She heard the front gate whine open and pushed herself up from the table. She was expecting Hiroshi and Aki, who had recently bought a new house in Shoto, an exclusive area in Shibuya Ward, but when she stepped out to the genkan she only saw the imposing figure of her grandson laden with packages.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, bowing.
“Aki-san?”
“She had hoped to come with me. She sends her apologies but was feeling a little under the weather this morning.”
Fumiko drew in a breath and stepped down. It was a beautiful day in early July and she’d been looking forward to their visit. She had hoped to get to know Aki better. Unlike Mika, Aki-san always appeared uncomfortable around her no matter how she tried to put the young woman at ease. Fumiko always felt there was something unreachable about her; she could see it in her eyes. “I hope it isn’t anything serious.”
Hiroshi smiled widely. “It should be resolved in just over six months.”
It took Fumiko a moment to understand what Hiroshi was saying, that Aki was with child. For the past few years, she knew Kenji and Mika had been trying, and she always expected to hear the news from them first. “Hiro-chan, a baby?”
He nodded like a young boy. “Your first great-grandchild.”
For a quick moment her heart fluttered; as delighted as she was for Hiroshi and Aki, she felt a sharp sting of grief for Kenji and Mika. Still, Yokozuna Takanoyama must have carried more than a hundred babies this year; young mothers stopped him in the streets so that his strength and good health would rub off on their children. It was time he carried his own child for a change. Fumiko stepped toward her grandson and reached up to touch his cheek.
The Bow Twirling Ceremony
Alone in the keikoba before morning practice, Sadao gripped the long wooden bow in his hands and swung it from side to side, up and down, then in slow circles that grew faster and faster, disrupting the still July air. He was delighted with the force of it, at the power he felt between his hands as the whistling sound of air vibrated around him. At the age of eighteen, Sadao wasn’t as tall as he had hoped, but he did live up to his father’s nickname of buru. He was powerfully built and very strong and had been given the fighting name Takanoburu. During his six years at the stable, he had quickly learned the intimate rituals of sumo and had risen to the Makushita Division, just below that of an upper-ranked wrestler. He knew both Tanaka-oyakata and Yokozuna Takanoyama expected him to move up in rank after the upcoming tournament in September. Then, by the newly added Kyushu tournament in November, Sadao hoped he would have reached the rank of sekitori. It was something he dreamed of, but, before then, there was one ritual he loved best and hoped to perform before he advanced in rank. Only a wrestler in the Makushita Division could perform the bow twirling ceremony, which represented a token of gratitude on behalf of the winning wrestlers of the day. It was the only time a lower-ranked wrestler was given the honor of wearing a kesho-mawashi apron with the chrysanthemum emblem of the sumo association on it. He would have his hair styled in an oichomage, that of the ginkgo leaf, and receive a cash bonus.
But they weren’t the reasons Sadao hoped to perform the bow twirling ceremony; if he rose in rank, this tournament would be his last opportunity to show his appreciation for the home Tanaka-oyakata and sumo had given him. He also knew Yokozuna Takanoyama could easily influence his selection as the bow twirler. Sadao decided to talk to him about it, knowing the best time to approach the Yokozuna was after his long, hot soak, when he was most relaxed.
The soaking room was still thick with steam when he brought in clean towels. Sadao bowed. “Excuse me, Yokozuna Takanoyama, I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment.”
Takanoyama reached for a towel and dried off. “Of course, what is it?”
Sadao paused, and then said in one quick sentence, “I was wondering if you might mention my name to perform the bow twirling ceremony during the fall tournament?”
Takanoyama paused and looked at him. “I didn’t know you were interested in the performing the ceremony.”
“I am.”
“And have you heard the superstition attached to performing it?”
“Hai, I’ve heard what the other rikishi say. I don’t believe it’s anything more than stories to pass the time.” Sadao swallowed. He’d heard that most of the wrestlers who performed the bow twirling ceremony were rarely promoted beyond the Makushita Division afterward.
