Flying the Dragon

by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  “And fly she did. She was a natural. There were some things I found difficult to explain, such as how to launch when the wind is just so or how to pull the kite out of a wind stall. I just did what felt right. As it turned out I did not need to explain these things to her. She felt it, too, and the wind became her friend.

  “Once she could launch the kite on her own, I showed her every one of my rokkaku tricks. After a year or so, I knew she could beat most of the other kite fighters in our village. When the date for the annual rokkaku battle was announced, she wanted to enter. We both knew she couldn’t—girls were not allowed to enter kite battles in those days. But she was determined. She decided to dress as a boy and enter anyway. I lent her some of my younger brother’s clothes, complete with a hat that shaded her eyes from the sun, and hid her long braid from the judges.

  “This was my second battle, and everyone expected me to win again. But this time some older boys from a nearby village had entered, and I was nervous. I had never faced them in competition before, but I knew of their reputations. They usually entered the bigger battles, on the main island, and brought back trophies.

  “Looking back I remember the kites more than their fliers. Some kites had special words painted on them for luck. A few had complicated designs—a carp, or the face of a folktale warrior. Other kites had only one color, like Mariko’s—hers was a pale yellow, the color of courage.

  “My kite was simple. After so many hours giving flying lessons that year, I did not have time to paint anything elaborate. My kite was white, with a large red circle painted off-center—the symbol of a winking dragon.

  “During the battle, I had some near misses; my kite almost went down several times. In the end, the kites of those who could read the wind were spared. When four kites remained I saw that Mariko’s kite was one of them. I was pleased she was doing so well, especially in her first battle. In no time two other kites had fallen from the sky, leaving only my kite and Mariko’s kite hanging on the wind.

  “My happiness for her ended in the pit of my stomach. I had known she would do well but never guessed she would have come this far. I had avoided her kite earlier, as I did not want to be the one to eliminate her from the competition. But now I had no choice. I only hoped she would not be too angry with me.

  “To keep her honor, I decided not to knock her kite out of the sky right away. By this time the crowd was yelling my name, clapping and cheering. No one yelled Mariko’s name, as no one recognized her. The crowd’s good wishes rushed in through my ears and went straight to my head. I began to show off, performing tricks with my kite, which brought even more shouts and applause.

  “And then it happened. Mariko’s kite came in fast—too fast for me to react. Her kite tipped mine in one fluid movement and sent it straight into the ground.

  “Mariko had won, and I had lost.

  “The crowd stood silent at first. Then they all politely clapped for the winner. Mariko turned to me and bowed, as was the tradition. I returned the bow, if only to hide my red face. I had never felt so ashamed. Mariko walked over to the judges’ stand to accept her prize. She bowed to each judge, and the medallion was placed around her neck. She then headed toward home, away from the crowd, before anyone could recognize her. My competitors’ glee was apparent on their faces, as was the disappointment of neighbors who had boasted that I would win. I felt that I had shamed my village.

  “As I walked toward the judges’ stand, I was trying not to think; I did not want my heart to talk me out of what I had decided to do. When I approached the judges and bowed, I almost turned and walked away. But anger and humiliation were stronger than friendship that day, and the words rushed out—almost on their own: ‘The winner is a girl.’

  “I am not proud of what I did in that moment. And things only became worse once those words had escaped my mouth. The head judge rose and followed Mariko home. When he discovered where she lived, he knocked on the door and explained the situation to her parents. She had to give up the medallion. Her parents said she had dishonored their family by lying and entering a contest meant for boys.

  “A few days later the head judge came to my home and presented the medallion to me. By then I did not want it, but I accepted the medallion so I could return it to Mariko. But she did not want it back. I was crushed.

  “That was the year after the war ended, and times were hard in our village. Her family went to live with relatives north in Hokkaido, and I feared I would never see her again. But seven years later her family returned. When I heard the news, I went to her door and asked her father’s permission to take her for a walk. Our parents had been friends, so her father agreed. But he always followed fifteen paces behind us.

