When the Cherry Blossoms Fell (8 page)

“We don't need any more surprises,” Eiko protested. “It's dark, and dinner is ready.”

“It won't take long, I promise,” Ted said as he stood at the door, holding Hiro. “I want all of you to come.” His voice softened. “Sadie.”

Michiko grabbed her uncle's hand.

“Sadie,” Ted said, “you like surprises better than anyone.”

“What about Geechan?” Michiko asked. Her grandfather wasn't in the house.

“He's known about it all along,” Ted said. “In fact, he's there right now.”

Ted led the family to the apple depot. The thick black outlines of pine trees hovered over them. The river seemed noisier. From the distance came the lonely whistle of the passing train.

“Don't push the doors all the way open,” Ted cautioned them when they arrived.

One by one, they slid inside. The building smelled strongly of freshly sawn wood. Brown winged moths circled the lone electric light bulb overhead. Geechan stood next to a huge hump of canvas on carpenter trestles.

“It's not finished yet,” Ted said, pulling the canvas back.

Sadie gasped. Then she shrieked. “It's a boat!” She ran her fingers across the wood. “How have you managed this?”

“The government directed us to burn the excess wood,” Ted told her. “That seemed such a waste.” He ran his fingers along the ribs. “We made the jig from the stuff lying about this place.”

Michiko walked around the upside down hull. “How do you know how to do this?”

Her mother spoke for the first time. “It's like making a dress. You put the shape that you want at both ends and in the middle. Then you sew them together with wood.”

Ted laughed. “That's right.” He passed Hiro to Sadie. “Now that the frame is done,” he said, “there are only two more things to do.” He walked to the drawstring bag hanging from a nail on a post. Tacked above it was a photograph of a Japanese-style fishing sampan. Ted reached into the bag. “I'll use this,” he said as he pulled out a wooden-handled plane. “The most important tool of all,” he said, caressing the handle. “I'll use this to shave the wood as smooth as Hiro's cheek.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Eiko said.

“It's easy,” Ted replied, “when you love your work.”

Sadie turned to Geechan. “What was that old saying?” she asked. “One tenth of a boat builder's pay is for doing the job.”

“And the rest is for knowing how to do it,” Eiko finished for her.

“Can I help?” Michiko ran to her uncle. “Can I help you build your boat?”

“You can help me paint it,” Ted said, placing his hand on her head. “Then we can think of a name.”

Michiko looked around and thought for a moment. “Why don't you call it the
Apple?
”

Ted picked her up. “Perfect,” he said. He twirled her about. “We'll paint it red. We'll call our little red rowboat the
Apple
.” He looked at Sadie and Eiko. “Fall down seven times, get up eight.”

Just after dawn, Michiko and Uncle Ted followed the thin dirt trail that led to the river. The tall grass and leaves felt wet. “It's good to be up early,” he told her as she stifled a yawn. “We want fish that are looking for their breakfast.”

A loud smack made Michiko freeze in fear of what might happen next. She looked at her uncle and whispered, “What was that?”

“A tail slap,” her uncle replied. “When beavers sense danger, they whack their tails hard.” He laughed. “First time I heard it, I didn't know what it was either.”

“Look,” he said, pointing to the sharpened stub of a stump. “It's been freshly cut.” Beside it, in a pile of chips, lay the trunk of a giant cottonwood. “They must be close by.”

“Are beavers dangerous?” asked Michiko.

“No, they will hide until we pass,” he said. “They know human smell.”

“Why did they chew down a whole tree?”

“They have to get at the leaves for food,” he answered. “Then they use the rest for their home.”

“Can we look for their home?” Michiko glanced
along the bank, picturing a small log cabin with a round door and smoking chimney.

“We'll probably pass it in the boat,” Ted said.

They stepped through a patch of bushes, to the water, as the morning breeze pushed the clouds down river. The small beach of firm, damp sand sparkled like a glazed mud pie.

Jutting sideways from the bank was a giant, mottled trunk. The
Apple
nodded under an archway of bent willow branches. Ted walked along the trunk and tossed his tackle box and rods into the boat. Then he returned and took the
furoshiki
from Michiko.

