Cherry Blossom Baseball (20 page)

Michiko followed him to the school bus. Their driver sang as he drove past the cars that moved up and down the road, honking. They passed a truck with a huge sheet across the back, painted with the words
NAZIS SURRENDER
and flapping in the breeze. Their driver took off his hat and tossed it out the window. Everyone on the bus cheered.

Her mother was putting sheets on the line when Michiko arrived home. Michiko watched her pull clothespins from the deep front pocket of her apron and clip them to the edge. She drew another damp sheet from the basket and fixed it to the line.

Mrs. Palumbo walked past them toward the vegetable garden with an empty basket. She smelled of raw onions.

“You're home early,” Eiko said. She looked at Michiko's sweaty face and unruly hair and furrowed her brows. “What have you been doing with yourself?” she asked. “You look as if you walked all the way home from school. Was there a problem with the bus?”

Before Michiko could explain being jostled by the jubilant crowd, the sound of church bells punctuated the quiet of the flower farm.

“Why are the church bells ringing?” her mother asked. A look of alarm crossed her face.

“It's over,” Michiko said with a grin.

“What's over?”

Before Michiko could answer, Mr. Palumbo rushed past them into the vegetable garden.

“
Cosa succede?
” his wife asked, raising her head from the tomato plants.

Mr. Palumbo grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out onto the lawn.

She fought his attempts to put his arm about her waist until he whispered something in her ear. Then she threw back her head and shrieked. They broke apart. With her hands on her hips, Mrs. Palumbo kicked her feet back and forth, circling her husband. Then she threw her hands high above her head and clapped to create a rhythm.

Michiko knew her bewildered mother never listened to the news or read the newspapers, to avoid events. She took her by the hand and led her into the house.

Her father was in the kitchen. He had the volume up, and the voice of the news reporter blasted into the kitchen. “Canadians stormed the beaches of Normandy. Two thousand and seventy-six days after the start of the war, it is finally over. Germany has surrendered.”

Her mother sank down into one of the kitchen chairs. “The war is over?” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “It is really over?”

Sensing her mother's disbelief, Michiko put her hand on top of her mother's. “That's why we're home from school early,” but she stopped speaking, surprised by her mother's trembling.

The next day they walked to St. John's Church under the cool avenue of elm trees along the road. Sam held Hiro's hand. Michiko and her mother followed with the baby buggy.

The minister stood at the door welcoming everyone as the bells rang out. “There are plenty of seats at the front,” he said through a large grin.

The dim yellow light of the church's hanging chandeliers and wall sconces seemed unnecessary on such a sunny day. The congregation chatted amid the smell of candle wax and fresh flowers. Michiko was used to Japanese faces filling most of the pews in the small church of the ghost town. Here they had to walk past a sea of
hakujin
to get to the pews at the front.

The happy chatter of the congregation turned to quiet whispers when the members of the choir entered through a door behind the pulpit and settled in the choir stall. The minister took his place at the wooden podium and invited the choir to sing.

Michiko watched their
o
-shaped mouths and radiant faces but was irritated by the high-pitched voice of a woman refusing to blend with the others.

The minister rose from his wooden throne to speak.

“Today we come together to give thanks that the war is over, but with sadness at the thousands of men, women, and children who gave their lives to this great conflict,” the minister said. “For them, there will be no jubilance, no celebrations, no three cheers for the King. But this is not a sad thing, for they have heard the clearest, most beautiful sound of all, the clarion call on high. They will have felt the greatest love of all.”

There was not one whisper among the people.

The minister looked out over the crowd. “We will never forget the loss of those we loved, nor should we, but we must also focus our prayers on those who are still so very far away, the ones that have yet to get back home.”

Michiko closed her eyes to do as the minister asked.
What about Gerald? Will he be able to get back to playing baseball? What about Francis and his leaky pen? Why is he taking so long to write back? What about Johnny?
She guessed her last letter had made him stop writing to her. And then she thought about Kaz and grinned. Her uncle wouldn't have to go off to fight after all.

“We must show great care and concern for those who arrive back on Canadian shores,” the minister was saying, “not just because they may have been wounded or seen things that do not bear repeating. When we care deeply about someone else; we put a new kind of energy into the world. And we need this new kind of energy in a very great way. Other people will pick it up and make themselves better people. This is called giving Grace, and this is what I mean when I say to you, ‘Go with God's Grace.'”

The choir stood to sing again. Michiko decided to think nice thoughts about the woman with the out-of-tune voice. She smiled at her, and to her surprise the woman smiled back.

Everyone milled about the front of the church, smiling and shaking hands as the bells rang and rang. Michiko thought it was the happiest day of her life until someone grabbed her elbow and hissed in her ear. “We are still at war with the Japs,” Carolyn said in a low voice.

