1001 Cranes (10 page)

“I’m here to deliver this.”

The man frowns at the wilted cardboard and the taped aluminum foil origami cranes.

“I know that it looks kind of bad. Had an accident.” Maybe it’s all Tony’s fault, but words begin to spill out of my mouth again, like sludge from a sewer pipe. The man listens as I tell him about Kawaguchi, the envelope in the sewer, and how Grandma Michi doesn’t think I can do much right.

“So Ms. Kawaguchi is a tough customer?”

“She’s kind of mean,” I whisper. I’m surprised that I’ve said such a thing to a stranger but it just came out.

“Just go through that door.” He gestures to a narrow hallway.

I speed up the stairs into a giant hall. No one is in there, only empty rows of wooden pews and a huge altar in front of the room, which smells of incense. The altar looks like a giant black wardrobe open to reveal shiny gold ornaments and Japanese writing. I’ve seen this kind of altar before. I know that it’s called a
butsudan.

When Jii-chan’s brother, Uncle Tai, died, the family had the funeral in a Buddhist church on the other side of San Francisco Bay. I hadn’t known Uncle Tai that well. I’d seen him only once a year, at Thanksgiving. There was no coffin at his funeral. Only an old picture of him in a fancy frame. We had to go up in front of the
butsudan,
where there were containers of incense that looked like ash, and sprinkle that incense into a larger pot of burning incense. My mother told me that I should bow before and after I did the incense thing, but I forgot. I hoped that no one was watching me.

It turned out that Uncle Tai’s wife, Auntie Momo, was staring at me from the front pew. She looked so sad, and when I passed by, she clutched at my elbow as if she was trying to cheer me up. I felt bad, because I couldn’t remember much about Uncle Tai. He’d sat on a couch with the other old people and eaten his Thanksgiving turkey on a TV tray in the back room of the house my dad had grown up in. I don’t think I ever really had a conversation with him, other than nodding when he asked me if I was doing okay at school.

I start to feel like I have to pee, or go
shi-shi,
as Gramps calls it. But I hold it in. I’m glad that I’ve stayed, because a few minutes later Kawaguchi enters, wearing a new suit and the same pearls. Holding on to her Day-Timer, she’s frowning. I bet she’s the crabbiest bride around.

“Where’s the wedding coordinator?” she asks me.

I shrug. I don’t know if she’s talking about the man who brought me to the sanctuary.

“What’s that?” She points to my aluminum-foil cranes.

I reluctantly hand over Tony’s drawing and the taped cranes.

“What is this made of? Tinfoil?”

More sweat drips from my nose to the tile floor. I feel like my body is getting swirled up into a dark tornado.

Before anything more happens, an older woman with a pad of paper appears from the back door. “Hello, Ms. Kawaguchi,” she says, and I instantly know that I’m safe. At least for a few more minutes.

You wait,
Kawaguchi mouths, and I sink into one of the front pews.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Your fiancé couldn’t make it?”

“He’s in Europe right now. On a business trip.”

“Well, how wonderful. Unfortunately, I have a piece of bad news to report. Our minister is having health problems.”

The color seems to be draining from Kawaguchi’s face. “Health problems?”

“Yes, a stroke.”

“This is awful. This is just awful.” Kawaguchi hugs her Day-Timer to her chest as if she’s trying to console it.

The wedding coordinator nods. “I know it’s just such a shock, but I’m sure Sensei will recover.”

“By my wedding date?”

The coordinator’s mouth falls into a straight line. Even I know that it is pretty low-class to say something like that when somebody’s sick.

“It’s just that my parents got married by Reverend Nako,” Kawaguchi says, trying to explain herself. “It would have been so perfect. We were even going to tell the photographer to pose us with the minister in the same exact way.”

“We’ve already been assigned an interim minister. I think he knows you, in fact. He mentioned something about you two going to the same college.”

Kawaguchi looks confused. “Same college…What’s his name?”

The back door opens, and it’s the man who served as my tour guide. “Hello, Lisa. It’s been a long time.”

Kawaguchi is surprised and spills her Day-Timer on the floor. The rings of her binder spring open and the pages fly out, littering the front of the sanctuary with a rainbow of dates and lists of things to do. The other woman immediately kneels down to collect all the loose pages.

Oh my God, I think. This guy, the minister, knows Kawaguchi. And I told the minister that Kawaguchi was mean. She’s not going to be happy to hear that.

“You’re the new minister here? I thought that you were out in Watsonville,” Kawaguchi says.

“Been reassigned. It’s so good to see you, Lisa. You look great.”

Something in the way he looks at her makes me think that these two are more than college friends. Maybe the wedding coordinator gets the same impression, because she quickly excuses herself after giving Kawaguchi her Day-Timer pages.

Kawaguchi seems to forget that I’m in the sanctuary. That doesn’t surprise me, because I’m pretty invisible most of the time. It’s not necessarily a bad thing; sometimes it helps me figure out what’s really going on.

“So you’re the new minister here. For good?”

“Well, until Nako-sensei recuperates. Maybe some months.”

“This isn’t going to work, you know. Kevin is not going to like it.”

“Is that his name: Kevin? What’s his last? Maybe I know him.”

“You don’t know him. He doesn’t need to know anything about you.”

“Then why is it a problem that I conduct the ceremony?”

“You know what the problem is!”

“No, I don’t.”

“He’s going to know. He’ll sense it.”

“What, is he a mind reader or something?”

“No, but he’ll be able to tell. You can’t do the ceremony. I’ll just have to get another minister.”

