healthy and strong. A child held by a champion was even more auspicious. It was a world Hiroshi had only just begun to taste as an ozeki. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he were to reach the rank of yokozuna.

  Hiroshi shivered in the cold and pulled his thin cotton yukata robe tighter. He looked up at Aki’s shoji-covered window, closed against the sharp winds, and wondered where she was and if she had returned to Nara with her sister for a visit. He’d only fleetingly seen Haru during her holiday visit home the week before; he’d always been too busy with appearances. He was fortunate to have had one brief conversation with her when he saw her waiting in front of the stable.

  “Haru-san.” He bowed, pleased to see her.

  She bowed even lower. “Ozeki Takanoyama, I’m honored to see you,” she said formally, though she smiled up at him. “How does it feel to be a champion?” she asked.

  He laughed. “How does it feel to be teaching?”

  Haru smiled. Hiroshi thought she looked lovely in her quiet, careful way, a beauty so different from her sister’s. She was no longer self-conscious, but an intelligent young woman who was already teaching a class at Nara Women’s University. Rumors around the stable were that she would continue her education and study for her graduate degree.

  “We’re both accomplishing our goals,” she said.

  He wanted to say more, but the car sent to pick him up had arrived and he was already late for an interview. “We’ll speak more about this later,” he said and smiled. Hiroshi bowed quickly and stepped into the car. He turned to see Haru standing there, the hand she always hid from him raised in a wave.

  Two days later, she left again for Nara before they had another chance to speak.

  Hiroshi felt foolish standing out in the snow, which began to fall again in soft, almost translucent flakes. Aki had obviously given up waiting by the window for him. He rubbed his eyes as if awakening from a deep sleep. He was twenty-eight years old and had spent most of his young life in training. Hiroshi only realized now that all the control and strength that governed his mind and body had nothing to do with the power of his heart.

  “Hiroshi-san?”

  He turned to see Aki standing near the sakura tree planted where she’d once fallen. She wore a heavy winter kimono the color of new leaves, and appeared out of nowhere like a beautiful spirit in one of Kenji’s Noh plays. He bowed. “Aki-san, what are you doing out in the cold?” He felt his blood race as warmth slowly spread throughout his body.

  “I was hoping I might speak to you,” she said.

  Hiroshi heard the quiver in her voice as she glanced down and then back up at him. A flicker of snow had fallen onto her cheek, melting when it touched her skin. He took a step toward her, buffered by the snow blanketing the world around them, and reached out to wipe away the falling tear.

  Radiance

  Fumiko hadn’t expected visitors on such a cold, snowy day. She was in the kitchen making tea when she heard the muffled sound of the chimes and stepped into the genkan to see who was entering the front gate. It had stopped snowing and the world outside was a soft white blanket. Soundless. She was happy to see it was Hiro-chan entering, but stopped short when she saw someone was with him, a young woman. Fumiko stepped back in the genkan and watched them for a moment. The young woman was wearing a dark maroon winter kimono with her hair beautifully dressed. She walked slowly with Hiroshi, looking up and listening to him as he pointed toward the bench by the maple tree. Yoshio. He was telling her about his ojiichan. They paused for a moment and the young woman stopped and smiled at him. She held a wrapped gift in her hands. Mochi with red beans, she suspected, or petit fours, which also made a good first-acquaintance gift to her. When she turned, Fumiko was given a clear view of her face and saw why her grandson was taken with her; she was beautiful in a classical way, with porcelain skin and fine, delicate features, a young woman who might have stepped out of a woodcut from the Edo period. If Kenji’s Mika-san was outgoing, self-assured, and represented the modern world, Hiroshi’s young lady appeared more self-contained.

  There were things Fumiko sensed immediately while watching them, the radiance of happiness, the small, intimate gestures, the faint air of not belonging in this time and place. Fumiko smiled and stepped down from the genkan to welcome them.

  Fatherhood

  It was mid-April and the rains had finally paused. Kenji stopped sanding the mask he was working on and peered out the front window. People rushed down the alleyway, hurrying to get somewhere else before it began to rain again. A part of him wanted to step outside and be carried along with the wave of bodies, as if he were flowing down a river to a new destination. Kenji shook his head. He would never leave without Mika. He returned to the worktable and slowly began to sand the mask again.

