Fire Flowers (6 page)

Tomoko didn't say much, at first. In fact, I sometimes wondered whether she'd actually forgotten how to speak on her long journey across the Kansai plain. But one afternoon, she came over to us through the ticket hall, holding up a tattered magazine.

“I've found something,” she said, in quiet voice.

Tomoko was holding a torn copy of
Women's Club
, a journal that my mother used to read. I wrinkled up my nose, but she opened it anyway to show us an article. I squinted at the title: “Let's Eat Grasshoppers!” it said.

“Grasshoppers?” Koji exclaimed.

It wasn't such a surprise. The newspapers had been full of similar stories that month, making suggestions as to how people could find alternate sources of nutrition.

“Let's hear it, then,” I said, nodding in encouragement.

Tomoko blew her hair out of her eyes. Shyly, she began to read.

“Not only is the countryside full of grasshoppers, but despite what some might think, they are in fact quite delicious to eat and are very healthy, being packed full of vitamins . . . ”

She trailed off as Koji made a sour face and Shin, not to be outdone, retched loudly. But the idea didn't seem so bad to me. We were all practically starving. Even if we didn't eat the grasshoppers ourselves, we could always try to sell them back here at the market. I'd seen people selling buckets of frogs before, some even sold snakes.

“Perhaps we'll go on a grasshopper hunt tomorrow, then,” I said. “First thing.”

The children made excited noises, but I quickly dashed their hopes.

“There's no reason for us all to go, of course. Just us older ones. Me—and Tomoko, as it was her idea. Shin, you can stay here and look after the little ones. You're in charge.”

The children grumbled away, and I stole a glance at Tomoko. Her cheeks were glowing. She was smiling at me.

 

It was a cold morning, marvelously clear and bright, as we jumped down from the Tobu Main Line train just past Shiraoka, up in Saitama prefecture. The fields were crunchy with frost and mottled leaves were floating down from the trees, slowly, as if they couldn't bear to land. We'd borrowed some little bamboo cages from an old man at the market to make homes for our grasshoppers. But though we hunted about in the fields for hours on end, as the magazine suggested, it finally became clear that we wouldn't be needing them. There were no grasshoppers to be found.

“I wonder where they all could have gone,” Tomoko said with a sniff.

“Perhaps it's not the right season anymore,” I said. “Or perhaps they've all been eaten already.”

It was still a beautiful day though, and we wandered for a while along a winding path that led through the fields as the dew melted and a warbler called out from the trees.
It must have its nest nearby
, I thought, glancing up the branches, and I wondered if I should try to search for its eggs.

There was a jangling rattle from up ahead. Tomoko was standing by a little shrine set with offerings beside the path, the bell rope swaying. Her eyes were closed, and her head was bowed in prayer.

She looked up and clapped her hands—once, twice.

I began to walk towards her, but as she turned to face me, I hesitated. Her eyes were glistening. I desperately hoped that she wasn't crying. It would have been unthinkable for me to try to hit on her, here.

I cleared my throat. “Tomoko-chan. I hope you're not feeling unwell?”

She shook her head.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I was just thinking of my mother. She always said a prayer if ever we passed a shrine out in the countryside.”

Two statuettes of fox spirits stood on each side of the shrine, dressed in aprons of red cotton. As I gazed at Tomoko, a strange thought occurred to me.

“Tomoko. Is it really true that your mother sent you away to Tokyo?”

Tomoko looked away as her face screwed up. It all became terribly clear.

“She's dead isn't she?” I said, softly. “You came here on your own.”

She gave a tiny nod.

“How did she die?”

Tomoko shook her head. “I don't know, Hiroshi-kun,” she said. “She was sick. Something to do with her blood, I think.”

“What about your father? Couldn't he help? What did he do?”

“He was a doctor. At the naval hospital.”

“He could have helped her then, couldn't he?”

She shook her head helplessly. “Everyone was sick, Hiroshi-kun.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She stared at me. “Not straight away. Afterwards.”

I stared at her. “After the air raid, do you mean?”

Tears began to leak from her eyes.

“What was it like, Tomoko?” I blurted. “Is it true what they say? That the whole city went up with just one blast?”