“Well, then you’ll have to find another church.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lisa, churches aren’t like hotel rooms. You can’t just pay money for the rental of the sanctuary. If you want this church, then I come with it. It’s a package deal. I’m over you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m totally cool with doing your wedding.”

“I’m not going to be able to find a temple on such short notice. And all the invitations are out already. I can’t just change the location.”

“Well, then, I guess you’re stuck with me. We can be friends, Lisa.”

“I don’t need a friend right now. Just a minister.”

Kawaguchi is so mean that I can’t believe it. I start coughing and Kawaguchi finally notices me sitting in the pew.

“Oh, that’s my new friend,” the minister says.

I lower my head, hoping that I somehow won’t be that visible. But it’s too late.

“She tells me that she’s doing some work for you.” My fingers dig into my thighs. I cringe while waiting to hear him repeat how I described Kawaguchi: “kind of mean” or something like that. “She said that you were so easy to work for.”

Kawaguchi is taken aback by that, maybe even more than I am. “Well, don’t want to keep you here,” she says to me. “Don’t want your grandparents to worry.”

“The deposit?” My voice is a mere squeak.

Kawaguchi digs in her purse and pulls out her checkbook. “Inui Flowers. A hundred and fifty dollars, right?”

Ding-dong

On my way home I stop by Tony’s uncle’s store. The uncle—I think his name is Carlos—smiles down at me from behind the counter. He recognizes me and I feel special.

“Is Tony here?” I ask.

Uncle Carlos shakes his head. Using a page of an old receipt book, he writes down a number. Although it’s summertime, he’s wearing long sleeves, and the cuffs go down to his palms.

“You call him,” he says to me, handing me the sheet from the receipt book.

I try to call Gramps and Grandma Michi first, but I get a busy signal. I try Tony’s next, but I get his voice mail. “Thanks,” I say. “It all worked out. This is Angie, by the way.” I close the phone and feel silly, but a good silly. I have a check for Gramps and Grandma Michi in my back pocket. And Tony’s phone number is now the fourth one to be entered into my cell phone.

Before I can open my grandparents’ screen door, Grandma Michi beats me to it from the other side. I’m still smiling, but Grandma’s not.

“What did you do to Rachel?” Her chin is stiff and her spotted neck is tight, like that of a lizard who’s ready to slurp up an insect.

For a minute I forget who Rachel is.

“She went crying to her father. Her
gi
was sopping wet.”

“She did that to herself, not me.”

“But you said something to her, didn’t you? She wouldn’t say to her father, but he figured out that something you said hurt her feelings.”

“I barely said anything to her. She was just getting in the way.”

Grandma’s eyes are like hammered-down nails. She doesn’t blink. Not even once.

“I just told her to go back to her own family,” I finally admit.

For a second I think that Grandma Michi is going to slap my face. Not that she has her hand out, but I notice that her fingers are rolled up like bear claw donuts.

“I want you to call and apologize to her.”

“Why?” I say. “She was the one who was spilling water all over the place.” My cheeks feel flushed like they do whenever I stretch the truth. The last thing I want to do is say I’m sorry to Rachel Joseph. But deep down inside, I know I did wrong.

The doorbell rings, and Grandma hesitates, as if she doesn’t plan on answering it. She gets on her tippy-toes and looks through the eyehole. “What does
she
want?” I hear Grandma Michi mutter. She then opens the door with a big fake smile on her face.

It’s the lady from next door, Mrs. O, and she wants to talk to me.

“I’d like to invite you to church with me. Mr. Oyama will be on a fishing trip, so I’ll be on my own.”

“Isn’t that on Sunday?” I ask.

“Of course. It’s always on Sunday.”

I’m supposed to meet Tony on Sunday. That’s the only thing on my mind.

“I don’t think that I can make it,” I tell her.

Grandma Michi then butts in from behind me. “She’ll go,” she says.

A few minutes later I’m using the poison red cell phone to talk to Mom. “Grandma Michi is making me go to church tomorrow.”

“What kind of church?”

“A Christian church.”

“Let me talk to Grandma.”

I walk over to Grandma and hand the phone to her. She says a few words and then walks into her bedroom and closes the door.

I don’t go try to overhear Grandma’s one-way conversation with my mom. I pretty much know what she’s telling her. After about ten minutes, Grandma comes out and shoves the phone back into my hand.

“Angela,” Mom says, “I know that you’re going through a lot right now. Maybe it’s good if you go and meet some other girls your own age.”

Well Woman

It’s not that I’m totally clueless about religion. My friend Abby goes to temple at certain times of the year, and instead of a Christmas tree, her family puts out a giant wooden star that they hang ornaments on. Instead of Santa Clauses or snowmen, tops called dreidels appear on tables in their living room. And I’ve been to Buddhist temples, like I mentioned before. And not only for funerals and New Year’s rice cakes. Every summer Jii-chan and Baa-chan take me to an
Obon,
which is kind of a Japanese day of the dead.

But I’ve never been to Buddhist Sunday school or anything like that. It seems boring. I mean, we have to sit at desks five days a week for regular school. Why would I want to do that during the weekend, when I could be skateboarding or reading manga?

So when Mrs. O picks me up for church on Sunday, I’m in a bad mood. I didn’t bother even to brush my hair; I can feel a giant knot on the back of my head. Grandma Michi notices it before I’m out the door.

“Angela, you can’t go out like that.” From the bathroom she brings a fine-tooth comb, one of those with a pointy end that could easily poke out your eyeball. She tears the teeth of the comb through my knot. I feel like she’s pulling my hair out of my scalp, and tears come to my eyes. Church early Sunday morning is so not worth the trouble.