She clutched his hand as she climbed onto the trunk. The branches swayed in the muddy water. She didn't like this part. What if she slipped into the cold water below?

The croak of an old bullfrog and the chip, chip, chipping sound of a red-winged blackbird drifted across the water. Soon they were gliding past wooden shores strewn with bluebells. Lush grass flanking the banks waved in the breeze, and cedars whispered as they floated by. Michiko trailed her hand in the clear, cold mountain water. She could see right to the bottom. The sparkle of the sun on the ripples made her dreamy.

“Look,” Ted whispered. “There's where the beavers live.” He pointed to the small stream that led away from the river.

Michiko scanned the water. “I can't see any house,” she said, cupping her hand over her eyes. All she could see was a large muddy mound of sticks and branches.

“They live behind that bridge of branches,” Ted told her.

“Where is the door?” she asked. “How do they get in and out?”

“They dive in the water and come up through a door in the floor of their house.”

“Like a secret passage?”

“Just like a secret passage,” he said with a nod.

A sudden sharp whistle startled them both. Clarence, standing on the grassy bank, waved. “Hey, Millie,” he called out. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Catch anything?”

“What is that boy saying?” Ted asked.

“He's from my school,” Michiko told him. She ignored the fact that he had called her Millie. “He wants to know if we caught anything.”

Ted rowed to where the green turf sloped down to the edge and whistled in answer.

There was a rustle, and Clarence's flaming red head peered down at them. “Nice boat,” he called down, “my favourite colour.” His face broke into a wide grin.

“Clarence,” Michiko said politely, “I'd like you to meet my Uncle Ted.”

Clarence saluted, and the string hanging from the end of the long stick he carried over his shoulder bounced. Michiko spotted a half-opened safety pin and a red and white wooden bobber dangling at his knees.

“You know any good fishing spots?” Ted asked.

“There's a place not far downstream,” Clarence told them. He pointed with his rod and said, “Plenty of birds around.”

“Where there are birds, there's fish,” Ted responded.
“Do you want to come along?”

“Sure,” responded Clarence enthusiastically. He scrambled down the side, balanced on a thick root and stepped in.

As the morning sun moved west, they spotted a pair of loons and a great blue heron. Ted replaced Clarence's safety pin with a hook and showed him how to swing his rod high across his shoulder, then with a snapping stroke, whip it downward. The string shot out and drifted on the water.

Ted put a worm on Michiko's hook and cast out her line for her. As she watched minnows shimmer in the water, her thoughts drifted to her goldfish. She hoped he was still Happy, living with the people next door.

Suddenly the water swelled, and a gaping mouth broke through the surface. The dragonfly hovering before her eyes disappeared. Michiko raised her head in surprise. Her bobber dipped below the water. She tugged at the rod, but nothing tugged back. When she reeled it in, the worm was gone.

“Let's try a minnow,” Ted suggested. Michiko closed her eyes as he squished one onto the end of her hook. She lowered it slowly into the water.

Once again, the bobber dipped. Michiko tugged, and her rod bent. The reel screeched as she pulled the line toward her, and the rod nearly flew from her hands. “Help,” she cried out.

“Keep the rod up,” Clarence yelled.

“Stand up and plant your feet,” Ted told her.

Michiko rose as Ted grabbed her by the seat of her
overalls. The trout put up a tremendous fight, leaping and twisting, but could not break the line. Finally, when it could fight no more, Ted took the rod and reeled it in. The pink and black speckled trout barely fit into the net.

“What a beauty,” Clarence said with admiration.

“That's a mighty big fish for your very first time,” Ted added.

“It made me tired,” Michiko said, sinking down into the boat, “and sad.”

“Don't be sad,” Ted advised. “Just think of all that nice pink meat on your plate.”

“My ma would be real pleased with that one,” Clarence said with a smile. “That's enough fish for a family feast.”

“How many are there in your family?” Ted asked.

“Five, when Dad's home.”

“Is your dad at war?” asked Michiko.