M
y war will never be over,
Michiko thought as they made their way home.

That night Michiko watched her father eat his dinner. He used his chopsticks with such skill, he always began his meal with the smallest pieces on his plate, unlike her brother, who searched for the largest and crammed it into his mouth.

“Sadie's got a nice place,” he said to her mother at the end of the meal. “She's on a street of houses full of Japanese people. Many of them were teachers at the schools in camps.”

“Auntie Sadie has a house?” Michiko asked.

“She rents a room,” Sam said. “She'll get a house the same way we will, by saving.”

“It's different now,” Eiko said. “People get mortgages.”

“Japanese people don't borrow money,” Sam said. “You said that yourself.”

“That was before the war,” Eiko said.

“My animals have a house,” Hiro said. He sat on the kitchen floor with his Noah's ark animals, making each pair walk up the painted plank to the deck of the wide wooden boat. Another two would arrive in the mail, any day now, just in time for his birthday. Just like her father, Uncle Ted never failed to surprise them with his amazing woodworking talents.

“Your animals live in a boat,” Michiko said. The memory of the girls' reaction to her uncle's rowboat at Mary's party made her face burn red.
I wish we could move to Toronto and live on a street full of Japanese people.

STRAWBERRIES

T
he
heat hung about the house like a blanket, but it was the excitement of the next day that had kept Michiko awake. Her first crop of strawberries was ready for harvest.

“The going rate is five cents a pint,” Mr. Downey told her as he handed her a stack of new berry boxes and a jar with a slot in the lid. “You don't have to sit by the side of the road all day,” he said. “Make a sign. People will take what they need if you aren't there and leave the money in the jar. Just make sure you collect the money and refill the table on a regular basis.”

Her mother supervised Michiko's first harvest of the small, bumpy berries, “No one wants their strawberries to be in a condition ready for jam,” she said as she demonstrated how to look under the leaves for the deep crimson berries and gently loosen them from their stems. Then Eiko left the strawberry patch and went back to her work. She lifted a pillowcase from her laundry basket, snapped it, and clipped it to the line. She yanked the rope, making the pulley squeal, and then hung the next one. Michiko picked berry after berry as her mother pegged out the sheets.

Mrs. Palumbo joined Michiko in the garden. “Dat Hitler,” she said as she reached out and snapped off a stalk of asparagus. “Dat's what I like to do to him.” She stared at the spiked spear and spat on the ground.

Michiko lowered her eyes. Sometimes Mrs. Palumbo displayed a vehemence that frightened her. Her mother once told her Mrs. Palumbo believed that restraint was harmful to her health and would hurl insults at anyone until she felt better. Michiko moved out of the old woman's spitting range, put her head down, and kept on picking.

That afternoon, after nailing up her sign, Michiko planted her elbows on the tabletop of the wooden stall her father had built. She was thankful for the shade the tiny, shingled roof provided. Like everything her father made, the edges were precise and the surfaces smooth. Settling her face into her hands, she released a long sigh. It took a lot more work than she thought it would to fill six pint boxes.

Mrs. Morrison, the cat, wound her way through Michiko's legs. Then she extended her front paws along the ground in front of her and offered up her backside for scratching. “Make sure you stay off the road,” Michiko said as the cat arched its back and stuck its tail straight up in the air when she petted it. “We don't want you to get hit by a car.”

Her first customer was a woman with white hair whose gold-rimmed glasses sat birdlike on her small pointed nose. She took a box of strawberries into her fine-boned bird hands and examined it. “Are they all ripe?” she asked. “No white ones on the bottom?”

Michiko nodded. “I picked each one myself.”

The woman put down the box and unzipped her change purse. But before she could extract any money, a man got out of the car and appeared at her side.

“We're not buying anything off the Japs,” he said angrily.

“But they don't own the farm,” the woman protested.

“Then the owner is a sympathizer,” he said, tugging at her elbow.

The woman gave out a deep sigh and pushed the box toward Michiko.

“Those Japs killed my neighbour's brother,” he said loudly. He looked back at her as he steered the woman away. “Why don't you Nips all go back where you came from.”

Michiko's throat constricted and her chest went tight as the man and woman drove away with tires squealing.

I
t wasn't one of us,
she wanted to call out as a truck pulled up in front of her.

A scrawny, sunburned young woman in a faded housedress got out from the passenger side. She pushed back wisps of hair escaping from the pile on top of her head held together with grip pins and asked, “Are any of them cheaper because they're crushed?”

Michiko shook her head. She had lost the desire to talk.

The woman got back in the truck without buying and drove off.

When the next vehicle slowed down, the beige soft top told her it was a convertible. The green car pulled into Billy's laneway. Michiko stood up in disbelief.

Carolyn got out and waved at her from across the road. The car drove on down the lane to Billy's house as Carolyn crossed the road.

