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Chapter Text

Late July 1933, Humboldt County

"Kyoshi! Kyoshi! You all right!" Kyoshi was lying down. Her head hurt, and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. There was something gritty digging into the side of her face. She opened her eyes to see a high-cheekboned woman frowning at her in concern.

"Kirima," she said, and Kirima sighed.

"Ah, thank goodness you're alive." She stood up, put her fingers between her lips, and whistled. Then she crouched down again. "What happened? Sit up, here." She pulled Kyoshi's arm and she reluctantly obliged, dragging herself upright and bracing her back against a tree.

"Nothing happened," Kyoshi said.

"Nonsense. Your face is cut." Kirima put a gentle finger on it. Kyoshi blinked. "Was it Yun? Did he knock you—"

"No!" Kyoshi said, finding new energy in defending her husband. "I just sat down to rest. I must have fallen asleep."

Kirima raised an eyebrow, but made no objection. She stood up again and looked around, then repeated her whistle. After a few minutes, Wong came hurrying up the hill, the same one that had been the last straw for Kyoshi.

"Kyoshi!"

"I'm fine, I just fell asleep." Kyoshi struggled to her feet, using the tree for support. She took a second to breathe—she was dizzier standing. The sun was disappearing, she hadn't eaten since morning, and her stomach was churning. She took a step towards home.

"Uh-uh-uh," Kirima said. "You're through. Wong—"

Kyoshi realized what they wanted to do. "Not over your shoulder, please," she said to Wong. He nodded and got on one knee. She climbed onto his back, too tired to argue with them. Her legs hung almost straight down.

Kirima grabbed Kyoshi's skirt hem and yanked it up. "Don't worry about it, nobody's around." And off they went—not very fast, but surely, getting closer to home with every step.

Wong was nearly Kyoshi's height, and heavier than her. He was warm and strong and was carrying her just because he thought she needed it, ignoring his own fatigue from picking berries. A memory floated up in her mind, of a night nearly twenty years ago, when she'd worn out her legs chasing frogs.

She began to sniffle. She turned her face away from Kirima and stared into the dimming trees. She tried to be as quiet as she could, but it didn't take long for her brother to feel her shuddering.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He stopped and hoisted Kyoshi higher.

She sniffed openly, caught. She tried to think. It had been one of the happiest nights of her life. Her dad and her and nobody to interrupt. The cold, which broke like a wave against her sturdy coat, his arms, the fireplace and cups of tea. She hadn't caught any frogs, and she couldn't care less.

Kyoshi, now nearly thirty, held a sob in the back of her throat. "I miss him," she said, almost in a whimper.

"Who?" Kirima demanded. What was her problem? Kyoshi wondered. She'd only answered Wong's question.

"Kelsang," she said.

"Oh." Kirima relaxed Wong resumed walking. "You know," she said with her voice light, "I'm not sure if I've ever met him. Maybe you could introduce me."

They said no more until they were home. The rickety building had never looked so inviting to Kyoshi. She let go of Wong's shoulder, he of her knees. She slid down to standing and patted her skirt.

"They're home!" Lek bellowed. He had been sitting on the porch, waiting. Rangi whirled around from the back of the house. Kyoshi could see the relief on her face as she approached.

"Where have you been!" she scolded Kyoshi. Her arms were tight around her.

"I fell asleep," Kyoshi said.

Rangi stepped back and looked her over. "You're cut. Come on, I'll clean you up and you can tell me what happened." She took Kyoshi's hand and led her to the house.

"I'm sorry." Kyoshi knew she hadn't done anything wrong other than make her family worry, but Rangi's eyes seemed to order her to apologize.

"Momma!" Suki and Mingxia had come in the back door. They hugged her, and didn't seem to want to let go.

"I'm here. I'm fine." Her girls, her beautiful little daughters Kyoshi could feel her eyes welling up again. After all they'd seen, they were soft-hearted still. One day—with luck—they'd be women, and they'd have to face the world alone.

Where was that from? I'm tired, Kyoshi thought, just tired and nervous. She broke away from her babies and let Rangi drag her upstairs.

A change was in order. Kyoshi's clothes were dusty from falling. She shoved them aside and sat down on the bed—at last—in her nightgown. Rangi got a cloth, soap, and a bowl of water. She began to clean Kyoshi's cut first. It stung, but was overshadowed by the peace of being home, cared for, and relatively warm.

Rangi cleaned the cut without a word, intent and firm but also gentle. Kasuka came to check on his mother, and left. It was a rare moment in this house—two people having a quiet moment to themselves.

When she was done, Rangi ordered Kyoshi up, to wash her face and hands, and then back to bed. Kyoshi looked up at her hopefully. She wanted someone to put an arm around. But Rangi remained standing, in her full daytime suit.

"Don't fall asleep just yet," she said. "I'm going to call the doctor."

Kyoshi's heart jolted at "call" and relaxed at "doctor." She would not be further interrogated today. She lay back and waited. She focused on the window and the gray light coming in. It was lonely, she thought—after all her wishing for peace and quiet, now she was lonely.

Rangi must be outside now, she thought—off to the neighbor's to call the doctor. She stood up slowly, not wanting to fall again. Maybe in all the commotion, the family had forgotten Shizuo. She had to check.

There he was, sitting in his room. He looked up at her as she entered. "Hello, dear," she said. He did not smile at her, but she thought he was happy to see her.

She'd had a thought of combing his hair, but it slid from her mind. She sat next to him on his mattress. She realized too late that she was on his left, and that he could see her cut. He stared at it.

"I'm sorry I was gone," she said. "I'm all right, sweetie. I just fell over."

Would he believe her? Kyoshi's son only grunted—she couldn't tell. When she made her excuses to people downtown, they believed her, as far as she knew, but when she told her family truthfully that she'd been hurt on accident, they doubted. She remembered how quickly the police had let her go from their investigation into Jianzhu's death. She was too much trouble, too unreliable.

"Are you cold in here?" she asked. "Shizuo. Is it cold?" He'd taken of all but his pajama pants and an untucked shirt, but she knew that he'd ignore cold air if it meant he wasn't constricted. She thought back to when he was little, warm days when he could fling it all off.

She and Yun had been newly married then. Jianzhu's face would redden and Yun would roar with laughter at his son. He'd had high hopes for the stoic little boy. He'd tell him wild stories, not caring that he didn't respond. But Shizuo would sit and listen. He'd never been deaf. They only wanted to believe he was a normal boy behind his silence.

Kyoshi wouldn't cry in front of Shizuo. She knew he'd conclude, whatever she said, that his father was to blame. So she stood up and asked him whether he'd like to get out of this room.

He followed her out and made for the stairs. She watched him go, trying not to blame him. He hadn't been out on his own in too long. Or maybe he wanted to see his brother. She returned to the bed Rangi had put her in. She mustn't fall asleep… she must wait for the doctor….

"Kyoshi. Kyoshi." It was dark outside now—a lamp lit Rangi and the doctor. The doctor! Oh no, she'd not meant to fall asleep!

"I'm sorry," she said to Rangi. But she was not angry. Kyoshi rubbed her eyes and sat up, leaning against the wall and being careful of the hem of her nightgown.

The doctor smiled. He set his bag down on the top of a cabinet, found it too high for him, and set it on his chair instead.

"You fainted," he said.

"No," Kyoshi said. Rangi sat down next to her and took her hand. Kyoshi appreciated her company—it gave her the courage to talk to the doctor. "I sat down on the ground to take a rest. I fell asleep, and I guess I fell sideways. That's how I cut my face." Rangi's hand was warm. So warm.

"Hm," the doctor said. "Are you hungry?"

"No. I must be nervous. I've had no appetite." It suddenly occurred to Kyoshi—the tearfulness, the insensible sleep, the nonsensical revulsion—that she was going insane. Cracking. She stopped talking. If she was right, she didn't want Dr. Kishitani to know.

"She hasn't been eating," Rangi said. The doctor looked between them. "I meant," he said, "is there enough to eat?"

Kyoshi shook her head. There was nothing for the men to do but pick shriveled fruit and haul things around the farms, and nothing at all for Rangi and Kirima.

"Well. You may just have been hungry. Do you feel ill?"

She nodded. The doctor waited. "Tired. Queasy. My throat's hurt."

"Let me see." He leaned close, put a hand on her jaw to open it. He turned her so that he could see better by the lamp's light. She pulled away, disliking being steered.

"Taller people need more food," Dr. Kishitani said. "You—and the other tall fellow—should eat more than the children. Do you work?"

She shook her head.

"What about your husband?"

"I think he works in a warehouse in town."

"You think?"

"I know he did three weeks ago. That's the last time I saw him." She was looking at the doctor, but only out of protocol, not really paying attention. He opened his mouth but Rangi cut in.

"I thought you were here to examine my friend, not interrogate her."

"Right." The doctor smiled again. He got out his stethoscope, listened to Kyoshi's heart and lungs. "You have children?" he asked.

"Yes. Shizuo, Kasuka, Suki and Mingxia—Mingxia I’m fostering."

"Your date of birth?"

"November twenty-fifth, nineteen-o-three."

"Your husband's?"

"July ninth, nineteen-o-four."

"Your oldest child?"

Kyoshi's head was beginning to hurt again. "January twenty-eighth, nineteen-twenty. That's Shizuo."

"Your youngest?"

"January first, nineteen-twenty-six. Suki."

"Did they go all right—their deliveries?"

"Yes."

He asked a few more questions and began to pack away his medical things. "You have a cold," he said. "Be sure to eat, and call me in a week if you aren't better."

"Momma?" Suki found her as soon as the doctor was gone. She climbed in between Kyoshi and Rangi, going via the foot of the bed because she knew Rangi didn't want to be climbed over.

"Yes?" Suki's wide blue eyes were pointed up at her. Kyoshi smiled.

"Are you sick?" She was concerned, but Suki still adjusted herself between her mother and Rangi. She was usually in a more crowded bed. She might not have been tired, but she was taking advantage now of the dearth of elbows.

"A little bit," Kyoshi said. "I'll be better soon." She put her face to Suki's dark red hair. It was utter bliss here, as though nothing troublesome in the outside world could get past Rangi on one side and the window on the other.

"Are you hurt?" Suki asked.

"No, sweetie, not at all."

"Oh. Did Daddy get you in the face?" Seven years old and a master boxer in the schoolyard. Kyoshi patted her daughter's back.

"No, Suki, your Daddy would never hurt me."

Rangi snorted.

Chapter Text

Early August, 1933, Eureka, California

The word "uncle" did not mean much to Shizuo. Wong was "uncle"—all right. But Lek was also "uncle," despite not seeming much older than Shizuo. Kuruk was his "great-uncle," though he'd never seen what was so great about him.

