After the Bloom

by Leslie Shimotakahara

  It was a high-heeled sandal made of burgundy alligator skin; the narrow heel curved like the stem of a wine glass. When Lil stood up — a wave of vertigo — she might have become Rita Hayworth.

  Tears sprung to her eyes: she felt ashamed of the old brown pumps Mr. Sugimori must have seen her wearing, heels ground down into nubs. She sauntered around the living room, humiliated at how intoxicated she secretly felt.

  “You look different, you know.” Kaz ran his thumb along her cheekbone, lingering on her scar, and then his hand continued up through her hair, loosening the pins with a soft clatter.

  And just like that, as she raked her fingers through her hair, it was as if every knot she unfurled was bringing her closer to her true self. The past they’d shared. The risks he’d compelled her to take. She shuddered, a sob caught in her throat, and as it surged up, other sensations and memories came free, too…. Her hand digging into his arm, the feeling of him pulling away from her, the seconds ticking by as she tried to find the words to stop him from going into that doomed building, her tongue frozen, the cacophony of gunshots, and always that feeling of Kaz pulling away from her, like the act of breathing or sleeping itself. For the abyss was inside her now…. How desperately she wished to be back on the other side, the before side. If she just let herself drift away on the current, she could still feel that flush that always came over her whenever he so much as looked at her, that snake of heat winding its way up through her belly. “My, my, if it isn’t our little Cherry Blossom Queen.” In calling her that, he’d made her so, his hands and words reshaping her flesh.

  The other boarders she found through an ad in the paper. The doctor was none too pleased by the prospect of hakujins under his roof, but who could deny they needed the money?

  Mr. Dobson was a retired widower who sat in the living room reading the newspaper day after day. “Coal mine explosion in central Illinois, one hundred trapped,” he’d mutter when Lil came in with a tea tray. Some days he claimed he’d been a professor emeritus of world history, while other days he alluded to having worked for British Intelligence during the war. Although the doctor thought Mr. Dobson was full of baloney, Lil believed every word he said. He looked as though he could have been a man of great importance in his heyday, with his well-trimmed moustache, neatly pressed shirts, proper English raincoat, and galoshes.

  There were also a couple of boarders who worked as day labourers. They were gruff young men who kept to themselves, happy to rent small rooms on the third floor for less than they’d have to pay if they lived a few blocks over. Since they cooked on hot plates in their rooms, no one saw much of them anyway.

  The boarders generated a considerable amount of work, but Lil didn’t mind. Imagining herself the owner of a swanky hotel, she sewed new satin drapes. At a rummage sale, she found a gilt-framed mirror to hang above the table where she laid out her guests’ mail each day.

  Kaz’s face looked different. His nose larger, askew. Had it been broken? She wanted to run her fingertips down the bridge to feel the knobby point where the bone had cracked and sutured back together.

  Before she could figure out what to say, a little pair of arms clasped her thigh. Tom had run down in his pyjamas. He must have been watching them from the top of the staircase.

  “Mommy, it’s that man.”

  “Which man, Tom?” Her hand brushed the top of his head.

  “The one you said I shouldn’t talk to,” he whispered.

  Kaz kneeled down so he and the boy were eye level. “But you did keep talking to me, didn’t you, Tom?”

  Mischievous smiles on both sides. Conspiratorial silence.

  “We’ve been getting to know each other real well, son. I’m gonna take you on a fishing trip.”

  Kaz stepped into the hallway. He looked up the curved banister to the shadowy, upper reaches, as though not used to being in a house with more than one floor. “So this is where you and the old man set up shop.”

  Knit one, purl one. The needles clicked back and forth, a skein of brown wool unravelling in a muddy river. She was helping Aunt Haruko knit blankets for the poor orphaned children of Japan. Some Christian organization had opened an orphanage for all the kids who’d lost their parents during the war. Lil had seen photos in the paper of whole cities reduced to nothing but rubble and blackened landscapes — strange, lavalike scars burnt into people’s flesh. Was that what had happened to her own family? She shuddered, an ache loosening inside her. She couldn’t remember much about her childhood, but she knew that her mother had gone back to Japan and never returned.

