Sadie announced. She daubed the corners of her mouth with a napkin, then she rose from her knees and straightened the skirt of her special occasion kimono. Sadie extended her hand to her father. “I bring you Hanaska-jiisan, the story of the old man and the cherry tree.”
Geechan pulled a red silk scarf from his pocket. He tied it around his forehead. From his other pocket he pulled a red tin flute.
Michiko’s mother gasped. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and opened her eyes wide. She gathered Hiro onto her lap and pulled Michiko to her side. “We are going to hear a rakugo,” she told the children.
Sadie told the story in Japanese while Geechan played the flute. Eiko quietly whispered the translation in their ears.
Michiko watched her aunt’s face glow as Geechan’s fingers danced up and down the tiny holes of the flute. While her mother whispered, he made the flute sing.
First, Sadie told them of the miserable old man who sat under his cherry tree every day. Geechan played the flute slowly then made a mean face. She told them he wouldn’t allow anyone else to sit under the tree, even when it blossomed.
Then their mother said, “While eating cherries, the old man swallowed a pit.” Geechan collapsed into a fit of fake choking. Michiko and her mother laughed.
When he sat up, a small branch stuck out of his headscarf. Michiko understood that a cherry tree now grew from the top of the old man’s head.
She listened carefully and guessed at parts of the story. “Everyone made fun of him because of the tree in his head,” she said to Hiro. Her mother nodded.
Then Geechan rose up. With great effort, he pulled the branch off and collapsed sideways.
“He pulled the tree out of his head,” Michiko said excitedly.
Geechan reached for a small bowl. He placed it on his head. He walked about the yard, balancing the bowl and playing his flute at the same time. Sadie danced about him, fluttering her fingers up and down around him.
“Auntie Sadie is showing us rain,” said Michiko. “Did the hole in his head fill up?”
Her grandfather sank to the ground. He put down his flute. He took the small glass bowl from his head and picked up the goldfish bowl. He walked about the yard holding the bowl with Happy on his head.
“The hole in his head became a fish pond,” Michiko’s mother told her.
From behind the tree, Sadie took out a stick with a string. She dangled it over the bowl.
“She’s pretending to fish,” Michiko shouted. “Did she catch it?” Her mother nodded. She placed her finger on her lips for a quieter ending.
Sadie removed the fishbowl, and Geechan jumped up. He pretended to be mean and angry. He felt the top of his head. His hand went down his neck and along his back. He slumped and rolled behind the tree.
Sadie put the fishbowl where he sat and told them what had happened in Japanese.
Eiko whispered, “The mean old man turned himself inside out trying to find his fish, until he ended up at the bottom of the pond. All that was left was water.”
Michiko and her mother clapped their hands. Hiro looked about and copied them.
Geechan came out from behind the tree and took a bow. Sadie folded her hands and sank to the blanket.
They sat quietly as the soft early evening breeze caressed their faces. A few petals floated onto the blanket. Hiro yawned. The breeze grew stronger. Suddenly they were in the midst of a flurry of white blossoms.
“Sakura fubuki,” Geechan announced. He held his hands out to let the petals slip through his fingers.
“That’s right,” her mother said, “a cherry blossom snowstorm.”
“Looks like I can still bring down the house,” Aunt Sadie bragged.
Everyone laughed. To Michiko, it seemed as if the cherry tree were laughing too. Her only wish was that her father had been there with them.
Four
The Locomotive
Michiko felt like an overstuffed sausage. Sadie had insisted she wear as much of her clothing as possible to save space in their luggage. First, she put on her sleeveless sundress with the large pockets. Over it she wore a green plaid dress with puffy sleeves. Then she buttoned her long sleeved white cotton blouse over the top and stepped into her new navy wool skirt. When her arms went into the sleeves of her brown hooded coat, the shoulders bunched. She carried her blue straw hat with the white daisy by its elastic string.
The great black locomotive hissed and groaned as the stack churned out white smoke.
Eiko lifted the two cases at her side and moved towards the car in front on them. Michiko gripped her aunt’s heavy paisley carpetbag and followed.
The conductor, the angular cheekbones of his face showing through his pale white skin, stepped down. His eyes narrowed as Michiko and her mother approached. He shook his head and held up his hand. With the other, he pointed down the track.
They walked past a few cars and stopped again. The same thing happened. Each time they tried to board the train, someone moved them along.
Her mother gave out a long sigh. She glanced back at Geechan in his best black suit and tie, wearing his bowler hat. He could not walk fast, having insisted on carrying the large furoshiki. The great square cloth held their bedding. There was a brand new quilt inside, one Michiko’s mother had worked on diligently since her father had left.
“Is something the matter with our tickets?” Michiko asked. Her mother gave her a tired look and didn’t answer.
Finally, they found their train. It sat back from the others, off to one side. The rusty, peeling, old engine towed only four cars. Three were passenger cars. The last car looked like a large wooden wagon. It was for the baggage.
Only Japanese people were aboard, all sitting up straight, staring ahead.
Michiko stepped over the railway ties onto the black oil-stained gravel. She tiptoed to keep her shiny black patent shoes clean.
They mounted the stained wooden steps, just as the train’s big iron wheels spun in place. It shrieked, puffed a billow of steam and jerked forward. Michiko stumbled and banged her knee. Someone caught her by the elbow and steadied her. Several people shuffled seats to let them all sit together. Michiko plopped down hard on one of the wooden benches just as the train moved forward.
“Where are we going?” Michiko asked for the third time that day. This was a very strange way to travel. Usually they went on vacation in their father’s car.
Eiko undid the pearl buttons of her pink wool jacket and took Hiro onto her lap. “To the country,” she said. She busied herself arranging Hiro. His hand reached for the grey grosgrain band of his mother’s felt hat. She tucked one of his hands beneath her arm. The other she put under the blue satin trim of his blanket. “We will be near the mountains,” she added.
“Father’s mountains?”
