Mas stepped out on the cement porch. The neighborhood was quiet for once. No police helicopters flying overhead, and the teenagers seemed to be away, probably causing havoc in a place with more life. The moon was almost full, and Mas caught a rectangular shape amid the glass and other trash in the old rock garden below. Mas knelt down and fished out the new addition to his garden. It was the black-and-white photograph of the three boys on the bridge. Nakane must have dropped it when the broken screen door had fallen down on him.
Whyzu you followin me? Mas muttered out loud. He felt like destroying that photograph, but thought better of it. He had seen Joji Haneda burn once before. Mas couldnt do it to his friend a second time.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mas didnt like people changing their minds. Chizuko did it at times, first saying that she wanted to see the Grand Canyon, then requesting Yellowstone. Turned out they spent most vacations either on the dunes of Pismo Beach or at the Dunes of Las Vegas, where Mas stayed glued to the poker tables of the Four Queens. Closest thing Chizuko ever got to the Canyon was watching a large-screen presentation at Disneyland one year. See, just like you go, Mas said as Chizuko clutched her handbag tight at her elbow in front of the giant screen.
So when Mas told Haruo that he would accompany him to the medical exams, Haruo almost fell off the kitchen chair. Now they stood on the sixth floor of a new building, tall and silver like a streamlined rocket.
Mas, I betcha glad you changed your mind, said Haruo, his face looking especially oily, so that the fluorescent lights bounced colors of green and blue off his scar.
I just needed to get outta the house. Neva said that Id see a docta.
The doors of the medical office were still closed. The rug, a gray rat color, smelled new and factory-made. The hallways were lined with a bunch of
urusai
folks like Haruo. Mas recognized a few of them; a pretty woman with all-white hair belonged to the same Japanese school group as Chizuko. A dark man, formerly from Terminal Island, who always seemed to reel in the biggest fishes at the Mammoth Lake derbies. They nodded to one another, not remembering names but knowing that at one time they had worked or played side by side.
When are they going to open? a heavy woman in front of him huffed.
Yah, already ten-ten, said a man next to her, probably the husband.
Mas steadied himself against the slippery wall. His back was still sore but now hurt only when he sat down in a car. The gardeners association had sent over substitutes this week, so Mrs. Parsons, the Indian couple, and the doctor were taken care of, at least the bare necessities.
He knew that it was unwise for him to be there for everybody to see. But Mas couldnt hide now, not with the threat hanging over his head. One thing Mas was good at, that was reading peoples faces. If he came across the thief today, he would know immediately. Better for me to find him first, thought Mas, than for him to find me again.
He studied the line of people again. Amid all the bald heads and gray hair, Mas spotted a patch of red, like the fur of a wild badger. The badger went from one person to another. It was a young man, dressed in army pants and a black T-shirt. His face was dark, as if he were a gardener himself. Bright eyes and a long nose. Girls like Mari would probably think this guy good-looking, Mas said to himself. Thats what was wrong with these young people nowadays, thought Mas. No pride.
The badger had a notebook in his hands and scribbled something in there from time to time. When he came to speak to the heavy woman in front of them, Mas looked away and sank as far as he could against the hallway wall. It didnt work. In a few minutes, the badger stood right in front of Haruo and Mas.
Sumimasen,
my name is Yuki. Im a reporter with
Shine
magazine back in Hiroshima.
You such a young guy to be a reporter, Haruo replied in Japanese.
Shine
? thought Mas. Never heard of it.
Yomiuri, Asahi, Mainichi.
Those were the three kings of Japanese newspapers. And, of course,
Chugoku Shimbun
in Hiroshima. But
Shine
? Kid stuff. Mas was sure of it. Only such a rag would hire a boy with a horrible dye job.
Im doing a story on a
hibakusha
. Ive been asking around if anyone may know him Kimura Riki.
Mas felt his head go woozy. Had he heard right?
I dunno a Riki Kimura, Haruo said. You, Mas?