  Japan wasn’t the only place full of orphans these days. Each evening Mr. Dobson liked to sit in the living room and listen to the CBC, plumes of smoke veiling his contemplative expression. John Fisher’s exclamatory voice came over the airwaves and brought to life the sea of devastation in postwar Europe. The blackish bread and terrible hopelessness of those living in squalid conditions in Paris and Brussels. Roads being rebuilt in Warsaw by folks going at it with picks and shovels. Babies languishing in orphanages, incapable of responding to the word Mommy in any language. The stories left Lil numb.

  “Mommy, what’s an orphan?” Tom looked up from the floor.

  “Never mind.”

  “An orphan’s a kid who’s lost his parents,” Mr. Dobson said.

  “Parents can get lost? Like my father?”

  “Tom, your father’s right here.” Lil gestured at the doctor, shielded behind a newspaper.

  “Your father, Tom?” The doctor peeked up, frowning. “He lives in California. I’ve told you that dozens of times.”

  “Why does he live in California?”

  “Because he just does.”

  “Who is this man?” Mr. Dobson came downstairs, alarmed. “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course everything’s all right.” Kaz let his bag drop to the floor. “I’m Lily’s husband — or soon to be husband, that is. The man of the house.”

  Pleasure jolted into her blood. How long had she been waiting to hear those very words?

  Mr. Dobson looked astonished. So did Mr. Sugimori, hovering in the doorway of the living room.

  “Who are these people?” Kaz demanded.

  “They’re my guests.”

  “Guests?”

  “Well, my boarders, I suppose you’d call them.”

  “So this place is a flophouse?”

  “A rooming house, Kaz. It’s a respectable rooming house.”

  He rolled his eyes and came closer, the cedar whiff of whiskey unmistakable now. “I can’t believe my father would let you live under the same roof as this bunch.”

  “It’s just that, well, we need the money right now. Just until your father starts up his practice.”

  Kaz shook his head, looking disgusted, and stepped into the living room. She might have been seeing the place for the first time as he was seeing it now: the uneven hem of her homemade curtains; the yellowed lace cloth placed over the coffee table to conceal its missing leg; the glass clock always ticking — mocking her — atop the boarded-up fireplace.

  The front door screeched open. A briefcase hit the floor. Feet padded in. The doctor’s feet. How intimately she still knew all his bodily sounds and rhythms. Her heart flew up into her head — thumping out of control as panic crested over her flesh.

  A dip into blackness sucked her in. Past and future merging in this lava pit, the one place she could be sure she’d always return to.

  Twenty-Five

  Hard to believe Kristen had only been gone two weeks. She looked different somehow — maybe she’d grown. Her hair had for sure; it was blowing wildly about her shoulders, giving her the look of the Little Mermaid. Rita pulled it back and fastened it with a strawberry bauble then petted the small, silky head.

  Kristen sounded different, too. She’d picked up new sayings, like “oy vey,” which Jodi was apparently fond of sayin
g. And when Rita asked what song she was humming, it turned out Jodi had taught her “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” What next — they’d be going to rock concerts together? But Rita didn’t even care. Nothing could get her down now that her daughter was back home.

  What a delightful surprise. Just when she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, Cal had called yesterday in a panic. It turned out that Jodi had two cats. Kristen was severely allergic — a fact that had somehow managed to slip his mind. Although Jodi had tried to keep the cats in her study, it hadn’t made any difference; their dander was everywhere. After one night in that apartment, the poor girl was stuffed up, sneezing. It was going to be at least another few days before the water damage at Cal’s house could be fully repaired. So he’d swallowed his pride and asked Rita whether it would be possible to put their daughter on the next flight back to Toronto. In her elation, she’d forgotten to act annoyed in order to maintain leverage for next time.

