Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes (2 page)

Amidst throngs of happy people Sadako forgot her secret for a while. She let the bright joy of the season wash her worries away. At the end of the day she raced Masahiro home and won easily. Above the door were the good luck symbols Mrs. Sasaki had put there to protect them during the new year.

With a beginning like this, how could anything bad happen?

A SECRET NO LONGER

For several weeks it seemed that the prayers and good luck symbols had done their work well. Sadako felt strong and healthy as she ran longer and faster.

But all that ended one crisp, cold winter day in February. Sadako was running in the school yard. Suddenly everything seemed to whirl around her and she sank to the ground. One of the teachers rushed over to help.

“I … I guess I’m just tired,” Sadako said in a weak voice. When she tried to stand up, her legs went wobbly and she fell down again. The teacher sent Mitsue home to tell Mr. Sasaki.

He left his barbershop and took Sadako to the Red Cross Hospital. As they entered the building Sadako felt a pang of fear. Part of this hospital was especially for those with the atom bomb sickness.

In a few minutes Sadako was in an examining room where a nurse x-rayed her chest and took some of her blood. Dr. Numata tapped her back and asked a lot of questions. Three other doctors came in to look at Sadako. One of them shook his head and gently stroked her hair.

By now the rest of Sadako’s family was at the hospital. Her parents were in the doctor’s office. Sadako could hear the murmur of their voices. Once her mother cried, “Leukemia! But that’s impossible!” At the sound of that frightening word Sadako put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear anymore. Of course she didn’t have leukemia. Why, the atom bomb hadn’t even scratched her.

Nurse Yasunaga took Sadako to one of the hospital rooms and gave her a kind of cotton kimono to wear. Sadako had just climbed into bed when her family came in.

Mrs. Sasaki put her arms around Sadako. “You must stay here for a little while,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “But I’ll come every evening. ”

“And we’ll visit you after school,” Masahiro promised.

Mitsue and Eiji nodded, their eyes wide and scared.

“Do I really have the atom bomb disease?” Sadako asked her father.

There was a troubled look in Mr. Sasaki’s eyes, but he only said, “The doctors want to make some tests—that’s all.” He paused. Then he added, “They might keep you here for a few weeks.”

A few weeks! To Sadako it sounded like years. She would miss graduation into junior high school. And even worse, she would not be part of the racing team. Sadako swallowed hard and tried not to cry.

Mrs. Sasaki fussed over Sadako. She plumped the pillows and smoothed the bedspread.

Mr. Sasaki cleared his throat. “Is … is there anything you want?” he asked.

Sadako shook her head. All she really wanted was to go home. But when? A cold lump of fear grew in her stomach. She had heard that many people who went into this hospital never came out.

Later Nurse Yasunaga sent the others away so that Sadako could rest. When she was alone, Sadako buried her face in the pillow and cried for a long time. She had never before felt so lonely and miserable.

THE GOLDEN CRANE

The next morning Sadako woke up slowly. She listened for the familiar sounds of her mother making breakfast, but there were only the new and different sounds of a hospital. Sadako sighed. She had hoped that yesterday was just a bad dream. It was even more real when Nurse Yasunaga came in to give her a shot.

“Getting shots is part of being in the hospital,” the plump nurse said briskly. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I just want the sickness to be over with,” Sadako said unhappily, “so I can go home.”

That afternoon Chizuko was Sadako’s first visitor. She smiled mysteriously as she held something behind her back. “Shut your eyes,” she said. While Sadako squinted her eyes tightly shut, Chizuko put some pieces of paper and scissors on the bed. “Now you can look,” she said.

“What is it?” Sadako asked, staring at the paper.

Chizuko was pleased with herself. “I’ve figured out a way for you to get well,” she said proudly. “Watch!” She cut a piece of gold paper into a large square. In a short time she had folded it over and over into a beautiful crane.

Sadako was puzzled. “But how can that paper bird make me well?”

“Don’t you remember that old story about the crane?” Chizuko asked. “It’s supposed to live for a thousand years. If a sick person folds one thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant her wish and make her healthy again.” She handed the crane to Sadako. “Here’s your first one.”

Sadako’s eyes filled with tears. How kind of Chizuko to bring a good luck charm! Especially when her friend didn’t really believe in such things. Sadako took the golden crane and made a wish. The funniest little feeling came over her when she touched the bird. It must be a good omen.

