Read Online The Street of a Thousand Blossoms by Gail Tsukiyama - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gail Tsukiyama
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icicles like ghostly branches hanging from the edges of roofs. For a moment, Hiroshi felt like a little boy again, his breath like smoke rising, as he stole down the alleyways of Yanaka. The sharp wind that glazed his cheeks only made him feel more alive. He wondered if this was what his
obaachan
meant by
unmei
, following his destiny.
Sudden shouting brought him out of his reverie, and he saw people spilling out of doors into the streets and alleyways, talking among themselves with slightly stunned, confused looks on their faces. He heard excited cries of “Victory, victory!” and snatches of conversations and foreign words that puzzled him more. He guessed it to be another war rally. Hiroshi rubbed his hands together for warmth and breathed in the cold air as he pushed forward through a group of people headed toward the
ginza
. He rounded the corner and hurried home.
When Hiroshi rushed inside, anxious to tell his grandparents about Tanaka-oyakata and the Katsuyama-beya, he found them huddled around the radio in the kitchen. The “Battleship March” blared through the room, followed by a high-pitched, static-punctuated voice on the radio repeating that the emperor’s Imperial Air Forcehad bombed a place called Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. A stern, worried look clouded his
ojiichan’s
face. The joy that had borne Hiroshi home disappeared as he realized that war had begun between Japan and America. Suddenly, his news of the Katsuyama-beya seemed small and unimportant.
4
Victories
1942
The war changed everything. Hiroshi couldn’t understand why they had less and less at home, despite the Japanese imperial forces claiming one victory after another. By early 1942, Yanaka’s alleyways were crowded with women and children who lined up and waited hours for meager rations of rice and salted fish. Each day more shops were closed and boarded up for lack of merchandise, while the streets were patrolled by the
kempeitai
. Everything familiar to Hiroshi diminished—the crowds of people who pushed along the narrow streets wore looks of bleak desperation; the fragrant smells of food, once so pervasive, were now only a thin memory as the war dragged on. But the most frightening thing to Hiroshi was the gradual disappearance of all the capable men from the neighborhood—husbands and sons, teachers and doctors. Even his coach was called to serve by the army.
At their last school assembly, Masuda-san, along with three other male teachers, stood on the stage and bowed low to the students, each wearing a white sash with a red sun on it draped across his chest. After each man spoke of the great honor in serving his nation, Masuda-san added, “And when I return from our nation’s victory, I will expect to see similar victories from all of you on the
dohyo.”
His coach glanced in Hiroshi’s direction before looking away again.
A month after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hiroshi finally told his grandparents about Tanaka-oyakata and the Katsuyama-beya.His dreams of becoming a
rikishi
had evaporated overnight, supplanted by the immediate needs of survival. Nevertheless, sumo matches with top-level champions were still being broadcast on the radio every week.
His
ojiichan
shook his head and grasped his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Hiro-chan. We can’t control our fate but I have no doubt you will be a champion when all this is over.”
Hiroshi looked away, swallowed the lump in his throat. At fourteen, he stood in that awkward space between the very young and very old men left in Yanaka. The loss of sumo practice felt like yet another defeat. Each day that his energy went unspent, he was left more agitated. Occasionally, Hiroshi still practiced his wrestling moves with his classmates Takeo and Mako at a nearby park after school, savoring the moments of pleasure, when the war felt far away and he concentrated all his energies in the corporal heat of the moment.
Classes were still in session, most now taught by women.
obaachan
meant by
unmei
, following his destiny.
Sudden shouting brought him out of his reverie, and he saw people spilling out of doors into the streets and alleyways, talking among themselves with slightly stunned, confused looks on their faces. He heard excited cries of “Victory, victory!” and snatches of conversations and foreign words that puzzled him more. He guessed it to be another war rally. Hiroshi rubbed his hands together for warmth and breathed in the cold air as he pushed forward through a group of people headed toward the
ginza
. He rounded the corner and hurried home.
When Hiroshi rushed inside, anxious to tell his grandparents about Tanaka-oyakata and the Katsuyama-beya, he found them huddled around the radio in the kitchen. The “Battleship March” blared through the room, followed by a high-pitched, static-punctuated voice on the radio repeating that the emperor’s Imperial Air Forcehad bombed a place called Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. A stern, worried look clouded his
ojiichan’s
face. The joy that had borne Hiroshi home disappeared as he realized that war had begun between Japan and America. Suddenly, his news of the Katsuyama-beya seemed small and unimportant.
4
Victories
1942
The war changed everything. Hiroshi couldn’t understand why they had less and less at home, despite the Japanese imperial forces claiming one victory after another. By early 1942, Yanaka’s alleyways were crowded with women and children who lined up and waited hours for meager rations of rice and salted fish. Each day more shops were closed and boarded up for lack of merchandise, while the streets were patrolled by the
kempeitai
. Everything familiar to Hiroshi diminished—the crowds of people who pushed along the narrow streets wore looks of bleak desperation; the fragrant smells of food, once so pervasive, were now only a thin memory as the war dragged on. But the most frightening thing to Hiroshi was the gradual disappearance of all the capable men from the neighborhood—husbands and sons, teachers and doctors. Even his coach was called to serve by the army.
At their last school assembly, Masuda-san, along with three other male teachers, stood on the stage and bowed low to the students, each wearing a white sash with a red sun on it draped across his chest. After each man spoke of the great honor in serving his nation, Masuda-san added, “And when I return from our nation’s victory, I will expect to see similar victories from all of you on the
dohyo.”
His coach glanced in Hiroshi’s direction before looking away again.
A month after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hiroshi finally told his grandparents about Tanaka-oyakata and the Katsuyama-beya.His dreams of becoming a
rikishi
had evaporated overnight, supplanted by the immediate needs of survival. Nevertheless, sumo matches with top-level champions were still being broadcast on the radio every week.
His
ojiichan
shook his head and grasped his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Hiro-chan. We can’t control our fate but I have no doubt you will be a champion when all this is over.”
Hiroshi looked away, swallowed the lump in his throat. At fourteen, he stood in that awkward space between the very young and very old men left in Yanaka. The loss of sumo practice felt like yet another defeat. Each day that his energy went unspent, he was left more agitated. Occasionally, Hiroshi still practiced his wrestling moves with his classmates Takeo and Mako at a nearby park after school, savoring the moments of pleasure, when the war felt far away and he concentrated all his energies in the corporal heat of the moment.
Classes were still in session, most now taught by women.
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