The Street of a Thousand Blossoms (64 page)

Aki’s pregnancy and delivery went so smoothly, he thought it was a gift from the gods, a small token after the death of Takashi. His daughter, Takara, which meant “treasure,” was born in April. She had Aki’s fair skin and her black-pearl-colored eyes. The first month after Takara’s birth was happiness. Aki took to motherhood with the ease and calm that came with a second child. When Haru returned to Nara, Hiroshi moved nervously through the house, checking on the baby while she slept, placing the tips of his fingers lightly over her stomach to make sure she was still breathing. He watched her with an intensity he sometimes felt the baby understood, though she couldn’t possibly at such a tender age. Still, Hiroshi felt her eyes following him as he hovered near during her feedings. He began to believe that if Takara survived through her first four months, the length of Takashi’s short life, she would live a long, healthy life.

A month after Takara’s birth, Aki suddenly stopped breast-feeding her and a nurse was brought in. Over the next few months, Aki slowly retreated into her own world again. She sat silently in her room, not wanting to see anyone, paying less and less attention to the baby, or him, hardly sleeping, and no longer caring about her appearance.

Hiroshi was lost as to why Aki would withdraw from life now with a healthy, beautiful new baby to care for. His
obaachan
and Mika tried to give him answers when they came to visit.

“Aki-san just needs a little time to herself,” his grandmother said.

Mika nuzzled little Takara. Hiroshi knew how much she and Kenji had hoped for a child. “I’ve heard that some women are in tears for months after childbirth,” Mika said. “It’s hard to control your emotions. Aki-san should be fine in a little while.”

As the weeks wore on, Hiroshi tried to take their words to heart. As July approached, nothing had changed. It was late morning and the air already hot and sticky when Hiroshi carried the baby over to where Aki sat and stared out the window.

“Aki-chan, look who I have here,” he said, keeping his voice calm and direct.

Aki remained silent, her gaze directed out the window.

“Aki-chan, Takara needs her mother.” He leaned closer to her with the baby.

She turned and looked down at the mewing baby for just a moment before closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Take her away,” Aki said, at first quietly. Then she seemed to rise out of her lethargic state, her eyes wide, almost fearful, as she screamed, “Take her away! Take her away! Take her away!”

Hiroshi quickly turned away from Aki, holding their crying daughter close. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or disgust that guided him back to the baby’s room. That afternoon, he talked to the finest doctors in Tokyo, hoping they could help Aki.

Hiroshi began to spend more and more time at the Sakura teahouse, where he was treated with the respect a great
yokozuna
commanded. The alcohol dulled his pain, while the voices and laughter made him forget his troubles at home. Sponsors were more than happy to take good care of him. Geishas were there to meet his every demand, and one new geisha in particular, Meiko, made him especially happy. He knew that Yasuko-san, the mistress of the teahouse, was an old family friend of the Tanakas’ and disapproved of his growing friendship with Meiko. She’d known Haru and Aki since they were babies, and even the great Yokozuna Takanoyama, with all his fame and wealth, couldn’t stop her from making sure Meiko was often called away to other parties at rival teahouses.

On a particularly still, humid night in August, Hiroshi arrived at the Sakura with a party of ten, already in a sullen mood. Aki had been particularly unresponsive that evening. They were ushered into the banquet room with the large, low table where geishas attended to their needs, and Hiroshi drank his sake down quickly. He already felt slightly drunk as he watched the geisha who served him pour more sake into his cup. Suddenly, he asked loudly, “Yasuko-san, where’s
Meiko-san? Why is she never here anymore? Are you hiding her from me?”

Yasuko smiled and walked over to Hiroshi, kneeling beside him. “And why would I do that?” she said softly.

Hiroshi drank down another glass of sake. “Perhaps you’re jealous of our friendship.”

Yasuko laughed and leaned closer. “Perhaps you should rethink your friendship with Meiko-san.”

Hiroshi smiled at first before he suddenly slammed his glass down, sake splattering on the low table and on him and Yasuko. Angrily he yelled, “Who are you to tell me who to be friends with?”

The entire room stopped talking and looked their way. He glared at them, not seeing anything until the murmur of voices and laughter returned.

Yasuko remained calm. She leaned over to him and said discreetly, “Perhaps, Hiroshi-san, I’m your only real friend here tonight.” From her obi she extracted a handkerchief to wipe away the sake that had splashed her cheek.

Hiroshi cleared his throat and remained silent. Of course, he knew she was right. He didn’t know anyone in the room well; they were all business acquaintances, no more. He watched Yasuko-san stand and move away from him, stepping lightly out to the hall and kneeling as she closed the sliding door to the banquet room. Voices continued to buzz around him as he watched her slowly disappear before his eyes.

Aki couldn’t sleep. It was August, hot and muggy. She lay on the futon next to Hiroshi, glad for the cover of darkness. From the other room, she heard the soft mewing sounds of her daughter, Takara. She was four months old and had already outlived her brother Takashi by three days. As much as Aki loved her, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Takara to some silent death, as well. Was it possible to love a child too much? The feeling came to her gradually; a growing anxiety
that spread through her veins like a poison and caused her to begin trembling with fear. Aki couldn’t control her own limbs. And over and over in her mind was the question, Was it her fault that Takashi had died? Had she put him down or picked him up wrong? The doctors had found no evidence that it was anything but an unexplained defect that made him stop breathing. They gave her useless words and medication to help her calm down. Nothing helped. How could Aki ever be sure? She couldn’t let it happen again. Only when she stepped back and watched her baby daughter from a distance did she feel calmer. She finally relaxed when Hiroshi hired a woman, Mitsuko-san, to come in to feed and look after Takara.

