Cherry Blossom Winter

by Jennifer Maruno

  Michiko was so frightened she could hardly walk. If anyone caught her with Mrs. Morrison’s watch she couldn’t imagine what would happen. She stuffed it inside a clean sock in her drawer.

  She went to the kitchen where Sadie was saying, “We need a majnai. Remember what mother used to do? She put the scissors on the stove and the right answer popped into her head. She said it worked every time.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Eiko said.

  “Not talking about it doesn’t make it go away,” Sadie said. “Prime Minister Mackenzie King said that the Japanese people who do not move east will be sent to Japan.”

  “And how does he expect them to get there?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, he’s thought of that,” Sadie said with a laugh. “He’s going to give each of us $200.00 for travelling expenses.”

  “We can’t go anywhere with a baby on the way,” Eiko said.

  “Everyone has to pick up their pieces and move on.”

  “What pieces? There are no pieces of furniture, no car, no money for a house. Why leave with nothing to nothing?”

  “Your family still has to move ahead,” Sadie warned her. “You can’t let this baby keep you back.” Sadie lowered her voice. “Even Kaz is leaving.”

  “What?” Michiko screeched, unable to be invisible any longer. “Mr. Katsumoto is leaving?” She ran to Sadie. “He can’t leave. He’s our teacher.”

  Hiro, playing on the floor, saw Michiko’s distress and began to wail.

  Sadie stooped to pick up Hiro. “Now, now,” she said. “Your father and Uncle Kaz will wonder what is going on up here.”

  “Uncle Kaz?” Michiko repeated. “Why did you call him that?”

  “Because,” Sadie said, “if he leaves I am going to have to go along with him as his wife.”

  Chapter Twenty

  PUSSYWILLOWS

  “Brush your hair,” her mother said, tapping on Michiko’s bedroom door. “We’re having visitors today.”

  Michiko lay on top of her bed thinking how she could return Mrs. Morrison’s watch without anyone knowing. She had no idea.

  Her mother stepped into the doorway of Michiko’s bedroom. Her face looked like the sun in all its fullness. “Hurry up,” she whispered. “They will be here in a minute.”

  “It must be a girl,” her father had told her the night before. “Your mother looked like a chubby pigeon with you. Her cheeks wobbled when she laughed.” Hearing this, Michiko realized she hadn’t heard her mother laugh in a long time.

  Michiko barely had time to straighten her bed when Kiko arrived with her uncle. She had no idea what to say, but it didn’t seem to matter. Kiko acted as if nothing had happened.

  Her mother sat listening as Mr. Sagara told her their plans. A long package wrapped in newspaper lay across his lap.

  “You have been so good to Kiko,” Mr. Sagara told them both. “She talks so much about your family. I know she is sorry to leave.” He glanced at Kiko, but she just stared at her feet.

  “You are very fortunate to be leaving,” Eiko replied. “When do you go?”

  “The day after Haru Matsuri,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to miss the festivities.” He looked at Kiko and smiled. “Kiko has been practising quite a lot for her performance.”

  “Thank you for printing out the posters,” Michiko said to Mr. Sagara.

  He nodded and smiled. The Japanese community was having their first spring festival, even though everyone in town called it a bazaar. The teachers and children had transformed the bleak school building into a showcase celebrating their winter accomplishments.

  “It is time to move on,” Mr. Sagara said, “too much looking in the rear-view mirror.”

  This is all that everyone talks about these days, moving forward, moving backward, Michiko thought. Her family didn’t talk about moving anywhere.

  “Do you have family in Toronto?” Michiko’s mother asked.

  Kiko turned her head and looked at the piano.

  “We will be making enquiries as to the whereabouts of my brother,” Mr. Sagara said. He stammered, “Kiko’s uncle may be there.”

  Michiko’s heart skipped a beat.

  Kiko looked up at the ceiling.

  Mr. Sagara looked at the package on his lap and blinked as if he saw it for the first time. “Forgive me,” he said picking it up. “We thought you would like these.”

