The Waking

1

They’re going to love you.”

Kara glanced up from tying her shoes to see her father standing in the open doorway of her bedroom. He had always been tall and thin, so much so that her mother had sometimes called him “the stork,” but dressed in a suit and tie, he had somehow lost his usual awkwardness.

“You look nice,” Kara offered.

“Nice? That’s the best you can do? I think I look dashingly handsome.”

She smiled, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t push your luck.”

He stepped into the room, his expression turning serious. “Are you nervous?”

Kara rolled her eyes.

“Stupid question, huh?” her father asked.

“Very,” she said, and then she relented, letting him see just how anxious she really was. “I’m going to screw it up. I know I am. I’m going to insult someone without even knowing it, or embarrass myself so badly I’ll have to hide in the bathroom.”

“So, pretty much like any other school year, huh?”

Kara launched herself off the bed to punch him in the arm. “That’s not nice.”

“No. But it’s funny.”

“It isn’t a day for funny. It isn’t a year for funny. Everyone in Japan is so serious all the time,” she lamented.

“Not all the time. Just most.”

Professor Rob Harper reached out to take his daughter’s hands. Kara took comfort in his touch and looked up into his kind blue eyes. There were small laugh lines all around them- lines he’d earned-but it had been a long time since her father had really laughed. A long time for both of them. Come July, it would be two years since the car accident that had taken her mother’s life and changed everything for the husband and daughter she had left behind.

“They’re going to love you,” he said again, more emphatically.

Kara sighed. “They’re going to be polite. That’s what Japanese people do.”

A look of uncertainty swept across his face. He cupped her chin in his hands. “Hey. Tell me you’re just having first-day jitters. Otherwise-if you’ve really changed your mind-we’ll go home. Nobody says we have to do this.”

Butterflies had been flitting around inside her since they had arrived in Japan and moved into the small house in Kyoto Prefecture, both of excitement and panic, but they had never been as bad as they had gotten this morning.

“First-day jitters,” she said. “I promise. Massive, gigantic jitters, but they’ll pass. I feel like Alice in Wonderland. But I’ve been dreaming about this all my life, Dad, and I know it means a lot to you, too. I’m good. I’m going to be fine. You just have to promise me one thing.”

Her father smiled. “What’s that, honey?”

“Stop talking to me in English. You promised we’d only speak Japanese.”

He slapped himself in the forehead. “D’oh!”

Then he stood a bit straighter. “My apologies, daughter. We’ve worked so hard, how stupid of me to forget.”

“You have many things on your mind.”

With a smile, he reached out and tucked an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “See? You are ready. They’re going to-”

She fluttered her hand dismissively. “Love me. I know. So you say.”

“I need to get to school for the teachers’ meeting. Are you sure you don’t want to walk with me?”

“I’m sure. I want to arrive just the way the other students do, and that means without my father, the professor.”

The new professor, she thought. English language and American Studies. The gaijin professor.

He bent to kiss her forehead. Some girls might have recoiled from such parental affection, especially at Kara’s age.

But she knew how fragile her father’s heart was-just as fragile as her own-and she would never spurn him in that way. Kara might be sixteen years old, an age when a lot of her friends back home were doing everything in their power to get away from their parents, but all she wanted was to stay close to him. She only had one parent left, and she had vowed not to lose him.

“Enjoy the day,” he said. “Live and learn.”

Kara smiled. To most people, the phrase “live and learn” represented a rueful acknowledgement of mistakes they had made and the lessons that resulted. But Kara and her father had turned “live and learn” into their private mantra. The words held no regret for them. They were a philosophy. A way of life.

“Live and learn,” she replied.

Her father gave her one final glance in which she could see his concern for her breaking through the hopeful, encouraging air he had put on for her benefit, and then he went out.

She listened for the front doors to slide open and closed, and then went into the small kitchen. They had cleaned up together after breakfast. Kara poured herself a small glass of water and sipped it as she tried to slow her frantic pulse. She breathed evenly, almost meditating, and found that it helped. For ten long minutes she paced the small house, rearranging items in the obsessive neatness they had achieved for the sake of local culture.

In front of the mirror, she unleashed her ponytail and then swept her blond hair up again, tying it back with a red elastic. Any time she caught sight of her reflection while wearing her uniform, she got a giddy feeling. Her school insisted girls still wear the sailor fuku, a navy blue sailor suit with white trim. The skirt came down to just above her knees and she wore a white blouse with a red ribbon tie underneath the jacket. Memories of Sailor Moon cartoons came to mind, making her smile.

Kara took her bento -the lunch box all the students used- and slipped it into her book bag, then went to the door. Taking a deep breath, she stepped outside.

A shiver went through her and goosebumps formed on her skin. If the school had been any further away, she would have gone back inside to put a heavy coat over her uniform. On the first of April-first day of a new school year-Kyoto Prefecture was still quite cold. Even so, the day was beautiful. The sunlight shone brightly on the small houses along the street. Miyazu Bay reflected back the blue sky with a purity that made her catch her breath. Kara had loved the house she had grown up in back in Massachusetts, but leaving an American suburb behind for natural beauty such as this was like waking up in some magical kingdom. She would endure almost anything to be able to wake up to this view of the bay every morning.