Shizuo wanted to see his grandpa. The two old guys worked together at the mill. He made his way through the woods. He knew a shortcut. He sat down outside the mill. He found a patch that wasn't too wet. The sun filtered through the clouds, through the trees, and through his dark red eyelids. Los Angeles had been warmer, he remembered.

He waited there until the bell rang and the men flooded out.

Kelsang's head stuck out above the crowd. It didn't take him long to spot his grandson, now standing up on the grassy hill on one side of the path. Kelsang's face brightened. He tapped his friend, pointed, and the two men went sideways through the crowd. Kelsang cut a path, and Kuruk followed.

"Shizuo!"

"Hey, kid."

Kelsang patted Shizuo on both shoulders. "Where are your brother and sister?" he asked.

"Home." Was he disappointed?

"Did you come to fetch me?" Kelsang's eyes flicked around.

Shizuo shook his head. Kelsang smiled, and his reassuring grip left Shizuo's shoulders.

"Come on."

The three of them set off along the outskirts of town, where the trees cast their peacemaking shade over the path. Shizuo trailed behind his grandpa. The men were talking about the radio or something—quiet enough that Shizuo could ignore them.

Kelsang lived on the second floor of a boardinghouse. A bed took up half his room, a dresser and a chair most of the other half. The men were tall and broad-shouldered, making it seem more crowded than it was. The orange wallpaper was peeling gently around the lamp.

It was another home to Shizuo. It was nothing like the bakery, or Madam Qiji's, or even any room in Jianzhu's house. It was simply Kelsang's living there that made it home.

Kelsang shoved the chair out of the way to get inside. He and Shizuo sat on the bed. Kuruk sat on the chair but remembered he wanted coffee. He left to put the percolator on downstairs.

Kelsang smiled at his grandson. "Haven't seen you in too long," he said.

That was true. It had been a while. Kelsang had been working hard at the mill and Mother always said she didn't have time.

"How have you been? All right?"

Shizuo nodded once.

"Is the house holding up?"

He nodded again. The walls, the roof, what was left of the stairs, the still—even the stuff Yun had smashed Wong had somehow put together again.

"Good," Kelsang said. He looked out of the window for a moment. He seemed sad. Then he asked, "How's my—how's your mother?" Light was glinting off one of his eyes. He rubbed it and inhaled sharply.

"She's going to have a baby," Shizuo said.

Kelsang's head snapped around. He sniffed. "What! Another—when'd you find out!"

Summer—the days were long and Kasuka never asked what day it was as he did when he had homework. But the family had gone to church once since Mother realized it. "Last week," he said.

It was Kelsang's turn to nod. "I’m going home with you, all right?" Shizuo stood up. "Not now. I want to talk to her. Later. When, uh—" he glanced at the clock "—when it's five, we'll go."

Shizuo sat down. Kelsang looked at the wall and said nothing until Kuruk came back with the percolator in one hand and three mugs hooked on the other. He set them on top of the dresser and poured the coffees. He took one and handed one to Shizuo. He looked up and saw Kelsang's face. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked as he sat down again.

"Nothing wrong, per se.... Kyoshi's expecting another child."

"Really?" Kuruk looked at Shizuo.

"Yes," Kelsang said. He shuffled over the bed to get his coffee. "She found out last week. Shizuo, do you know how many months she is?"

Based on when Father had been home, it must be between one and four. Shizuo nodded.

The men both smiled.

"I bet it's hard to tell with such a tall woman," Kuruk said into the silence.

Kelsang sighed. "I don't know what she'll do with another one."

It had been a while since Suki was born, but Shizuo assumed his mother would do what she had done with her—with the crib and the laundry. There was silence again.

"She's tough," Kuruk said. "Remember when she took out that guy?"

What guy he meant, Shizuo had no idea.

"That explains why she was so tired." Kelsang rubbed his face with one hand.

"Yeah." Kuruk glanced at Shizuo. "Is your dad home?"

"No." Yun was either 'home' or 'gone'—either sleeping downstairs and annoying Shizuo's aunts and uncles or completely impossible to find.

"What? He left the warehouse?" Kelsang asked.

Shizuo could only assume so. His grandpa sighed.

"It'll be a respite," Kuruk said.

Kelsang shook his head. "I suppose. I'll see what I can do. Maybe the mill will take Kirima or...."

"I could get a job," Shizuo said. Kelsang looked at him in surprise, then glanced at his friend.

"You could," he said. His eyes flicked up and down over his grandson. "I'll tell you what. You be at the union hall on Monday night—six o'clock, say—and I'll introduce you to somebody. I don't think you'll like working in the mill. We'll find you something better."

"Six o'clock."

"Six PM, yeh. Wear your shoes."

Chapter Text

"You could be a stevedore like Tonraq," Kuruk told Shizuo. "You'd be good at that."

"Can you swim?" Kelsang asked. Shizuo stared at him. He appeared to have reached his limit. Kelsang took a drink of coffee and looked away, as one might back down from a cornered stray dog.

"Speaking of Tonraq!" Kelsang said to Kuruk. "How are your kids!"

"Ah. Tonraq's still mad at me, says I ain't fit to have the others back. I think I'll write them directly. Even Saki's old enough to know what she wants."

"She's—eight?"

"Nine. Spunky thing. She's just like her mother." Kuruk's fingers tightened on his mug. He was the first to finish his coffee; he tilted it this way and that. "She never quits correcting me—'I know better, Dad.' It's her sport."

He grinned at the thought. "Was Kyoshi like that? I didn't know her at that age. That've been—what, 1913."

Kelsang smiled too. The memory of his daughter eclipsed any present worries he had for her. "She was just the opposite. Not dumb. Serious. Seemed I had to teach her to be a child." He thought of Jesa. In twenty-three years, he'd never asked Kuruk whether he knew why his sister had left her child on the street. Now, with Shizuo a few feet away, would not be the time.

"Her mother liked games," Kuruk said, picking Jesa's presence out of the air. "Only most of 'em hurt."

"I see. That explains why your idea of fun was to fall in through someone else's window."

Kuruk laughed. "Even the landlady said it looked like ours!"

"Right."

"It wasn't like we were going to steal your rosary." He chuckled again. "I remember you chasing us down the street with your broom."

"I had you cornered, too."

"That was the first time we got arrested."

"I thought you were arrested in Kennewick."

"Us together, I meant. Me and Jianzhu."

"Ah." There was a pause again, a pause that seemed to stare at each of them. Kelsang's mind, as it always did when his late friend was brought up, went to whirring over what he knew, what he suspected, and how it might fit into place. Jianzhu's death was still an open case—homicide or accident? Patricide or a lookalike? A skinny boy of average height with brown hair and eyes was hardly easy to identify with certainty.

"I never expected a life this..." Kelsang searched for a word. "...wild. What boy would?"

With that, they both glanced at Shizuo. He was nearly crossing his eyes into his coffee mug, and they looked away before he could notice.

"If things keeps going this way, in a hundred years there'll be some Heiwajimas living a dime-novel life on Mars."

"Nonsense. It'll iron out. You've raised Kyoshi right. She'll come around."

Come around? "I hope so. She'd have no reason to continue a life of crime once Prohibition is repealed."

Kuruk frowned for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "You're right." It seemed he had something else in mind, and Kelsang wanted to ask, but again, some other time—Shizuo didn't like slights on his family, particularly his mother.

Kelsang cleared his throat and changed the subject. "We're what—a hundred and thirty days in?"

"Something like that. Found it any help?"

"He's better than Wilson."

Kuruk chuckled. "We're old. Aren't we, Shizuo?" He just looked at them. Kuruk had known him long enough not to mind. "I told Unalaq he oughta get a job at the CCC. He says he doesn't have time, it's five months between his birthday and September. I said he's serious enough to look 18. He's got to get some experience outdoors."

"Tonraq could do it."

Kuruk shrugged. "Yeah. There's a better chance he will if I don't say anything."

Kelsang chanced a glance at Shizuo. His eyes were on the two of them, but his shoulders had relaxed. He was just observing now, in that way of his that Kasuka shared. Kelsang had once thought him an intelligent baby for it.

They talked a while longer, smoked, and had a few games of cards, setting them precariously on their laps. None of them particularly wanted to part. Rain was pattering against the window. And what better way to pass an afternoon than with people you loved?

Shizuo stood, and, without a word, left the room. To use the water closet, Kelsang thought. But it wasn't thirty seconds before he came back, looking cross.

"What?" Kuruk asked.

"Home," Shizuo said.

"Oh!" Kelsang remembered now. "It's five, isn't it? Yes, I told you we'd leave at five."

"All right." Kuruk got to his feet by pushing on his knees, and stretched his arms.

"Sorry 'bout that, I didn't warn you."

"I don't mind."

They said their goodbyes on the sidewalk. Kuruk went his way towards home and Kelsang and Shizuo went theirs. Shizuo did not seem to be in a mood for talking.

The house was quiet. Shizuo tried the door and found it locked. So he went around the back. It was also locked. Frustrated, Shizuo had his foot on the boarded window's ledge, ready to propel himself onto the porch's roof and then up to the second floor.

"Who is it!" a woman asked from the inside. Kirima, Kelsang thought.

"Kelsang and Shizuo."

She opened the door; Shizuo got down from the window and the two of them came inside.

"I guess you're here for Kyoshi," the woman said with a dry smirk.

"Yes. Is she home?"

"Of course she's home. She lost the bricks job months ago. You here because of the baby?"

"I just found out."

Kirima showed them into the living room and gestured to the stairs. "She's in her bedroom."

Shizuo hoisted himself up the stairs. Kelsang hesitated. "Where is everyone else?" The quiet was strange. It would be strange even where he lived, where there were people all around and below him.

Kirima twisted her mouth to the side in thought. "Wong's asleep. Lek's in town. The girls are at a friend's house. Lao Ge I have no idea. Oh, and Kasuka—I assume he's in here."

"Oh. Thanks."

The stairs had not been fixed—now that he thought of it, Kelsang realized he was not even sure how that would be done. The bottom step was now five feet off the ground, the last one that had been supported by the closet. The rest had fallen away. A crate had been placed at the bottom since Kelsang had last been here. It was a rickety crate with ʙᴇʀʀɪᴇs stamped in red on the side. He didn't dare use it for fear his foot would go through. He got himself up on his elbows like Shizuo had done, and hoped that the railing would not come away when he pulled it.

Kyoshi was sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her day clothes, though without her shoes, gloves, or hat. She heard Kelsang's footsteps, turned and gasped. Her face showed shock before breaking into a smile.

"Dad!" She rushed to him, threw her arms around him in the doorway. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed you," he said quietly. He felt her nod, and he also noticed, as he squeezed her, that she'd grown thinner. She seemed reluctant to let go, but she did, and stood back to see him.

