Flying the Dragon

by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  Skye nodded. “It always goes from left to right.” She glanced at Hiroshi, who seemed to be studying some spot on the table in front of him.

  Grandfather gave the notebook back to Skye. She tore out the page with Grandfather’s name. “You can keep this if you want.”

  Grandfather smiled. “Arigato gozaimasu, Sorano-chan. Perhaps each time you come, I can learn one new word in English. It is never too late to learn something new.”

  Hiroshi spoke up. “Tomorrow we won’t be studying, because Skye has a soccer game.”

  Grandfather’s face brightened. “Why don’t we go and cheer her on, Hiroshi?” He turned to Skye. “We’ve never seen you play, Sorano-chan.”

  Skye grinned. She might not be brilliant in Japanese or a champion kite flier, but soccer was her chance to show them she was good at something.

  Hiroshi frowned. “But I thought we were going to fly the dragon kite tomorrow, Grandfather.”

  Grandfather nodded. “You are right, Hiroshi. But why don’t we go to the game together first? If there is time, we will fly the kite afterward.”

  Skye grinned again—until she saw that Hiroshi looked miserable.

  “Sure,” he mumbled. “I’d love to go.”

  But Skye knew that was a big, fat lie.

  24

  Hiroshi

  Hiroshi hung back, letting the other kids spill out of the bus and in through the front of the school. Skye was at the dentist this morning, so at least he didn’t have to worry about running into her for the next few hours. Maybe the dentist would find six cavities, and it would take all day to fill them. And then Skye wouldn’t be able to play soccer after school because she’d be home in bed with an ice pack on her jaw. And then he and Grandfather could fly the dragon kite like they’d planned.

  The school’s front entrance always smelled like pencils and American breakfast. Following the sea of colorful backpacks, Hiroshi strained to pick out familiar words from the voices floating down the hallway. Sometimes he heard languages other than English, but never Japanese.

  In the classroom he hung up his jacket, emptied his backpack, and took his seat. He glanced over at Skye’s empty desk. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t in it—he didn’t feel like speaking to her anyway, in Japanese or in English.

  Surrounded by his classmates’ conversations and laughter, Hiroshi found he could understand more of their words now. But speaking was still a problem. What if he made a mistake? What if no one could understand him? Mr. Jacobs hadn’t given Hiroshi any more baby books after listening to him read last week. Now Hiroshi was reading chapter books, but they still weren’t as long as the other fifth graders’ books. He’d just have to study more.

  As soon as the bell rang, Hiroshi rushed through the math warm-up, willing the clock to jump ahead a half hour. When nine o’clock finally came, he rushed to ESL class—the only place where he could speak in English without worrying about sounding completely stupid.

  “I saw your kite,” Ravi said. “The other day, at the park.”

  “You did?” Hiroshi pretended this was news, hoping Ravi hadn’t realized that he’d seen him, too.

  Ravi nodded. “But then you run away. Fast.” He smiled. “We fly kites in India, too. Next time, I can fly it?”

  Hiroshi smiled. “Yes. Okay—next time.” It could be fun to show the dragon to someone who already knew about kites—one afternoon when Grandfather was resting, maybe.

  Mr. Jacobs slid a piece of paper in front of Hiroshi. “Hiroshi, I have a surprise for you today.” Hiroshi glanced at the paper. English words and Japanese characters surrounded a picture of a kite. Hiroshi’s eyes drank in the Japanese words:

  National Cherry Blossom Festival

  in Washington, DC March 25–April 9

  Featuring the Annual National Cherry

  Blossom Kite Festival

  Sunday, April 9, from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.

  on the National Mall

  Come and see handmade kites, kite stunts,

  and the rokkaku kite battle!

  Could it be true? A kite battle in America? He looked up to find Mr. Jacobs grinning.

  “The Cherry Blossom Festival is held each year by the Japan-America Society of Washington, DC,” Mr. Jacobs said. “They’ve got Japanese crafts, food, music—it’s lots of fun.”

  “It says a kite battle,” Hiroshi said.

  “Oh, yes—they have kites. And the kite battle is the best part. It’s on the last day of the festival.” Mr. Jacobs clapped once and rubbed his hands together. “You would love it, and so would your grandfather, I’ll bet.”