She held her arms very tightly against her sides. With a jerk of her head, she began to sob.

I was appalled at myself.
Idiot!
I thought. This was exactly why we didn't talk about such things!

I hurried away down the path, my cheeks throbbing with shame. After some time, I heard Tomoko's footsteps behind me. I finally dared to glance at her. To my relief, her face was calm now, her eyes dry.

“Please forgive me,” I said.

“Shall we talk about something else?”

“Like what?”

She considered the question. “Well. What about you, Hiroshi-kun?” she said. “Tell me about Asakusa. Was it really as exciting as all the songs used to say?”

I stared at her. “Haven't you ever heard of the Sanja Matsuri?” I asked, relieved to be on home ground again. “It used to be the best festival of them all!”

Her smile widened. “Is that so?”

“What?” I said. “You country bumpkin. Everyone knows that!”

To my delight, she let out a peal of laughter, and I told her about the rowdy celebrations that took place in our neighbourhood every year in honour of the founders of Senso Temple—the swollen crowds, the bulging-eyed men who carried the three enormous portable shrines up to the temple, swaying and crashing into the narrow buildings of the alley as they passed.

“And did you ever carry a shrine, Hiroshi?” Tomoko asked, her eyes wide.

I hesitated. “Well, yes, of course I did. One of the smaller ones, a little
mikoshi
. But you should have seen it! It was covered with real gold . . . ”

I blustered on, hoping to thrill Tomoko with exciting tales of Asakusa. But, the truth was, I didn't remember much about the days before the Pacific War, those wonderful times that my parents had always talked about, of the golden wooden horses in Hanayashiki Park, the jugglers out at Asakusa Pond.

Tomoko was smiling now though, and she happily blew her hair from her eyes. “It all sounds wonderful, Hiroshi-kun.”

Her white arms swung by her sides. For a moment, more than anything, I wanted to take her hand and hold it in my own.

“Maybe we could go there one day,” I said, carefully. “They're showing American films again at the cinemas now. I could show you Senso Temple if you like.”

Tomoko stopped walking and looked at me quizzically. “Hiroshi-kun, would you really?” she asked.

“Well,” I stuttered. “Not that there's much left of it, of course.” She tilted her head to one side, ever so slightly. She was smiling at me again.

The shadows were stretched out in the copses by the time we got back to the train tracks. After a while Tomoko murmured that she was hungry. She was very pale, and I realised that, in fact, she was starving, and trying to hide the fact by sheer willpower. I cursed myself for not bringing more food and wondered whether I should try rummaging about in the nearest farmer's field. But just then, a blue-green four-car train came creaking toward us along the track and I hopped up.

“Come on,” I said, “Hurry!”

“Hiroshi—” Tomoko was struggling to stand. “Please. I don't think I can. I'm so dizzy.”

I grabbed her hand and tugged her along as the train shuttled closer. A coupling came alongside us, and I leaped up, gripping onto the carriage. But Tomoko stumbled, and for a second, I was dragging her along the ground, my arm being wrenched out of its socket. With a great heave, I hoisted her up, and she fell into my arms. Her body was a dead weight. She had fainted.

I struggled to grasp her under the arms, trying to stop her falling from the accelerating train. Somehow I managed to steady her between me and the carriage, holding her around the waist as the train rattled forward. She softly moaned and buried her head against my chest. A caramel scent came from her hair, and her breath fell in hot, delicate waves against my neck.

She made a small sound. As she looked up, the colour slowly came back into her face. I realized my hand was resting on the bump of her chest and I quickly wriggled around so that I was standing behind her.

“Thank you, Hiroshi-kun,” she murmured. She turned to face the locomotive, clutching onto the carriage for balance. She looked into the distance as the engine gave a long bellow and the train sped up, its wheels clattering faster and faster along the track. The last light of sunset was bleeding over the trees and bright gold glinted from the windows and the rails.

As we raced back toward Tokyo, the smoke from the locomotive puffed around us, and the wind whipped her hair back into my face.

