I don’t think you meant it
Cora says
and for that I take off
before she’s ready
flying downhill
ahead of her yells—
Jason! Wai …
half-eaten by the wind
I skirt the park
and coast down
weaving in and out
back lanes
and alleys
keeping Cora
just in sight
not slowing till we reach
the flats where the streetcar
runs
down
the
center
of
the
road
and the sea wind blasts
from breaks
between buildings
I stop
and Cora catches up
whining between breaths
about how fast I went
about how this is so not an adventure
about how I promised her an adventure every Wednesday
if she’d go along with the plan of me watching her
so Mom can teach extra classes
so we’ll have enough money
for me to switch to international school
and I’m about to say
forget it, let’s go home
but just then a gust
brings us the scent
of grilled chicken
and I think
hey!
grilled chicken
can be an adventure
this way
I say
and we cut through an alley
to a street with
greengrocers
fish shops
sweet shops
and a tiny meat shop
where the owner and his wife
grill yakitori—
skewers of chicken
on charcoal fires
they’re friendly
not like some people
in this part of town
who talk too polite
or stare at us
with cold eyes
for being different
irasshaimase!
the butcher and his wife call out
what’ll you have today—liver?
and I laugh, liking that they know
what I don’t like
they lean forward over the counter
is she your sister? and when I nod
the butcher’s wife says
kawaī!—cute!
like a doll!
which Cora hates
but she smiles
plastic-like
and nod-bows
two skewers with scallions I say
and for the young lady? the butcher asks
we’ll share I say because
I don’t have money for more
he dips the skewers
into a bin of sauce
and sets them on the grill
my mouth
waters
as we wait
where are your friends?
the butcher asks
because sometimes I come
with Yōhei and Shō
juku I say—cram school
not you? he asks
and I groan because
the last thing I want
after school
is more school
already I have
English group
once a week
Japanese tutor
twice a week
plus aikido
twice a week
and now Cora
once a week
the butcher hands over
not two but three skewers
sābisu he says—service
meaning one is free
I hand two to Cora
keep one
and she whispers
we’ll share
the salty-sweet sauce
on hot grilled meat
is better than perfect
and I eat mine too fast
then stand there
nearly drooling
waiting for Cora to finish
her half of the extra skewer
as a customer approaches
the butcher starts his greeting
but just then a siren
splits
the air
Cora drops the skewers
and climbs me like a tree
the customer grabs my arm
and holds on tight
the butcher sheds his apron
and races up the street
by the third siren
I can set Cora down
the customer lets go
and the butcher’s wife collects
the apron and dropped skewers
fire! she says above the siren
and in this wind! she adds
eyeing dust and leaves
plastic bits and paper
flying through the air
come on! I say to Cora
even though the butcher’s wife is
dipping new skewers for Cora
let’s go! I say
even though seconds ago
I wanted more
as we pedal off
a car flies past
two workers
race from a side alley
a man in a suit
leaps onto a bicycle
from all sides
men head to the fire station
and rush to a fire truck
where the butcher
now sits in full
firefighting gear
the siren wails
the truck leaves
bells clang
more sirens sound
more bells clang
and shopkeepers
customers, students
even tourists just off the streetcar
stand still as snapshots
and in this wind …
Chapter 6
SANDAL
on our bicycles
we follow the noise
and all at once
we smell
then see
black smoke
rising
where the fire trucks turn
where the lane meets the river
we stop because upriver a rooftop burns
flames leaping
clawing, snapping
at neighboring homes
fire and rescue trucks
ambulances, police cars
cram every bit of road
or driveway or bridge
and jets of water
stream from hoses
then
sugei nā—cool!
says a voice I know too well
Shunta Mori
who rules han six
straddling his bike, his pride
all hand-painted with
lightning bolts and stripes
Yuki’s uncle’s house is right
behind the fish shop Shunta says
Yuki
who knocks me on the head
when I give the wrong answer
in class
does she live there? I say
no, idiot, I said it’s her uncle’s house
I don’t bother to argue
I don’t bother to say
that Yōhei lives with his parents
and grandparents
that Shō’s aunt lives with his family
because what I have learned
in one week with han six is that
Shunta is always right
let’s go closer Shunta says
no, it’s too dangerous I say
then immediately regret it
because as usual my words
don’t come out quite right
what I wanted to say was
we’d be in the way
wind could spread this fire fast
we hav
e a good view where we are now
but in Japanese
my words always sound
too slow
too formal
too adult
or too young
for once Shunta
gives me a break and
just watches the flames
darting in all directions
then he shouts
the next one’s burning, too!
and it is
ash and embers fill the air
people pass buckets
from the river to houses
others point hoses
to douse sheds and fences
rooftops and trees
the wind whips—
spray and smoke
sting our eyes
and I’m thinking
what to say to Shunta
so we can just leave
but then a voice says
bōya! oi, bōya!—
boy! hey, boy!
and an old man shuffles over
one hand on a cane
the other clutching
something under his arm
Shunta glares at him
turns back to the fire
the man comes closer
with his eyes on mine
he speaks but
sirens
people’s cries
Cora’s whines
blasts from hoses
the roar of the wind
take the man’s words and
send
them
sailing
the man shuffles closer
mumbles something
and nudges my arm
with a plastic … garden sandal?