“Naw,” Clarence replied. “He's a railroad man. He walks the tracks.”

“I think it time for lunch,” said Ted as he maneuvered the boat to the side of the creek. As he moored it to a rock, he gave a long, low whistle. Then he beckoned them to his end of the rowboat and pointed.

Michiko's eyes followed his finger. On the side of the rock were several red-brown line drawings. One of them was the shape of a sun. Several looked like arrows. There were a few zigzags.

“Do you know what these are?” her uncle asked in a hushed tone.

“It looks like someone was drawing on the rocks with their crayons,” Michiko suggested.

“Crayons would have washed away,” Ted said. “I think these are petroglyphs, you know, rock paintings.”

“Who made them?”

“Could have been Kootenays,” Clarence said. “Our teacher told us the Kootenay Indians were sometimes called People of the Standing Arrow.” His finger traced the outlines.

“These must be really old,” Ted said, “Kootenays aren't around any more.”

“What happened to them?” asked Michiko.

“Who knows?” Ted responded with a shrug, “Probably the same thing that happened to all Indian tribes, even those in Japan.”

“Indians in Japan?” Clarence repeated it as if he hadn't heard correctly the first time. He sat in the bow of the boat gaping.

“The Ainu tribe,” Ted said, untying the bundle of cloth that held their lunch, “still lives in Japan.”

“Do they do Indian stuff?” Clarence asked.

“Depends what you mean by Indian stuff.”

“Do they hunt and fish and build teepees?” Michiko asked.

“They build houses like teepees,” Ted replied as he tossed Clarence a rice ball. “They put up three big branches and weave walls of bamboo grass.”

Clarence turned the rice ball around, examining it. Then he popped it into his mouth. His eyes grew wide. “Good,” he mumbled.

Michiko held her rice ball on the palm of her hand and nibbled it.

“Did the Ainu draw rock pictures too?” she asked.

Ted shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “All I know is the bear is important to them.” He tossed Clarence a second rice ball. “You know something funny?” he asked.

“What,” they said in unison. Michiko giggled.

“Both tribes, on different sides of the world, knew the same things.” He patted the side of the red rowboat. “They both knew how to build boats and how to catch fish.”

They finished their lunch in silence. Michiko thought about the people of the wilderness.

“Well, Clarence,” Ted said when everything they'd brought was eaten. “You and I have got to do some serious fishing.” He pushed the
Apple
away from shore and let it drift.

Clarence stuck a fresh minnow on his hook and threw his line over the side.

By the time the sun went behind the mountains, a dozen shimmering trout flopped about the bottom of the boat.

“Thanks a lot,” Clarence said to Ted as they returned the small red boat to its wooded cove. He held his fish up with pride as he made his way into the forest. Then he stopped, turned back and yelled. “See you in school, Millie.”

Michiko looked sideways at her uncle. Busy with his tackle box, he didn't seem to have noticed.

The next morning, Michiko found Clarence waiting for her by the bridge. They leaned over the railing, watching the river rush noisily around the bend. Michiko pondered the differences between them. She wondered if Clarence knew she was Japanese. Together they walked up the main road to the schoolyard.

George's bike rested against the school wall. He stood on top of the schoolyard picnic table, waving a roll of yellow paper. “I'm telling you,” he said as he hit his knee with the paper, “soon this place will be swarming with them.”

Clarence leaned his tall, thin frame against the side wall. Michiko moved into the shade of the only tree in the dusty yard. Even though it was early, the sun beat down without mercy.

“Those houses in the orchard are being built for Japs,” George announced.

“Why?” asked a boy from the crowd.

“Because they got kicked off the Island,” George replied. “Don't you know there's a war going on?”

“My dad's gone off to fight,” another boy announced proudly.

“Bob's dad is off fighting the Japs,” George said. “What do we do?”

No one spoke, making George answer his own question. “We build houses and make them feel right at home.” He pointed the roll of paper at the crowd. “Is that fair?” he asked. “Is it fair that Bob's dad is fighting the Japs, and we're helping them?”