The Wishing Trees (6 page)

“Well, we’ve got some ticks to run off the old clock. Why don’t we find a park, and you can sketch for a bit? And we’d best get a present for Akiko. In Japan, you always take a gift to your host.”

“What should we get?”

“I don’t know. But let’s have a gander and you can find her something. Something that will make her happy.” Still holding Mattie’s hand, Ian skirted a square machine that used solar energy to compact garbage. “Maybe some sake.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, luv?”

“Thanks for showing me Mommy’s game.”

“No worries.”

“I’m glad you showed me, and that I’m here with you.”

“You are? It’s not too hard?”

She shook her head, her braids rising and falling. “No.”

“What if that changes?”

“Was it hard for you and Mommy? Going from country to country?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then that’s okay.”

Ian squeezed her hand, proud of her, but still wondering if he should be taking her to places like Nepal and India. Wasn’t she too young for such a journey? Would the sorrows of such countries do her more harm than good? How could the sight of so much suffering help her, especially now, when she carried such a heavy burden?

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, MATTIE AND IAN SAT in a taxi. They had come from a large park, where a dozen cherry blossom trees were in full bloom. Mattie had used her colored pencils to sketch the trees, which bordered a traditional Japanese garden. Ian had told her that he believed the garden to be relatively new, as the trees were middle-aged, and most of Tokyo had been destroyed in the war. The blossoms were beautiful, however, despite the thinness of the branches that bore them. Mattie had studied the blooming trees before sitting down to sketch them. After drawing almost every day for the past five years, her hand was able to re-create the loveliness around her. Focusing on three trees that leaned toward one another, Mattie brought life to the pink blossoms that filled the air with their fragrance. As she worked, Ian wondered why she’d chosen the three trees to duplicate, when so many others were present.

Now, as their taxi drifted down Tokyo’s streets, Ian asked if he could look at her drawing again. Mattie opened her sketch pad and flipped to the middle. He studied her trees, aware of how her strokes were growing more graceful. The trunks of the trees were perfectly imperfect, drawn in black and brown, reaching skyward. The cherry blossoms were like pink clouds that encircled the upper halves of the trees.

“You’re getting so good, Roo,” Ian said. “You’re a real Rembrandt.”

Mattie smiled but said nothing, which didn’t surprise Ian. Kate and Mattie had always shared a special bond when it came to her drawings. They had spoken about them every day, Kate asking questions, offering encouragement. Ian had tried to do the same, but wasn’t home enough to create a pattern of such support. As their taxi sped through a yellow light, he wondered if Mattie would ever open up to him about her drawings.

“Why, luv, did you use three trees?” he asked. “Is it because of our family? Because there are three of us?”

“There are two of us, Daddy. Just two.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s only a drawing.”

Ian decided not to pursue the subject. It had been a good day, and good days hadn’t come often since Kate’s death. He carefully closed the book and handed it back to Mattie. “Are you knackered, Roo?”

“A little. My pillow felt like a rock.”

The taxi turned into a residential area. The homes, so close together that they seemed connected, were two-storied. They didn’t look like the houses in Kyoto, many of which were old and had tiled roofs and miniature gardens. These dwellings resembled small offices. Only a few of the homes had a car parked outside. Such vehicles were miniature, practically toys that had been backed into carports.

The uniformed and white-gloved driver muttered to himself and turned again, soon coming to a stop. He pushed a button and the door next to Mattie opened. Ian glanced at the meter and handed several bills to the driver. The man said thank you in Japanese. Ian and Mattie got out of the car and looked at the house in front of them, which was almost identical to all of the other nearby dwellings.

As Ian stepped forward, the door to the home slid open. An old woman, bent over as if she’d spent a lifetime working in rice fields, smiled and gestured at them to come in. Ian didn’t speak much Japanese but said hello and asked the woman how she was doing. She laughed, nodding her head, cackling to herself. “Is Akiko-san home?” Ian inquired, holding a blue bottle of sake in one hand and Mattie’s fingers in the other.