Shunta jerks his head
let’s go! come on!
as if I’m supposed to
follow, pronto
I don’t, and when the man
sandal-taps my arm again
Shunta leans over
bats it down, and says
get away with that filthy thing!
the man catches it
stumbles backward
tucks it under his arm
and moves away
then we all turn to watch the fire
hear the house groan
and see one side collapse
in huge billows of smoke
but Cora slides closer to me
signaling with her eyes
toward the mumbling man
so I shift toward him
he totters toward me, and I hear
police … fire …
and this time I accept the sandal
baka—jerk! Shunta says
mounts his bike, spits
and rides off a ways
I ignore him
bend toward the man and say
something to do with the fire?
a guy … running the old man says
and now I catch scraps of sentences—
motorbike … house … front … this dropped
where? Cora says
yellow house …
he slurs and waves toward
a distant two-story house
Shunta returns
yanks my arm
let’s go! he says now!
so I hook the sandal
over my handlebar
nod at the man
and to Cora
say come on!
then follow Shunta
wait, J!
I hear
but I don’t turn
because with Shunta
I have to pretend
I just don’t care
Shunta leads us downriver
across a bridge and up the other bank
to a small park of tilted pine trees
from where across the water we see
smoking beams and rubble
charred dressers
and scraps of drenched clothing
like street litter after rain
a few flames flicker and leap
onto an adjacent roof
then the fire is doused leaving
only rising steam and smoke
we hear crying
see a cluster of people
gathered around a woman weeping
and a man covering his face
Yuki’s mother and her uncle Shunta says
then swears and spits
her uncle’s whole house—just gone
Cora touches the sandal
gives me a sly look
and I nod, barely
so Shunta can’t see
and say we have to go
Shunta sneers
you taking that sandal?
that man’s a fool!
and lets go a torrent of words
that makes Cora’s eyes bulge
I duck when Shunta tries
a parting punch
that only barely
grazes my arm because
I move but hold
my center
Chapter 7
POLICE BOX
we cross the river downstream
and pass the house we think
might be the old man’s
where a woman now stands
in front, hands on hips
staring toward the fire
we ride the riverside path
to the road that leads to the beach
and the big intersection
near where the police “box”
sits squeezed between
the post office and a flower shop
inside
the office has
a small counter
a few folding chairs
posters of those same-old
creepy faces of wanted people
and an officer who appears from
a tiny back office
the last name on his name tag
I can read 中里—Nakazato
I set the sandal on the counter
mistake!
what’s this? the officer scoffs
then brushes off the counter
lifts the sandal with one finger
and places a tissue beneath
it’s a sandal Cora says
I give her a silencing look
something to do with the fire I add
but Nakazato doesn’t flinch
an old man gave it to us I explain
he saw a man running from the fire area
and that man rode a motorbike
in front of the old man’s house …
and motorbike man dropped this sandal
we think
my Japanese sounds dumb so I add
somewhere there is a man
on a motorbike with
one sandal
Nakazato sighs
takes up a pen
so, the old man’s name?
Cora and I look at each other
we don’t know I say
we can go back to check Cora offers
Nakazato taps his pen
or if you have a map I say
I might be able to show you
and he stands and points
to a huge map tacked to the wall
I run my finger over
neighborhoods, block numbers
tiny kanji character names
for each household or business
the main road, the river, bridges
which I count up from the fire station
to the fish shop and the house on fire
then I follow houses downriver
and three houses below another bridge
where the lane narrows to a path …
this house I say, and it’s marked
竹村
Takemura
a simple name I can read
an old man lives there Cora says
his words are hard to understand
and he uses a … a stick—
she gestures and limps to show a cane
Nakazat
o jots down notes
anything else? he asks
I wish we had something else
but we don’t
he writes down
our names
our address
home phone number
cell phone numbers
and gives us
the police box number
please I say
please find that one-sandal man
and we leave
outside the police box
the five o’clock chimes ring
the groceries! I say
Mom’s list and her money
still sit in my shirt pocket
and by now we’re supposed to be home
chopping vegetables and starting rice
I try to swear gangster style
like Shunta in Japanese
but Cora just laughs
and for that
I take off again
before she’s ready
hah!
Chapter 8
BALANCE AND PERSPECTIVE
the next day the fire
is the talk of the school
han six is distracted
and Yuki is silent
never once
whacking me on the head
without han six moving my desk
or making marks on my papers
I can even hand in work early
and place it on the pile of papers
weighted by a bronze dragon
that’s been in this classroom
twenty years, so they say
the subject of the fire
comes up again and again
so finally Ōshima-sensei says
to write a reflective essay
or make a newspaper page
or sketch pictures of the fire
or do anything else to reflect
so I draw
the house and flames far upriver
and in the foreground, huge
a single plastic
garden sandal
Shunta snorts when he sees it
makes loud fun of it
and I expect the usual
bruising punch to my arm
I try to protect myself
find and hold my center
but the blow comes
from behind—Gō
my head rings
I want to punch back
but Shō and Yōhei always say
don’t!
it will get worse if you do
just hold on until next seat change
but seat change
is seven weeks away
seat change is not
until the end of November
my head throbs
but I pretend to laugh along
with Shunta and his gang
all crowded over my desk
poking fun at my drawing
my opponents
my attackers
too close
I want it to be five o’clock
I want to be at the dojo
chanting
stretching my neck