“Thank you, Chizuko chan,” she whispered. “I’ll never never part with it.”

When she began to work with the paper, Sadako discovered that folding a crane wasn’t as easy as it looked. With Chizuko’s help she learned how to do the difficult parts. After making ten birds, Sadako lined them up on the table beside the golden crane. Some were a bit lopsided, but it was a beginning.

“Now I have only nine hundred and ninety to make,” Sadako said. With the golden crane nearby she felt safe and lucky. Why, in a few weeks she would be able to finish the thousand. Then she would be strong enough to go home.

That evening Masahiro brought Sadako’s homework from school. When he saw the cranes, he said, “There isn’t enough room on that small table to show off your birds. I’ll hang them from the ceiling for you.”

Sadako was smiling all over. “Do you promise to hang every crane I make?” she asked.

Masahiro promised.

“That’s fine!” Sadako said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Then you’ll hang the whole thousand?”

“A thousand!” Her brother groaned. “You’re joking!”

Sadako told him the story of the cranes.

Masahiro ran a hand through his straight black hair. “You tricked me!” he said with a grin. “But I’ll do it anyhow.” He borrowed some thread and tacks from Nurse Yasunaga and hung the first ten cranes. The golden crane stayed in its place of honor on the table.

After supper Mrs. Sasaki brought Mitsue and Eiji to the hospital. Everyone was surprised to see the birds. They reminded Mrs. Sasaki of a famous old poem:

Out of colored paper, cranes

come flying into

our house.

Mitsue and Eiji liked the golden crane best. But Mrs. Sasaki chose the tiniest one made of fancy green paper with pink parasols on it. “This is my choice,” she said, “because small ones are the most difficult to make.”

After visiting hours it was lonely in the hospital room. So lonely that Sadako folded more cranes to keep up her courage.

Eleven … I wish I’d get better.

Twelve … I wish I’d get better …

KENJI

Everyone saved paper for Sadako’s good luck cranes. Chizuko brought colored paper from the bamboo class. Father saved every scrap from the barbershop. Even Nurse Yasunaga gave Sadako the wrappings from packages of medicine. And Masahiro hung every one of the birds, as he had promised. Sometimes he strung many on one thread. The biggest cranes flew alone.

During the next few months there were times when Sadako felt almost well. However, Dr. Numata said it was best for her to stay in the hospital. By now Sadako realized that she had leukemia, but she also knew that some patients recovered from the disease. She never stopped hoping that she would get well, too.

On good days Sadako was busy. She did her homework, wrote letters to friends and pen pals, and amused her visitors with games, riddles, and songs. In the evening she always made paper cranes. Her flock grew to over three hundred. Now the birds were perfectly folded. Her fingers were sure and worked quickly without any mistakes.

Gradually the atom bomb disease took away Sadako’s energy. She learned about pain. Sometimes throbbing headaches stopped her from reading and writing. At other times her bones seemed to be on fire. And more dizzy spells sent Sadako into deep blackness. Often she was too weak to do anything but sit by the window and look longingly out at the maple tree in the courtyard. She would stay there for hours, holding the golden crane in her lap.

Sadako was feeling especially tired one day when Nurse Yasunaga wheeled her out onto the porch for some sunshine. There Sadako saw Kenji for the first time. He was nine and small for his age. Sadako stared at his thin face and shining dark eyes.

“Hello!” she said. “I’m Sadako.”

Kenji answered in a low, soft voice. Soon the two were talking like old friends. Kenji had been in the hospital for a long time, but he had few visitors. His parents were dead and he had been living with an aunt in a nearby town.

“She’s so old that she comes to see me only once a week,” Kenji said. “I read most of the time.”

Sadako turned away at the sad look on Kenji’s face.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he went on with a weary sigh, “because I’ll die soon. I have leukemia from the bomb.”

“But you can’t have leukemia,” Sadako said quickly. “You weren’t even born then.”

“That isn’t important,” Kenji said. “The poison was in my mother’s body and I got it from her.”

Sadako wanted so much to comfort him, but she didn’t know what to say. Then she remembered the cranes. “You can make paper cranes like I do,” she said, “so that a miracle can happen.”