  As soon as she’d hung up the phone, she’d flown into a cleaning frenzy, which had lasted the rest of yesterday and all this morning. Kristen’s room was now totally unpacked, her bed made up with freshly laundered sheets. What a paragon of efficiency Rita could be when she was motivated to get her shit together. It felt good — great, actually — to be back in mother mode.

  They were sitting on the patio of a little Chilean restaurant around the corner from the apartment. Perched on Kristen’s lap was Melanie, the latest gift Cal had given her. While Melanie had a chocolate complexion and thick, black yarn braids, she had exactly the same near-set eyes, dimpled cheeks and sickeningly sweet smile as every other Cabbage Patch Kid. Rita didn’t get why everyone found these dolls so irresistible. Maybe it was simply the fact that they’d been born in a cabbage patch. Who didn’t fantasize at times about originating out of nowhere, with no crazy family to answer to?

  Although it was still morning in Vancouver, it was past lunchtime here. So Rita ordered a chicken empanada.

  “It’s like a pizza pocket but tastier,” Kristen said, slurping her mango juice. She seemed to like their new neighbourhood, with all the tables full of retro sunglasses and floppy straw hats right out on the sidewalk. Still, Rita couldn’t help but wonder if there was something a bit forced about her daughter’s cheeriness. Her eyes had a dazed, disoriented look, bright with exhaustion.

  “You tired, Pumpkin?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I’m tired then.” A terrible pressure was suddenly expanding across Rita’s temples, relief mixed with persistent terror. Relief that her daughter was here with her now. Terror that Lily was still nowhere to be found. She pulled Kristen close, fiercely hugging the little shoulders.

  “Is everything okay, Mommy?”

  She took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Actually, some things have happened since you’ve been away. Some not so good things.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s your grandmother. She went off somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know…. She’s kind of gotten lost.”

  Confusion clouded the little face. “How’ll we find her?”

  It was easy to forget how close the city was to the countryside. Rita didn’t even really think of St. Catharines as the country — not with all the strip malls and donut shops — until Kristen pointed out the orchards and vineyards through the car window. There was even one sad-looking cow grazing in a meadow that abutted an empty parking lot. Kristen wanted to know if they could go apple picking, like they’d done on a school field trip.

  “Maybe another day. Right now we’re going to see your Aunt Haruko.”

  Nothing Tom had said about Kaz’s utter absence from their childhood had faded. Rita couldn’t stop replaying their strange conversation in her mind. How could he be so blasé about the fact that Kaz had never been a part of their lives at all? It was an act, she felt sure of it. There were things Tom still wasn’t telling her. So it was time to talk to somebody else.

  “Who’s Aunt Haruko? I don’t have an aunt.”

  “Sure you do. Well, she’s not exactly your aunt. She’s my great- aunt. Which would make her your great-great-aunt.”

  Kristen wrinkled up between the eyebrows, squinting in the harsh glare of the sunset. Rita tried to explain the peculiar shape of their family tree, not very successfully.

  “Why’ve I never met her, Mommy?”

  “Aunt Haruko lives far away in St. Catharines.” Yup, a whole hour-and-a-half drive.

  Kristen nodded and fell into silence. Then she was reminded of the fact that she needed to use the bathroom. The kid had a bladder the size of a pea.

  Hunched over by the window, Aunt Haruko didn’t seem to have budged since Rita’s last visit. Bones poked out the back of her mint-green pyjamas like a half-collapsed tent. The nurse at the front desk had informed Rita that visiting hours were over, but it hadn’t been difficult to slip by when the girl got a call from her boyfriend.

  “It’s me again, Aunt Haruko.”

  This time she didn’t back away. Even leaned forward to be kissed. Her face seemed different tonight, softer, somehow. Despite the unpleasant note their last visit had ended on, Rita suspected Aunt Haruko was glad just to have a visitor. Beneath her flinty words of hell and damnation was a lonely, unloved soul.

