When the Cherry Blossoms Fell Read online

“Sshh,” Eiko said, putting a finger to her lips. “No more questions. The baby is going to sleep.”

  Sadie looked at Geechan. His eyes were shut. “Which one?” she whispered and winked at Michiko.

  This time Michiko put her finger to her lips. Her Aunt Sadie was fond of making fun of people, but Michiko didn’t like it when it was Geechan.

  She turned to watch the station pass. Crowds of Japanese women and children waited at different points along the tracks as their train lumbered by. It puzzled her as to why so many Japanese people were here. For some reason it made her feel sad. She pressed her face to the glass but pulled back. Dead flies scattered the sill.

  Michiko gave a great sigh. She wished they didn’t have to take this vacation. She didn’t want to go to a farmhouse in the mountains. She wanted to go to Japan instead. She wanted to see the places her father and Geechan talked about, the places where they were born.

  The train picked up speed, past the tall grey buildings, then it moved into a shadowy forest. Huge black-spined firs towered over the tracks. Clouds of sumac peppered with seedpods flanked the rails. The train wound its way along the rim of a gorge, and Michiko stared down into a small canyon laced with tiny waterfalls. She felt as if she were travelling through her storybook. Sadie and her mother closed their eyes.

  Feeling hungry, Michiko dragged the carpetbag out from under her seat and pushed the wide wooden handles apart. As she opened the clasp, she felt someone watching her.

  A frail woman stood next to her sleeping mother. Her small arms stuck out of the short sleeves of her blouse. Several long white hairs escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck.

  Michiko lowered her eyes. The woman’s tiny sandals and ankle socks gave her little girl feet. She looked up just as the woman smiled, displaying missing teeth and black gums. With a crooked finger, she stroked Hiro’s cheek. Then she gazed directly into the carpetbag.

  “O-bento?” the old woman asked, looking at the small packet of sunflower seeds and the orange.

  Michiko shook her head. It was only a snack. She shut the bag with a thud. Then, she turned her shoulders and stared out the window until the woman moved away.

  The rest of the people on the train were silent. She listened to the rhythmic pounding of the wheels on the track. Her eyes closed as she felt the train speed up and slow down many times over. Finally, Michiko rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  When she awoke, a large, shining lake filled the window beside her. There was a sandy beach along the edge. She dipped her head down to look at the high blue-topped mountains across the water. The pearl buttons of her mother’s suit jacket were once again in a perfect row. Michiko glanced around. Geechan was gone, and so was Auntie Sadie. The railway car was completely empty, except for the three of them.

  “Are they here?” came a woman’s loud voice, followed by heavy stomps up the wooden steps. “Are they here?”

  Down the aisle stomped a large red-faced woman in a bright print dress. She wore a yellow straw hat brimmed with cherries on top of a pile of curls the colour of carrots. Several of the cherries had chunks missing. Their insides looked like mothballs.

  The woman’s cheeks were bright pink from exertion. Her lips, painted with heavy lipstick, were the same color as the cherries. She put her hand on the back of a seat to steady herself and catch her breath. “Mrs. Minagawa?” she asked, blinking behind round gold spectacles.

  Michiko’s mother nodded and stood up, holding Hiro. Michiko waited.

  “I’m Edna Morrison,” the woman announced. Her voice was loud and strong. It made Michiko think she was angry, but her face was smiling. “What a sweet little boy,” she exclaimed. She put out her arms to take him. “He looks just like a little doll,” she said.

  Hiro whimpered. His lower lip protruded, his mouth opened wide, and he wailed.

  “Oh my,” the woman said in surprise and moved back. “Oh my, my,” she repeated. “I guess everyone is a little out of sorts.”

  The woman took Michiko’s mother by the elbow. “Come with me.” Michiko grabbed the carpetbag. “We’ve got a ride.”

  A huge pile of duffle bags and trunks lay in the dirt beside the steps. Mrs. Morrison stepped around them to the green pick-up truck parked by the depot. A man in a dark flat cap slouched against the front bumper. He wore denim farm pants and a red plaid shirt. His neck was tanned deep brown, the same V-shape as his open shirt neck.