“Some look at it as a curse,” Takanoyama added. “Do you want to take the chance?”
“Does the Yokozuna believe in such tales?” Sadao asked lightly.
Takanoyama smiled. “Let’s just say, I certainly wouldn’t challenge such tales, real or not.”
“I’m willing to take my chances,” Sadao answered. He wasn’t superstitious; he didn’t believe in curses or bad luck, just as he didn’t believe in good luck. He’d sat on the floor of his father’s bloodstained meat locker, while the world as he knew it at the age of six disappeared. He believed only in the moment, nothing before or after.
“And it won’t take away from your own training?”
Sadao smiled and bowed, “No, Yokozuna, I’ll train for the ceremony before or after practice.”
Takanoyama cleared his throat and gave his wet towel to Sadao. “We’ll see, then.”
Sadao didn’t look up when he stepped up on the dohyo and the referee handed him the bow, as Yokozuna Takanoyama had instructed him. “Concentrate on the task at hand.” In the first row were all the wrestlers from his stable, as well as Tanaka-oyakata and Yokozuna Takanoyama, who had stayed to see him perform. Sadao moved to the center of the dohyo dressed as an upper-ranked wrestler. He was already perspiring and his stomach churned. He knew that if he dropped the bow, it would not only bring him shame but he would have to pick it up with his feet. To touch the dohyo with his hands would mean defeat. He’d memorized the steps in his sleep, and now he grasped the bow tighter as he swung it in front of him and over his head in swift circular motions that grew in speed as he relaxed. He was in control, with the blur of motion in front of him and the whistling sound of air filling his ears like locusts. Earlier in the day, Sadao had won all his tournament matches and was likely to be promoted to the upper ranks before the November tournament. He was determined to prove the curse wrong. Sadao felt the bow vibrate in his hands and travel throughout his body. More than anything, he wished his parents could be there to see him. It was a moment he hoped would last forever, a moment that belonged entirely to him.
Answers
It began one morning with a queasy feeling in her stomach that quickly rushed up to her throat. At first, Haru thought it was something she’d eaten but it persisted each morning throughout the early weeks of July until she could no longer ignore the fact that she was pregnant. She knew it was true by the way her body felt, a heaviness growing inside of her, a constant reminder that she was no longer alone. Haru moved through each day, both frantic and fearful. After Oshima, she and Professor Ito had seen each other for more than six months. They’d only been intimate a few times, enough for her to have to pay for her indiscretion. It didn’t take her long to realize loneliness and admiration weren’t good substitutes for love. So they had parted just before the waves of morning sickness began.
Haru leaned over the sink. She didn’t think there was anything left inside of her to come out. She would be returning to Tokyo at the end of the month. She could still easily disguise her pregnancy, but it would be just a matter of time before her family found out. If she calculated right, there was a certain irony in the fact that Aki’s baby was due at about the same time as hers; only her sister was happily married to Hiroshi. For just a moment, Haru’s stomach roiled at the thought. She wished, too, that she were the one married and looking forward to something as miraculous as a child growing inside of her.
Haru shook the thought away and tried to clear her mind of worries. She wondered if their children would like each other. When they were young, Haru was always secretly j
ealous of Aki’s resembling her mother in appearance, with her black-pearl-colored eyes and fair complexion. She was always beautiful. Her own likeness to her mother came in smaller, subtler ways that grew with age; in her mannerisms and the way she carried herself. She leaned away from the counter and caught her reflection in the window, seeing a face she was just growing comfortable with, wondering which of her features she’d find in her own child.
Haru felt another wave of nausea come over her and still couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She swallowed saliva, took a deep breath, and washed her face with cold water. There were ways to take care of an unwanted pregnancy, but none she could bring herself to do. She had to decide if she wanted to keep the baby or not. Until then, Ichiru didn’t have to know, and might never need to know if she just returned to Tokyo to live. Her thoughts ebbed and flowed all morning as she ate rice crackers to settle her stomach. It was finally mid-afternoon by the time she dressed and dragged herself to the university to clear out her office.