“She cooking,” the old woman replied in broken English. “Come. Come here.”

Ian stepped inside the doorway, pausing to remove his shoes. The woman handed Mattie and him sandals, laughing when she saw that the sandals weren’t nearly big enough for his feet. He bowed and gave her the bottle of sake, for which she thanked him profusely. Beyond the entryway, a narrow hallway was dimly lit, pictures hanging at odd angles from its walls. As she led Ian and Mattie forward, the woman chirped like a sparrow might if it could speak Japanese. She didn’t stop talking for an instant as she entered a relatively large room. The floor was composed of traditional tatami mats made of tightly woven straw. In the center of the room was a low table surrounded by cushions. The only other notable item was a small wooden altar placed below a black-and-white picture of a somber-looking man.

“Please, you sit, Ian-san,” the woman said, still smiling. “Akiko come soon. She cooking and cooking and cooking.”

Their hostess bowed and left. A flurry of Japanese ensued from an unseen room. Before a minute had passed, the woman returned, carrying a tray full of refreshments. “Drinking time,” she said, setting a glass of beer before Ian and some pineapple juice in front of Mattie. Lifting up her own beer, she said,
“Compai!”

Ian repeated the word, clicking his glass against their hostess’s, explaining to Mattie that compai meant cheers. The woman emptied most of her glass, set it on the table, and left. Mattie sipped her juice, looking around. Nodding toward the altar, she asked, “What’s that, Daddy?”

“A shrine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I reckon the man in the photo,” Ian answered softly, “is Akiko’s father, who must have passed away. And this is how they remember him. And honor him.”

Mattie nodded, studying the picture, wondering how old Akiko was when her father died. The teacher seemed so happy. Mattie didn’t understand how she could act that way when one of her parents was dead. She was about to ask her father what he thought, when Akiko appeared, carrying a lacquer tray. “I am so sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said, smiling, using tongs to give a steaming white washcloth to each visitor. “Please refresh yourselves after your long day.”

“Thank you, Akiko-san,” Ian replied, wiping his hands with the cloth. “And don’t be sorry. Your mother is taking good care of us.”

“She is so excited that you are here. She has been cleaning for hours.”

Mattie shifted her position on a cushion. “What should we call her?”

Akiko put her hands to her face. “I am so sorry. I forgot to introduce you. My mother’s name is Chie.” Akiko refilled their glasses to the brim. “Please excuse me for a moment. I am almost finished preparing our dinner.”

As Akiko left, Chie entered, carrying a large book. Sitting down next to Mattie, she opened the book and gestured toward a map of the world. “Your house?”

Mattie studied the map, then pointed to New York City. “This is where I was born.”

“U.S.A.,” Chie stammered, spitting out the letters like a jack-hammer.

“Yes.”

“Good. Big sky. Big country.” She traced the borders of America with a bony finger. “You live New York? Near Golden Gate Bridge?”

“I was born in New York,” Mattie replied, smiling. “I’ve always lived there. In Manhattan.”

The old woman nodded repeatedly, as if her head were tethered to her neck by an invisible spring. Bringing her hands together in a single clap, she bowed to Ian and topped off everyone’s drinks.
“Compai!”

“Compai,”
Ian and Mattie echoed, glasses clinking together.

Mattie watched as Chie took a large gulp from her beer. Their hostess couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, and Mattie was surprised to see her drink so quickly. Grinning, Chie stood up and vanished once more. A few heartbeats later, the sound of traditional Japanese music emerged from the kitchen. Chie returned, once again filling the glasses, even though they were almost full.

“Bath?” Chie asked, pretending to vigorously scrub herself.

Ian remembered how the Japanese loved to bathe at night, sometimes before dinner. He and Kate had often gone to a local bathhouse in Kyoto, splitting up into the men’s and women’s sections, sitting under squat showers to clean themselves before sliding into tubs full of naked strangers. “Fancy having a go at it?” he asked Mattie. “That’s what they do over here.”

