Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 30

4 283 4 30 T he next morning Rie painted several signs for the Peace March—“No More Hiroshimas” in English and Japanese— and Mr. Yokohagi nailed the placards to flat sticks. “Will you go with me, Sensei?” Rie said, “or wait for Okada-san?” Barbara looked out the window, scanning the faces of people on the street. I’m looking for Seiji, she thought. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “Your father isn’t going to join us?” she asked, as they started down the steps. “He does not like crowds—particularly at this time of year.” On the last flight of steps they met Seiji coming toward them. Barbara stopped, holding on to the banister. “We are headed for the Peace March,” Rie said. “I see.” The three of them walked down the last steps in silence. Seiji was carrying a white furoshiki in one hand. At the curb, they hesitated. “I must talk to you urgently,” Seiji said. “Why didn’t you come yesterday then, if it’s so urgent?” “I hesitated to tire you further after your journey.” Barbara turned to Rie. “Go with him,” Rie whispered. “I think is important. I’ll see you this evening.” She hurried off to the streetcar stop. To avoid looking at Seiji, Barbara stared across the street at a tall mesh fence around new construction. “I broke your teabowls,” she said. “Ah.” There was a long silence. “I understand,” he said. He gazed at her steadily. “I am going to lay Nakamoto to rest.” He lifted the furoshiki: it was the wrapped box of Michi-san’s ashes. “Will you come? I would also like to make my explanation to you.” “Okay.” They walked to his truck and got in. He put the furoshiki on the seat between them. She kept glancing at the furoshiki, the shape of the box inside. When they came to the western part of the city, narrow streets winding up a hill, he said, “This is Koi, where Nakamoto-san and I grew up.” He pointed out a stone wall. “I ran beside that as a child.” She leaned out the window to see it more clearly. “The bomb didn’t destroy it?” “No there are many sites still standing in Koi. Nearby was my house and Nakamoto-san’s—shall we go there?” They got out and walked slowly up the street. They stopped before a large wooden house with a curved tile roof; around it was a wall. “This is site of Nakamoto-san’s childhood home.” “Right here—she lived in this house?” “It has been replaced.” He nodded toward a house next to it. “The house beyond was my childhood home, this same building.” She looked at the tiled roof, a round window, tatami visible 4 284 4 4 285 4 beyond the open sliding doors. There were morning glories spilling over the gate. “Have you been back inside?” “No,” he said, “I do not care to.” “You and Michi lived side by side.” She looked up and down the street. An old woman pushing a cart passed by; she bowed and smiled, showing a toothless mouth. “You were both born here.” “I knew her my entire life,” he said. “Sometimes she watched out over we younger children as we swam in the river.” He pointed down the hill. “We cannot actually see from here—but the river is there, not too far.” “The Koi River?” “Yes—I liked to jump off the bridge and make a loud splash.” She could see him. A skinny little kid, arms outstretched, yelling “Banzai!” as he hit the water. “The teahouse has been torn down behind Nakamoto-san’s house, but the plum trees are still there, I believe.” They rang the bell, and he received permission to go into the garden. There were three gnarled plum trees, all in full leaf. Barbara touched the trunk of the largest one. The bark was pinkish tan, and stippled with small nodules. She looked around her: mossy ground, a pond with a slightly askew stone lantern at the edge, some potted bonsai. Ume had been born here. “Where was the teahouse?” she said. “This way.” He led her to the far end of the garden, to a place beside a stone wall. “I wonder where Chie buried those papers,” she said. “Beside the teahouse, I believe.” “Why did they tear it down?” she said. “It was in poor repair. Also the present owner is...