Taking solace from the day and from the view, she found a calm place within herself and started down the street toward the school, whose grounds sprawled beside the bay. Monju-no-Chie School looked more like a temple than any school Kara had ever seen. More than anything, it reminded her of the fortresses of warlords in the movies she’d seen about feudal Japan. Imposing, but it was much cooler than the almost industrial-looking schools they had seen in Tokyo and Kyoto City. Inside the walls of Monju-no-Chie, though, things weren’t much different. Strict rules. Japanese propriety. Hard work.

Kara could live with that.

Actually, she’d been dreaming about it for years, romanticizing the country’s history and mythology and spirituality at the same time as she ate up the new pop culture spreading across the world from Japan. Coming here had been a huge decision for both Kara and her father, a new beginning in a place they’d always talked about living, speaking a language they both loved. Nothing could make her forget her mother or loosen the tight knot of grief that her heart had become, but that loss had made Kara and her father realize that dreams should not be postponed.

They were starting over.

As she walked toward the bay, she stared at the terraced pagoda peaks of the school, and her heart began to hammer in her chest. Her throat went dry. Her new uniform skirt itched, her ribbon tie hung askew because she hadn’t fastened it right, and her book bag felt heavy even though it was only the first day of classes.

Yes, she had wanted this for as long as she could remember, wished for it the way other girls wish to grow up to become princesses. But she hadn’t given enough thought to what it would be like being the only gaijin girl-the only foreigner, the only westerner, the only American-at a private school with a view of the Sea of Japan. Made her feel pretty stupid, considering how many hours she and her dad had spent talking about it, but nothing could have prepared her, really.

The first few weeks, she’d felt like Dorothy after she’d just crashed her house in Oz. Adjusting to life in Japan had been hour by hour, an evolution-maybe even a metamorphosis- wandering around Miyazu City and the bay with her camera or sitting down by the Turning Bridge with her guitar. Now, with school starting, it would begin all over again. The gaijin girl. The few other students she’d met in town had been polite but not exactly welcoming. When she’d tried to talk to them about manga or music, searching for common ground, the conversations had been short.

They’re gonna love you, her father had said, so many times. Once they get to know you. Once school starts.

Lonely and unsure, Kara had still found her love for Japan growing. Ama-no-Hashidate-the natural spit of land that connected the two sides of the bay-had a beauty like nothing else she’d ever seen. Whether on a perfect blue day or a cool, misty morning, the view transported her to another place, another age. And the city might not be Tokyo, but it came alive at night with music and color. During the day, the ancient places still echoed with the clang of swords and the chants of holy men.

She’d make it. Kara wouldn’t allow herself to conceive of another possibility.

Picking up her pace, she strode down the street. Now other students were streaming toward the school from all directions. A pair of girls ran past her in a grim race. Two boys stood leaning against a railing, talking excitedly about baseball. When one of them noticed her, he tapped his friend and their conversation stopped as they watched her walk by.

A trio of girls stood on the corner across the street from the arched entryway to the school grounds. They wore their skirts too short and had their hair done up in high pigtails. One of them wore voluminous, loose, white socks that bunched around her ankles, a style that had gone in and out of fashion for years. The other two were listening intently to the third, a tiny, petite girl whose features seemed far more mature, in spite of her size. She spoke earnestly to her friends, but when they saw Kara, the tiny girl whispered something Kara could not hear and all three of them giggled, hiding their smiles behind their hands.

Ignoring them all, she crossed the street and went under the archway.

Kara paused and glanced back at the other students she had passed. None of them seemed in much of a rush except for a boy with glasses, who careened down the street on his bicycle and under the arch.

Kara stepped aside as he rode past her. His expression was frantic, but he spared her a glance and a bright, brief flash of a friendly smile, which made her feel a million times better.

Monju-no-Chie School had been built perhaps two hundred yards from the bay, set on a slight rise. The main building faced northwest toward the neighborhood where Kara lived, so as she approached she had the perfect view. The grounds were elegantly groomed, the paths meandering as though never intending to reach their destination.

To her right, a long drive ran parallel to her path, toward the parking lot on the west side of the building. Jutting off to her left was a narrow, abbreviated road used as a scenic overlook; beyond that, a long stretch of uninterrupted bay shore that provided the school with an extraordinary view; and then thick woods that ran up the slope and bordered the school grounds to the east. Over there, between the school and the woods, was an ancient prayer shrine that had intrigued her the one time her father had let her go exploring the grounds after they had first arrived. She liked to think about the monks who might have brought offerings there and what spirit those offerings had been meant to appease.

With a few minutes to spare, she followed the gravel walkway that led around to the left, where the woods came closest to the school building. As she walked, she noticed a secondary path she had not seen before, trampled by years of student feet. It cut away from the gravel and down toward the edge of the bay. She followed it toward the water, shivering as she entered the shade provided by the trees. Up ahead, she saw what appeared to be another shrine, but it didn’t look anything like the one she’d seen before.

