“I’ll be back,” whispers Aiko. “Act normal.”
I go inside with the other girls. We take the altar lamps, the brass bells, the incense burners. Even the beggar bowls. I feel strange, like this is a sin. But Aiko told me to act normal, so I hold one of the big bags while other girls stuff things into it. The women who lead us around keep telling us what a good job we’re doing.
When we go back outside, Aiko appears again. “Did anyone notice I was gone?”
“I did.”
Aiko covers her mouth and laughs.
I put something into her hand. I’ve been clutching it all day, ever since she warned me about my plum-jam breath, hoping I’d find the right moment to give it to her.
Aiko holds her hand close to her belly and looks down into it. She gives a little gasp. Then she pops the rice candy into her mouth. She didn’t even pick out the bits of grass.
I imagine that soft cube oozing sweetness across her tongue. I wonder what flavor it is.
The woman in charge calls, “When you turn twelve, if this war is still going on, you can take jobs in the munitions factories.” She beams.
“I don’t want to quit school at twelve,” I whisper to Aiko.
“Me neither.”
Our group walks to a station and gets on a streetcar. When the car passes the imperial palace, the woman tells us to lower our heads and pray for the peace and prosperity of Emperor Hirohito and the imperial family, because Emperor Hirohito is a direct descendant of Amaterasu—the sun goddess who made the world. I bow my head like everyone else.
When we get off the streetcar, we’re sent home.
“Walk ahead of me,” says Aiko.
We get to the corner where she joined me this morning, and I stop. As Aiko passes me, she hands me something wrapped in folded paper. “This is better to chew than pine needles.” And she’s gone.
I unfold the paper. In the middle is a pile of green shiny leaves. From that huge tree! I bury my nose in them. Camphor. A girl in my class back home took camphor for her asthma. A bit of this in my mouth will cover any smell.
I tuck the leaves in their paper into my pocket. Tonight, in my ongoing letter to Nonna, I’ll tell her about the woman hugging that ancient tree. And about Aiko helping me. And admitting to me that she doesn’t want to quit school at twelve.
Tomorrow I’ll leave for school early again, and hope to see Aiko.
24 JULY 1941, NIKKO, JAPAN
The train bumps along hour after hour. It’s summer vacation, at last. We’re on our way to the summer villa that belongs to the embassy, and Naoki is with us. Even more amazing, Aiko is here, too. I’ve never been happier. One year ago today, Papà told us about his job offer at the embassy. Forever ago.
Nonna’s last letter asked when Papà was going to bring us back home. It’s my privilege to read her letters aloud, while Carolina sits on Papà’s lap and listens quietly, practically memorizing every word. But when I read that question, Carolina yelped, “We’re not going back to Italy yet, are we? Not yet. Please.”
I looked at Papà.
Carolina started first grade in April, and Botan is in her class. Carolina loves school, and no one is mean to her. Or if they are, she’s handling it, because she never talks about that. But school is still hard for me. My spoken Japanese is getting good, but I’m way behind in writing. The kana aren’t so bad, because there aren’t that many of them, under a hundred. But the characters are a challenge because there’s a different one for each word—everyone else has been memorizing them for years. You have to memorize hundreds and hundreds, maybe thousands, just to read a newspaper. It’s hard to catch up. And I’m left at the edge whenever groups form at lunch or recess. But Naoki and I play all day on Sundays. Most important, Aiko and I are friends, secret but true. Sometimes we meet at the major public library and whisper as we look at the atlases. And even at school we find ways to be together when no one will notice. Aiko is fascinated by the world outside Japan. She asks me about food in Italy, and she brings me Japanese lunch treats. She asks me about being Catholic, and she tells me about being Buddhist. She asks me what people in Italy say about war, and she tells me what people say in Japan. She told me there are only two people in the world she can be completely honest with, and I’m one. I don’t know who the other one is. But I’m so glad to be one. I’m not ready to leave Japan yet, either.
When Papà finally answered, “No, we’re not going home yet,” I let out my breath in relief.
We miss Nonna, though. Her letters remind us of everything back home—the manger scenes at Christmas, the carnival masks at the end of winter, the dove-shaped cakes at Easter, and the great big church in the center of town. The church of peace. She wants to make sure we don’t forget Italian traditions. But she always includes advice on how to get along here, and even though she’s never been here, her advice helps us. Carolina and I memorize it and remind each other often. Nonna ends every letter with the words forza e coraggio—strength and courage.
And Zio Piero has written twice. He sent a card for Carolina’s birthday last December and another for my birthday in February. When we write to Nonna, we always address the letter to him, too.
The train wheels screech, and Hitomi stands up. We’re here. Finally. We’ve arrived at Nikko, a town way north of Tokyo. Papà and Hitomi have big sacks roped to their backs and bundles in both arms. Carolina, Naoki, Aiko, and I only carry sacks filled with our clothes. Still, we’re tired after two crowded trains.
Tokyo was sweltering when we left, but Nikko is fresh; the cool hits us now like wind off water. It feels like we’ve moved backward and we’re at the start of spring. We stand outside the train station, where bushes are in bloom, and I look down the road to the mountains I’ve read about.
“There’s no snow,” I whisper to Aiko.
“It’s July. What did you expect?”
But I know she was hoping for snowcapped mountaintops, too. We stared together at the photo book in the Imperial Library at Ueno Park.
“I’ll find out about the local bus,” Hitomi says as she puts down her bundles.
“I’ll go with you.” Naoki crosses the street, walking just a few steps in front of Hitomi, chest high, as though he’ll protect her.
“Look!” Carolina runs over to a man with a donkey attached to a cart.
I step closer to Aiko. For an instant, it almost feels as though we two are here alone. The ambassador and his wife will come in a few days, after we have the villa cleaned and the kitchen in running order. The ambassador told Papà he needs a perfect vacation; he has too many headaches in Tokyo. The Japanese foreign minister has been complaining because Italy keeps losing battles in Ethiopia and Albania.