  He and Mika had been married for more than two years, and in early February, she began suffering from terrible morning sickness. Every day he returned at lunch to check on her, bringing biscuits or rice crackers and making her tea to settle her stomach. After more than a year of trying, Mika was finally pregnant. Kenji couldn’t get over the fact that he was going to be a father. Akira teased him about the silly smile he constantly had on his face, openmouthed, like an O-tobide mask. “Let’s hope the child takes after his mother,” his sensei said.

  But their joy was short-lived when the doc
tor told them Mika wasn’t pregnant, that her symptoms might have been a result of her desire to have a child. He reassured them everything was fine and they should keep trying. But something had changed after the week they thought she was pregnant; the overwhelming elation had turned into an uncomfortable silence. Soon, Mika began to spend more time working at her father’s textile company. Kenji knew working made her happy and took her mind away from having a child, which was the best thing for now. He wondered if everyone had to try so hard.

  Kenji heard the front door open and close. He stepped out from the back to see Hiroshi filling up his small shop. He was dressed in a formal dark blue silk kimono with silver clusters of a diamond-shaped pattern.

  “I’ve come to see how the famous mask maker is doing,” Hiroshi said.

  Kenji laughed. He was glad Hiroshi had come to spirit him away from his morose thoughts. “And what really brings the revered Ozeki Takanoyama to my humble shop?”

  Hiroshi bowed. “I’ve come with some news.”

  “Which is?” Kenji asked.

  “I wanted you and obaachan to be the first to know about my engagement, before you heard of it on the radio, or read about it in the newspapers.”

  “Aki-san?” He had met Aki a few times, once at his obaachan’s house, and later, while attending one of Hiroshi’s tournaments. She was very beautiful in a fragile, distant way, with eyes that watched everything around her. She spoke very little, as if she were fearful of saying something wrong. Mika thought she was lovely, simply young and shy, she said, talking him out of his cynicism.

  Hiroshi smiled. “We hope to marry next year.”

  Kenji paused too long and caught himself. “Well, it’s about time!” he said, and stepped up to hug his brother, something they rarely did. “This calls for a toast!” Kenji disappeared to the back room and returned with a bottle of whiskey.

  “What’s this? My little brother drinks?” Hiroshi teased.

  “Only on cold, rainy days,” he said. “Or special occasions, such as this.” Kenji poured them each a glass and raised his in a toast. “To marriage!”

  “To marriage,” Hiroshi echoed.

  The amber liquid burned going down Kenji’s throat and spread comforting warmth throughout his body. He no longer thought about Mika’s becoming pregnant. Across the room, a row of masks gazed back at him. Kenji was in no position to make judgments about Aki or anyone else; he spent most of his days away from the world, making masks. Wasn’t he the one who, as a boy, stood to the side watching, invisible to everyone? All that mattered was that Aki made his brother happy. And Hiroshi’s happiness was very important to him. Besides, she was the daughter of Tanaka-oyakata; she knew what being the wife of Ozeki Takanoyama must entail. Their privacy would always have to be balanced against his public life. Kenji swallowed the rest of his whiskey, along with his apprehension, which felt small and hard and was something he couldn’t quite name.

  The Path

  Haru saw signs of spring everywhere in Deer Park, from the budding leaves that clung to branches like small knots to the thin whisper of ice melting on the ground that cracked beneath her steps. There was only a trace of winter left in the sharp April air. Her warm breath trailed like smoke, and a fine vapor still hovered above the path. She’d long since traded her kimonos for Western-style clothing, which was more suitable for her countless forays among the plant life. Haru felt most alive in the world during these early-morning walks in the park before her classes began. She remembered it all, the slant of rain that fell through the mist in winter, the heat of the sun that filtered through the trees during a summer heat wave, the buds of the cherry blossoms that unrolled like tiny fists opening every spring. She saw all of life revolve within the park, changing in its own intimate and subtle ways.

  So early, the park was almost deserted; there was only an elderly man walking a good distance ahead of her, deep in his own thoughts. The pale gray light turned brighter and she heard the rustling of the deer in the trees but hadn’t seen any yet.

  Haru touched the letter from Aki in her pocket, which had arrived yesterday bearing unexpected news. She could feel the heat emanating from it, as if it might catch fire at any moment. It was little more than a month since she’d last heard from Aki, and she’d been eager for news from home. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the news of Aki’s engagement to Hiroshi, and her sister asking her to return to Tokyo for her engagement ceremony in June. “It happened so suddenly,” she wrote in her quick, large characters. “We’re to be married next year.”