  He rose and attempted to put them in her mother’s lap, but her mother had no lap.

  Michiko rushed to take the bundle.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Sagara,” her mother said. “That was very kind of you.”

  Placing it on the floor, Michiko pulled away the paper, revealing several long branches of pussy willows.

  “We picked them this morning,” Kiko said kneeling on the floor beside her. She stroked one of the tiny grey puffballs with her finger. “Feel how soft they are. If you put them in water they will root,” she said.

  Michiko lifted the bundle. “Let’s do it,” she said in a soft voice. What Kiko did was very wrong, but she couldn’t stay angry at her.

  “Do you think your father is in Ontario?” Michiko whispered to her in the kitchen.

  Kiko shrugged. “Who knows,” she said placing a stem into the jar of water.

  There was a knock on the back door. Kiko and Michiko rushed to the landing. The two RCMP officers from down the street waited at the bottom of the stairs.

  Michiko and Kiko strained to hear. But Sam led them into the drugstore.

  “Will your family have to go back to Japan?” asked Kiko.

  “There is no back,” said Michiko, repeating her mother’s words “We were not born in Japan.” But she shivered, knowing that her mother would have to go wherever her father did.

  Michiko watched Kiko and Mr. Sagara leave from the window. Mr. Sagara bent and scooped up a handful of pine needles. He stood for a moment, holding them in his hand as if he had never seen them before. Then he threw them to the ground.

  That night Michiko woke to the sound of her parent’s angry voices and went to their bedroom door.

  “How will we establish a livelihood?” her mother asked. “It is a foreign country.”

  “It is my homeland,” her father said in a quiet voice.

  Michiko left her bed to peek through the space of the partly closed door.

  “You have a bedridden mother and an elderly father,” her mother said. “They will not wish to be burdened with an infant and two children.”

  “We will just have to pack up what we brought,” her father said. He reached out to stroke her mother’s cheek but she waved him away.

  Michiko closed their door softly. She didn’t want to hear anymore. We brought Geechan, she thought, the only one in the family who wanted to go back to Japan. Michiko no longer wanted to think about the Land of Cherry Blossoms.

  The mud on Clarence’s boots was evidence that he had carried the posters all over town. “I put one up in every window,” he said, nodding toward his bundle. Two rolls of paper with large brown elastics stuck out from under his arm.

  Clarence pulled out a poster, shook it, and let it unwind. Cherry blossoms danced around each corner. The words Haru Matsuri floated across the middle.

  Michiko climbed up on to the window ledge to pull down a sign. Dust and dead spiders filled the bottom of the window. “This place really needs a spring cleaning,” she said. Then she had the most brilliant idea.

  Mrs. Morrison cleaned her house from top to bottom each spring. She told them she would be cleaning out the grate and polishing the brass fireplace screen next week. If Michiko dropped the watch into the ashes, she would be sure to find it.

  “Let’s go visit Mrs. Morrison,” she suggested after sticking up the poster.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  HARU MATSURI

  Michiko finished taking apart one of their white cotton pillowcases. So far there was a modest layette of four handmade kimonos, a dozen hand-hemmed diapers, and four threadbar
e shirts that both she and Hiro had worn. A small knitted sweater, bonnet, and booties arrived from Sadie.

  She glanced at her mother leaning back in the chair, her eyes closed. Michiko fluffed her pillow. Thank goodness her father took Hiro out earlier, she thought.

  At her mother’s sigh, Michiko looked up. “I don’t have to go,” she said, even though she couldn’t wait for the festivities to begin.

  “Go,” her mother said. “Enjoy yourself.”

  In a cloud of flowery perfume, Sadie entered the room. “Look at this,” she exclaimed lifting her lapel. “It’s Pegasus,” she said removing the mythical flying horse to let them examine the emerald green wings. “Kaz said it reminded him of me.”

  “The right man for you would never try to clip your wings,” Michiko’s mother said as she picked up her darning basket.

  After an uncomfortable silence Sadie cleared her throat. “It won’t be for long,” she said. “After a year in the beet fields, we’ll have enough for a home.”