  “Thank you.” Hiroshi grinned. He folded up the flyer and stuffed it in his pocket. He couldn’t wait to see Grandfather’s face when he told him the good news.

  Hiroshi threw open the front door of his house, waving the flyer back and forth.

  “Grandfather!”

  “Son?” Father’s voice called from the kitchen.

  Hiroshi ran into the kitchen, stopping to catch his breath. “Where’s Grandfather? There’s something I have to show him.”

  Father’s tie was loose, and his shirt was wrinkled. And he was home when he should have been at work.

  “Have a seat, Hiroshi.” It was never good news when Hiroshi’s father told him to have a seat. Anyway, he didn’t feel like sitting—he had to find Grandfather right away.

  His father pulled out a chair. Hiroshi sat.

  “What is it?”

  Father folded and unfolded his hands. “Hiroshi, we need to talk about Grandfather.”

  Father must have found out how disrespectful I was to Grandfather when I said I hated it here. Hiroshi looked at his shoes. “I didn’t mean to say those things.”

  “What things?” Father looked confused. So Grandfather hadn’t told, after all.

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  Father paused. “We met with his doctors today.” Hiroshi’s mouth went dry. Father ran his hand through his hair. “They’re not going to continue the treatment, Hiroshi.”

  Hiroshi stood. “But why? They barely started.”

  Father closed his eyes. He took a breath before opening them again. “The cancer has spread. It’s too late.”

  Hiroshi didn’t move. A cold wind burned through him. He glanced at the flyer clenched in his fist and felt a glimmer of hope pushing the cold wind back until it sputtered and died. Hiroshi unfurled his fingers from the paper, smoothed it, folded it up, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  Grandfather wouldn’t want to miss the battle. Maybe it would give him hope. It wasn’t too late to hope.

  The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever. A part of Hiroshi wished they could drive faster; another part didn’t want the ride to end. A hundred questions ran through his head.

  “Does cancer hurt?”

  Father kept his eyes on the road. When he spoke his voice sounded raw. “He’s in some pain, but it comes and goes. They’ve given him some medication, so I don’t know if he’ll be awake when we get there or not.”

  It seemed all Grandfather ever did these days was sleep. “Isn’t there some other kind of medicine he can take?”

  Hiroshi’s father shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Son.” The hum of the car’s motor was too loud. Outside, an angry wind whipped tree branches back and forth, sending roadside litter swirling into the air. Hiroshi knew how the wind felt.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Mother was standing outside Grandfather’s room, a crumpled tissue in her hand, her eyes puffy and red. “You go ahead, Hiroshi. He’s asked for you several times now.”

  Hiroshi pushed open the door and stepped into the room. The only light came from a lamp above the headboard—thin, watery light that added wrinkles and shadows to Grandfather’s face. His eyes were closed, so Hiroshi sat on the edge of a chair next to the bed and waited. His fingers found the flyer in his pocket. He took it out and started to unfold it.

  “What have you got there?”

  “Gr
andfather, you’re awake,” Hiroshi whispered. He jumped up and stood by the bed.

  “You don’t have to whisper—there’s nothing wrong with my ears, you know.” Grandfather smiled and patted Hiroshi’s hand. “Those fancy doctors are letting me go home in a few days. What’s that you’ve got there?”

  “There’s a rokkaku battle in a few weeks, in Washington, DC. Can we enter?”

  “All that worrying about missing the battle back in Japan.” Grandfather chuckled. “Just shows that worrying does no good.”

  Grandfather still hadn’t answered the question. Hiroshi swallowed. “We can enter with the dragon kite if you want. Now that it’s fixed and everything.”

  Grandfather smiled. “It’s as good as new.” Hiroshi knew the kite would never be as good as new, and he suspected Grandfather knew it, too.

  “Don’t worry about the battle, Grandfather. I’ll do the flying, and you’ll be next to me, doing the telling.” Hiroshi searched for hope on Grandfather’s face. Because if Grandfather had hope, Hiroshi could have some, too.

  Grandfather smiled—a brave smile, not a hopeful one. He squeezed Hiroshi’s hand. “Promise me you’ll enter, even if I’m not by your side to do the telling.”

