Nonna has her hand over her mouth. Now she lets it fall into her lap again. “If you’re so sure of that, how could you accept the job? Your poor girls. They’ve lost so much already. Their mother…” She stops. Then, “They’ll miss you.”
“Miss me? No, no. We’re all going. All four of us. There’s room for the whole family, right in the embassy.”
Nonna is shaking her head again. She fingers her watchband.
Papà looks at me, then at Carolina. “Do you want to go with me, girls?”
“Yes!” shouts Carolina.
A new country. A new school. But safe. With Papà and Nonna. I try to smile.
Leaving behind friends. And this house. Where Mamma lived, till she died in January.
Everything is different in a flash.
“I’m too old for this.” Nonna puts on her headscarf and goes out the door. She shuts it so softly, it swings open again. She’s going to church. That’s what she does when she’s upset.
Papà is looking at me. Waiting. “Don’t worry about Nonna. I’ll talk to her. We’ll go for a year, two at most. Simona. Carolina. You’ll get to see a bit of the world. An adventure. And…” His voice is nearly a whisper now. “A change would help us in lots of ways, Simona. We’ve all been…sad….I don’t know how to say it. But you’re smart. You know what I mean.”
Loss. Lost. Ever since Mamma died. Ever since she got so sick. That’s what’s in my head. And now, fear.
No! I mustn’t be afraid. Papà wants a change. And it’s only for a year. Two at most.
Papà looks at his watch and taps the face lightly, thoughtfully. “It’s seven hours later in Tokyo than it is here. We’d be eating the evening meal if we were there now. So much would be different. But some things would be the same. Our family would be the same.” He turns his face up to us and smiles. “Girls, will you help me pack? They’re going to rush our documents through. I agreed to leave in four days. We’ll take a ship—a long, long way. With good weather, we should arrive in time for you to go to school.”
The smell of the zucchini flowers still perched in my arms is overpoweringly sweet. This room is overpoweringly dear.
I look at Papà. He is waiting. Hopeful.
I swallow. Then smile. I can bring Mamma’s church scarf. It smells of her hair. I grab Carolina by the hand. “Let’s go talk to Nonna. She might listen to us better.” I nod to Papà, and we rush out the door.
We follow the path; it is so familiar, we could go there with our eyes closed. We sit on the wide stone steps of the entrance to the church, hot from the sun. Carolina herds ants with a leaf while I watch the door.
Nonna finally comes out. She gives us a small smile and plops down between us with an Umpf, taking off her scarf. Her gray curls spring up. “Is this an ambush?”
“It will be an adventure,” Carolina says, patting Nonna’s shoulder, as though she’s the old lady and Nonna’s the child. “You love adventure.”
Nonna laughs. “Adventures at the beach or at a farm or wandering around the streets of town—that’s very different from…what your father is talking about.” She pulls Carolina onto her lap. “I’m old. And tired. Oh, my treasured girls, I can’t face all that travel. A strange language. Different ways of behaving.”
“We’ll face it together,” I say. “The whole family, like Papà said.”
“I love you more than life itself, girls. But…”
“And we love you,” I say. “We need you.”
“No. I’d only hold you back. I’ve been thinking and praying. If you go, you have to go fresh and alert. I’m going to make a list for you. Things you should know. We’ll talk about it a lot before you go.”
“We’re going in four days,” says Carolina.
“Four days?” Nonna practically yelps, as though she’s been pierced. Her dark eyes shine. “Then we’d better start talking now.” She scoots Carolina off her lap and stands. “Stay alert. Always. Pay attention to everything and everyone. Pay attention to how things are done in your new country. Be kind. Be grateful. Smile a lot. Take care of each other.” She’s counting off on her fingers, like Papà does. Then she stops, takes us each by a hand, and lifts our hands high. “Forza e coraggio—that will be your motto.”
Forza e coraggio. Strength and courage. I close my eyes and still my heart. We can do this.
2 SEPTEMBER 1940, TOKYO, JAPAN
It’s Monday, the second of September, my fourth day in Tokyo and my first day of school. Hatsu inspects me closely. She’s on the kitchen staff here at the embassy. She and others make the Japanese food for the embassy employees, while Papà runs the kitchen and makes Italian food for the ambassador, his wife, and their guests. Hatsu has a daughter a little younger than Carolina, so when we arrived three days ago, it was decided that Hatsu will take care of Carolina while I’m in school, and her daughter will come to work with her, as Carolina’s playmate. Right now, though, Hatsu smooths the cuffs of the little cap sleeves on my white shirt. She straightens the blue jumper-dress that goes over that shirt and nods, satisfied. She sewed this outfit for me fast. If Nonna had come with us, she would have sewn it just as fast. I blink now to keep from crying. Nonna promised to write often. Our uncle, Zio Piero, promised, too. Nonna lives with him now.
I could have made clothes for myself, because Nonna taught me. But I didn’t know what school clothes looked like here. I couldn’t even ask what I needed to make them; Hatsu doesn’t speak Italian. So I just watched while Hatsu worked on my shirt and dress all day Saturday, and I smiled at her a lot and said “Thank you” in Japanese. But I’m glad. This is a pretty, deep-blue dress, and the shirt has a rounded collar. Hatsu undoes the top button and spreads the collar open like wings. That’s good. That must be how they do it here. I touch the tip of the collar, nodding hard, and say, “I like it.” She seems to understand.
Hatsu cut my hair on Saturday, too. I have bangs now. Her daughter, Botan, has bangs and two big white bows in her hair. I wish I had bows; they would hold my curls down.
Hatsu stands back, gives me one more sweeping look up and down, and smiles her approval. She hands me the book bag. I want to peek inside it, but she’s rushing me. So I stick my arms through the straps while she says something in Japanese to Botan, who takes a seat on the floor. Carolina does the same. I’m not surprised. That’s one of the things Nonna told us to do: “Pick out someone nice and copy them. That way you’ll fit in.” I need to find someone to copy.