Hiroshi’s sleep was full of noise and movement. He’d been drinking. She watched him and dreaded the daylight, when she’d have to get up and face another day. The doctors poked and probed, asked her questions as if she were a child. Mostly, she kept silent. How could she tell Hiroshi that her head ached and her hands trembled so much she didn’t dare pick up Takara for fear of dropping her? It was better to separate herself from the baby before anything happened.

Out of the darkness, sounds arrested her. She heard the frogs singing in the black night, the swish of a branch against the side of the house, and the clock’s relentless ticking, which echoed too loudly in her head. Aki covered her ears and stayed in that hollow vacuum for as long as she could. In it, she felt safe from the world and from herself.

September still smoldered. Fumiko arrived at Hiroshi’s house early in the morning, before it became too hot and she was forced to stay indoors. She smiled to think of what Yoshio used to say, that it was like touching the coals of the
ofuro
, it was so hot. Even with the heat, she was determined to visit. She’d come to see her great-granddaughter, Takara-chan, but more important, she came to see Aki.

Fumiko pushed open the wooden gate and marveled at the size of Hiroshi’s beautiful garden. The paved walkways were lined with
sakura
and pine trees and stone benches nestled between the trees,
providing a quiet spot of beauty and a cooling shade. A small stream trickled down through rocks into a large pond shaded by a large pine tree, and over it was a bridge constructed from beautifully aged wood and iron braces. Against the fence were rows of black bamboo. Irises, azaleas, and peonies bloomed in spring, the garden ablaze with color. It was a testament to Hiroshi’s success as a sumo and a businessman, though Fumiko paused in the quiet garden and thought it unfortunate her grandson spent so little time enjoying the garden himself.

The great
yokozuna
was away more than he was home, whether at tournaments or sponsor-related dinners and travel. If he were to sign on with his latest offer, the Mitsuki Tire Company, he would have to travel even more. Marriage was difficult enough without having to spend so much of it apart, and she wondered now if it affected Aki more than anyone realized.

The housekeeper, Tamiko-san, answered the door and bowed low when she saw that it was Fumiko. She ushered her into the reception room and hesitated before she went to summon Aki. When she returned, it was to apologize and tell Fumiko that her mistress couldn’t be disturbed at the moment.

“Nonsense!” Fumiko said. She paused for just a moment and looked around the elegant room with its silk scrolls and expensive vases sitting in the
tokonoma
. Then just as quickly, she walked past Tamiko and up the stairs toward Aki’s room.

“Please, please, she’s very busy,” Tamiko repeated, following her.

Fumiko had been in the house many times before. Hiroshi had bought the house just after they married and she still wondered why he needed so many rooms. She stopped at Aki’s room and rapped on the shoji door. Without waiting for an answer, she slid it open. She’d never been in their room before and hadn’t expected to be greeted by such darkness. The windows were still shuttered and the large room was hot and airless. Tamiko mumbled something, bowed, and quickly excused herself.

She kept her voice calm and firm. “Aki-chan, I’ve come to speak to you about Takara.”

As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw Aki kneeling quietly at the other end of the room, dressed in the same
cotton
yukata
robe she must have slept in. When she didn’t answer, or glance her way, Fumiko walked over and knelt in front of her. She reached out and stroked her cheek. “Aki-chan, what is it that you’re hiding from?” she asked gently.

For the longest time, they remained silent until Aki looked up at her, tears filling her eyes. Fumiko leaned forward and took her into her arms. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your baby needs you now.”

Aki didn’t pull away and said flatly, “Takara-chan is better off without me.”

“How can you say such a thing? There’s no one more important to her now than you.” Fumiko smiled, tried to keep their conversation light and focused.

Aki pulled away. “I’m afraid …”

“We’re all afraid, even after our children have grown and gone. It’s part of motherhood. Children are more resilient than you believe them to be, Aki-san.”

“Then why isn’t Takashi still here?”

For the same reason Misako wasn’t, she wanted to say. Don’t you think I’ve asked myself all the same questions? Instead, Fumiko reached for Aki’s hand. “Once in a while, life plays tricks on all of us. You have a lovely daughter who needs you now. You mustn’t dwell on the past.”

Aki bowed her head.
“Hai,”
she whispered, in a voice so small Fumiko leaned forward to hear it. She felt Aki’s hand slip away from her own as the young woman stood, slowly and unsteadily, and bowed low to her.

The fall semester ended in December. Tokyo was very cold when Haru stepped down from the train for the holidays. Her father had written of the heat wave during the summer and fall, which she could hardly believe now. The air was sharp and stinging, what she and Aki used to call “ice needles” when they were little girls. She smiled now to think how the winter wind left their faces raw and flushed as they ran
down the Ginza during the holiday season before the war. The air carried the smoky scent of roasting chestnuts and she looked forward to drinking
ozoni
, a New Year’s soup that contained
mochi
, the sticky rice pounded into soft cakes, chicken, spinach, daikon, potato, and carrots. She remembered the crowded street of shoppers, the blur of lights, and the chorus of sounds and horns that excited them as their mother’s voice rose above it all to warn them, “Don’t wander too far away.”