  “When I offered my apologies again to her, she accepted with words but not with her heart. I came every day to ask her father if I might take her for a walk, and each day he accepted. I wanted her forgiveness, but I could not say too much for fear that her father would overhear. So I made her a miniature kite, the size of her palm. On the kite I had painted the kanji for apology. She took it and tucked it into the sleeve of her kimono but said nothing.

  “The next day I went to her house, but her father said that she was not feeling well. I came back the next day and the next. Finally, after seven days, she appeared. She said nothing as we began our walk, but when we heard her father behind us pause to talk to a neighbor, she slipped a miniature kite into my hand, quick as a dragonfly. I was devastated, thinking she had returned my kite and my apology.

  “After a few minutes had passed, she said, ‘Perhaps you might look at what is written.’ When I opened my hand, I saw that the kite was not mine. It was a new kite, the craftsmanship far superior to my own. I turned it over, and saw the kanji for new beginnings.

  “There have been few times in my life when my heart has soared as high.

  “The next year we were married. I had no money to buy a proper wedding gift. So on our wedding day, I offered her the medallion that should have been hers all those years ago. I told her that it was not a true gift, since it had never belonged to me. But she cried and laughed and wore it around her neck for the rest of her days.

  Skye sat still, not wanting to break the spell.

  “Why have you never told me that story, Grandfather?” Hiroshi asked.

  Grandfather sighed. “I suppose it is because I am not proud of the way I acted. Your grandmother was a gift, a gift that I almost missed.” Grandfather grew quiet, and Skye knew he was missing Grandmother. She wished she’d known Grandmother so she could miss her, too.

  30

  Hiroshi

  After Grandfather’s story they all headed toward the cherry trees that surrounded the Tidal Basin. Hiroshi would not have minded if Skye accidentally fell into the basin. Or maybe he could tie her to a kite, launch her into the air, and cut the string, letting the wind carry her somewhere—anywhere—far away. He’d heard about people hundreds of years ago attaching themselves to kites; maybe there was a way to convince Skye to try it.

  Why hadn’t Grandfather ever told him that story about Grandmother? He’d said it was because he was ashamed of how he had acted all those years ago. But Hiroshi would have forgiven Grandfather for anything.

  Hiroshi heard Skye answer a soccer question for Grandfather, who looked fascinated by her every word. Better to catch up with Father and First Uncle, who were walking ahead. As Hiroshi passed Skye, he heard Grandfather say, “The wind looks good today.”

  Grandfather looked straight at Hiroshi and then winked. When Hiroshi didn’t answer, Grandfather continued. “Today would be a perfect day for the battle.” Without looking at Skye, Hiroshi slowed his pace to match Grandfather’s chair.

  “Two weeks to go,” Hiroshi said. “We’ll just have to be patient.”

  Grandfather tapped his fingers in time to the music of the bands parading down Constitution Avenue. The marching tubas and trumpets taunted Hiroshi with their American music, reminding him how far from home he was.

>   As they waited to cross the street, Hiroshi noticed the fragile pink cherry blossom trees reflected in the water of the Tidal Basin. There must be hundreds of trees—maybe more than a thousand.

  “Sakura,” Skye said. “They’re beautiful.”

  “They’re also useful,” Hiroshi was surprised that his voice came out wistful instead of angry. It was like he’d forgotten that he was talking to Skye.

  “Useful?” Skye looked curious. “Do they make things from the petals?”

  Grandfather chuckled. “Perhaps some do. But kite fighters have a unique appreciation for the blossoms.”

  “Look at them now,” Hiroshi said, pointing to a handful of falling blossoms fluttering away in the breeze. “You can tell which direction the wind is blowing over there.” Hiroshi watched the wind lift the blossoms eastward. It seemed like the rising sun was calling them home, back to Japan.