"Shizuo told me," he began tentatively.

"Oh. Yes."

"How many months?"

She sighed. "The doctor tried to tell me it was six—"

"Six!"

"I told him that was impossible. I'm not seeing that doctor again. He wanted to prescribe 'something to take care of my problem.' I told him I'd find a way to support it and I walked out."

Kirima had said nothing about Yun. As always, there would be no telling when he would be back. Kelsang didn't like to bring it up, not when he was here to make sure she was all right in the first place. He didn't want to ruin it.

He sat next to his daughter, their shoulders touching.

To his surprise, she spoke before he could. "I hope it's a girl."

"Oh? You want to have two of each?"

"I want Suki to have a baby sister." She turned her face away.

"That would be very sweet."

"To add—" her voice caught in her throat. "A little girl to bring some tenderness to the family." Kelsang couldn't remember the last time he had seen her this unwary and affectionate. She nestled closer, leaning her hand on Kelsang's shoulder. "She deserves that," she whispered. "To be a child a little longer."

Kelsang thought he understood. The girl who had been forced to look after herself before she was old enough to read did not want her fate repeated. "You're doing very well," he said.

"Thank you." "I'm not giving any of them up. You know what she said—what Suki told Mingxia?"

"No." She was not a child anymore, and comforting her was more complicated. The right words escaped him.

"I heard her. 'You're staying with us,' she said. She's afraid I'll leave her when the baby's born."

She held the fabric of her long skirt between her fingers, gripping as though to hang on to something and keep it from going back. "It won't happen!" she said, her voice rising. "I know I don't have anything, but—but—"

"I know," he said. He covered her hand in his. It was better to hold someone than something in times like this.

"You do?"

He smiled, trying to reassure her, though he knew he could do nothing substantial to help. "I think it was about this time in 1919 that you were trying to work up the nerve to tell me you were expecting your first."

Despite herself, she smiled. "'That smooth-talking imp!'" she imitated.

"I didn't call him an imp." Kelsang noticed that wherever the conversation turned there was something around which one had to skirt. At least it was easier than physically avoiding things.

"You did! You said you were too young to be a grandpa, I said so was Jianzhu, and then you realized it was Yun. You shouted 'that smooth-talking imp!'"

"Maybe I did. It seemed to fit."

"Of course it fits. Fits him even now." She was wistful, and Kelsang wondered how charming he must be when he was home that she could forgive his absences and think of him without a trace of anger.

She went on. "But he was more for a shotgun wedding than Jianzhu was."

"Well, he had one himself, and... you know how that turned out." There it was again—Jianzhu' wife, another awkward topic. Kelsang was glad she hadn't been mentioned back at his room.

They were quiet for a moment. "I wonder when she'll go free," Kyoshi said.

"Don't worry about that," Kelsang said firmly. "I'm sure she'll land herself back in jail within a few months." He searched for a reason for this to be true, found none, and changed the subject again.

"Shizuo's going to try to get a job," he said.

Her eyes widened.

"He offered. He wants to help."

"Oh." She looked at her knees. "He's sweet," she said. "Just like his father."

"I think it's just like you."

Chapter Text

[September 14, 1933]

Dear Mother,

Our situation has somewhat improved. Shizuo's found work on an apple farm (not the same one as the men Wong and Lek). Still, the fact that he is calm enough to work makes me lament the missed opportunity for schooling. It's been five years since we last tried to enroll him anywhere, and I don't think he can read his own name.

Yun has not returned. We have searched as far as Salem OR and Santa Rosa. He said something about catching a train to Vancouver—so I gather. If we have any time and patience to spare we will look there. Kyoshi's preoccupied with him. This is the fourteenth time in three years he has deserted her.

Fortunately, she is now able to eat and has begun to gain weight. Other than this, I have little to report. Not much beyond the trivial has been going on—"business as usual" for this crowd. The car had some trouble at the start of September but it was patched up and it's running fine now.

I hope to find you and Atuat well.

Sincerely,

Rangi-

[September 25, 1933]

Dear Rangi,

We are well, thank you. We are enjoying an uneventful time. There are many others who have it far worse. This is obvious from reading the papers or talking to practically anyone.

The time has long since past when I hoped Shizuo would get an education. Perhaps you could teach him his letters and numbers. He is fond of you. Beyond that, I wouldn't recommend anything other than finding the boys jobs. I'd say the same if you asked me before his employment. I admit, however, my dismay at the fact that a 13-year-old was able to find work where competent women could not.

The fourth month of pregnancy brings relief from fatigue. Your companion ought to be turning a corner soon. She has a large reserve of fortitude, yet I think you should take on some of her chores, so that she can rest for the time being.

Best wishes,

H. Sei'naka-

September 30, 1933

There was a hammering on the door. Rangi's ears tautened. It was too early for anyone to be home from work, and the sound was cold, like an official letter placed above a fireplace.

"Rangi?" Kyoshi's voice came from the back porch. She opened the door and stepped inside as quietly as she could, locking it behind her. Her great shoulders were tensed as though she expected blows.

"I'll see who it is." Rangi tried to get a look from the living room window. Somebody standing upright in a well-ironed suit, a cap on his head.

"It's a police officer."

Kyoshi exhaled a frustrated puff. "Police. Don't tell me—"

The cop hammered on the door again. "I'll have to open it," Rangi said. "Don't worry, we haven't done anything wrong."

"Where's Shizuo?"

Rangi thought about that. "In his room." She went to the door as Kyoshi scrambled upstairs to check on her son.

"Who—" a third knock "—who is it!"

"Police."

"What's the matter?" She kept a hand on the doorknob.

"Open the door."

She did. Whatever his purpose, she thought, they could surely get it over with. It would be over in a few minutes. The police officer stepped inside.

"What's the matter?" she asked again. She didn't want to offend him, but on the other hand, it was too nerve-wracking to not know why he was here.

"Where's your son?" he asked.

"I don't have a son. I don't have any children."

He gave her a hard look. "We arrested your son three days ago. You are Mrs. Heiwajima." He said it as though she had only forgotten.

"I'm Miss Sei'naka. Mrs. Heiwajima is a friend of mine."

"Very well. Where is he?"

"He's here. Why."

"I want to talk to him."

Rangi strode to the bottom of the stairs, acutely aware of the broken stairs. "Shizuo!" she shouted. "Come down here!" She backed up when she saw him in the hallway.

He leapt down the stairs and landed lightly on the floor. His hair had been combed. He glared at the officer with suspicion. In another few moments, Kyoshi followed, easing herself down onto the crate. Though she hid it well, Rangi could see the bewilderment in her eyes.

"Are you Mrs. Heiwajima," the policeman said.

"Yes."

"This is your son Shizuo."

"Yes." Kyoshi had a hand on his shoulder, both, it seemed, to keep him in check and for her own reassurance.

"Your only child?"

"No?"

"Where are the others?"

"I'll—call them." Kyoshi backed to the kitchen. The door opened and shut. Shizuo remained where he was. Nobody spoke. The cop's hands were in his pockets, and Rangi kept her eyes on them. It was an instinct after several years around criminals.

"Why are you here, Officer?" Kyoshi asked as she came back into the room.

"To check on you."

"What—what does—" Rangi grit her teeth, unable to stop her friend. "What do you mean?" Kyoshi said.

"To see that things are in order." The officer gave her a smile that caused her to freeze, her eyebrows knit.

"I thought you released him," she said. "Free to go."

"I'm not here to arrest the boy," he said. "Where are your other children?"

"They'll be here in a minute," Kyoshi said. They waited, the air a live wire. Rangi wanted to talk to Kyoshi, but decided against it. Then a clunk. Kyoshi jumped.

"Helloooh!" Suki called. "I'm home, Mama—"

She froze in the doorway as she caught sight of the cop, then snatched Mingxia's hand and scurried over to her mother. Kasuka followed, coming to stand on his brother's other side. "A cop," he muttered to remind him.

"Come on, don't be scared," the cop told Suki. "This is your mother?"

Suki had been around the Flying Opera Company long enough to mistrust a policeman. She stood still, keeping one hand tight around Mingxia's, the other clinging to Kyoshi's skirt. Like Rangi, she gave his belt a long stare, trying to see if he was armed.

October 3, 1933

Dear Mother,

Of course I am looking after Kyoshi. I wasn't raised by barbarians. You and Father were an example that serves me well. I'm doing all I can. I try to remember that I've never been in her place. I must be patient with her when she becomes irrational.

I'm afraid we are back to having two men only working. Shizuo was fired, and arrested, on the 28th. It was something silly—a fistfight with a colleague, I think. And two days ago a policeman showed up and had a good look around the house. He asked all about the children's father and why they were barefoot. I think he must have heard the rumors. It set Kyoshi on edge. And quite unnecessary. It was a Saturday; I don't know what he expected the children to be doing but playing outside.

Would you and Atuat be willing to move up here? We'd then have three workers out of twelve. Atuat could go out and work while the rest of us took care of you.

I apologize for this letter's brevity, but I've gotten to the heart of it, my purpose in writing to you.

Yours truly,

Rangi-

Chapter Text

Mid-October, 1933

"I had twenty dollars in here," Yun said.

The guard shrugged. "You say you don't remember the theft, maybe you dropped it and forgot."

Yun grit his teeth. They hadn't confiscated his knife, and he was itching to pull it out of his pack, but he had no desire to spend another two months in the Weber County jail.

He swung his pack over his shoulder and left without another word. The sun was high in the sky—it must have been eleven. The heat belied the cold of the desert nights. Yun made his way through town, to the train station. He stopped and stared at the sign. At least being arrested had let him know exactly where he was—not Nevada or New Mexico, as he thought when he arrived, but the northwestern part of Utah. It was a straight shot by train to Eureka.

And there would be his wife, anxiously awaiting him.

He found the ticket man, who was sitting in his booth, reading a paper. Yun cleared his throat and the man glanced up for a moment.

"When does the train come?" Yun asked.

"Eight o'clock," the ticket man said.

"AM or PM?"

"Both."

"Which way do they go?"

"Both."

"East and west?"

"Yep."

"When does the west-bound train come?"

"Eight o'clock," the ticket man repeated.

"Can I catch it tonight?"

"Sure." The ticket man looked up, expecting to make an exchange.

"Will it go west?" Yun asked.

"No. The evening train goes east."

Yun had tucked his knife in his pocket. He brought it out, flipped it open, and dug the tip under his nails. For cleaning, nothing more. The ticket man caught sight of it. It shocked some life into his eyes.

Yun had what he wanted, though. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and left the station. He could get his twenty dollars back downtown, or he'd make a friend and hitch a ride out of town like he'd hitched one in.