  Sadie waved from the back of the truck. “Welcome to the Land of No,” she called out.

  Mrs. Morrison hauled herself into the front seat. Eiko tried to hand Hiro to her, but he clung to her neck and wailed. Eiko walked to the back of the truck and passed him up to Sadie. Sadie gave him to Geechan, who sat perched on the edge of his suitcase. Their belongings formed a pile in the middle.

  Sadie hauled Michiko up into the back of the truck.

  “What did you call this place?” Michiko asked.

  “The Land of No,” her aunt explained. “No streetcars, no buses and no cinemas.”

  “There’s electricity and running water,” Eiko said. “That’s what’s important.”

  They watched the train gather steam as it came to life again. The driving rods pushed the large black wheels out of the station, chugging uphill, then all went quiet.

  The pick-up truck rocked and swayed along the dusty dirt road. Michiko rode standing with her back pressed against the cab as it climbed the steep mountain. They passed people from the train. All of them carried sacks on their back and suitcases in their hands. They made their way down a narrow rutted lane, between the trees.

  “Where are they going?” Michiko asked.

  “To their new homes in the woods,” her aunt replied, pointing up the lane.

  Michiko swivelled her head. She couldn’t see any houses. All she saw was a huge hill, covered with pines. She looked straight up, to find the sky.

  “There is no limit to looking upward,” Geechan told her when she lowered her eyes.

  Michiko thought about living in the woods. “Do you think there are bears?” she asked him, but the wind swallowed her words. She turned quickly to her mother to ask again but didn’t; her mother’s face was like a mask.

  They passed large wooden houses with railed verandahs. It seemed strange to see houses spaced so far apart, without fences. They passed green fields blooming with tall spikes of flowers that looked just like paintbrushes.

  On they drove, past a small white wooden church with a bell tower and tiny cemetery. The truck lumbered over a narrow wooden bridge where a stream raced past banks of waving bluebells and daisies.

  When the truck finally left the dirt road and turned onto a large winding lane, it sped up. The wooden sides of the truck rattled, and the floor shook. Michiko’s hat began to flap. Her mother covered Hiro’s face with his blanket. Then Michiko’s blue straw hat blew up, across the back of the truck and away on the wind.

  Five

  Be Grateful

  The truck slowed to a crawl and turned off the main road, where a rusty red iron gate stood ajar. In dark carved letters, the sign on the corner post read NELSON. The road ahead dipped down and split. Michiko could see a long, low white building at the bottom with mountains looming behind. Battered board fences framed the fields on either side.

  Mrs. Morrison waved her plump freckled arm out the window. “This is it.”

  Their four-hour ride in the back of a truck had finally ended.

  The man in the flat cap got out. He removed the pipe from between his brown stained teeth and used it to point at the old wooden farmhouse. At one time, the house had been dark green, but it hadn’t seen paint in years. A cluster of small stunted trees that reminded Michiko of old men stood close together down one side. Clumps of grey brush grew up and onto the long thin wooden verandah. The golden matted field reminded Michiko of the prize cow she had seen at the Exhibition.

  Mrs. Morrison beckoned to Michiko, but she backed away. She did not like the sickly sweet smell of the
loud woman with the cherry hat. She took Hiro, while Sadie helped Geechan down.

  Michiko watched the driver and her mother talking. It was a good thing he spoke with her and not her grandfather, she thought. Most people had a hard time understanding him. He mixed his English words with Japanese. Michiko knew it was because Geechan was Issei, like her father. But her Mother, Aunt Sadie and Uncle Ted had all been born in Canada. They were Nisei.

  Her mother removed a thick white envelope from her purse. She took out a paper and handed it to the driver. He read it, nodded and handed it back to her. Then she handed him the envelope. He removed his cap, placed it inside and put his cap back on his head. Then he got back behind the wheel beside Mrs. Morrison. He isn’t going to help us carry anything inside, Michiko thought.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Morrison,” her mother called out with a wave. She nudged Michiko to wave as well, but she didn’t.

  As they approached the house, two squirrels gossiping at the end of the verandah ran off. They mounted the long plank steps, and Geechan pushed open the wooden door. A tarnished metal lantern hung from a nail beside the frame. The clattering of their shoes echoed over the wooden floor.

