“Proceeds will not be given to the owners,” Ted continued as his voice grew low, “unless they can prove need.”
Sadie gave a sharp incredulous cry.
Ted lowered the letter to the table. “You don’t want to hear the rest.”
Eiko buried her face in her hands. “What do they mean by need?” she said.
“Let me see that,” Sadie said, snatching up the letter. She scanned it quickly with her eyes, and then read out loud, “Your Ford was sold by the government for thirty-three dollars. Handling charges for the transaction were thirty dollars.” Her voice moved to anger as she shouted out the words: “We will forward you a cheque in the amount of three dollars.”
Sadie waved the letter in front of everyone’s face. “Do you mean to tell me that you can’t get the price of your own house or your own car? All you get is three measly dollars?”
Ted took the letter from her and handed it back to Sam. “You knew the house sold.”
Geechan patted Sam’s arm. “We can never see the sun rise by looking into the west.”
“How can you say that?” Sadie screeched. “First they take your boat, then our radios and cameras.” She stood up, shoving her chair behind her. “They forced Sam into a chain gang,” she exclaimed, “and all you can say is, look the other way?”
Michiko held her breath, expecting her grandfather to rise and rebuke Sadie. But he didn’t.
Sadie threw the letter to the table. “I will never stop looking back.” She strode out of the kitchen, down the stairs, and slammed the back door.
No one at the table moved.
The letter lay in the middle of the table.
Sam planted his elbows on the table, settled his face into his hands, closed his eyes, and gave out a loud sigh.
Chapter Four
NEW TEACHER
Michiko sat outside the drugstore on the wooden walkway, hugging her legs. She waited for the school security truck. Whenever Mr. Sagara drove it, Kiko got an early ride to school.
Before long, she saw it turn the bend and stop in front of the church. The little students got out. Kindergarten was in the church basement.
The truck drove down the street toward her and stopped. Kiko hopped out. She wore what most of the girls in the orchard wore to school. A light beige cardigan covered her pink-and-white-striped cotton blouse tucked into navy slacks. Michiko wore a green corduroy skirt to school today. Matching barrettes held her short, straight black hair behind her ears.
“I wonder what she looks like,” Kiko whispered as they walked beneath the tattered awning of the Hardware Store School. The building sounded as hollow as a drum as they made their way to their partitioned classroom.
Michiko put her notebook on her desk. In the excitement of their letter, she had forgotten all about getting a new teacher.
Kiko lifted the wooden top of her desk and placed a small furoshiki inside. Michiko didn’t have to bring a lunch to school. Her lunch waited for her across the street. On Fridays she brought Kiko home. Kiko eagerly looked forward to steaming miso soup and tamago yaki, made with Mrs. Morrison’s farm-fresh eggs.
“I hoped we would meet her before anyone else,” Kiko whispered.
Michiko looked at the blackboard. There was no date. The bottles of ink were still in a line along the window ledge. The stack of textbooks was missing from the teacher’s desk.
“Are you sure there is school today?” she asked. But before Kiko could reply the clanging of the big brass bell brought the rest of the children running and pushing into the room.
In the bedlam of voices shouting and talking, Michiko covered her ears and sat down.
“Good morning, class,” said a strong voice from behind them. A tall man with a big smile pushed aside the grey government blanket that acted as their classroom door. He strode to the front of the room and perched on top of the teacher’s desk, waiting for the bedlam to subside.
“It’s a man teacher,” Kiko hissed behind her hand.
Michiko rolled her eyes. She could see that as plainly as the others. She put her face on her fists to listen, as the class sized up the bronze-skinned man with short black hair and chocolate eyes. He wore a knitted blue vest over a long-sleeved blue plaid shirt. A soft brown shoe with a single lace dangled from beneath the cuff of grey trousers.
“My name is Kaz Katsumoto,” he said.
The boys in the room all began to talk at once.
“But you can call me,” he said as he looked directly at the boys, “Mr. Katsumoto.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small piece of chalk. Then he turned and wrote his name on the board. Several of the boys continued to murmur in excitement.
“Good morning, class,” he said for a second time, when he finished writing.
“Good morning, Mr. Katsumoto,” came the murmured reply.
“Is that the best you can do?” Mr. Katsumoto said in mock surprise. “I heard more noise that that walking into the room.”
The boys at the back grinned. “Good morning, Mr. Katsumoto!” they yelled.
“Not bad,” he responded, “but not good enough to cheer on a baseball team. Try again.”
Michiko and Kiko looked at each other in surprise. This was the first teacher that asked them to be loud. Most expected them to be quiet.
“Good morning, class,” he said to them for a third time and cupped his ear.
“Good morning, Mr. Katsumoto!” the entire class thundered.
“The first task of the day,” Mr. Katsumoto began, “will be to determine our timetable.” He opened the drawer of the desk and removed a small stack of paper. “But first I need to know your names.” He walked to the back of the room and handed some paper to each person at the end of the row. As they passed the paper forward, Mr. Katsumoto said, “Match the paper perfectly corner to corner and then fold. Write your name below the fold and place it in front of you.”
He waited as the children did as told. Then he walked up and down each of the rows reading each card out loud. He stopped at Kiko. She had not only folded the paper in half, she made a small fold on the front, creating a trough for her pencil “You like origami, Kiko?” Mr. Katsumoto asked.
Kiko blushed and nodded.
“Me too,” he said. Then he asked the entire class, “Is anyone missing from class today?”
A girl at the front put up her hand. “Tamiko is not here,” she informed the teacher. “Her mother had a baby last night and she won’t be in school for a few days.”
Mr. Katsumoto nodded in understanding. “Please make a card for her,” he directed Kiko, handing her a piece of paper. “Even though she is absent, she is still part of our class.”
Michiko liked the way this new teacher thought. When the tall, gawky girl named Tamiko returned, she would be pleased.
The new teacher stood in front of the blackboard, tossing the piece of chalk up and down in his hand. “Now,” he announced, “we will create our timetable.” He looked at them all and asked, “What do you want to learn?”
This question took everyone by surprise.
Kiko’s hand shot up. “Our subjects should be English, mathematics, and social studies,” she informed him with confidence.
He wrote the list on the blackboard then stood back and waited.