Kyoshi and the criminals lived on the other side of town, far from the train station. Their house was alone in a forest clearing, set in a dip between hills like a child spying on people from a bush. It was fitting, he thought, that she would hide away like that.

It was night when he arrived. How late, he could not say, but none of the windows gave away any lights inside. Both doors were locked. He tried to open a window, then knocked on the one to the living room on the off-chance that someone was sleeping in there. He thought of shouting, but didn't want to be berated.

So he settled himself on the back porch, pack under his head, and drifted off.

Suki was the first one out the door. "Daddy's home!" she shouted. Yun opened his eyes to see her teetering on the porch, evidently unsure whether to approach him or go back inside. He sat up and held out his arms. She fell into them. There was a commotion inside.

"Yun?"

"Yun!"

"He's back?"

"Where!"

"Right here!" Yun shouted, annoyed. Suki flinched. Rangi appeared in the doorway, a hand on either side as though to stop anyone going in or out.

"Suki," she said in a low growl, "come here."

She hopped up on command and ducked under Rangi's arm "Good-bye," Yun said to her. "I'll miss you."

She stopped and looked back, a look of worry on her naïve face. "Where are you going?" she asked. "You just got here."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "But your 'auntie' doesn't want you to see me."

Rangi opened her mouth, but then Kyoshi was in the kitchen, crying "Yun!" Rangi turned, and Kyoshi got past her. She pulled Yun to his feet. Her hands trembled. "Where have you been!"

"I've been away from you for too long," he said, stroking her face. She smiled.

"The only true thing you've ever said," Rangi muttered.

"I'm sorry," Kyoshi said under her breath. She picked up Yun's pack. "Come inside, we're having oatmeal." She said it as though oatmeal was a rare spice.

"Sounds great. I've missed you, darling." She squeezed his hand and went to get breakfast.

The whole company was sitting in the dining room. The table sat six at most, necessitating an extra chair and several upturned boxes. The big guy, the other skirt, Mingxia, and Shizuo all had the same look of wary surprise. Kasuka and the old man didn't care, and the smallest guy shared Rangi's scowl. Yun smiled as though he didn't see it and sat down between Kasuka and the living room's door.

"Hello, Dad," Kasuka said.

"It's good to see you. How have you been?"

"OK."

"Your brother behaving?"

"Yeah."

"That's all?"

He shrugged.

"Shizuo!"

"What."

"Don't 'what' me, you brat, I'm your father."

"Dad," Kasuka said, "he didn't mean it."

That was true—the boy had taken his mother's eccentric reserve several steps further. And he was young. He'd learn.

"You've grown," Yun said. "You have a girlfriend yet?"

Shizuo shook his head.

"I'm sure your mother would love for you to be under some other broad's roof."

Shizuo only looked at him. Kyoshi came out of the kitchen, biting her tongue as she tried to carry a bowl in each hand without dropping them.

"I've got that," Wong said. He got up to help.

"I got that," Suki said.

"You'll get burned," Kirima told her, pulling her back to her seat.

"Here," Rangi said.

The bowls were passed around, and they ate. The table was quiet. Wong and Lek left first, and the children went upstairs to prepare for school.

"Kyoshi. Stay there," Rangi said. "I'll do the dishes."

Kyoshi didn't seem as surprised as Yun. She folded her hands in her lap and made no objection.

"I suppose I should be off to work too," the old man said with a wink. Kirima rolled her eyes. He got up and shuffled out the door.

Not wanting to stay with the girls and get a lecture, Yun followed him. He'd try his luck at cards, see how things had changed while he was gone, and find a replacement for the acrid gin in his flask. These people didn't share their moonshine; he doubt they would if he paid them.

"Where are you going?" Kyoshi asked, opening the door as soon as it swung shut behind him. He smiled at her.

"I'm gonna see if they're hiring in town," he said. "Don't worry, we'll be together soon. When everyone's asleep."

She nodded, her head down. It irked him that she was nagging him like this, pressing her woes on him when she was his wife, there for him.

Yun was faster than the old man, and going in the same direction. He soon caught up. He tried to ignore him and leave him behind, but Lao Ge was harder to outpace than he was to match. They walked together in uncomfortable silence for some way.

"She's quite devoted to you," the old man said.

"Who."

"Kyoshi. She's fallen head-over-heels."

"When." Lao Ge laughed. Yun realized that he'd meant it metaphorically; his face burned. "As it should be!" he said.

"She has a soft spot for you," Lao Ge went on. "One she doesn't have for most of the world."

"Uh-huh." Shades of Jianzhu in this man, droning over and over about nonsense.

"You should know that it might not last forever."

Yun frowned, sparing the man a glance. He seemed amused. "If you stamp on dirt, it will only get harder," he said. They'd reached the main road. Lao Ge smiled, tipped his hat to Yun, and left down a side street.

Yun was home at seven. The whole family was crowded into the moldy house, the younger men having returned from work and the old man from... begging, probably, and buying cheap hooch with his earnings.

Half of the living room had been walled off for the secret room. The other half was left looking too narrow. Kyoshi was on the sofa, watching her girls send jacks flying all over. Yun sat next to her.

"You're not making dinner," he noted.

"Rangi told me to rest," she said. She didn't take her eyes off the children.

"Rangi never told anybody to rest," he said.

Kyoshi smiled. "Dinner!" somebody called from the dining room. Suki and Mingxia abandoned their jacks and went. Kyoshi and Yun got to their feet. She sat at the table, while he sat on a crate. Kyoshi turned to him. "I need to tell you…" she began.

"Just a moment!" Lek said. Yun looked around, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, you." He waved a hand. "We're having dinner. You can go to a diner downtown."

Kyoshi came to his defense. "He's my husband! he ought to have a place here."

"Not if he don’t contribute."

Yun frowned at the runt for a moment, then turned to Kyoshi. "You've been complaining, haven't you?" She shook her head, glanced around, and nodded.

"She hasn't," Wong said. "Look, you—"

Yun pulled a dollar out of his pocket and flung it at his wife. It landed on the floor while she stared at him; she hesitated before picking it up. "There you go," he said. "That enough? Don't get used to it. I didn't cause the Depression and I'm not the president, giving handouts left and right."

Wong opened his mouth. "Leave him alone," Kyoshi said, turning. "Please."

"For you," Wong said. The men exchanged a glare. Wong broke it.

Yun badly wanted to tell the lot of them to watch their mouths, but the smallest guy was out of high school, and not his to chastise in the first place. But he'd remember the insult, sure as anything.

"Your family treats me like dirt," Yun said through his teeth.

"I'm sorry," Kyoshi said. She was hushed; she'd brought him down those awful stairs to talk in the kitchen. Moonlight was dim, struggling to pierce through the clouds and the one window that wasn't boarded up.

"I pay my share and they still aren't happy. They're not your family and you side with them, Kyoshi!"

She huddled in her nightgown, a silent wall. Her usual rebellion was gone. She looked away and folded her arms low, as though clutching a dictionary close.

"Well!"

"Don't shout, it's late."

"Huh?"

"It's late!"

"That's all you have to say?" The ire was rising inside him, clawing at his chest, begging to be let out.

She nodded. She was bigger than him and her feet were planted apart. He grabbed her arm, pulled her one way to throw her balance, and shoved her. She toppled over, throwing out an arm but hitting her head on the range on the way down.

The click was his only warning. He ducked. There was an earsplitting bang.

With the stealth of a lioness, Rangi had crept down the stairs. She stood in the dining room in her buttoned-up pajamas, her pistol in hand.

"Don’t shoot him!" Kyoshi screamed. Her head was up, one hand groping for her bloody ear.

Yun tore out the back door, ducking low to avoid further bullets. He dodged into the trees. It was dark. He heard Kyoshi's feet in the yard.

"Yun! YUN!"

"Kyoshi!"

"He's gone!"

"Good riddance!"

"Rangi!" Kyoshi's voice faltered. "Yun!" she called again. He tried to edge further into the forest, but must have given himself away. Her footsteps resumed, coming in the right direction.

What the clouds couldn't block, the trees caught. Yun soon found himself in darkness, stumbling slowly with his arms over his face. Somewhere behind, he could hear Kyoshi still shouting for him, and Rangi calling after her.

He stopped when he was sure they wouldn't find him, stretched out on the mossy ground, and closed his eyes. Sleep was not going to come easy, not with the cold and his irritated thoughts—the question of how Rangi would pay.

Chapter Text

The clouds that always hung over Humboldt spat rain, then stopped, then resumed and ceased again. Mingxia poked her finger through the new hole in the kitchen wall and announced that the porch's roof was intact—water was not coming in.

Kyoshi had wrapped a scarf around her head and a bigger one around her shoulders. She was still in her nightgown, dirt on the soles of her feet from running outside. She put the oatmeal to cook and sat at the table, her head resting on her arms. She stayed there till Lek asked if she was making toast.

Burnt oatmeal did not put a damper on the chatter. Kirima had a plot to persuade the five-and-dime owner to hire her. Kasuka had a plot to get some bricks to build the stairs again. Wong said that would scrape the floor and they should just get a ladder.

"But bricks," Lek said, "it would look like stairs."

"And we need real stairs once the baby comes," Rangi said. "You can't climb a ladder with one hand."

"I was going to ask if your mother could do it," Kirima said. "What did she say? Didn't you write her, ask if she'd come up from LA?"

Rangi sighed. "She said we ought to stay where we are. She gave the mathematical reasons and all." She scraped her spoon around in her bowl.

Rain must be familiar to an English girl, Lao Ge thought. After deciding that it wasn't going to stop, Rangi went upstairs to get all the raincoats and overcoats and old hats she could find for the ones who were going to work or school. Kyoshi seized her chance to collect the dishes.

"Go help her," Kirima told Lao Ge.

"You deadbeat," Shizuo added. Such a loyal son he was.

Kyoshi stood at the range, a frown on her face. She hacked at the pot, trying to pry the charcoal off the bottom. She looked around. "This darned thing. You do it." She moved to the sink, and Lao Ge peered into the pot.

"Water," he said.

"And let it sit for a few days, right." She kept her eyes firmly on the dishes, both because she was prone to dropping things and to avoid looking at the bullet hole in front of her. Lao Ge filled the pot with water, put it to soak on the stove, and dried the dishes. Neither of them spoke. Kyoshi pulled the scarf on her head forward so he could ignore her face.

When the last dish was in the cabinet, Lao Ge said, "You know, my offer still stands."

Kyoshi turned to him, and he was happy to see her anger cutting clearly through her red eyes. "No," she said. "I don't want him hurt. Or poisoned. Or… anything."

"Do unto others as they would do unto you."

"That's not the saying! Don't you dare do anything to him."

