Fire Flowers by Ben Byrne Read Free Book Online Page B

out from the trees.
It must have its nest nearby
, I thought, glancing up the branches, and I wondered if I should try to search for its eggs.
    There was a jangling rattle from up ahead. Tomoko was standing by a little shrine set with offerings beside the path, the bell rope swaying. Her eyes were closed, and her head was bowed in prayer.
    She looked up and clapped her hands—once, twice.
    I began to walk towards her, but as she turned to face me, I hesitated. Her eyes were glistening. I desperately hoped that she wasn’t crying. It would have been unthinkable for me to try to hit on her, here.
    I cleared my throat. “Tomoko-chan. I hope you’re not feeling unwell?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œExcuse me,” she said. “I was just thinking of my mother. She always said a prayer if ever we passed a shrine out in the countryside.”
    Two statuettes of fox spirits stood on each side of the shrine, dressed in aprons of red cotton. As I gazed at Tomoko, a strange thought occurred to me.
    â€œTomoko. Is it really true that your mother sent you away to Tokyo?”
    Tomoko looked away as her face screwed up. It all became terribly clear.
    â€œShe’s dead isn’t she?” I said, softly. “You came here on your own.”
    She gave a tiny nod.
    â€œHow did she die?”
    Tomoko shook her head. “I don’t know, Hiroshi-kun,” she said. “She was sick. Something to do with her blood, I think.”
    â€œWhat about your father? Couldn’t he help? What did he do?”
    â€œHe was a doctor. At the naval hospital.”
    â€œHe could have helped her then, couldn’t he?”
    She shook her head helplessly. “Everyone was sick, Hiroshi-kun.”
    I frowned. “What do you mean?”
    She stared at me. “Not straight away. Afterwards.”
    I stared at her. “After the air raid, do you mean?”
    Tears began to leak from her eyes.
    â€œWhat was it like, Tomoko?” I blurted. “Is it true what they say? That the whole city went up with just one blast?”
    She held her arms very tightly against her sides. With a jerk of her head, she began to sob.
    I was appalled at myself.
Idiot!
I thought. This was exactly why we didn’t talk about such things!
    I hurried away down the path, my cheeks throbbing with shame. After some time, I heard Tomoko’s footsteps behind me. I finally dared to glance at her. To my relief, her face was calm now, her eyes dry.
    â€œPlease forgive me,” I said.
    â€œShall we talk about something else?”
    â€œLike what?”
    She considered the question. “Well. What about you, Hiroshi-kun?” she said. “Tell me about Asakusa. Was it really as exciting as all the songs used to say?”
    I stared at her. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Sanja Matsuri?” I asked, relieved to be on home ground again. “It used to be the best festival of them all!”
    Her smile widened. “Is that so?”
    â€œWhat?” I said. “You country bumpkin. Everyone knows that!”
    To my delight, she let out a peal of laughter, and I told her about the rowdy celebrations that took place in our neighbourhood every year in honour of the founders of Senso Temple—the swollen crowds, the bulging-eyed men who carried the three enormous portable shrines up to the temple, swaying and crashing into the narrow buildings of the alley as they passed.
    â€œAnd did you ever carry a shrine, Hiroshi?” Tomoko asked, her eyes wide.
    I hesitated. “Well, yes, of course I did. One of the smaller ones, a little
mikoshi
. But you should have seen it! It was covered with real gold . . . ”
    I blustered on, hoping to thrill Tomoko with exciting tales of Asakusa. But, the truth was, I didn’t remember much about the days before the Pacific War, those wonderful times that my parents had always talked about, of the golden wooden horses in Hanayashiki Park, the jugglers