  “I’ve brought my daughter with me this time. Kristen, this is Aunt Haruko.” Rita beckoned that it was all right to come forward and hug the old woman’s shoulders.

  Complying, Kristen appeared at once fascinated and frightened. “Mommy, why isn’t Aunt Haruko looking at me? Is Aunt Haruko a witch?” she whispered.

  “No, of course not. Her eyesight just isn’t the greatest.” Rita hoped Aunt Haruko hadn’t overheard. Kristen was right though: there was something kind of witchlike about her secretive, sombre demeanour. If she was a witch, Rita believed that she must be a good witch. “I brought you some pastries. Would you like to have one?”

  “Not much appetite these days.”

  Orange crullers had once been Aunt Haruko’s favourite. Rita put one on a napkin and tore it into pieces. Hesitantly, the old lady toyed with a morsel and then greedily ate it up, flakey crumbs all over her chin. She lightly belched, like it had been years since she’d had anything so good.

  Kristen wanted one, too, of course. Rita gave her half on the condition that she play quietly at the table in the corner so the adults could chat privately. They’d brought her set of pencil crayons and a colouring book. Rita got her settled and showed her the paintings on the wall that Aunt Haruko had done years ago. Kristen said she would draw a flower tree, too.

  Aunt Haruko started coughing, so Rita fetched a glass of water. Then she noticed a kettle and box of green tea on the dresser. Making tea gave her hands something to do while she mulled over what to say. There really wasn’t any way to ease into it.

  “There are some things I need to ask you about. Things I’ve discovered about our family.”

  “They’ve found Lily, ne? She’s been talking?” A look somewhere between guardedness and resignation.

  “No, Mom’s still missing.”

  Although the withered lips had pinched into a knot, she didn’t seem surprised that Rita was back, asking questions. Maybe there was something Aunt Haruko wanted to tell her, something that had been weighing on her for years. “Eto ne, what do you want to know then?”

  “There’s so much I don’t understand about the end of the war. How we all ended up in Toronto for starters. Tom’s been telling me weird stories….” Tread lightly. It wasn’t too late for Aunt Haruko to get upset and drift into stony silence.

  Now it made more sense that she’d been so desperate to leave them. Was it any wonder that after all the craziness she’d witnessed, she’d hightailed it at the first opportunity to get as far away from Margueretta Street as possible?

  “What are you asking, Ri
ta?”

  “After the war, when Kaz showed up, I’m curious about what happened between him and my mother. And how Grandpa reacted to Kaz’s reappearance.”

  The old hands crumpled a napkin, twisted it into a rope. In that moment, as those fragile eyelids remained downcast, twitching slightly, Rita felt sure that there was some secret Aunt Haruko had held inside for far too long.

  “Please, Aunt Haruko,” she whispered, waiting. “You can tell me.”

  Twenty-Six

  The next morning, she awoke late. Standing shakily, she felt different. All Lil’s calmness and self-assurance had been sucked out the soles of her feet. The air was chilly, unwelcoming. Even the floor felt peculiar: the uneven tilt of the floorboards stabbed at her stomach like she was on a boat, sharp edges offering up slivers.

  Creaking steps, a knock on the door. She stiffened, held her breath.

  “Lily, are you up yet?” Aunt Haruko’s anxious voice.

  She murmured something inaudible to even herself.

  “May I come in?”

  “No, don’t. I’m not dressed.”

  “I took Tom to school.”

  Oh, God. What time was it? Lil would have never overslept and forgotten all about her chores. But that woman felt very far away. Squinting at herself in the mirror, she adjusted the dishevelled tendrils, surprised to discover something sensuous and freeing about barely recognizing herself. Never again would she sleep with her hair bound in a braid. Lily, yes, yes, Lily, she repeated the name. Her name. It felt right again. A sudden tingling ran throughout her body — this mad feeling of being alive, coming awake after so long in a coma, some wild creature exuberantly racing in circles, gathering speed, the wind blowing through her hair….

  “Thank you, Aunt Haruko,” she managed to say.