"If you say so." Kyoshi had the broom in her hand—another kitchen task away from the rest of the family. Lao Ge decided not to try again to persuade her. Yun was gone, but he was surely somewhere in the area. He had never lasted only a day at home before. Soon he'd probably be knocking on the window at two in the morning again.

Someone had left a tire on the side of the road, with no mechanic in sight. A windfall! Lao Ge rolled it down the street like a child chasing a hoop. He sat on the step of the pawnshop until it opened at nine.

The owner was a stocky, black-haired woman. Her name escaped Lao Ge. He smiled, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Who would want to buy a tire?" she said without a hello.

"With your smile, you could convince anyone to."

"Pff. Fine. But don't expect much, and don't sit on my step shaking your hat at my customers all day."

The transaction was done while they talked. They knew each other well by now. "Your granddaughter must not be happy with you," she said.

"It's not her tire."

"Ha! I haven't seen her in a while."

"Maybe you did, and missed her."

"Pff. Where is she? Is she alive?"

"Oh yes. Probably she would scold me if she wasn't distracted."

"You can't afford to be distracted these days. You get distracted, you fall on your face." She inspected the tire, deciding on the price, then frowned at Lao Ge. "Don't tell me she's picked up your habit."

"Don't look at me! Her husband's causing her grief."

"Men! I swear there's dope in their sweat, the girls always fall for it. I got a cousin who fell for some good-looking drifter, and now she's gonna be a mother. Marry me, she said. And you know what he told her? He already had a wife, he says, but she disappeared. The gall!"

"Was this man from Washington?"

She crossed her arms. "So you know him?"

"We share a hobby."

"Another drunk? Figures." She handed him his ticket and money. "Take care, now."

"Same to you."

A sunny day, as they said in temperate climates. Things were going well.

Chapter Text

Mid-October, 1933

Dinner was oatmeal again, with hot dog that had been crushed into tiny pieces so that everyone got some. Suki sucked the oatmeal down and spat the hot dog back into her bowl when nobody was looking. She liked hot dog. She wanted to save it for last.

Kasuka was sitting by the window. He glanced up. "Dad's home," he said.

"Wonderful," Kirima said. There was a pause, and the door opened. There was Yun, his hat dripping rain. He took it off and tried to set it on the hat-stand, but dropped it instead. He swore and picked it up, but left the front door open. Kyoshi got up to close it.

Rangi stood too. Suki could feel the heat from her and sat watching, her spoon hanging from her mouth. Her eyes flicked between her parents and Rangi.

Rangi pointed a finger in Yun's face, making him cross his eyes. She spoke through grit teeth. "If you lay a hand on your wife again, you'll be sorry you were ever born."

Yun's eyes made their way to Rangi. He reached out and put an arm around Kyoshi's waist. "Like this?" he said. "Is this illegal now?"

Rangi balled her fists. "You know what I meant!"

"Rangi, don't be angry, he hasn't done anything," Kyoshi said. Rangi huffed and threw herself back into her chair at the table.

Suki had to strain her ears to hear her mother's next words. "Are you hungry?"

"Nah." Yun unwrapped his arm from her and put his hat on the rack with a shove, so that it banged into the wall.

"Then it's probably best if you head upstairs, dear."

Yun turned with a frown. "You're not my mother, you can't send me to bed without eating."

"You just said you weren't hungry."

"Well, I'm not tired either! Stop nagging me."

Rangi was back on her feet in a flash. "That's not how you talk to your wife, you unchivalrous—"

"Where do you think we are, King George's court?" Yun said. "Then why you try to get money outta me without giving me a say!"

"As though you care about fairness, as though you don't leave it all to her!" Suki could see the fight coming. He was unsteady, and working himself into a rage. Suki liked Rangi; she didn't know why her father hated her. But he did. Rangi would get in his face and yell at him and make him angrier.

"Rangi!" Suki shouted. Rangi turned her head.

"What."

Suki didn't like being on the receiving end of Rangi's ire. Mingxia came to her aid.

"Rangi, come back and eat!"

"Yeah! Leave him alone."

"Rangi!"

"Please!"

She looked from them to their parents. She grabbed Kyoshi's hand and pulled her back to the table. Yun did not kick the door. He was calm, somehow. He went to lay down in the living room.

There was no more argument, no ensuing fights.

Suki liked Saturdays. You didn't have to sit quiet in school or sit quiet in church. Wong and Lek were often home to play, and they were relieved that the week was over.

Today, however, the grown-ups were tense on waking. They did a kind of search of the house before deducing that Yun had left before anyone else was up. They relaxed over breakfast.

Suki and Mingxia made plans to keep building their tree-fort in the little dip a few hills to the west. Suki had forgotten about it till then. When it was done, they'd have a nice little place to go when it rained.

"It'll just be the two of us, I guess," Suki said.

"We could invite Jie to work on it."

"Yeah! And everyone else."

Shizuo went upstairs after breakfast and came down with his shirt tucked in and shoes on.

"It's Saturday, honey," Kyoshi said. "You'll need those tomorrow."

"I'm going to see Grandpa."

"Oh. All right. Kasuka—"

"I'll go with him." Kasuka got up to don his shoes too. Suki and Mingxia put their bowls in the sink.

"Girls!" Kirima called. "Remember the dandelions."

"We will!"

"We built it all the way to, like, how tall you are," Suki said.

Mingxia nodded. "We'll put a roof on next time."

"What should we make it out of?"

"Ferns."

"But they got those slits in them," Suki said.

"We could put metal."

"We'll ask Wong to carry it."

"And we can nail it to the tree."

Suki and Mingxia, one after the other, stood on a chair and dumped the dandelion leaves on the table. "Good work," Rangi said, and pulled out her book to check that the plants really were dandelions.

Suki was surprised to see her father sitting at the table. It was rarely this quiet when he was around.

"Hi, Daddy," she said.

"Hey, sweetie. Guess what."

"What."

"Your father's got a job!"

Kyoshi looked at him sharply. "You didn't tell me that."

"I was going to tell you yesterday, before all of you interrupted. And you were going to tell me something. Remember?"

"Oh." Kyoshi looked away. "I was going to tell you... that... Shizuo got a job in August."

"Oh. And he still has it?"

"No, he got mad at a colleague."

"Did he have it coming? Shizuo!"

Shizuo shrugged.

"I have no idea where he learned to fight," Kirima said.

Yun glared at her, and Suki braced for them to shout, but he just rolled his eyes and settled back. His arm was around Kyoshi again, and stayed there through dinner.

Late October, 1933

"Sit still, Shizuo. Don't move." Kirima sat behind her nephew while Rangi stood in front to prevent him standing up. He was thirteen and looked fifteen, and was too old to sport wild hair. He still hated having his hair combed—Kyoshi said it felt strange to him.

Rangi found him no harder to train than the other children, and knew he wouldn't hurt her. He sat the misery out.

"My turn," Suki said when her brother was allowed up, and Rangi ordered him to button his shirt. Kirima smiled. "All right."

"Look, Shizuo, it's nice," Suki told her brother. "It doesn't yank that much."

"I'll go with you," Rangi said to Kyoshi, who stood by the door with Kasuka and Mingxia.

"No, Rangi, don't bother."

"If it weren't for Henry the Eighth, we'd be going to the same church anyways." Kyoshi blinked at her.

"You've done enough. Really, I can take them on my own."

In the end, to general surprise, Rangi relented, and the little family set off for church.

"Shizuo, Suki, hold my hands. I'm not chasing you down today." Suki grabbed her mother's pointer finger and Kyoshi hooked her thumb around Suki's. She thought of the burns she knew where under Kyoshi's gloves. Why didn't she show them off? They were cool.

"We're hooome!" Suki yelled. A few voices answered. "Where's Daddy?" Aw drat. She was too old to call him that. Next time, she'd get it right.

He came home in the afternoon. This time he closed the door. He ruffled Shizuo's hair and went to sit on the back porch.

"Are you hungry?" Kyoshi asked again.

"I doubt there's any leftovers."

"No. But I could fix something."

"I'll wait, sweet thing."

Suki and Mingxia slept in the boys' room when their dad was home. Suki fell asleep on the kitchen floor and woke upstairs. Kyoshi had carried her up.

"You see how sweet your dad is when he's himself?" Kyoshi said.

"Uh-huh. I have two Daddies." Drat! Kyoshi only smiled. It was odd—she could feel sadness, like it was a scent in the air.

Early November, 1933

"Bang bang!" Suki took aim at the fern with her short, bent stick. Nothing happened, so she threw it. It ruffled the fern, but didn't even rip it. "One day I'm gonna be a leg-breaker," she said. "I'm gonna have a bat and nobody's gonna mess with me. I'll have a big house where all my friends can live, and I'll make sure nobody gets in."

"We'll take shifts," Mingxia said.

"Yeah. You do it when I'm asleep and I do it while you're asleep and Ren does it so we can play." They made their way down the second hill. Suki stopped abruptly. "We have to get the dandelions," she said.

"We can get them on our way back."

"Right." One more hill to scale. Dad had brought home some money for food, and Suki's stomach was full like an engine. There was there fort, hard to see because it was made out of leaves and sticks.

There was something black and brown sticking out of it—a foot!

Suki took a breath to shout, but thought again. She picked up a big stick and crept towards him. A young man was asleep in her fort. She whacked him with the stick.

"Ahh!" He leapt up, hitting his head on a twig and scrambling out the other side of the fort. Suki dived into it and brandished the stick at him.

"This is our house!" she said.

"You—you live here?" the hobo said.

She thought of yelling at him, but decided that since she was inside and he was out, they could talk. "Of course we don't live here," she said. "We live back that way in a real house with our mother and aunts and uncles. And brothers. And sometimes our dad."

"Your dad," Mingxia said.

"Where's your mother?" Suki demanded.

"I'm twenty-two!" the hobo said indignantly. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he forced his mouth into a neutral line.

"What's the matter?" Suki said. "Is the dope kicking in?"

He couldn't hold his chuckling in anymore. "No, no." He chuckled some more. "I thought you were robbers or sunthin'."

"We will be if you don't get lost," Suki said. And he went away, still chuckling.

Suki looked at her sister. They were both grinning. "Now I know what to do with this stick," Suki said. "I'll put in the entrance and put a sign on it saying 'no hobos.'"

"What if it's cold?" Mingxia said.

"They'll have to use it when we're not here."

November, 1933

Lek's head was down. He twisted his hands in his lap. "I'm really sorry," he said. "Stupid of me to take a chance like that."

Kirima sighed and shrugged. "Yeah," she said. "But at least Shizuo has a job."

"Yeah." Lek raised his head, though he didn't meet their eyes.