Mattie glanced at Chie, who again pretended to scrub herself. “No . . . that’s okay. But thank you.”

Chie smiled. “You beautiful eyes,” she said, kneeling to sip more of her beer. She moved her arms as if swimming. “Your eyes, ocean, same blue.”

“Your eyes are pretty too.”

“Ah, my eyes, like dirt. No can swim in mud.”

Mattie giggled as Chie pretended to get stuck while swimming. “You just have to try harder,” she said, prompting Chie to dig herself out of the ground.

“Me too old. No can see. No can hear. No can swim.”

“If you’re too old, why do you sit on the floor? Doesn’t it hurt your bottom?”

Chie pursed her lips, shrugging. “Bottom?”

“Right here,” Mattie replied, touching the underside of her hip.

“My bottom gone. Disappear. So no hurt.”

As Mattie smiled, a new song emerged from the unseen stereo. Akiko entered the room carrying a large porcelain pot. “I am sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said, placing the pot on the table. “I hope that my mother has been behaving herself.”

“She’s lovely,” Ian replied, helping Akiko place plates on the table.

“I have made you some
nabe
. A traditional Japanese food.”

Mattie leaned forward as Akiko removed the pot’s lid. Inside, a dark, steaming broth contained cabbage, bok choy, boiled eggs, mushrooms, shrimp, clams, and fish. Though Mattie had never seen such ingredients in the same dish, the smell emanating toward her couldn’t have been more savory. The clams were opening slowly, as if Akiko had just put them into the boiling soup.

“Eating nabe together is an old Japanese tradition,” Akiko said. “We believe that sitting close together, and eating from the same pot, will make us even better friends.”

“A beaut of a tradition,” Ian replied, lifting a beer bottle to refill Chie’s glass.
“Compai.”

“Compai.”

The glasses clinked and the new acquaintances began to eat, using oversized chopsticks to pluck morsels from the stew. Chie appeared to drink more than she ate, her laughter growing louder. She often swayed to the music and was continuously handing Mattie more food, treating Mattie as if she were her granddaughter. While Mattie and Chie smiled and bantered, Ian and Akiko spoke about how Japan had changed over the past fifteen years. Some of the changes, like equality for women, Akiko spoke about with pride. Other transformations, such as increasing crime, she lamented. She asked many questions about Ian’s time in Kyoto and was fascinated by his experiences. As they spoke, Ian noticed that Mattie often glanced at Akiko, and sometimes at the nearby shrine and portrait. The pot of nabe was finally emptied, and Chie stood up, bowed, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“We should help her,” Ian said, starting to rise.

Akiko shook her head. “Please sit, Ian-san. She will be much happier if you remain here.”

“But I’m sure there’s a heap of work to do.”

“You are right. But she wants to contribute to our house. If she does not, then she will worry that she is a burden to me.” Akiko smiled and refilled their glasses with green tea, which they had begun to drink. “Are you excited for your trip tomorrow to Kyoto?”

Ian nodded, though he wasn’t looking forward to visiting the city where Kate and he fell in love. Too many memories resided there, memories that would bring him more pain than pleasure. “I reckon Mattie will fancy her first bullet train ride.”

“I am sure that she will.”

Mattie sipped her tea, studying their hostess. “Thank you for inviting us for dinner, Akiko-san.”

“It is our pleasure to have you. And thank you for teaching my class today. I am sure that my students will be talking about you for a long time to come. My students work so hard. It made me happy, to hear them laugh.”

“Akiko-san?”

“Yes, Mattie-chan?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Akiko set down her tea. “Of course. Anything you wish.”

“Is that your father?” Mattie wondered, pointing to the picture.

“Yes. Although he was a much happier man than he looks to be in that photograph.”

“How old were you . . . when he died?”

“That was twelve years ago, Mattie-chan. I was thirty-four years old.”