Fifty Words for Rain(41)

Miyuki squirmed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Nori assured her. “You didn’t. I can’t complain to you.”

Miyuki showed that gap-toothed grin of hers. “It’s okay. I wasn’t getting anything out of it before. There were boys, but they never did what they promised me. At least it’s better this way. I can get something out of it, for me and for Nanako.” Suddenly her bright face crumpled. “You know, I can’t think what else anyone would want me for. And I wouldn’t mind doing this, but . . .” She faded off. She didn’t want her sister exposed to this life, and Nori couldn’t blame her.

Nori racked her brain for something supportive to say. This was not her area. “People would want you for something else. You learn fast. And I bet you’re wonderful with children. You could be a teacher or . . .” She thought of Akiko briefly before shoving the memory back down. “There’s lots of things you could do. I believe that.”

Miyuki smiled sadly. “You are special, Nori. And not in the way they mean. I can tell, in a different kind of world, you could’ve been just about anything. But I’m not like that. I don’t have much about me that’s special. Looking after Nanako is just about the only thing I ever see myself doing right, and right now I can’t even do that.”

Nori reached forward and took Miyuki’s hands in her own. Unlike her own, they were covered in calluses. “You’ll get her back,” Nori said, as if she had any power to make this happen. Nothing had given her any evidence that this was true either, but she found herself saying it. “You will. And that’s special enough. Loving someone . . . that much . . .” Akira’s wry smirk and stormy gray eyes appeared before her. She had to stop. Breathe. Start again.

“When you have that, you don’t need anything else.”

Miyuki blinked back tears. “I wish I could help you.”

Nori smiled, though there were tears in her own eyes now. “It’s okay.”

They were both crying now.

“No, it’s not,” Miyuki whispered, finally admitting what they both knew but never acknowledged. She was not smiling anymore. She was making no attempts to qualify her pain.

Nori nodded. “I know.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


    TREE SONG


September 1953

KIYOMI



As usual, she is late. I take a moment to adjust myself in the mirror. The shadows under my eyes tell me that I am overworked, which is nothing new. The amount of concealer that I have to dab on to cover them up tells me that I’m losing my looks, and my resigned smile tells me that I’m getting old. I am thirty-two this year, older than I thought I would live to see. I pull down the front of my kimono a little. Nobody will notice the bags now. I glance at the door, but there is still no sign of my most troublesome asset. I go into the hallway and snap my fingers at her friend, Miyuki, who is chatting with an older girl. It’s not warm inside, but Miyuki’s face is glistening with sweat. I have told the kitchen to stop giving her treats, but they swear they aren’t. At sixteen, she has not blossomed as I hoped she would. She is the least asked for of all my girls. Clearly, a poor investment for me, but there is no returning her now.

She turns to me and flushes. “Kiyomi-san?”

I cross my arms and look at her; we’ve been through this enough times for her to know what I want. She points outside. “She’s out there.”

I feel a great sigh leave my body, and the two girls hurry out of my way as I move past them and out onto the patio. It’s high noon and the sun is blazing down. I cross the yard in swift strides, making my way to the pleasure grove that I worked so hard to make beautiful for the guests who come here to get away from their busy city lives, to spend a weekend in the countryside. It doesn’t take me long to spot her, kneeling beside the little man-made pond, throwing bits of bread at the ducks.

She isn’t even wearing a hat. “Ojosama,” I snap, “how many times have I told you? Are you determined to ruin your complexion?”

She doesn’t so much as look back at me. She breaks off the last chunk of bread she is holding and flings it towards the smallest duck in the pond. Only when she has watched him eat it before his brothers and sisters come charging forward to take it from him does she turn around.

“Gomenasai,” she apologizes flatly, and it is wholly insincere. She stands up and brushes the grass off her pale pink dress.

I just give her a tired look. At thirteen, Noriko Kamiza is strikingly attractive, albeit not in a conventional way. She hasn’t grown an inch—I suppose she will always be tiny—but her curves have filled out and she is shaped like a finely blown glass bottle. She keeps her necklines high, but there’s no hiding that her bosom is already as large as mine. She’s learned how to straighten her hair, and it falls in a thick, glossy sheen down to the small of her back. Rich amber-brown eyes that look champagne in sunlight, a button nose, and full lips that always seem to have a secret on them make it impossible not to look at her when she walks into a room.

But she’s still difficult.

“You’re late for your lesson.”

“I know how to pour tea, Kiyomi-san. And dance, and arrange flowers, and flutter a paper fan. After two years you get the hang of it.”