  “Sure you’ll be there, Grandfather. We’ll win this one together.” Hiroshi knew his words didn’t sound brave.

  Grandfather patted his hand. “Promise me, just in case.”

  Hiroshi looked down at Grandfather’s wrinkled hand. “I promise,” he whispered.

  But Grandfather’s heavy breathing told Hiroshi he had already fallen asleep.

  25

  Skye

  “Skye! Heads up!” Coach Tess yelled—and a ball whizzed past Skye’s ear.

  Skye sprinted downfield after the ball until the referee’s final whistle mercifully ended the game—and her misery. She bent over, hands on her knees, and closed her eyes. She’d been off her game, missing four goal shots that should’ve been cake. Every time she’d messed up, she’d looked at the sidelines to see if Grandfather had made it to the game yet. Where was he? Maybe it was better that he hadn’t showed—now he could still think of her as a star soccer player.

  As Coach Tess was rehashing the game in the team huddle, Skye glanced at the sidelines and saw her mom was finally off her cell phone. She never took calls during games, and Skye wondered what had been so important. Was it about Grandfather? Maybe he was feeling tired again. Maybe Hiroshi had lied and convinced Grandfather that Skye had been kicked off the team. Considering the way she’d played today, she wouldn’t be surprised if that happened.

  “Skye!” Her mom was waving her over as the teams finished their high fives down center field.

  “Hey, Mom. Where’s Grandfather?”

  Her mom reached for Skye’s soccer bag. “We need to get going, sweetheart.”

  As they threaded through the maze of coolers, bags, and soccer parents in folding canvas chairs, Skye felt a knot growing in her gut. “Where’s Grandfather?”

  Her mom didn’t break her stride. “We’ll talk in the car.”

  Usually Skye liked to hang around with the team and Coach Tess after the games, analyzing every play. But today she couldn’t wait to leave. When they finally reached the car, Skye let her questions fly. “Mom, what’s wrong? Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Is it Grandfather?”

  Skye’s mom put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. Her hand fell onto her lap, and she picked at the outside seam of her jeans. Then she turned to Skye, tears brimming in her eyes. “Yes, Skye. It’s Grandfather.”

  Skye stood outside the hospital door. Through the sliver of a window, she could see Hiroshi sitting by Grandfather’s bed. Hiroshi’s back was facing the door, so Skye knew he hadn’t seen her yet. Grandfather was sleeping.

  “I don’t know if I can go in.”

  “Of course you can.” Skye’s dad rested his hand on her shoulder. “He was asking about you earlier.” Skye nodded, but her feet stayed glued to the floor. Grandfather looked small in the hospital bed with all the buttons and levers. His skin was pale next to the sky-blue gown. “You can wait until he’s awake, if you’d like,” her dad said softly.

  Skye stared through the window at Hiroshi’s back. He was slumped in his chair, folding and unfolding a piece of paper. None of this was fair. How could she get to know Grandfather better if he was sick all the time? “I’m going in.”

  Hiroshi must not have heard her, because he jumped when she pulled up a chair next to his. He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. They sat for a while in silence, shoulder to shoulder, watching Grandfather.

  “How is he?” Skye whispered.

  Hiroshi shrugged. “They do not tell me so much.”

  Grandfather stirred, then opened his eyes. “Is that English you two are speaking? I’ll have to start learning to keep up with the both of you.” He smiled.

  “Grandfather!” Skye jumped up, and Hiroshi joined her. She wanted to take Grandfather’s hand but was unsure with Hiroshi there. She still felt like she was intruding. “How are you feeling?”

  He chuckled. “Much better, thank you.” He waved at the tubes and machines around him. “They go to so much fuss. I think it makes the doctors feel better.” Skye nodded—but she knew all of this stuff wasn’t there to make the doctors feel better. “How was your soccer game? I am sorry I missed it.”

  “It was …” Skye winced, thinking of how she’d played. “It was not so great. Good thing you didn’t have to sit through that.”

  Grandfather smiled and patted her hand. “Next time will be better.”

  Skye hoped her smile looked more cheerful than she felt. “Thank you, Grandfather. I hope so.”