  Grandfather’s voice was soft. “If the dragon were flying today, the blossoms’ path would give us clues to the fickle wind’s plans.” He turned to Hiroshi. “Why don’t we visit the trees up close?”

  First Uncle frowned. “There are a lot of people at the Tidal Basin, Father. I’m not sure your chair will get through.”

  Grandfather smiled. “Hiroshi and Sorano will have no problem, I am sure. The sakura are best viewed from up close.”

  “Here,” Skye said, stepping back. “You can have a turn, if you want.” That was all the permission Hiroshi needed, and he guided Grandfather’s chair across the street and onto the crowded path that ringed the Tidal Basin.

  For once Skye didn’t bug him about pushing the wheelchair again; she seemed mesmerized by the pink cherry trees. “I’ve never seen them up close before,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Never?” Grandfather looked at First Uncle like he couldn’t believe it.

  First Uncle looked sheepish. “We, ah, used to come when Skye—Sorano—was little. Then I guess soccer games sort of took over our weekends.”

  Sakura were everywhere in Japan; how strange that Skye had never seen one of these trees up close. Hiroshi had thought Skye didn’t care about Japanese things. But one glance at First Uncle’s red face told Hiroshi that maybe it wasn’t all Skye’s fault.

  People made way for the wheelchair, and Hiroshi kept going until Grandfather held up his hand to stop. “That one is a beauty.” Grandfather pointed to a giant cherry tree, boughs heavy with delicate blossoms. It canopied over the sidewalk and the strolling crowd, brushing the water with the tips of its branches.

  Mother smiled and put her hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “It is lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Hanami is different here,” Hiroshi said.

  “Hanami—that’s when people go to look at the cherry blossoms, right?” Skye asked. Hiroshi nodded. “How is it different?”

  Hiroshi shrugged. “People here are walking by, but not many stop to sit beneath the trees.”

  Skye frowned. “Maybe Americans don’t know that’s what they’re supposed to do.”

  Grandfather smiled. “We know what to do, don’t we?” He winked at his sons, and they pulled out a blanket from First Uncle’s backpack. Father and First Uncle spread the blanket on the ground, opened their arms, and grinned. “Now for the food.”

  Mother and Aunt Cathy opened another pack and pulled out cups and containers with dumplings. They set everything up in the center of the blanket.

  “Father, would you like to sit on the blanket?” Hiroshi’s father asked.

  “I can help you, if you’d like,” Hiroshi offered.

  “Me, too,” Skye chimed in.

  “Thank you all for your offer, but I am comfortable right here.” Grandfather smiled. “But the rest of you should sit.” He turned to Hiroshi and Skye. “You must be tired from all that walking and chair pushing.”

  “Oh, we’re not tired.” Hiroshi realized he’d answered for Skye, too, but she nodded along with him.

  “We’ll keep you company,” Skye said, leaning against the great gnarled trunk.

  “Sure we will,” Hiroshi added. While Mother and Father talked with Skye’s parents on the blanket, Hiroshi brought some dumplings to Grandfather.

  “Thank you, Hiroshi. They look delicious.” But by the time Hiroshi was on his second dumpling, Grandfather hadn’t even touched his.

  “Heads up!” a voice called out. Hiroshi ducked just in time as a Frisbee sliced through the air over his head. It met the cherry tree with a rustle and a crack, then fell at Hiroshi’s feet.

  “Sorry about that.” A teenage boy jogged up to him. “You okay?”

  Hiroshi picked up the Frisbee and handed it to the boy. “I’m fine. No problem.”

  “Thanks, man.” The boy jogged away with the Frisbee in hand.

  “Oh, no!”

  Hiroshi turned to see Skye pointing to a twig of blossoms that had fallen onto Grandfather’s knee.

  “Look what they did with their Frisbee!” She looked as if she were about to cry.

  Hiroshi didn’t know why she was so upset. This tree must have thousands of blossoms, and there must be a thousand trees around the Tidal Basin. What difference did three small blossoms make?