Intrigued, Kara kept walking, hoping she was not already breaking some school rule. The bay lapped against the shore here and the view made her smile. She felt as though she could see the whole of the Sea of Japan if she concentrated enough.

As she approached the shrine, she noticed a scattering of flowers at the base of one tree. Descending the slope, she realized that there were other things there as well, drawings and photographs, small stuffed animals, and a Hello Kitty T-shirt. There were notes as well, many of them written to someone called Akane, and there were candles. At the center of this more recent shrine Kara saw a photograph. She crouched down to look at it, resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.

The dead girl had been very pretty. Just like back home, a teenager had died, and her friends had come out to this spot to remember her. For several minutes, Kara studied the things that had been left behind, but then she began to worry that others might see her and think she was intruding. Propriety was so important, and she didn’t want to risk offending anyone because that would reflect badly on her father.

She turned back up the path, wondering how the girl had died. With a glance toward the flow of students making their way up to the school, and the way so many of them still gathered at the front steps and on the grass, she decided she still had a few minutes and went along the path that ran between the school and the woods to check out the ancient monks’ shrine.

Someone had burned candles there recently. It was a peaceful spot, and she took a couple of minutes to try to force herself to de-stress. Her father said everyone would love her. That might be too much to hope for, but she told herself the opposite was just as unlikely. They couldn’t all hate her.

Kara had never been so nervous.

She turned and stared up at the pagoda towers of the school, a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over her. She tapped the fingers of her right hand against her leg in time to a rhythm that played somewhere in the back of her mind. She chewed her lower lip, fidgeted with her ribbon tie.

“You’ll be fine.”

Kara glanced to her left and saw a figure standing in a shadowy, recessed doorway set into the side of the school building. At some point the door had been painted over, and whoever had done the job had painted the door handle and right over the lock. No one would be getting in that way, and it didn’t look like anyone used it as an exit, either.

The girl who stepped out from that shadowed, arched doorway had her sailor jacket on inside out, revealing patches and badges she had sewn into the lining, some of which Kara felt sure said some pretty rude things in Japanese. Her hair was chopped short, a bit spiky and wild, and where it framed her face it hung several inches lower than at the back of her neck. In her left hand she held a cigarette, dangling it between two fingers.

It took a moment before Kara realized the girl had spoken to her in English.

“Do you think so?” she asked, in Japanese.

The girl lifted her cigarette to her lips and drew in a lungful of smoke, then let it curl out lazily as she replied, still in English. “It does not matter what I think. They will leave you alone. More alone than you want to be.”

“How do you know?”

“That is what they do to anyone who is different.”

“I would be grateful if you would speak to me in Japanese,” Kara said, in that language. “My name is Kara.”

“Sakura,” the other girl said. With a great show of reluctance, she took a final puff of her cigarette and then crushed it out underfoot. Slipping off her jacket, she turned it right-side-out, then bent and picked up the cigarette butt, slipping it into her pocket.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sakura.”

But the girl was no longer looking at her. Instead, Sakura gazed down toward the bay, or perhaps at the newer shrine- the one for the dead girl-which Kara could sort of make out from this distance, now that she knew where it was.

“Your Japanese is excellent, Kara,” Sakura said, without looking at her. But she had heard, because she no longer spoke English.

Kara gave a slight bow of her head. She knew better than to thank the other girl for the compliment. In Japanese culture, to do so would be incredibly rude and arrogant, implying that she believed she deserved the compliment. Her bow would be the only acceptable show of gratitude.

Sakura offered a thin smile in return. “We should go inside.”

They fell into step together. Sakura seemed very distant, as though she had forgotten Kara was even with her. The girl wore the rebellious attitude like a mask, but Kara had felt for a moment that beneath the sharp edges and hard looks there might be something else, that maybe she might have found a friend here. Now that hope began to diminish.

Sakura surprised her by speaking. “They haven’t caught the killers.”

Kara shivered and blamed it on the cold breeze off the bay. So Sakura had been watching her while she was down by the bay, looking at the death shrine.

They rounded the corner to the front of the school to see many other students going up the front steps.

“That girl, Akane? She was murdered?” Kara asked.

Sakura stopped and looked back the way they had come. “Beaten, and then drowned. It happened in September. The police questioned every student and every teacher. No one knew anything. No one saw anything. But there were so many footprints in the mud that there had to be five or six of them, at least, so there are many liars here. And many killers.”

Kara covered her mouth with one hand, horrified, wondering if her father had known about the girl’s murder, and if so, why he hadn’t said anything.

“Did you… did you know her?”

The breeze from the bay brushed away the slashed curtain of Sakura’s hair, and for the first time Kara saw that as tough as she pretended to be, the girl was very pretty, her features almost delicate. Her eyes were the color of brass.

“She was my sister,” Sakura said.

Then she walked on toward school and up the stairs, joining the orderly stream of students entering the building, leaving Kara staring after her and wishing she had worn her heavy coat after all.

The first of April felt awfully cold.