Suki had never actually been to a prison before. The walls were gray and looked like they needed a scrubbing. They sat on one side of a table, Lek on the other side, behind the metal bars.

Kirima dropped the three of them off at home and shouted to make sure Rangi was there. "I guess I should be off too," she said, and kissed the children on the head before leaving. Rangi came out to look them up and down and tell them what had to be done. Suki and Mingxia were going to wash the floor in the kitchen and dining room.

"I thought Mommy did this," Suki said.

"You girls are old enough to help out. Kasuka, you take this—" she handed him a thin piece of wood "—and fix the kitchen wall. A patch on either side, got that? You know where the tools are." He nodded.

"Just play with your jacks," Kyoshi said. "Keep your feet clean." Usually they bathed on Saturday, in the evening, but she'd made them do it early.

Suki and Mingxia settled onto the floor. Kasuka sat on the sofa with his mother and a book. It was an odd moment, with Shizuo upstairs and everyone else in town. Suki imagined this was how her classmates' houses were—not many people and not much to do.

Kyoshi rested her head on her hand, her elbow on the sofa's arm. After a few minutes she was asleep. She didn't wake when Yun came in, his arms were crossed. He wasn't smiling. He looked around the room as though it were empty, and he'd never been there before.

"Hi, Dad," Suki said. He paid no attention, but shut himself in the still room.

They heard no more from him, and Suki was soon bored. She didn't want to wake her mother. She tugged Kasuka's pant leg. He slowly unwrapped Kyoshi's arm from his shoulders and set it by her side. He sat with the girls to read to them in whispers.

Kirima was the next one home. "Hello!" she said. "Where is every—oh."

"Huh?" Kyoshi's head came up off her hand. She blinked at her sister.

Kirima smiled. "Good morning."

"Morning?"

"I'm kidding. You can go on sleeping. Kasuka, come here."

"I can help," Suki said.

"When you're taller." Suki stuck out her tongue to her aunt's back.

Mingxia looked at her. "You read now," she said.

They went to the kitchen when they could smell dinner. "I'm hungry," Suki said.

"Didn't you eat at Grandpa's?"

"That was only measly toast and apples."

"You'll get your dinner, don't worry. Just wait till everyone's here."

Rangi and Wong were the last home, the latter carrying that month's sack of flour. Rangi sat at the table with a sigh.

"Any luck?" Kirima asked.

"None. I even asked at the factory. Said they didn't need anyone. I tried the telegraph office, the tailor's, that shop on Russ and O Street...."

"Everyone's here," Suki said to Kirima.

"Yeah. Is your dad home?"

"Uh-huh."

"What about Lao Ge?" Mingxia asked.

"He'll show up if he wants to, he knows when dinner is." She sounded unconcerned, but not angry. Suki nodded. She should tell her dad that dinner was ready. He hated being left out of meals, probably because he was skinny already.

She opened the door to the still-room. It was going to be out of business soon, when Prohibition was over. There was a little space between the still and the wall where Yun sometimes slept. He was lying there now, on his back, his sleeves rolled up.

"Dad," Suki said. He didn't move. She squinted at his chest to make sure he was breathing. He was, shallowly.

"Dad!" She stepped forward, intending to shake him. Something jabbed her in the foot. She pulled it off the ground instinctively. Something clattered to the floor. Suki hopped back and grabbed her foot. "Ow!" She felt the blood. "Ow!" she said again.

"What's the matter?" Kirima called, and Kyoshi came into the living room, eyes wide. She looked between Suki and the still room. She shut the door on her husband.

"I stepped on something," Suki said.

"Let me see that—lay on the sofa." Kyoshi frowned at the wound. "Seems you stepped on a needle," she said.

"Was he sewing?" Suki said.

"Uh, no. Remember when my hands were burnt and the doctor gave me a shot?"

"Oh."

"I'll get some antiseptic—" Kyoshi said.

"It's clean," Suki said, pulling it back. She knew how it would sting, and the pain was subsiding anyway.

"She's gonna need some Salvarsan," Kirima said.

"Shut up!" Kyoshi snapped.

Suki was too old to nap. Napping was for babies. Suki wanted to be up, to be doing things outside. She always had. Before she went to school she would sometimes nap in the woods.

Now there was nothing to do, and running around inside got a lecture from Rangi. So she tried to nap again. She'd get Mingxia—to make sure she wasn't missing any fun—and lay down upstairs each day after school. Often Kirima would come in and sit with her sewing or whatnot, facing the door like a guard.

Partly Suki didn't want to fall asleep in her classroom and make the teacher mad. Partly, she didn't want to be there when the fuse wore down to nothing.

She was learning to eat quickly, like her older brother. She wished everyone could just eat and then talk to someone they liked. Or, as it sometimes went, not eat. They could not-eat in peace.

"I thought you had a job," Rangi growled.

Yun slammed a fist on the table. "There's ten people in this effing house, I can't carry everyone's weight." His hand went into his jacket and Suki ducked. When she looked up, he had his knife all right, but he was only cleaning it with an old scrap of cloth.

Rangi's hand went to her belt. Kyoshi stood up. In one quick move she had grabbed one of both their wrists. Yun was so surprised he almost dropped his knife.

Kyoshi panted as though she'd been ambushed. When she'd caught her breath, she raised her head and looked at each of them in turn. For a moment she had no words. "Can't you—can't you—it's—you used to be friends!"

She flung their hands away from her and sat back down. Rangi opened her mouth, but ended up just crossing her arms.

Sometimes Kasuka was the sentry while his sisters napped, and sometimes he took one too, but Suki always had the feeling that he was "keeping an eye open" even then. She knew he was easier to wake than Mingxia was.

He was the one who woke when the house was empty and Yun tried to push Kyoshi down the stairs, and the one who offered to call the doctor, and the one who told his aunts and uncles that Yun had been punched in the chest by a random thug.

Early December, 1933

A monster chased Suki through the woods. Something terrible that she couldn't see was right behind her. She had no sister to hold her hand, no mama or brother to punch the thing's lights out. No uncle or aunt to wheel and deal to make everything right. She did not run into the trees but felt she would run into something, soon. She looked behind her and almost saw it.

She woke in the same darkness. When she put out an arm, it landed on someone's chest. Shizuo was still asleep next to her. There was no monster, she knew that, but she wanted someone to tell her so. Suki carefully wiggled out from under the blanket and tiptoed around everyone's feet to get to the door.

Suki stopped in the hall to listen. There were voices coming from one of the rooms. Her parents' voices, Suki knew, though she couldn't make out the words. As she got closer, her ears adjusted. She paused at the doorknob. She knew to knock before going into a closed room, and she was a big girl—she wasn't too scared of her imaginary monster. She listened.

"That hag at the pawn shop—"

"Go to sleep."

A soft thump, thump, thump, and creaking from the floorboards. Someone was walking around. "She can't keep her mouth shut to save her life. She had the gall to call me—Kyoshi!"

"Uhn?"

"Were you asleep!"

"Uh-huh."

There was a thud. Kyoshi grunted. Suki pulled her hand away from the door. Mama was a big strong woman, she told herself. She'd killed gangsters with her bare hands. She would be fine.

"It's late...."

"Oh yeah?" Another thunk. "I'm your husband, you got to listen to me!" Suki couldn't remember what furniture was in that room but imagined it cracking next. She heard Kyoshi's urgent whisper: "Don't kick me there." Another thud and Yun swore at her.

"Agh!" A dull thud. She supposed that was him falling. But he was never down for long. Kyoshi gasped.

"I said don't! Honey, don't kick the baby!"

There was a pause. "What was that?"

"The baby. Don't kick the—"

"What, in there? You didn't tell me?"

"I was going to tell you the day you came home—"

"You hesitated! Why was that, huh? What are you hiding!"

"Nothing! No!"

"Let go, you stupid—I'm onto you. Well, if it isn't mine, you can't expect me to—" Something hard hit the floor. Somebody's head.

"I'm sorry," Kyoshi said. "Please, if Rangi hears—"

Had she? Suki looked around, but there was no lady with a gun. Suki pointed her fingers, pretending she had one of her own. She could be the big lady, the defender. Bang bang, she thought. She didn't dare say it.

"I know, she wants me dead."

"No..."

"Don't be stupid, you heard her."

"Ow!"

"Shut up, you want me dead too?"

Kyoshi went quiet, and the thuds did not. Suki understood. Rangi would shoot again if she knew. Kyoshi couldn't call any aid without risking Yun's life. But Suki was here, and she could keep a secret. She raised her fist and knocked on the door.

"She heard you!" Kyoshi said.

"No she didn't. Or else she'd come in here and blow my brains out."

"She just knocked." The thuds stopped. Suki's clenched jaw eased.

"Somebody knocked?"

"Didn't you hear it?"

The door flew open. Suki took a step back, then reprimanded herself for cowardice. She lunged forward and punched her father in the stomach. The softest part, which was not as soft as she expected.

A hand came down on her head, grabbed her hair. Her face was forced up and there was a crack and a pain that seized her whole head. She stayed on her feet, though her eyes closed against her will. Then the hand let her go, and Kyoshi was on her knees in front of her. "Oh, darling...."

"He hit me," Suki said. She leaned onto her mother. She lifted her up and carried her into the room, closing the door and bolting it behind her. She pulled the sheets off the bed, threw them on the floor, and sat on the mattress with Suki, cradling her in her lap and rocking like people did with babies.

"Is the baby OK?" Suki asked. "Did he kick it?"

"The baby's fine. He didn't mean to," Kyoshi said. She squinted at Suki's face in the dark.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Are you all right?" Kyoshi asked.

"I can take a licking from any bully," Suki said. She was too old to not show her mother a brave face. "And I got him too, did you see?"

"I saw.... Your father's not a bully, Suki. He's very nice. It's not his choice to do these things."

"Well, Kuruk told me—he told me...." She tried to remember what he had said.

"I know my own husband better than he does."

"Dad hit me."

"I'm sorry. He didn't mean to, OK?" Kyoshi kissed her daughter on her slapped cheek. "Didn't mean to, didn't mean to..." she repeated like a lullaby. "Your daddy was a wonderful young man. We met when Jianzhu brought him home."

"Because his momma didn't want him." Suki had heard the story before. "She didn't want him 'cause he was too mean." Kyoshi tensed and went on.

"His momma didn't want him," she said firmly, "because she would rather steal things and drink than take care of her baby."

"Nobody likes their mother-in-law," Suki said. Her teacher had told her that.

Kyoshi smiled. "Yun wasn't like his parents, he wanted to be a good husband."

"When."

"When Shizuo and Kasuka were little."

"Before I was born?"

"Yep." As far as Suki was concerned, anything that happened before she was born didn't count.

"And after I was born he became bad and he kicked you."