 

It was dark by the time we clambered down from the train at Ueno Station, and the children were bitterly disappointed that our bamboo cages were empty. Tomoko took the kids off to try to scrounge something to eat, and I wandered away on my own, filled with the urge to lose myself in the uneasy magic of my sensations.

Not far from the railway arches was a wide bomb crater with tumbledown houses looming over it. It was flooded with dark water, and now and then bubbles rose to the surface and burst with such a revolting smell that I normally steered well clear of the place. But that evening, as I passed, a glint caught my eye and I froze. Over on the far bank, there was a tiny pulse in the air, a bright, thrilling glow, like a green star. I clambered around the rim of the crater and squatted down to get a closer look. It was just as I'd thought—though I could hardly believe it was possible so late in the year. Fireflies—floating up and down by the muddy bank, like ghostly little lanterns.

With my heart in my mouth, I took a matchbox from my pocket and shook it empty of tobacco strands. I held it open, and caught one of the creatures at the top of its ascent. Then I slid the drawer shut with my thumb, slipped the matchbox into my pocket, and raced back to the station.

 

Koji gave a whimper when he saw me coming through the slumped crowds of the ticket hall. He rushed over and grabbed my arm.

“Big brother, you've come back!”

“Of course I have.”

“Shin said you were gone!”

Beneath the concrete stairwell, Shin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a nasty grin on his face. The children looked tearful. When Aiko saw me, she gave a squeal of relief.

“What's been going on here?” I said.

Shin looked up at the ceiling.

“He said you were leaving us!” Aiko said. “That you don't like us anymore.”

“It was just a joke,” Shin said. “You damned crybabies!”

I put my hand in my pocket. A tiny flicker came from inside the matchbox.

“Shut up, will you? I'll deal with this in the morning. Let's just get some sleep.”

The children curled up on their mats. An old woman with a black shawl rasped away beside us. The station lights were extinguished, and the hall grew heavy with sleep.

I lay there in the darkness, wide awake, listening to the snores and night murmurs around me. I held the matchbox in my palm, picturing the creature trapped there in its miniature chamber of darkness, its body welling with light.

The children were dead to the world, breathing quietly with their mouths open. Koji frowned and snorted in his sleep. Beside him, Tomoko lay very still, her lips slightly parted, the thin blanket over her shallow ribcage gently rising and falling. I reached over and tugged her leg. She moaned in her sleep, then shifted. I pulled her leg again, and this time she jerked awake and sat bolt upright. When she saw me, she rubbed her eyes. I beckoned to her. Frowning, she edged forward. I held out the matchbox in my palm, and then pushed the drawer open a fraction. As the light pulsed in the box, she gasped, and a faint green glow lit up in her eyes.

She took the box from my palm and pushed the drawer open all the way. Suddenly, the creature flew up and out of the box, and hung suspended in the air between us. We looked at each other in silent delight. She gestured to the ground beside her. I carefully clambered over Koji's body. As we lay down, the firefly spiraled slowly in the darkness and her warm cheek pressed against mine. She fumbled for my hand and picked it up and placed it upon her chest. She held it there beneath her fingers, and then I could feel her delicate heart beat, as we lay there together on the cold, hard floor of the station, gazing up at the magical light as it pulsed softly in and out of existence.

T
he International Palace was housed in an old watch factory, just off the highway out towards Chiba. The name might have sounded very grand, but the walls were crumbling and the partition rooms didn't even have doors of their own, just sheets of cloth hanging from nails. The Americans had found their way there straight away. There was a long line of them waiting outside when we arrived. They all clapped and cheered as our buses pulled up.

A celebration ceremony had been held in the Imperial Plaza that morning. Lines of us modern-day Okichis throwing up our hands and cheering
Banzai!
just as if we'd been schoolgirls off on an outing to the countryside.

The fat pig from my interview—the president of the Recreation and Amusement Association—was already waiting at the entrance, dressed like a cheap stage comic. There was an older lady there too, Mrs. Abe, who was to be our “manager.” She led me to a cubicle at the end of the corridor and gave me a crayon and a piece of card and asked me to think of an English name for myself. I couldn't think of any, so, after staring at me for a moment, she wrote “Primrose” in jagged orange letters and tacked the card up on the wall. She told me it was the name of a flower.