  They entered one large room on the ground floor. There weren’t any walls to divide the space into living room, dining room and kitchen. A set of stairs ran across the back, with a row of wooden pegs on the wall behind it. There was a sink and a counter. A large red-handled metal pump stood over the sink, with a washboard propped on its side against it.

  Across from the counter was an ugly, black iron monster stove. Geechan carried Hiro to the stove and patted it. “Hee-ta,” he told Hiro, and together they peered into the large wooden box next to it, brimming with logs.

  A small, square pine table sat on top of a patch of linoleum in the middle of the floor. There were four kitchen chairs, each one a different shape and colour. A corn broom stood in the corner next to a tin bucket. A thick strip of brown tape hung from the ceiling, matted with the bodies of flies. The entire place had a deep musty smell.

  Michiko’s mother looked around and gave a small sigh. “So, this is our new home,” she said, removing the long pearl-tipped pin that fixed her hat to her head. Taking her hat off, she pushed the pin back into the brim and placed the hat on the table. She gave a weak smile.

  “New?” Michiko retorted, looking around in surprise. “This isn’t new.” There wasn’t even a couch or stuffed chair. Where was she supposed to curl up and read?

  Sadie fumbled with the window above the sink, attempting to open it. Spiderwebs filled the corners on the outside, and a fat bumblebee lay still in the corner inside the frame. She flicked it onto the floor with a look of disgust. “It’s nailed shut,” she complained. “This is so inaka.”

  “You are right, Auntie Sadie,” Michiko said. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. “Why are we spending our vacation in this old place?”

  Eiko placed her hands on Michiko’s shoulders and guided her to one of the wooden chairs. She pulled another out and placed it in front of her. Then she sat down and took both of Michiko’s hands. “We are very grateful for this house,” her mother told her in a low voice.

  Michiko furrowed her brows. How could her mother be grateful for a house like this? It wasn’t anything like the one in the city.

  She looked past her mother. The front door was nothing but one big wooden plank. Their door at home was dark mahogany, with an oval frosted window. In the middle of the pane, there was a tulip. Its petals were made of the diamond-shaped panels of red glass, outlined in copper.

  “Do you know how lucky we are?” her mother asked.

  Michiko did not respond. She was busy thinking about the door. It had a knob of chipped enamel and a wooden peg at the side to keep it shut. The knob on the door at home looked like a huge cut diamond that she liked to pretend was a real jewel. Their door locked with a key. This one didn’t even have a keyhole.

  “Michiko.” Her mother spoke sharply, giving her shoulders a shake. “Do you know how lucky we are?”

  Michiko moved her gaze to her mother’s face, surprised at the tone of her voice.

  “Mrs. Morrison helped us make these arrangements.” Her mother’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Some people have to live in tents until they have a place, but we have a whole house just to ourselves.”

  Michiko closed her eyes. The sharpness of her mother’s voice upset her. Eiko did not usually speak that way to her, and Michiko didn’t want to listen any more.

  Eiko lowered her voice to a whisper. “Be grateful, Michiko, our whole family is together.”

  “Our whole family is not together,” Michiko said. She broke free of her mother’s grasp and stood up. “Father isn’t here, is he?” She turned and ran up the stairs.

  The first room at the top of the stairs had a small cot and a crib. Except for two bars, the paint on the rest of the crib was chipped and faded. Michiko plunked herself down on the cot. Two rough grey blankets lay folded at the foot of the bed. This must be my room, she thought. The springs below the thin worn mattress screeched. She bounced a few times to listen as she looked up at the ceiling. A long piece of string dangled from the single electric bulb with an enamel cuff. There were no sunburst swirls of white stucco like the ones on her bedroom ceiling at home.

  She removed her coat, unbuttoned her blouse and stepped out of the wool skirt. She looked around. There was no closet. She took off the green plaid dress and folded her clothes into a neat pile on top of the blankets.

  “Ted,” she heard Auntie Sadie shout.

  Michiko raced down the stairs.

  Her uncle was so tanned and bronze, his arms looked bigger. He opened them wide, and Michiko ran right into them. “I haven’t seen you since Christmas,” she yelled.