"No! It had nothing to do with you. You were still in my tummy when he went to work on the boat."

"What boat."

"The bad gangsters' boat. And that's where he got all his bad habits." Kyoshi hugged her daughter close, as though to shield her from the thought of bad habits.

"And the rest," Suki said, "is history."

"That's right." They were quiet for a minute. Suki could feel her mother's heartbeat through her nightgown, the one that still had the coffee stains on the shoulder. Suki was getting sleepy again, but she didn't want to go back to bed. She wanted to play outside. She wished it was light.

"Where's Dad?"

"I think he went outside."

"Is he gone again?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

"Make it light."

"Why?"

"I'm bored."

Kyoshi laughed.

The teacher frowned at Suki, making her fear she was in trouble. But Miss Yoshino couldn't know what Suki had done. She avoided her eye and got out into the recess yard.

"Why are you in trouble?" Yuuka asked.

"I'm not in trouble."

"You got a red cheek."

Suki put a hand to it. It didn't hurt so bad now. "My dad slapped me," she said. "Because I said he was a bully."

"Oh."

"I stayed on my feet and socked him in the stomach. Then he beat it. Straight outta the house."

"Wow."

"Your daddy's a criminal," Pei said.

"Yeah. I know."

Beatings didn't bother Shizuo. Suki was sure if he'd stepped on a needle nobody would ever know. But disappointment—he somehow wasn't used to that. Rangi set her switch down and folded her arms. Shizuo blinked hard, staring at the wall. People said he was dumb. He knew, though, exactly what he'd done, and that it was his fault that things would get harder.

"If you don't have another job by Tuesday, you're going to school," Rangi said. Suki could hear the fury, barely covered in her voice. "And we'll see if you can shape up there."

He nodded.

Suki had never seen either of her brothers cry before.

"Three strikes and you're out." The shopkeeper stood over her, the sugar she'd stolen in his hand.

Suki trembled. She'd never been in trouble this bad before. "Are you going to call the cops?" she asked. Her voice came out squeakier than she intended.

"No," he said. "Not today. But I will if you steal anything again. Got that? This is your last time."

She nodded, her eyes stinging, and hurried out.

She couldn't tell Mingxia why she didn't want to go there, so she clenched her fists and went along, trying to disappear behind Kasuka. Then she got a better idea—she held up her quarter so the shopkeeper knew she had it. In fact, they each had one. A whole dollar to get whatever they liked.

"Good," he said. "Where'd you get that?"

"Lao Ge," she said.

"Grandpa gave you that?"

She nodded.

"Well, at least you aren't stealing."

Christmas Day was bright and rainy. Suki woke in the dark and waited until she couldn't wait anymore, and then sneaked out of bed and looked out the window. Now, she thought, after going without for so long, Santa had brought something for them. She bounced on her toes.

She wasn't supposed to wake people up, so she hummed as quietly as she could to herself—jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way... what if it was "jungle bells" instead? She imagined a sleigh in the Brazilian savanna.

Rangi woke next, thirty seconds after the alarm clock failed to ring. "Suki," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"It's Christmas!"

"I know. Why don't you go downstairs and see what you got?"

Suki leaped down the stairs, landing and springing up on her toes like a cat. To her left was the living room; to her right, the dining room and behind that, the kitchen. She decided to check the still-room first. It was empty. There weren't even any needles on the floor.

She looked under the sofa next. Nothing but dust. The dining room was just the dining room, and the closet that held the stairs up had linens, as always.

She shook Rangi. "What! I'm awake."

"I can't find Santa Claus's presents. Did—did he come?"

"Shh. Of course he came." Rangi got up and followed Suki downstairs.

"I think it might be in the cupboards," she told her auntie, pointing. "Can you look, Rangi?"

Rangi looked, moving aside the food. "Hm," she said.

"Hey!" Mingxia had come down the stairs and was standing in the dining room. "Are you looking for the presents?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Maybe they're in the boys' room."

"He's always left them downstairs before," Rangi said. "Keep looking."

"What about when we lived in the apartment?"

"Always downstairs in this house." Rangi went to search the backyard, while Suki took the cushions off the sofa.

"Aha!" Mingxia called from the dining room. Suki ran in to see one of the crate-seats overturned. There was some candy and a little cake sitting in the middle of a long coil of rope. Rangi was in the kitchen. She smiled. "Look, there's a sweet for each of you," she said.

"Just for us kids?" Mingxia asked. There were four.

"Oh yes. We're too old to get presents from Father Christmas."

"And we gotta split the pastry in four," Suki said, frowning at it. It wasn't symmetrical—how would they do this?

"In half," Rangi said. "That's for you two."

"How do you know?" Suki asked, though she knew she shouldn't argue with it.

"Santa told me last night." She got out a knife and began cutting potatoes.

"You saw Santa?"

"Yep."

"What was he like?" Mingxia liked.

"Big and merry, just as you'd expect."

Pretty soon the rest of the family was downstairs, and the boys had eaten their candy. Breakfast was boiled potatoes and margarine, and Suki and Mingxia were saving their candy for dessert. Rangi had put the pastry on a high shelf for later.

Kyoshi looked all through the house, and around, too before she settled down at the table.

"Are you looking for Yun?" Kirima asked. Kyoshi didn't answer. "Come on, don't be disappointed. When has he been reliable? Last time he slept through it. We'll have a good time on our own."

"On our own," Kasuka said, "just the... nine of us."

Suki was fiddling with the rope to avoid looking at her candy. "I wonder why we got a rope," she said to Mingxia. "And with the knots at the end."

"That looks like a jump-rope," Wong said.

"Ohh."

"If you have another one, you can play double-dutch."

"Double-dutch," Mingxia said as though it were the school principal.

After breakfast, it was time for church. In the backseat of the auto was a bottle of milk and custard cup. "Take those inside," Rangi told the boys. "And don't eat them!"

Six people could sit side-by-side in the car. Suki sat on Kirima's lap, Mingxia on Rangi's, and Kasuka on Shizuo's. Suki was in front, watching everything rushing up at her.

They met Grandpa at church, and he had something for them; on the way back Kasuka sat on his mother's lap and Shizuo on Grandpa's. Wong had the something-for-them, which turned out to be bacon, but halfway home he shoved it to Lao Ge.

Shizuo did not want to give the milk bottle back. He reasoned that, because it had arrived on a sleigh and not from the milkman, he should give it back when the sleigh came around again. He kept the bottle as a memento of sorts, a decoration for his room. Rangi washed it and, to Suki's surprise, allowed it for the time being.

The time being lasted three days. Yun had not returned, and Kyoshi was convinced that he was still around. Indeed, she found him, and told him to come home. A fight broke out right in the street.

Suki didn't know all that on the twenty-eighth. All she knew was that, when she came home from school, there was a policeman standing in front of her stairs. Kyoshi sat at the table, her face in her hands. Suki's first thought was that somebody was dead. She stopped.

"You three," the policeman said. "Pack your things."

"Where's Dad?" Suki asked.

"Get your things!"

"He's fine," Kyoshi said, not raising her head. "Please—just pack."

"Where are we going?" Suki asked.

"You're going to an orphanage," the policeman said, "where you can be looked after properly."

Chapter Text

28 December, 1933

"Why are we being arrested?" Suki asked. Her lip was trembling; her blue eyes were fixed on the house until they could no longer see it.

"We're not being arrested," Kasuka said. Shizuo was the only one handcuffed, and that was precautionary.

"Yes we are! He knows—they—" She leaned in, then looked at the cops in the front seat and shook her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and after a moment of sputtering from the back of her throat she curled into a corner with Mingxia. Their bags were next to them and on the floor like walls.

Shizuo's eyes, Kasuka saw, were dry but misty, as though he had just woken and could not yet name where he was. Nonetheless, he was very still, obeying his mother's parting command: "Be good. Don't give them reason to hurt you, Shizuo."

The car bumped into town. Somehow riding in the family's rickety, overflowing auto was less frightening than this. There were only seven of them in this car. They drove to a side of town Kasuka had scarcely had reason to visit—not near church, Grandpa, or the grocery store.

They stopped in front of a gray brick building, a three-story place with green curtains hiding some of the rooms. The cop on the shotgun side got out and went inside. Shizuo looked up and stared out the window, and his siblings followed suit, craning their necks to see. For a long minute or two the building gave them no clues. A boy on the second floor came to his window and stared at them. He had dark, neat hair, and his eyes were open in a relaxed way. He was about Kasuka's age. His lower lip was folded slightly into his mouth. He was curious about them, Kasuka concluded.

He disappeared from the window. Another long minute and the cop came back out, shaking his head. He got back in and the car drove on. Now they were near the docks, Kasuka remembered that. Rain began to dot the windshield. They stopped again and the kids leaned to look right away. This place was one floor, made of wood with bluish paint.

The cop went into this one too. He was out in less than thirty seconds. His arms were crossed and his mouth turned down in annoyance. Kasuka knew before the cop who was driving asked him.

"No dice, huh?"

"Nope. They got too many already."

"You sure?" the cop in the middle asked.

"Course I'm sure, you know how it is, the lower levels'll ditch their kids as soon as it's too much trouble to keep 'em."

"We could see if Lokai has any room," the driving cop said.

The middle one snorted. "They'd be better off with those crooks."

They set off for a fourth time. Now they were leaving Eureka and driving on a road shrouded with trees as though it was a canyon. Kasuka looked around for any sign of the direction they were going. But if there was a sign, he'd missed it, and the sky was a uniform dark-white. He tried to remember the last thing they saw leaving town. He could write a letter home once they got to wherever-it-was. His siblings were looking around in bewilderment. Finally the girls sat back, wide-eyed.

The third building was two stories and painted white. The same police officer went in, but this time he opened the door again and nodded. The other two cops got out and ordered the children to go inside. The girls hurried to the steps, hugging their bags, shoulders bumping. They stopped on the steps and waited for their brothers.

"Come on in," the cop in the doorway said. "You don't want to get wet." They ignored him.

One of the cops removed Shizuo's handcuffs and steered him inside by the shoulder. Kasuka went after, followed by the third cop, who'd gotten the boys' things.

"Here," he said when they were inside. Shizuo grabbed his bindle while casting the cop a highly suspicious look. Kasuka was the one who had got an old suitcase, one from the days when Mother had just left home with Rangi. The suitcase might have been older than Suki.

They were in a small lobby. A woman with gray hair and a blue sweater was standing there, her arms not folded but merely resting together.

"These are the Heiwajima children, Shizuo, Kasuka, Mingxia, and Suki" a cop said, pointing to Shizuo, Kasuka, Suki, and Mingxia. He was behind them; Kasuka didn't like having to turn to see him, nor being surrounded.