Michiko picked up the jar of money and stuffed it into the front pocket of her overalls.

“These look good,” Carolyn said, picking a few strawberries from the box in front of her and popping them into her mouth. “Mmmm,” she said licking her lips, “they are really good.”

This time she took a handful of berries from the box.

Michiko moved the box away from her. “They are not free,” she said.

“I'll get the money from my dad when he comes back,” she said, reaching out for more.

The last thing Michiko needed was Carolyn eating her out of business. She pulled the remaining boxes into her arms. “I'm closing up shop,” she said. “Come back when you have money.”

Carolyn licked her fingers one at a time. “That's okay,” she said. “I told my dad I would stay with you until he was finished talking to Billy's dad.”

Michiko ignored her and walked toward the house.

“MILLIE,” Carolyn yelled as she moved into the laneway.

Michiko turned back to see what she wanted.

Carolyn had a small rubber ball in her hand. “Catch,” she said, throwing the ball.

Michiko turned to avoid the impossible, but the ball hit her hard in the arm, and she dropped the berry baskets into the dust.

“You knew I couldn't catch it,” Michiko shrieked. “My hands were full of strawberries.”

“I wanted to see you make one of your famous plays,” Carolyn said with a smirk. Strawberries scattered the road like red raindrops. Michiko crouched to upright the containers. “They're all dirty,” she said.

“I'll help you,” Carolyn said.

Michiko didn't look up until a white majorette boot came down on top of one of the thin wooden containers. It collapsed.

“Oops,” Carolyn said, lifting her boot and scraping it on the grass. “I didn't see it.”

Michiko had to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue before she could talk. “Yes, you did,” she said. “You did that on purpose, just like you threw …” but she stopped talking as her throat tightened and her anger rose. She reached for a handful of the strawberries lying in the dirt, and threw them. The crushed red berries landed on the starched lace collar of Carolyn's white blouse and slid down the front, leaving a juicy red trail.

Carolyn looked down in shock. “Look what you've done,” she said, staring at the damp red lines down the front of her blouse. “My mother just bought me this blouse.”

“You wanted to play catch,” Michiko said. She gathered another handful of crushed berries and threw them in Carolyn's face.

“You are in big trouble, Jap girl,” Carolyn sputtered. “I'm going to tell.”

Michiko walked toward the house cradling the remaining fruit boxes in her arms. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it would explode.

Carolyn followed her down the lane with her hands on her hips and called out. “I'll get your father fired.”

Michiko's eyes narrowed. As she reached the garden, Mrs. Palumbo stood to stretch her back, holding a handful of freshly pulled weeds. Her mother was nowhere in sight.

“See that girl,” Michiko said to her in a low voice. The man's harsh words echoed in her mind. Mrs. Palumbo furrowed her brows and looked in the direction that Michiko pointed. “She just said that all Italians should go back to where they came from.”

The old Italian woman turned slowly toward Carolyn. Her lips pulled pack into a snarl as she raised the handful of weeds.

“
Va!
” she screamed.

Carolyn's face blanched as she backed away from the terrifying old woman.

“
VA!
” Mrs. Palumbo screamed even louder as she moved forward. She spoke with such force, it was as if Mr. Downey's tractor was backfiring.

Carolyn turned and ran for her life.

Michiko looked around to see if anyone had witnessed what had just happened, and then she opened the gate and bent to pick more strawberries. Her heart was full of fear.
Carolyn can't really get my father fired? Can she?

Mrs. Palumbo returned to the garden, muttering words Michiko didn't understand. Michiko felt a pang of regret for involving the old woman.
What if Mr. Palumbo gets fired as well?
She picked strawberries until her mother called her for dinner.

That evening, while drying the dishes, Michiko was struck by the most terrifying thought of all.
Why was Mr. Leahey visiting Billy's father? Is he going to get Billy's dad to speak to my dad about getting me off the team?
Her stomach sank.

Michiko slid out from under her sheets just as the low rumblings in the sky turned to rushing rain. She jumped at the flash of lightning that filled her bedroom with light. The next flash brought a large crack of thunder that seemed to split the house in half. Hiro's bare feet raced down the hall and into her parents' room.

T
his is good,
Michiko thought as she made her way to the bathroom. Their game would be cancelled, and she wouldn't have to worry about whether to show up or not. Lightning lit up the entire back field. She could see the trenches her father had dug for the corms running like tiny rivers. Someone approached the Palumbos' house with collar turned up and hands burrowed into the pockets of an overcoat. Michiko waited by the window to watch.

The front door of the neighbour's house flew open. Mrs. Palumbo, in a dressing gown with her grey hair in a long braid down the side of her shoulder, pulled the person inside.

Michiko slipped back under her covers, listening to the heavy patter against the roof, wondering what was going on in the house next door.