Two nights later, the answer to all Haru’s questions arrived in the middle of the night. She awoke with a dull cramping in her lower stomach and back, which gradually intensified. Her fear tasted bitter. She dragged herself to the bathroom and doubled over in pain. There were spots of blood, and then more, followed by a cleansing flow that washed away the life growing inside of her. Haru spent three days in bed afterward, sleeping and waking, feeling numb to the world around her, as she had after the big firestorm when her hands were burned. She was alone again and felt nothing.
24
The Arrival
1958
Aki couldn’t wait for the baby to arrive. She moved around her bedroom slowly, feeling heavy and clumsy. Her legs were swollen and her back hurt. Everything made her feel sick, from a taste of the cook’s seaweed soup to the sweet straw smell of the damp tatami mats from the continual February rains. At twenty-two, she already felt old and tired. Did her mother feel like this carrying Haru and her? For Aki, this last month of pregnancy was nothing but a torment, and she could barely remember what it was like not to be pregnant.
The New Year holidays had come and gone and Aki felt as if she had missed everything, refusing to lumber along after Hiroshi as he went from one celebration to another. At first, she felt hurt and angry that he’d leave her behind, even when she knew it was always more business than pleasure. Dinners were arranged by the Sumo Association almost a year in advance, and wives didn’t accompany their husbands to these business dinners, which she had to remind herself was what sumo had increasingly become, a business. Hiroshi was the great Yokozuna Takanoyama and everyone wanted to see him. They had a roomful of gifts from sponsors and fans alike who’d never even met him. Sometimes, she looked at her towering husband and willed him to stay home with her for just one night. At other times, she saw Hiroshi for only moments in a day as he hurried from one meeting to the next.
It seemed the entire world had left Aki behind. She knew Haru was busy with her life researching and teaching in Nara. She’d written to her several times in the past month, but still hadn’t heard back. So Aki waited alone for the baby to arrive. She was uncomfortable both day and night now, and she sometimes felt as if this baby were squeezing the life from her. Aki carefully lowered herself down on the futon, lying on her back, loosening the tie of her cotton kimono, and rubbing the globe of her stomach. The baby’s weight pressed down against her lower spine, and she couldn’t imagine ever being able to get up again.
The room was dark when Aki awoke. She had no idea what time it was. The pain took her voice away and her arm flailed to Hiroshi’s side of the futon only to find herself still alone. She grabbed at the futon until the pain subsided enough to call for their housekeeper, Tamiko-san, once, twice, louder, until she heard a door sliding open and footsteps rushing up the stairs. Then Aki took deep breaths through the next wave of intense pain, which steadily increased and brought a moan to her lips. She closed her eyes and began to count, just as she had when she was a little girl and couldn’t fall asleep, or was frightened, ichi, ni san, shi…
A New Life
When classes convened after the New Year, Haru moved to a small apartment near Deer Park, not far from the university. She did her own research early in the mornings before teaching; then there were classes to prepare for and papers to correct when she returned home exhausted in the evening. On weekends, there was the new apartment to settle into. Slowly, she was finding her way again.
On a cold, snowy morning in early February, Haru rushed to her office and looked down to see a note slipped under the door. She was late again; her decision to walk that morning had been unwise. She had a class to teach in five minutes but stooped to pick up the thin sheet of paper. “Your sister’s baby has arrived. Please call.” The baby was a week early. Haru had hoped to be there before Aki delivered. A flood of emotions rushed through her; a tender new life, a child to hold in her arms, and the fear of not being able to let it go. She could only hope the thoughts of her own unborn baby would lessen now that one child had made it safely into the world. There was no time to call just then as she rushed off to teach her botany class. Haru returned to her office to call during her class break. She phoned the house first, waited a long while for the connection, only to have Tamiko-san tell her that the baby had arrived just after midnight and Aki was in the hospital. “It’s a boy,” she said, her voice rising with the joy of it. Haru thought of how proud her father must be to finally have a boy in the family. Tamiko-san added that Yokozuna Takanoyama had instructed that if she were to call, to ask that she come to Tokyo as soon as she possibly could. All afternoon, Haru was unable to reach Hiroshi or her father, leaving messages for both.