“I know about the cranes,” Kenji replied quietly, “but it’s too late. Even the gods can’t help me now.”

Just then Nurse Yasunaga came out onto the porch. “Kenji,” she said sternly, “how do you know such things?”

He gave her a sharp look. “I just know,” he said. “And besides, I can read my blood count on the chart. Every day it gets worse.”

The nurse was flustered.

“What a talker!” she said. “You are tiring yourself.” And she wheeled Kenji inside.

Back in her room Sadako was thoughtful. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be ill and have no family. Kenji was brave, that’s all. She made a big crane out of her prettiest paper and sent it across the hall to his room. Perhaps it would bring him luck. Then she folded more birds for her flock.

Three hundred and ninety-eight.

Three hundred and ninety-nine…

One day Kenji didn’t appear on the porch. Late that night Sadako heard the rumble of a bed being rolled down the hall. Nurse Yasunaga came in to tell her that Kenji had died. Sadako turned to the wall and let the tears come.

After a while she felt the nurse’s gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let’s sit by the window and talk,” Nurse Yasunaga said in a kindly voice.

When Sadako finally stopped sobbing, she looked out at the moonlit sky. “Do you think Kenji is up there on a star island?”

“Wherever he is, I’m sure that he is happy now,” the nurse said. “He has shed that tired, sick body and his spirit is free.”

Sadako was quiet, listening to the leaves on the maple tree rustle in the wind. Then she said, “I’m going to die next, aren’t I?”

“Of course not!” Nurse Yasunaga answered with a firm shake of her head. She spread some colored paper on Sadako’s bed. “Come and let me see you fold another paper crane before you go to sleep. After you finish one thousand birds, you’ll live to be an old, old lady.”

Sadako tried hard to believe that. She carefully folded cranes and made the same wish.

Four hundred and sixty-three.

Four hundred and sixty-four…

HUNDREDS OF WISHES

June came with its long, endless rains. Day after day the sky was gray as rain spattered against the windows. Rain dripped steadily from the leaves of the maple tree. Soon everything in the room smelled musty. Even the sheets felt clammy.

Sadako grew pale and listless. Only her parents and Masahiro were allowed to visit her. The bamboo class sent a Kokeshi doll to cheer her up. Sadako liked the wooden doll’s wistful smile and the red roses painted on its kimono. The doll stood next to the golden crane on Sadako’s bedside table.

Mrs. Sasaki was worried because Sadako didn’t eat enough. One evening she brought a surprise wrapped in a furoshiki bundle. It contained all of Sadako’s favorite foods—an egg roll, chicken and rice, pickled plums, and bean cakes. Sadako propped herself up against the pillows and tried to eat. But it was no use. Her swollen gums hurt so much that she couldn’t chew. Finally, Sadako pushed the good things away. Her mother’s eyes were bright as if she were going to cry.

“I’m such a turtle!” Sadako burst out. She was angry with herself for making her mother sad. She also knew that the Sasaki family had no extra money for expensive food. Tears stung Sadako’s eyes and she quickly brushed them away.

“It’s all right,” Mrs. Sasaki said soothingly. She cradled Sadako in her arms. “You’ll be better soon. Maybe when the sun comes out again …”

Sadako leaned against her mother and listened to her read from a book of poems. When Masahiro came, Sadako was calmer and happier. He told her news from school and ate some of the special dinner.

Before Masahiro left, he said, “Oh, I almost forgot! Eiji sent you a present.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of silver paper. “Here,” he said, giving it to his sister. “Eiji said this is for another crane.”

Sadako sniffed the paper. “Ummm! It smells like candy,” she said. “I hope the gods like chocolate.”

The three burst out laughing. It was the first time Sadako had laughed in days. It was a good sign. Perhaps the golden crane’s magic was beginning to work. She smoothed out the paper and folded a bird.

Five hundred and forty-one…

But she was too tired to make more. Sadako stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. As Mrs. Sasaki tiptoed out of the room, she whispered a poem she used to say when Sadako was little:

“O flock of heavenly cranes

Cover my child with your wings.”

LAST DAYS

Near the end of July it was warm and sunny. Sadako seemed to be getting better. “I’m over halfway to one thousand cranes,” she told Masahiro, “so something good is going to happen.”