  Michiko took a deep breath. “I wish I knew what we were doing,” she said.

  Her mother held her needle in the air and frowned. “That decision has not been made.”

  “I heard you talking about Japan.”

  “If you heard that you must have been eavesdropping.” She wagged the needle back and forth. “Yancha,” she said.

  “How else would I know what is going on?” asked Michiko. “You never tell me anything. Even Kiko knew you were having a baby before I did.”

  “Kiko knows more than she should for a girl her age,” her mother commented. She cut the wool thread with her scissors and slipped the wooden mushroom out from the toe. She turned to Michiko. “It is not your worry,” she said. “You will go where we go.”

  “You mean stick to kid business — that’s what you mean,” Michiko said stomping down the stairs and all the way across the street.

  The school, decorated with paper lanterns and flowers, hosted a tea room, bake table, and a hot-dog stand. Tables displayed everyone’s poetry, origami, wood carvings, and sewing. Michiko walked through it all and then made her way down the street to the hall that the old timers called the Opera House.

  She picked her way through the crowd gathered on the front lawn. George leaned against the doorway, while his mother chatted with the other town women. Mrs. Morrison wore her new inside-out dress with a lace collar. Her gold watch sparkled on her wrist. Her straw hat, full of cherries, was perfect for the occasion.

  The look on George’s face told Michiko he really didn’t want to be there with the ladies. Michiko smiled and waved at him — after all, he hadn’t told about the boat.

  The performances were taking place in the large, dimly lit hall with a stage at one end. Her father and Mr. Katsumoto set out every chair they could find and made benches of bricks and planks. The tiny cloakroom would serve as a change room for the dancers. All month long people had borrowed and traded kimonos, scarves, and fans.

  George slid into the seat she had saved for Clarence. “Were you waving at me?”

  But before Michiko could answer there was a loud bang from a drum. Michiko blinked at the sight of Mr. Yama dressed in a short dark hanten with red calligraphy marching down its lapels. Two thick wooden sticks hung below his cuffed sleeves. A white bandana with a large red sun crossed his dark brows. He stood glaring at the crowd from behind a giant wooden drum.

  Michiko could hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Yama always stomped about in old shirts, baggy pants, and thick-soled shoes, even on hot days.

  As master of ceremonies, Mr. Hayashi stepped in front of the crowd wearing his best blue suit. “On behalf of the community,” he announced, “I welcome you to our very first Spring Festival.” He waited for the crowd to settle. “We will begin with,” he paused to look at his notes, “Sakura, Sakura.”

  The audience applauded as a young man took his place at the piano at one end of the stage. After his first piece he played a rousing rendition of “Deep in the Heart of Texas.”

  George grinned and clapped. “That’s my favourite song,” he said.

  Michiko was glad he didn’t comment on the first piece.

  “The Happy Dance of the Doll Festival follows the piano performance,” Mr. Hayashi announced. Behind him a group of girls scurried to their positions, holding their kimono sleeves close to their chests.

  Mr. Yama moved to a small table beside the piano. He cranked the handle of the record player, lifted the needle arm, and put it on the disk. Scratchy Japanese music filled the room.

  The girls nodded and pointed their fans. They dipped as they opened their fans at the same time. As they moved about the stage they fanned their faces. Then, resting their elbows on the delicate painted paper fans, they stopped and snapped the fans shut.

  One by one Michiko examined the faces of the dancers. Kiko was not one of them. What had she been practising?

  Placing their fans in the large wide belt about their waist, the dancers formed a circle. Each movement was gentle and well-practised. The girls scurried away to loud applause.

  Mr. Hayashi announced, “The next dance is the story of a young woman having to say goodbye to her loved one.” He gave such a magnificent sigh he made the audience laugh.

  George held his fists to his face and hunched forward.

  A woman in a snow-white kimono with a chalk-white face and cherry lips stepped into view. Garlands of small flowers fell from a comb of jewels in her hair. A folded parasol rested in the crook of her arm. The golden embroidery in her sash sparkled.