On the evening train to Tokyo, Haru felt the heaviness of guilt resting on her shoulders. Aki had written her three letters in the past month and she hadn’t responded to any. The miscarriage had left Haru feeling distant from everything and everyone. Even Aki felt too far away. Every day she could barely get through her classes. But her excuses stung now, like the flames had against her palms. Haru knew her sister better than anyone. Aki was lonely and frightened and needed her words of encouragement.
The train rumbled on. She looked down at the thickened skin on the palms of her hands and wondered what she would find if she peeled away each layer. All the nerve endings hadn’t been destroyed, because little by little she felt a tingling in the tips of her fingers and on the pads of her palms. She rubbed her hands together and blew warmth back into them.
Haru turned at the sound of snow whipping against the window, tiny particles of ice clinging to the glass as the train swept through the moonless night. She hoped that her new nephew would live his life with the same tenacity. Haru wasn’t sure how she’d react at seeing him. Would the sight of him be a constant reminder of what she had lost, even if he was the only ray of light in an otherwise horrific winter? She caught her own depthless reflection in the pitch-black window, a slim, unsmiling face that had spent far too much time in classrooms. Haru closed her eyes and saw beyond the window’s darkness, to the mountains and trees, the flickering houses with people inside, entire lives being lived on the other side. For the first time in months, she felt more like herself again.
Eminence
He was named Takashi, which meant “eminence.” Hiroshi chose it on the baby’s seventh day of life at his naming celebration, called the Oshichiya. Takashi was dressed in white with a name plaque hanging on the wall above him, his name inscribed in beautifully written calligraphy. Hiroshi thought it important for his son to enter the world with a name that already predicted his future. He imagined great things for his son. When he was awake, Takashi’s bright eyes seemed to follow all the movement around him. “He doesn’t miss a thing,” his obaachan said. “He reminds me of your ojiichan.” Hiroshi knew it was the highest compliment she could give.
Even if he had come into the world early, Takashi was long limbed and good-sized. When he was placed in Aki’s arms for the
first time at the hospital, she looked like a frightened child. Hiroshi watched her relax the longer she held the baby and felt the small rhythms of his body adjust to hers. He saw Aki smile, enchanted with the child in her arms. Hiroshi knew at that moment that nothing could possibly bring him greater joy.
At the naming ceremony, his obaachan and Tanaka-oyakata talked over each other in excitement. Kenji and Mika were delighted with their new nephew, taking turns to carry him, while Haru appeared pale and tired, but stayed to enjoy the ceremony; she would return to Nara the following day. The first time she held Takashi, he saw a moment of sadness in her eyes before she smiled and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Hiroshi was grateful she could stay with them. Haru’s calm presence anchored Aki, gave her weight and security so she wouldn’t fly away. It troubled him that even after two years of marriage, it was something he couldn’t give her. He was partly to blame, away so much of the time at tournaments and sponsor events. Aki grew increasingly morose each time he left the house. But what was he to do? It was both an honor and the duty of being a grand champion. Now, with the new baby in her arms, he saw the light return in Aki’s eyes each time she looked at Takashi. It brought Hiroshi an overwhelming joy to see how his son was already living up to his name.
In Light
Aki stood by the window and held Takashi in her arms. It was cold and she wrapped him tightly in a silk quilt. She found herself checking on him two or three times a night, even when he didn’t cry, still surprised that he was now a part of her life. She tried to remember all the folktales her mother had told her when she was young, tales like “The Two Frogs” and “The Little Peachling,” which she would soon be telling Takashi. As the pale light of the moon touched his face, she thought of how beautiful he looked asleep even if she knew it might conjure up bad omens to think such things. She quickly whispered aloud to the gods. “But look, look, his eyes are too small and his nose is just a bit too flat.” She glanced down at Takashi, nestled in her arms, and felt content for the first time in her life.