Then Mas understood. Kenji, he screamed, someone still hanging on to his shoulder. Kenji, its poison. The rivers poison. But the spotted boy was long gone. Families were bent down by the banks, cupping their hands into the water and gulping enthusiastically. No, no, Mas yelled.
Mas heard a voice from behind. They wont listen to you. He allowed the person to draw him back onto the bridge, and turned to see the familiar hooked nose.
Youre alive. Mas blinked hard at Riki, whose hair was completely singed away. Only a few bristles stood up on his high forehead.
At least half of me, said Riki, revealing his backside. The back of his uniform was gone, as if someone had purposely designed his clothing that way. On his neck was a huge, bloody gash that exposed the nubs of his spinal column.
Mas felt the remains of his breakfast, a roasted sweet potato, come up his throat. He vomited as people continued to push toward the river and bump him from all sides.
No time for that, Masao, said Riki, gripping the shreds of cloth around Mass neck like a leash.
Joji Where was Joji?
This way, this way.
At the edge of the bridge lay a long, skinny body. Riki placed the burnt body over his shoulder as if it were a sack of rice. The arms and legs dangled lifelessly, and then Mas recognized the work boots. Hes alive, said Riki, barely.
It seemed as though they walked for days. All the landmarks the corner drugstore, the stationery shop, the public bath had disappeared. Only one wall of the once-majestic government office stood now a giant tombstone marking a mass grave. The body of a man, who apparently had been resting on a cement stoop, remained burnt in place.
Is this all we are? Bits of dust, ash? How could life leave so quickly? Mas wiped his face with his black hands and, for the first time in a long time, felt tears spring up to his eyes. Were his parents still alive? What about his brothers and sisters? All he wanted was his flat, hay-filled futon, lined up with the others. He wanted to rest, close his eyes, and wake up to a new, bright Hiroshima day.
Mass legs, which had been numb, were starting to buckle underneath him. Lets rest for a while, said Riki, lowering Joji onto the ground. Jojis broken body was singed black, but his eyes were alert and wide open.
Hes trying to tell you something, said Riki.
Aa Joji rasped.
Mas placed his ear by Jojis blistered lips.
Joji tried again. Aa-ke
Mas understood. Akemi, right? Dont worry, Joji. Im sure shes all right. But Joji would not be comforted. I promise you, Mas finally said, I promise to find her. Rain then began to fall, softly, almost kindly. At least Joji would have some water to drink, thought Mas. Then he looked down at his bare hands and arms. Black streaks. Black rain.
Mas glanced at Riki. They did not say anything, but they both knew. This was no ordinary bomb.
You go ahead, Riki said. Go home. Get your brothers to help.
No, I cant leave you and Joji.
I cant go any farther. Ill watch him. Well make it. Something in Rikis voice sounded strange, but then, everything was off balance and unfamiliar. Mas nodded and continued on to the hills, to home. When he finally saw a patch of green, he began to run until he could touch the blades of the tall grasses. When he turned back toward Riki and Joji, he could barely see them mere stick figures in the steaming, ravaged landscape. Was one of the figures walking away from the other? Mas tried to focus but could not. He knew that he should turn back and check on Joji. But instead he collapsed and immediately fell asleep in the bed of green grasses.
Masao-
san,
you okay? Mas could smell Akemis sweet perfume behind him.
I was supposed to find youzu.
Im here, she said softly, stepping beside him.
No, no. Mas shook his head. He explained his promise to Joji and how he had eventually abandoned the two Hanedas. I sleep for days. When I wake up, Joji neva come home. You neither.
But I made it. I survived.
But Joji
You were fifteen, sixteen, Masao-
san
. A child. We all were. You have to forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for living. Akemis tears lay on her cheeks like fresh rain.
Akemi understood, as did Haruo and maybe Riki Kimura. But it was only a matter of time before all of them would be gone, and the past could be erased and completely forgotten, for better or for worse.
They waited until all of the mourners had left for a Chinese restaurant in Monterey Park. The remains in the crematorium had been removed by two men wearing breathing masks, gloves, and paper gowns. The lights around the cemetery grounds were dimmed, and a security guard was waiting by the gates.
Its time to go, Akemi said.
Chotto.
Mas asked for some more time. In total, he spent a good half hour by Chizukos grave site. He wished he had brought a couple of stalks of the cymbidium that Chizuko had nurtured in planters in their backyard. At least two of them still had the waxy flowers, their petals open like lips singing.
As he headed to the parking lot, he was drawn to one of the headstones. It was white, and glowed in the moonlight. HIROSHI YANO, it read. The Pasadena grocery man who had been shot to death in a fifty-dollar heist.
As he read the inscription, Mass toes tingled in his good shoes. Of course, he thought to himself. This is what Joji Haneda was trying to tell the world.
When Mas reached the edge of the parking lot, he called out to Akemi, who had been joined by G. I. Hasuike, Tug, and Haruo. We need to contact police, he said. I knowsu how to prove dat man no Joji Haneda. In his excitement, Mas tripped over a cement parking lot bumper, and the four rushed to help him up.
You okay, Masao-
san
? Akemi asked.
Mas said again, Heezu not Joji Haneda.
Then whozu he? Haruo asked.
Mas ignored Haruos question. Itsu the blood. Rememba the blood type on us at all times during war?
Haruo nodded. Yah, on name tags, in case we get hurt or bombed.
Look on records back in Hiroshima. It should say Joji Haneda, type O. But that man today he type A.
G. I. looked dumbfounded but promised to check it out.
Thatll helpsu you, Akemi-
san,
at least with the land. But I guess that has nutin to do with gettin Yuki outta jail.
Dont worry, Masao-
san
. Under the fluorescent parking lot light, Akemis face looked soft and unwrinkled, as if she had gone back in time at least thirty years. Thats all worked out. She turned back to the funeral chapel, where a slim woman dressed in a short-sleeved sweater and tight pants stood carrying a small bag. It was the witness, Rumi Kato.
Apparently Rumi Kato had been on her way to Vegas, traveling 85 miles an hour on Interstate 15. But then her tires lost their traction, and the whole car flipped over two times. Her Toyota Corolla was a total loss, but she was unhurt, not a mark on her.
I went to the police. Told them about that morning, when Junko was beaten, Rumi told Mas. I could have died today thats what I deserved. My life was spared for a reason, I know. It was like you said at the bowling alley. That it wasnt just about
bachi
.
Bachi?
G. I. looked amused. You mean what goes around comes around?
Rumi nodded and then attempted to speak in English for G. I.s benefit. Pointing at Mas, she continued. He said that I need to speak the truth. Or my insides not good.
You say dat, Mas? Haruo seemed genuinely happy, and Mas could only shrug in response.
So you knew that you needed to come back to clear Yuki, Akemi said.
Rumi nodded. No matter what happens.
Mas bit down on his dentures. Back at the Gardena bowling alley, the girl had been intent on running. Yet here she was, returning to the scene of the crime, ready to make things right.
As soon as Mas got into the passengers seat of the Honda, Haruo began his grilling. And finally Mas relented. I knowsu him, Joji Haneda. And that man today, heezu not him. Heezu name is Riki Kimura.