  “Did Hiroshi tell you the news?” Grandfather asked.

  “News?” Skye looked at Hiroshi, but he looked confused, too.

  “Yes, yes. About the kite festival.”

  Hiroshi looked at the floor, hands shoved in his pockets.

  “What kite festival?”

  “There will be a rokkaku kite battle in Washington, DC. Why don’t you show her the flyer, Hiroshi?”

  Showing her the flyer was probably the last thing Hiroshi wanted to do. It took him ages to pull it out of his pocket—that must be the paper he’d been holding earlier. He passed it to Skye and she unfolded it. The National Cherry Blossom Kite Festival—with a rokkaku kite battle.

  “I’ll come and watch you.” She handed the paper back to Hiroshi, who actually looked grateful.

  Grandfather smiled at Hiroshi. “We have been practicing for this moment for many years. Hiroshi is ready to fly the kite on his own.” He turned to Skye. “But he will need someone to hold the reel and keep track of the line. It is a very important role.”

  “But Grandfather, you—” Hiroshi began.

  “Should be the one to do that,” Skye finished.

  Grandfather’s smile looked sad. “It is time for someone else to take a turn.” He patted Skye’s hand. “Sorano, will you take my place at Hiroshi’s side during the kite battle?”

  “Grandfather, you can still be in the kite battle,” Hiroshi said, his voice pleading.

  Skye agreed. “You can do it, Grandfather. I’ll come and watch and cheer you both on.”

  “Right,” Hiroshi said. “Skye—Sorano—can come and learn and we’ll show her what to do and she can try it next time, and—”

  Skye was already nodding. “I’ll take careful notes, and then—”

  Grandfather closed his eyes, and both Skye and Hiroshi fell silent. Waiting. Was he asleep again? He smiled before he opened his eyes again. “I won’t discuss it any longer. You are both ready. I ask for your promise.”

  Skye and Hiroshi looked at each other then back at Grandfather.

  “Yakusoku,” they said.

  Of all the Japanese words Skye had learned since she met Grandfather, “promise” was the hardest to say.

  26

  Hiroshi

  Hiroshi sat on the front porch step, waitin
g. Father had called to say that he and Grandfather were on their way home, but that was a half hour ago. Where were they? Mother and First Uncle came out onto the porch.

  First Uncle had dropped Skye off at Japanese school this morning. At least she wouldn’t be around if Grandfather felt well enough to fly the dragon. Mother had said that Grandfather might be tired when he first got home. But Hiroshi knew the dragon and the wind were like medicine to Grandfather. Hiroshi couldn’t let go of hope.

  Finally a car pulled up to the house, followed by a truck—but Hiroshi didn’t recognize either one. He felt Mother’s hand on his shoulder.

  “This is the woman we told you about.” Father had told him that a lady would show them how to make Grandfather more comfortable at home. Hiroshi already knew how to do that: take him back to Japan.

  Two big men got out of the truck, circled around to the back end, and yanked open the doors. A tall lady stepped out of the car, carrying a briefcase. Hiroshi, Mother, and First Uncle watched in silence as the lady clicked up the front walk in her high heels.

  “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Tsuki.” The lady smiled and tucked her hair behind one ear. She’d pronounced their last name the American way, with a t-sound: tuh-SOO-kee. She should have said tzoo-kee, of course. No one corrected her.

  “Please, come in,” Mother said.

  The lady walked in, her quick eyes sweeping over the front room, and then she turned. She smiled at Hiroshi. “I’m Fran Grimley. It’s nice to meet you….”

  “Hiroshi.” He held out his hand, remembering that Americans didn’t bow. Mother cleared her throat and he remembered to add, “Hello, Mrs. Fran.”

  Hiroshi knew right away that he’d made a mistake. Too late, he remembered that Americans say their given name first, like that was more important than their family name. “I mean, Mrs. Grimley.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “You can call me either one.” Hiroshi nodded, wishing Father would hurry up and get here with Grandfather.

  “Well, then.” Mrs. Grimley turned back to Mother and First Uncle. “I know you’ve been told how the hospice program works, but I’m glad to answer any questions you may have.” Hiroshi frowned. Hospice sounded a lot like hospital.