Free When the Cherry Blossoms Fell by Jennifer Maruno Page A

downward. The string shot out and drifted on the water.
    Ted put a worm on Michiko’s hook and cast out her line for her. As she watched minnows shimmer in the water, her thoughts drifted to her goldfish. She hoped he was still Happy, living with the people next door.
    Suddenly the water swelled, and a gaping mouth broke through the surface. The dragonfly hovering before her eyes disappeared. Michiko raised her head in surprise. Her bobber dipped below the water. She tugged at the rod, but nothing tugged back. When she reeled it in, the worm was gone.
    â€œLet’s try a minnow,” Ted suggested. Michiko closed her eyes as he squished one onto the end of her hook. She lowered it slowly into the water.
    Once again, the bobber dipped. Michiko tugged, and her rod bent. The reel screeched as she pulled the line toward her, and the rod nearly flew from her hands. “Help,” she cried out.
    â€œKeep the rod up,” Clarence yelled.
    â€œStand up and plant your feet,” Ted told her.
    Michiko rose as Ted grabbed her by the seat of heroveralls. The trout put up a tremendous fight, leaping and twisting, but could not break the line. Finally, when it could fight no more, Ted took the rod and reeled it in. The pink and black speckled trout barely fit into the net.
    â€œWhat a beauty,” Clarence said with admiration.
    â€œThat’s a mighty big fish for your very first time,” Ted added.
    â€œIt made me tired,” Michiko said, sinking down into the boat, “and sad.”
    â€œDon’t be sad,” Ted advised. “Just think of all that nice pink meat on your plate.”
    â€œMy ma would be real pleased with that one,” Clarence said with a smile. “That’s enough fish for a family feast.”
    â€œHow many are there in your family?” Ted asked.
    â€œFive, when Dad’s home.”
    â€œIs your dad at war?” asked Michiko.
    â€œNaw,” Clarence replied. “He’s a railroad man. He walks the tracks.”
    â€œI think it time for lunch,” said Ted as he maneuvered the boat to the side of the creek. As he moored it to a rock, he gave a long, low whistle. Then he beckoned them to his end of the rowboat and pointed.
    Michiko’s eyes followed his finger. On the side of the rock were several red-brown line drawings. One of them was the shape of a sun. Several looked like arrows. There were a few zigzags.
    â€œDo you know what these are?” her uncle asked in a hushed tone.
    â€œIt looks like someone was drawing on the rocks with their crayons,” Michiko suggested.
    â€œCrayons would have washed away,” Ted said. “I think these are petroglyphs, you know, rock paintings.”
    â€œWho made them?”
    â€œCould have been Kootenays,” Clarence said. “Our teacher told us the Kootenay Indians were sometimes called People of the Standing Arrow.” His finger traced the outlines.
    â€œThese must be really old,” Ted said, “Kootenays aren’t around any more.”
    â€œWhat happened to them?” asked Michiko.
    â€œWho knows?” Ted responded with a shrug, “Probably the same thing that happened to all Indian tribes, even those in Japan.”
    â€œIndians in Japan?” Clarence repeated it as if he hadn’t heard correctly the first time. He sat in the bow of the boat gaping.
    â€œThe Ainu tribe,” Ted said, untying the bundle of cloth that held their lunch, “still lives in Japan.”
    â€œDo they do Indian stuff?” Clarence asked.
    â€œDepends what you mean by Indian stuff.”
    â€œDo they hunt and fish and build teepees?” Michiko asked.
    â€œThey build houses like teepees,” Ted replied as he tossed Clarence a rice ball. “They put up three big branches and weave walls of bamboo grass.”
    Clarence turned the rice ball around, examining it. Then he popped it into his mouth. His eyes grew wide. “Good,” he