Free Summer of the Big Bachi by Naomi Hirahara Page A

by side.
     
     
“When are they going to open?” a heavy woman in front of him huffed.
     
     
“Yah, already ten-ten,” said a man next to her, probably the husband.
     
     
Mas steadied himself against the slippery wall. His back was still sore but now hurt only when he sat down in a car. The gardeners’ association had sent over substitutes this week, so Mrs. Parsons, the Indian couple, and the doctor were taken care of, at least the bare necessities.
     
     
He knew that it was unwise for him to be there for everybody to see. But Mas couldn’t hide now, not with the threat hanging over his head. One thing Mas was good at, that was reading people’s faces. If he came across the thief today, he would know immediately. Better for me to find him first, thought Mas, than for him to find me again.
     
     
He studied the line of people again. Amid all the bald heads and gray hair, Mas spotted a patch of red, like the fur of a wild badger. The badger went from one person to another. It was a young man, dressed in army pants and a black T-shirt. His face was dark, as if he were a gardener himself. Bright eyes and a long nose. Girls like Mari would probably think this guy good-looking, Mas said to himself. That’s what was wrong with these young people nowadays, thought Mas. No pride.
     
     
The badger had a notebook in his hands and scribbled something in there from time to time. When he came to speak to the heavy woman in front of them, Mas looked away and sank as far as he could against the hallway wall. It didn’t work. In a few minutes, the badger stood right in front of Haruo and Mas.
     
     
“ Sumimasen, my name is Yuki. I’m a reporter with Shine magazine back in Hiroshima.”
     
     
“You such a young guy to be a reporter,” Haruo replied in Japanese.
     
     
Shine ? thought Mas. Never heard of it. Yomiuri, Asahi, Mainichi. Those were the three kings of Japanese newspapers. And, of course, Chugoku Shimbun in Hiroshima. But Shine ? Kid stuff. Mas was sure of it. Only such a rag would hire a boy with a horrible dye job.
     
     
“I’m doing a story on a hibakusha . I’ve been asking around if anyone may know him— Kimura Riki.”
     
     
Mas felt his head go woozy. Had he heard right?
     
     
“I dunno a Riki Kimura,” Haruo said. “You, Mas?”
     
     
Mas’s mouth was paper dry. He merely shook his head. He hadn’t heard that name for fifty years.
     
     
“He was working at the Hiroshima train station when the pikadon fell. Went to Hiroshima Koryo. Hung around Kibei, American-born.”
     
     
“Well, Mas went to Koryo. What class?”
     
     
“He was born in 1929.”
     
     
“Well, thatsu about your age,” Haruo said to Mas, and, after meeting his dagger eyes, slightly lowered his head.
     
     
“I have something here that might help.” The badger brought out a manila folder from his bag and handed the contents to Haruo and Mas. It was a crude illustration done in colored pencil. A body, something like worms crawling out of his guts. Missing a leg, burnt black except for a white square on the chest. Whoever had drawn the illustration also had included a circle by the right side of the body.
     
     
“For the fiftieth anniversary of the bombing, our national TV station, NHK, asked people to submit paintings and illustrations from survivors. This was one that was turned in.”
     
     
Mas felt his hands shake. He couldn’t help but take in the power of the simple drawing. How the man must have suffered there alone.
     
     
“The woman who found the body was looking for her husband. She drew her discovery on her clothing with a piece of charcoal. She figured somehow his family would gain some peace to know how he died. When she returned home to the countryside, she even redrew the body on this piece of paper with colored pencil. She put it away and forgot about it for fifty years, until the NHK solicitation came up.”
     
     
“Whatsu that?” Haruo pointed to a crooked circle beside the body.
     
     
“We think it’s some