  Next year. Haru picked up her pace, so that her breathing grew rapid and her heart raced as she ran down the path. She’d almost caught up with the elderly man walking in front of her when she suddenly veered away from the main path, where it branched off onto several smaller trails. Like the park’s arteries, they led in different directions down through the trees, toward the lake or to the old temple. It gave Haru choices, for which she was grateful. Aki is marrying Hiroshi. She took a moment to catch her breath and chose the path through the trees, careful of the uneven ground so she wouldn’t fall. She picked up speed on the downslope. Her heart pounded harder in her chest and she tried to keep her breathing steady as she struggled to keep up the pace.

  Haru’s four years at Nara Women’s University had passed in a blur. At twenty-one, she would graduate in July with an honors degree in botany and a chance to keep teaching, while she was pursuing her graduate studies. Professor Ito had become her advisor and valued advocate. There were moments when she thought Ito-san might have an interest in her, other than as a student or colleague, but aside from having tea with her and discussing students, he always kept a proper distance. She’d had a male friend or two who flitted in and out of her life, but Haru was happiest with her work, looking for new species of plants, cataloguing and inspecting them with wonderment. There would be time for a relationship later. In the back of her mind, she had always thought there was Hiroshi-san. Until now, he had been the shadow standing at the end of the path.

  Haru ran faster when the trail leveled, weaving in and out of the trees until she grew dizzy, her heart about to burst as she finally slowed to a stop and dropped to the damp grass. She lay there panting like some wild animal, surrounded by the tall, silent trees as she gasped for breath. She felt sweat pool at the base of her throat, under her arms, and between her breasts. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as she stared up at the clearing sky, the bloom of life all around her. Up until now, Haru had thought her life in Nara was extraordinary, but as the beating of her heart calmed and the sharp pull in her lungs subsided, she realized that gaining one thing meant losing another. Wasn’t that the way it always was? It was that simple: her mother’s life for that of Aki and her; her life in Nara for that of marrying Hiroshi.

  Her breathing calmed and she began to feel cold. She lay silent and small among the maple and wisteria, oak and cedar trees, finding comfort in the knowledge they’d still be standing long after she was gone.

  22

  Yokozuna

  1956

  The start of the Aki Basho fell on the second Sunday in September. The moment Hiroshi had waited for all his life had finally arrived. He rubbed his knee, touched the soles of his feet, and stood up. He laid his ceremonial apron carefully in his akeni trunk and closed the cover. The warm, thick air of nervous tension had permeated the stable all morning as they trained before going to the stadium. The quick, terse commands that came from Tanaka-oyakata had already begun in the days leading up to the tournament. The stable master paced the floor and seemed agitated from the start, snapping at the younger rikishi who didn’t move fast enough or hit hard enough. It hadn’t been that way a year ago when the messenger came with the news from the Sumo Association that Hiroshi was promoted to ozeki rank. Tanaka-oyakata calmly accepted the news as if he already expected it. This time was different. The chance for Hiroshi to reach the highest rank of yokozuna left everyone at the stable on edge. If he could win this tournament,
capturing at least thirteen of his fifteen bouts, his promotion to grand champion was almost assured; the final decision would be made by the Yokozuna Council. And still, like Tanaka-oyakata, Hiroshi knew anything could happen, a single wrong move could end even the most illustrious career. He leaned over to rub his knee again.

  Hiroshi untied his yukata robe and looked down at the green silk kimono Sadao had laid out for him to wear to the stadium. His muscular girth protruded like a solid mountain through the opening of the robe. From the courtyard, he heard the rustlings of the lower-ranked rikishi as they hurried back and forth, preparing to move trunks and equipment to the stadium. Sadao would be coming for his trunk soon and he listened for the boy’s breaking voice among the others.

  Hiroshi felt unsettled in the charged air. Sponsors and fans alike were waiting for his last bout to take place late that afternoon. He was to fight against the wrestler Kobayashi, whom he’d first defeated years ago. Since then, their rankings had risen side by side. They’d won an equal number of matches against each other, and, like him, Kobayashi had risen to the rank of ozeki and was a popular wrestler among the fans. It was their matchup that made this tournament so eagerly anticipated. The outcome would most likely determine which wrestler would reach the rank of grand champion.