  Once again, Mr. Yama operated the record player. But this dancer soon made them forget its tinny sound.

  She brought the sleeve of her kimono to her brow, to reveal its bright green insides. With knees gently bent, she made sliding motions across the floor, dipping and swaying side to side. Her high wooden clogs made her delicate steps all the more spectacular.

  With her head slightly bent, she paused with fingers to her chin. It was that movement that told Michiko it was Aunt Sadie.

  Sadie opened her parasol and raised the beautiful painted chrysanthemums above her head. She moved in a circle, her sleeves floated beside her. She spun her parasol as she dipped. Everyone in the room knew she was happy.

  As the tone of the music changed, Michiko’s aunt placed her parasol on the floor and pulled a long silk scarf from her sleeve. As she moved she wrapped the scarf about her neck. She brought the ends up to touch her cheeks, as if she was wiping away giant tears. In a flash she undid the scarf, then let it flutter and drop.

  Sadie brought one long sleeve of her kimono to her brow as she extended her other arm out, palm down. Her sense of despair was so great, Michiko wanted to run to her and hug her.

  The dance ended when she sank to her knees behind the parasol.

  At first no one made a sound. The thunderous applause made Michiko turn to see just how many people were watching. Not only was the whole orchard in attendance, almost all of the townsfolk were here as well. Clarence stood in the doorway with Mr. Katsumoto. But it was Mr. Katsumoto’s face that caught Michiko’s eye and made her stare. He was wearing a look she had never seen before.

  The activity at the front drew Michiko back to the show.

  Mr. Yama brought his taiko into the centre. Three young men and a small boy came on stage. Each wore a short black hanten with a white bandana across their forehead. The young men placed their drums onto cross-legged stands. The small boy sat on the floor with his drum in front of him.

  Mr. Hayashi rose and read from his notes. “This musical piece,” he said, “is inspired by the clock works and the puppet master. It promises to be full of life and energy.”

  The audience moved about in their seats in anticipation. Drumming always brought excitement.

  Mr. Yama tapped the side of his drum with the ends of the thick wooden drumsticks, making a clacking sound. Then he lunged at his drum, giving it one enormous bang.

  George almost jumped out of his seat.

&
nbsp; Each of the drummers hit their drums with force. The room throbbed with the clack of wooden sticks. It was as if they were all inside Mrs. Morrison’s big hall clock. Michiko couldn’t take her eyes off the fierce little drummer in the front.

  “Wow,” George said, “that little guy can really play.”

  Michiko covered her laughter with her hands, shaking her head.

  George furrowed his brows and looked again. His eyes opened wide as it dawned on him. It wasn’t a boy on the drums, it was Kiko.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  TADPOLES

  Michiko, Kiko, and Hiro all crouched, pushed aside the grass, and peered into the murky water. Dragonflies skirted the scum on the pond in the middle of the baseball diamond. Michiko could almost taste the slime.

  Kiko took Hiro’s stick and stirred. The tadpoles swarmed to the edge. As they wriggled, they could see their short stubby tails and front legs.

  “Don’t get dirty,” Michiko warned Kiko. Her feet looked so dainty in running shoes painted with white polish. She wore her woollen coat wide open and carried a cardboard purse.

  Kiko plucked at the collar of her blue nylon dotted-Swiss dress. “It’s prickly.”

  Hiro picked up another stick.

  “I should have brought a jar,” Kiko said. “I could take some tadpoles with me.”

  The quiet pond reflected the sky and the clouds above them. Michiko’s reflection rippled alongside Kiko’s. They waited for Mr. Sagara to finish his business across the street at the RCMP office. All their paperwork had to be in order before they left. The security truck was making a special trip to the train station in the next town. Mr. Hayashi had invited Michiko and Clarence to go along for the ride.

  They never spoke about Mrs. Morrison’s watch. After Michiko congratulated Kiko on her tremendous drumming, they both acted as if nothing had happened.