The Wishing Trees Page 4

  As several of the children clapped and others held hands in front of their grinning faces, Akiko proceeded along the street, at the edge of the sidewalk. Businesspeople were everywhere, talking on cell phones, rushing to catch trains while carrying briefcases and umbrellas. At the next corner, teenage girls dressed in pink tights handed out plastic-wrapped packets of tissues that carried advertising messages.

  While Akiko waited for a light to turn green, Ian pointed at thick white stripes that had been painted across the street. Turning to the schoolchildren, he said, “In Australia we call that a zebra crossing. Though ours aren’t as big as this one.”

  The children looked at the crosswalk, repeated his words, and began to laugh. Mattie laughed with them. For the first time since the encounter had begun, she didn’t feel embarrassed about her father, which she often did. Before her mother had died, he used to joke constantly. Her earliest memories, in fact, were of giggling on his lap. And while she liked to giggle, sometimes he said too much.

  “Of course, we don’t have zebras in Australia,” he continued. “But if you ever want to see a kangaroo, Mattie and I will take you out into the bush. And we’ll watch them hop around like their backsides are on fire.”

  When the light turned green, a pulsating beep punctuated the air, letting anyone blind know that it was time to cross. Akiko led the group forward, entering a tall building and proceeding down a hallway that might have been found in a Western bank. Mattie realized that she was in a school, since she saw students in classrooms. But this school didn’t look like any other she’d experienced. No drawings or banners hung from the walls, nor did rows of lockers span the sides of the corridor.

  Akiko led her students, followed by Ian and Mattie, into a classroom. As the students sat down at two-person desks, chatting excitedly, Mattie moved partly behind her father, who stood near a blackboard.

  “Your mum used to teach children like these,” Ian whispered into her ear, sensing her disquiet. “And I reckon she’s watching now. Let’s give her a laugh.”

  Mattie instinctively looked up, her gaze dropping back to the students as Akiko began to speak in Japanese. Mattie realized that the teacher was older than she’d first thought. Some of Akiko’s hair had started to gray, and deep laugh lines surrounded her mouth. As she spoke, the students nodded attentively, sitting motionless, something Mattie’s classmates wouldn’t be able to easily duplicate.

  Akiko turned to their visitors. “Well, Mr. . . .”

  “McCray. I’m Ian McCray. But please call me Ian. And my daughter here is Mattie.”

  “We are lucky, students,” Akiko said. “First we enjoyed our field trip to The Japan Times, and now Ian-san and Mattie will help us for the remainder of our class. About fifteen minutes. Now please open your English conversation books to page thirty-four.”

  Ian leaned closer to Akiko. “Could we play a game instead?” he whispered.

  “A game?”

  “Something to make them laugh.”

  She smiled, brushing hair from her face. “Certainly, Ian-san. That would be fine.”

  Ian took Mattie’s hand and looked at the students. “Your lovely teacher, Akiko-san, is going to let us all play a game,” he said, exaggerating his Australian accent, believing that the children found his dialect funny. “Have any of you ankle biters ever heard of Chinese Whispers?”

  The students smiled and shook their heads.

  “Codswallop,” he said, shaking his head, feigning disbelief.

  Akiko laughed, instinctively putting her hand in front of her face. “What does . . . codswallop mean, Ian-san?”

  “It means that I can’t believe you’ve never played the telephone game,” he replied, remembering how Kate and he used to play the game with their students. “It’s quite simple,” he said, looking again at the children. “I’m going to whisper a sentence to Mattie. She’ll whisper it to Akiko-san, and then Akiko-san will whisper it to one student, who will whisper it to the next, and so on. We’ll go through everyone. Then the last student will stand up and repeat the sentence. And we’ll see if it’s London to a brick. I mean . . . we’ll see if it’s just right.”

  The students nodded and smiled, understanding the game. Ian closed his eyes for a few seconds, formulating a sentence. He then leaned down to Mattie, cupped his hands around her ear and whispered, “I love you, Roo. And I always will. Now here’s the sentence. Twenty-six giggling zebras crossed a street in Tokyo today.”