  Grandfather picked up the sprig. “As beautiful as the blossoms are, they are also very fragile. In two weeks’ time these flowers will all be gone.” Grandfather smiled. “We should not mourn their departure, Sorano-chan. The blossoms are a sign of spring, a promise of beauty yet to come.”

  He handed the blossoms to Skye. “They return each year, like clockwork. You can depend on that.” Skye nodded and tucked them carefully into her jacket’s wide front pocket.

  The breeze moved through the branches above, and more blossoms fell around them before the wind snatched them away. The wind had always been Hiroshi’s friend, something he depended on to lift his kite and keep it floating on the air. But now he wished the wind would leave the trees alone. It was true that the blossoms could last as long as two weeks, but Hiroshi had seen high winds and rain rip them from their branches in only a few days.

  It had never mattered to Hiroshi how long the blossoms stayed. But now he didn’t want them to blow away. He wanted them to stay forever.

  31

  Skye

  Skye was thrilled when Grandfather finally insisted she help with the new kite. This was her chance to make up for almost ruining the dragon kite. Every day she’d race to Hiroshi’s house from soccer practice. They’d been following the same routine faithfully for the past week: grab a quick snack from Aunt Naoko, then head to the basement workshop with their backpacks. They were supposed to be doing homework, but the new kite needed to be made. It needed to be perfect, and it needed to be finished in time.

  In time for the kite battle. In time for Grandfather to see it fly.

  Skye and Hiroshi always spoke in Japanese whenever they were in the workshop. When Hiroshi taught her the kite-making rules, she liked to imagine the same words coming from Grandfather in his faraway workshop in Japan:

  Your measurements must be exact.

  Poor planning makes for sloppy flying.

  A good frame should be perfectly symmetrical.

  Attach the strings of the bridle with care, and you will

  be repaid with a kite that flies on its own.

  They reported their progress to Grandfather each evening before Skye went home for dinner. They told him what stage the kite was in and what the plan was for the next day. Sometimes Grandfather was awake for their daily report, and some days he wasn’t.

  On Friday evening they were almost ready.

  “It’ll be ready to paint tomorrow.” Hiroshi tapped the washi paper near the bamboo frame. “It feels solid.”

  “I can’t believe we actually made a kite.” Well, Hiroshi had done most of the making, but Skye was proud that she’d been able to help. “I’ll come over tomorrow right after my exams, and we can paint it.”

  “And then we’ll show it to Grandfather.”

  Skye couldn’t wait to
make him proud.

  When Skye woke the next day, her first thought was the kite. Her next thought was the exams. She threw off her covers and saw her Japanese grammar book lying on her bedside table. Next to the book was a good-luck card from Amber. She felt a pang of guilt when she realized she hadn’t thought about soccer in over a week. But she’d have more time for soccer once she passed her exams. If she passed her exams.

  She knew Grandfather was proud of Hiroshi—after all, he was a kite maker and flier just like Grandfather. But was Grandfather proud of Skye? He had never seen her play soccer. He had been patient with her less-than-perfect Japanese. The exams were her chance to make him proud of her, too.

  Skye got out of bed. She would pass these exams.

  On her way downstairs with the grammar book tucked under her arm, Skye mentally recited verb conjugations. Every few steps she peeked in her book to check if she’d gotten them right. She had.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m in the kitchen, honey.”

  Skye didn’t know if she could stomach anything for breakfast. Maybe she would just grab something after she got dressed and eat in the car. She came around the corner into the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of her parents. They were sitting at the table with cups of coffee and looked as if they hadn’t slept all night. Her mom’s eyes were rimmed in red.

  She wanted to ask, but before she could open her mouth, she knew.

  “Skye,” her dad began. And then the air seemed to drain right out of him. Her mom put her arm around him and pulled him close, then held out a hand to Skye.

  But Skye was frozen. “It’s Grandfather, isn’t it?”

  Her mom nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Yes, honey. He died during the night.”