  Ted picked her up and twirled her about the room. Then he put her down and staggered about. “You weigh a ton,” he said, clutching at his heart. “How old are you now, fourteen?”

  “Oh, Uncle Ted, you are so silly,” Michiko giggled. “I’m nine. I just had my birthday.”

  Ted walked to Geechan and bowed. Geechan returned the bow with a nod of his head. Then Ted kneeled in front of Hiro, who was sitting on his grandfather’s lap.

  “Be careful,” warned Sadie. “He’s not a happy baby today.”

  Ted tickled his nephew under his tiny pointed chin. “Hello, Hiro,” he said, “hello.”

  Hiro looked at his uncle and gave a shy smile. Then he turned and buried his face in his grandfather’s coat.

  “Good boy,” Michiko’s mother said.

  “Yeah, you didn’t howl,” said Sadie.

  “Have you got all of your luggage?” Ted asked.

  “We weren’t allowed to bring much,” Eiko responded. “Bedding, pots and pans, the few dishes and clothes that we could carry. I could only ship two things.”

  Ted turned to Michiko. “Did you bring me a present?” he asked.

  “Your present is our safe arrival,” Sadie scoffed.

  But Michiko had an idea. She dashed over to her carpetbag, took out her orange and put it behind her back. “Close your eyes,” she told her uncle as she walked towards him, “and put out your hands.”

  Michiko placed the bright lopsided ball in them. “Now you can open your eyes.”

  For a moment, Michiko didn’t understand the look on her uncle’s face. She thought, at first, that he was going to cry. Then he lifted the orange to his nose and drank in the pungent aroma of the peel. “Thank you, Michiko,” he said, giving her a hug. “I can’t remember the last time I had an orange.”

  Over his shoulder, Michiko could see her mother’s face. She was smiling, and Michiko knew that she would be yasashi with her again.

  “So what have you been eating lately?” Sadie asked Ted.

  Ted bent his arms upward to flex his muscles. “Potatoes, potatoes and more potatoes,” he said. “I’m desperate for a bowl of miso soup.”

  “We all are,” retorted Sadie. “Goodnes
s knows where we’ll get Japanese food out here.”

  Six

  Houses in the Orchard

  Michiko hauled off her cotton nightgown. Yesterday’s clothes lay on the floor in a pile. Her mother hadn’t put clean ones out for her. She pulled on her long-sleeved blouse and buttoned it up before stepping through the elastic waist of her wool skirt. This is what she usually wore to school. It felt odd wearing school clothes on a summer vacation.

  Michiko wiped the fine dry dust of the road from the toes of her shoes. She slapped her socks against the foot of the metal bed to rid them of the brown rings before putting them on. Hiro stirred. She picked up her shoes and tiptoed downstairs.

  The rough wooden surface of the kitchen table lay bare. Where was their embroidered cloth? Two small red enamel bowls sat alone with a pair of chopsticks across them. One bowl was half-full of rice, the other of green tea.

  Michiko lifted the bowl of snowy white rice to her face to breathe in the sweet aroma. It was cold. She looked around. Where was the bowl that held her egg? There wasn’t even shoyu on the table. Michiko always dribbled the dark soy sauce on top of the thick yellow yolk. Then she stirred the large staring eye with her chopsticks and poured it over the hot steamy rice. This is a very plain breakfast, she thought. She poured some of the cold green tea over her rice and gave it a stir.

  “Ohayo,” her grandfather called out, hearing her move in the kitchen. He sat on the verandah in a wooden chair facing the sun, whittling. “You slept a long time, my little cherry blossom.”

  “Good morning,” Michiko said as she moved to the steps to put on her shoes. The sun was bright, but the air was cool. She was glad of her long-sleeved blouse and warm skirt.

  She walked to one end of the verandah and leaned on the railing, facing the field of crumpled grey grass. The other side of the dirt road was dense with trees.

  “We should be grateful,” Geechan said.

  Now Geechan is saying it, Michiko thought as she turned to him.

  Geechan gestured to the right with his knife. “We have an orchard,” he told her. “Next spring, we will have a grand hanami.”