  Grinning, Mattie stood on her tiptoes as Akiko bent down, and quietly repeated the line. Akiko smiled at her, then walked to a student who sat in the first row. The teacher leaned over and whispered. The student laughed, repeated the line to herself, and twisted toward a boy beside her. This process was duplicated until all the students had participated. The last student to receive the sentence smiled and stood up.

  Ian shrugged. “So? What was the sentence?”

  The girl beamed, glanced at her teacher, and then at Mattie. “Twenty-six wriggling zebras ate a treat in Tokyo today,” she said, doing her best to properly pronounce each word.

  Ian laughed and told the students the original words, while Akiko wrote both sentences on the blackboard. The students joked and spoke in Japanese, shaking their heads. “Fancy another round?” Ian asked.

  “Please, Ian-san,” Akiko replied, setting the chalk down.

  “Mattie, why don’t you start it out this time?”

  Nodding, Mattie tried to think of something that the students would find amusing. When she did, she stood on her tiptoes and whispered to her father, “I love you too, Daddy. Now here’s my sentence. My father, Ian-san, once kissed a walrus.”

  Ian pulled back from her, grinning. “Good onya, Roo,” he said, and then turned to Akiko and repeated the sentence.

  Akiko looked at Mattie, smiled, and walked to her students. After a few minutes the message had traveled from one end of the classroom to the other. A different student was the final recipient, and he stood up and bowed slightly, trying to remember the right words. “My mother, Ian-san, once missed his walrus.”

  Smiling and shaking her head, Mattie said her original line, and Akiko wrote both sentences on the blackboard. The students laughed, a few clapping at her cleverness. Akiko started to speak when a bell sounded, prompting the students to groan. “We will play this game again,” she said, dusting her hands of chalk. “Please, each of you, write a sentence tonight in English, and we will remove several from a box tomorrow. Now kindly thank Ian-san and Mattie for joining us today.”

  The students offered their thanks, both in Japanese and English. They then organized their books and filed out of the classroom. Akiko turned to Ian and Mattie. “Thank you both so much,” she said, bowing.

  “You’re welcome,” Ian replied, pleased that Mattie had experienced a game that her mother had enjoyed. “It was our pleasure. A real treat.”

  “Are you in Tokyo long?”

  “No. Just a tick really. Tomorrow we buzz off for Kyoto.”

  Akiko glanced at the blackboard, which still displayed the sentences. She smiled. “Would you do me the honor of eating dinner at my house tonight? It is not far from here, and I should repay you for your kindness. You are visitors to my country, and I would like to be your host.”

  Ian looked at Mattie, who nodded. “That would be lovely,” he replied. “Just lovely.”

  Akiko walked to her desk and wrote on a piece of paper. She handed the paper to Ian, bowing toward him. “You can take a taxi, and show the driver this note. Perhaps you could arrive about seven o’clock?”

  “We’ll be there. We look forward to it.”

  The trio said good-bye. Mattie and Ian left the classroom and the school. They walked outside, the sounds of the city once again rising up to drown out any noise from nature. Mattie took Ian’s hand, smiling up at him. “You played that game with Mommy, didn’t you? With your students?”

  He nodded. “We played heaps of games like that. We were always getting in trouble
for it, actually. The dimwits who ran our company didn’t want us to stray from our textbooks. But stray we did.”

  “Mommy got into trouble?”

  “Getting into trouble wasn’t exactly your mum’s bowl of rice, but sometimes she did it, just to make a point.”

  Mattie played with one of her braids, twirling it around her forefinger. “I liked Akiko, and her students.”

  “So did I, luv. You know, teaching here was a bloody good time. It made me want to see the world. And it did the same thing for your mum.”

  “And what did you see?”

  Ian bent toward her as a pair of businessmen walked past, talking on their cell phones. “Everything looks different, Roo. Japan is full of giant cities and bullet trains. Cows walk the streets of Kathmandu. India is . . . Well, it’s India.” He slowed his pace, remembering how Kate would chastise him for walking too fast. “But under all that difference, luv, if you really look, people are basically the same. That’s what your mum and I learned on our travels. That’s what I hope you’ll learn. I reckon it’s one of the reasons she sent us on this walkabout. I’m sure she wanted to show you herself. But she couldn’t. So she sent us.”

  Nodding, Mattie looked down the street. “What are we going to do now?”

  “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 keep
ing 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.