Mass mouth was paper dry. He merely shook his head. He hadnt heard that name for fifty years.
He was working at the Hiroshima train station when the
pikadon
fell. Went to Hiroshima Koryo. Hung around
Kibei,
American-born.
Well, Mas went to Koryo. What class?
He was born in 1929.
Well, thatsu about your age, Haruo said to Mas, and, after meeting his dagger eyes, slightly lowered his head.
I have something here that might help. The badger brought out a manila folder from his bag and handed the contents to Haruo and Mas. It was a crude illustration done in colored pencil. A body, something like worms crawling out of his guts. Missing a leg, burnt black except for a white square on the chest. Whoever had drawn the illustration also had included a circle by the right side of the body.
For the fiftieth anniversary of the bombing, our national TV station, NHK, asked people to submit paintings and illustrations from survivors. This was one that was turned in.
Mas felt his hands shake. He couldnt help but take in the power of the simple drawing. How the man must have suffered there alone.
The woman who found the body was looking for her husband. She drew her discovery on her clothing with a piece of charcoal. She figured somehow his family would gain some peace to know how he died. When she returned home to the countryside, she even redrew the body on this piece of paper with colored pencil. She put it away and forgot about it for fifty years, until the NHK solicitation came up.
Whatsu that? Haruo pointed to a crooked circle beside the body.
We think its some message that the man had tried to leave before he died. Ive tried to decipher it. But nothing.
So what about this Riki Kimura? asked Haruo. Impor-tant guy?
The reporter shook his head. No, no. He was my grandfather.
Grandfather? Mas couldnt help blurting out. Whatsu your name again?
Yuki. Kimura Yuki.
How could that be? They had all been fifteen, sixteen years old. Just teenagers. Too busy with work at the train station to even think about girls.
The boy continued his story. They never found his body. . . . Eventually, my grandmother was called in and given a large bone, supposed to be my grandfathers remains. It wasnt, of course. Probably a horse bone.
Haruo nodded. Somehow that made people feel betta.
We were able to meet last year with the woman who drew this picture, the reporter explained. She also kept this all these years. He took an envelope from his wallet and carefully lifted a square piece of cloth.
Kimura,
it read.
Riki.
And the letter
A
.
Seeing the cloth name tag, Mas felt dizzy. A weight seemed to drop to the pit of his stomach. He could still hear Haruo and the boy talk, but he could barely make out the words.
I rememba these, said Haruo. We all had to wear them. IDs. His blood type, A,
ne.
She kept this for us. But look flawless, not burnt at all. Strange, we thought. Why would Grandfather be so charred in this drawing, but this so perfect?
Mas leaned against the wall. His legs seemed almost to buckle under him.
Hey, you
orai
? asked Haruo, taking hold of Mass elbow.
Back, Mas said, pounding his spine with a closed fist. He hit himself so hard that even his chest seemed to rattle.
Can I help Yuki folded up the cloth square and placed it in his wallet.
No, Mas said, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. But the boy ignored him and, together with Haruo, guided him to the front of the line.
Yuki pounded on the locked door. This
ojisan
needs to sit down. He needs some medical attention, he called out.
The crowd murmured, and within a few minutes the door opened.
Mas refused to be seen by any doctor but did agree to rest in one of the hard folding chairs lined up against the wall near a coffee machine.
Haruo was soon directed into one of the examination rooms. You sure you dont want to
I wait, Haruo. Mas spoke so sternly that Haruo merely nodded and disappeared through a curtain divider. If Mas had his truck, he would have left, that minute, that second. How had that ID, so perfect, appeared on the dead mans chest? Had it all been planned, calculated, from the very beginning?
The red badger returned to Mass side, this time with a Styrofoam cup filled with water.
Mas accepted the cup. His lips were parched as if he hadnt had a drink in days. Your grandmother, he finally said. Is your grandmother still alive?
Yuki nodded. Oh, yes, he said. Her name is Akemi. Actually, were looking for her brother, who may be over here. Haneda is his name. Haneda Joji.