"I'm Suki," Suki said. The cop seemed not to hear her. She made a puff sound with her nose.

"Heiwajima…" the woman said, looking at the cops with her eyebrows high and close together. "The name rings a bell."

"Kyoshi Heiwajima was on trial for murder a few times in the last five years. Xu Ping An. Chin."

"Goodness, her children?" The woman seemed to take them in again, her eyes wider and more awake.

"She and her husband fought like the dickens," a cop said. "Both are criminals. They lived in an abandoned house, kids ran around barefoot. This one—" he pointed to Shizuo "—never went to school."

The woman nodded, rubbing her mouth in thought. "I'm sorry, children," she said suddenly. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Mrs. Seung Keo. You need to get settled." She beckoned them into the hallway and the policemen left.

She led them into an office. She sat behind the desk and waved a hand at the chair on the other side of it. Kasuka sat down, and Mingxia sat on his lap. Shizuo and Suki seemed too wary or too energetic to sit.

Mrs. Keo leaned down and pulled a form from a drawer. She set it on the table.

"What's your name, son?" she asked Shizuo. "Your full name, first and last, and middle if you have one."

"Shizuo Heiwajima," he said.

"When's your birthday?"

"January."

"Mm-hm. What day of January?"

"January twenty-eighth."

"What year?"

"Nineteen-thirty-three."

She glanced at him with her eyebrows knit. He didn't see her. He was looking at the edge of the desk. "How old are you?" she said.

Now Shizuo was getting restless, annoyed by the badgering that to him had no purpose. He knew how old he was. Mrs. Keo waited a moment. "Shizuo."

"He's thirteen," Kasuka said.

"Oh," Mrs. Keo said. She scribbled '1920' on her form, and though it was mostly empty, pushed it to one side and got out another. "What's your whole name?"

"Kasuka Heiwajima."

"And your birthday?"

"February twenty-second." He thought for a moment. "1924."

"You're nine?"

"Yes."

She asked Suki the same questions. "Suki Heiwajima. New Year's. New Year's Day. I’m seven."

"What's your name?" she asked Mingxia.

"Mingxia Mung."

"Is Mung your middle name?"

"No. It's my last name."

"You're not a Heiwajima?"

"No, they—I live with them."

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't know."

"I see. What's your birthday?"

"February twelfth. And I'm eight."

Mrs. Keo smiled at her. She made an extra note and put Mingxia's form on top of the others'. She stood. "I think you'd best put your things away. I'll show you where."

In the hallway was a girl with blonde braids. Mrs. Keo tapped her on the shoulder. "Could you get Miss Naaji?" The girl nodded and scurried off.

A moment later a young woman came around the corner at the end of the hall. She had longer, smoother hair than Mrs. Keo, and a white apron. "Could you take the boys to their rooms?" Mrs. Keo said.

"What about us?" Suki asked, turning her face upwards to look at Mrs. Keo.

"I'm going to show you your room," she said, brushing her fingers over Suki's hair.

"Why can't we go with them?"

"Because boys and girls sleep in different rooms."

"They don't have to," Mingxia said.

Mrs. Keo raised an eyebrow. "Yes they do, now come with me."

"You'll see 'em at dinner," Miss Naaji said, and the girls went. Shizuo and Kasuka followed Miss Naaji up the intact stairs to a room with a window overlooking the dark backyard. There were two bunk beds in there. One was rumpled, a comic on the lower bunk. The other was made nicely.

"Here you go," Miss Naaji said, pulling two dusty trunks from underneath the unoccupied bunk. "Pick one and put your stuff in."

Shizuo fiddled with a latch for a moment, till he gave up and kicked it. "Aw, now," Miss Naaji said. She opened the latch and threw it open. Shizuo set his bindle on the bed and untied it. Rangi had thrown together a few things for him—clothes and socks, a toothbrush and a comb. He dumped all of it into the trunk.

"Hey," Miss Naaji said. "You should hang the clothes in the closet." He closed the trunk without latching it. Her eyes lingered on it, but she decided to leave it as it was.

Kasuka sorted his things out. He had a few books, a toy car, and a pencil. He liked his pencil. He didn't know why. When he turned away from the closet, he saw that Shizuo was sitting on the top bunk. Miss Naaji's smile was gone. She tapped the bed frame. "It's time for dinner," she said. "You hungry? Let's go."

Shizuo jumped over the edge of the bunk, straight to the floor, making Miss Naaji jump. She looked furtively between the brothers before leading the way into the dining room.

Dinner was stew. They could smell it on the stairs. Kasuka could count on his fingers the number of times he'd been full since July. It smelled wonderful.

They found their sisters, dragged some chairs over, and ate. They sat in a corner, which Kasuka thought would expose them on fewer sides, but it only funneled the stares and questions towards them. Suki got to work, her face brightening as she chatted away. By the time it was over, she didn't seem so nervous, and didn't resist being led away for a bath.

There was a boy sitting on the bottom bunk of the other bed. He was younger than Shizuo and older than Kasuka. He had fluffy brown hair, tan skin, and an uneven smile.

"I'm Jet," he said when Kasuka glanced at him. Kasuka nodded, then remembered that people often answered sentences even when they weren't questions. "Kasuka," he said, "and this is Shizuo." He gestured up. Shizuo had climbed up after hiding his shoes between his trunk and the wall.

"Is that your brother?" Jet asked.

"Yep."

"Does he talk?"

"Sometimes."

Jet nodded as though he knew all about these sometimes-talkers. He swung his feet onto the bed and leaned back, arms behind his head.

"You from Arcata?"

"No," Kasuka said.

"Where, then."

"Close to Eureka."

"That's not so far."

True, it wasn't.

Another boy came in. He was seven or eight, with darker hair and lighter skin than Jet. He was skinny as a rail, but it didn't make him look sickly. His blue eyes sized up the newcomers.

"Hey, Ran," Jet said. "This is Kasuka and Shizuo."

"So what," Ran said, hoisting himself up the ladder.

"They're our roommates now."

Ran cast them another glance before turning over with his back to them. He didn't seem angry, but wasn't happy either. After a few moments he pulled his blanket over his head.

"Are you guys orphans?" Jet asked.

"No," Kasuka said.

"Yeah, a lot of people here aren't."

Kasuka nodded. There was silence for a moment, then Jet said, "I won't ask you if you don't wanna tell me."

It had not occurred to Kasuka to tell him. He wouldn't mind, but come to think of it, he wasn't sure how he would explain. He wouldn't say anything like the cops had to Mrs. Keo, that was for sure.

Kasuka could feel the bed moving slightly and pictured Shizuo rolling his head back and forth. He did that when he tried to fall asleep with something on his mind.

Ran seemed just as impatient. "Shut up, Jet," he said.

Jet raised an eyebrow, but didn't take offense.

Kasuka got up and turned off the light. The rolling continued. There was no reason for Shizuo to blow up at anyone, so Kasuka tried to get comfortable.

"Lights out!" he heard Miss Naaji calling in the hallway. Their door opened and the bed creaked as Shizuo sat up. But the door closed and Miss Naaji moved on. Shizuo's feet came into view on the ladder. He lay down next to Kasuka, the blanket under him.

"I don't like it," he said. "Suki and Mingxia are all alone."

"Shh," Kasuka said. Ran and Jet were asleep—he could hear them breathing, out of sync—and he wanted to keep it that way. "Dad's not here," he whispered.

"Someone else could get mad at 'em."

"Everyone's asleep," Kasuka said. He doubted any of the adults here would try to stab each other in the night.

"I don't like it," Shizuo said again, not really replying but repeating what he'd said before. But he didn't repeat it again, and the next thing Kasuka knew, it was morning.

January 1st, 1934

Her rain-coat was worn at the edges, but had an air of dignity about it. Clearly that came from the wearer. Rangi was tired but not bent, her brown eyes as alert as ever. She sat on the parlor's sofa, seemingly resistant to the softness of it.

"Happy birthday, Suki," she said.

"Thanks." Suki was leaning to look out the window.

"The car has a flat tire," Rangi said. "Otherwise your mother would have come."

Suki sat back on the sofa, pouting.

"There, now," Rangi said. "You're a big girl. You're eight today! Guess how many days that is."

Suki, caught off-guard, thought about that. "Eight thousand," she said.

Rangi didn't bother to point out why she was wrong. "Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty-two days," she said. She was matter-of-fact, and Kasuka knew she had worked it out before coming here.

"Wow. How many days old are you?"

Rangi frowned. "I'd need a pencil and paper for that."

Suki laughed, her mouth wide open. "You're old."

"Watch what you say." Kasuka could hear a little amusement in his aunt's voice. "Here," she said. "For you. Open it later." She handed Suki a small paper box. Suki took it and squeezed it between her fingers. Her eyebrows shot up and she nodded, stowing it in the pocket of her apron.

Rangi turned to Kasuka. The purpose of her visit had been fulfilled, but he supposed she didn't want to go back into the rain so soon and walk another two hours. "Are they feeding you enough?" she asked. "And where's your brother?"

Kasuka nodded. "He's in our room." His legs tensed, ready to stand. "Should I get him?"

"Yes."

He'd told him to stay there because he thought the boisterousness of New Year's Day might get on his nerves. He found Shizuo sitting dutifully on his bunk, legs crossed, still in his pajama slacks, staring at nothing in that intent way he did.

"Rangi's here," Kasuka said. "She wants to see you."

Shizuo coughed and shook his head.

"She's not mad at you."

Shizuo shook his head again.

"She won't get your cold."

He climbed down and started for the door, then remembered that he needed a shirt. He got as far as putting on socks and decided he didn't need shoes. He went to see Rangi somewhat timidly, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

"It's good to see you," Rangi said, taking in his appearance and smiling despite it. He smiled too.

Rangi stayed another hour or so, giving them news of home and suggestions for ways to keep busy. When she stood to leave, Mrs. Keo came in. "Mrs. Heiwajima?"

"No," Rangi said.

"Oh. Then—"

"I'm Miss Sei'naka. I'm their aunt, one could say."

"Where is Mrs.—"

"Indisposed. Do you need me to tell her something?"

"Yes... yes, can I have a word with you?"

Chapter Text

January 27, 1934, Sonoma State Home—250 miles south of Humboldt

"Come on, let's get out of this place. Don't you wanna leave?" Yes, he would. Though Shizuo knew his father's bright mood would soon come crumbling down, he would rather go with him than stay here with the idiots, where he was tied to the radiator and scolded for leaning against it.

He followed him out of the building and out to the road, where they began to walk. He didn't know where they were going, but it was quiet and the air was the freshest thing he'd ever felt.

They walked until they came to a town. Yun seemed to know the place. They stopped in a little grocery store to buy bread and peanut butter. The clerk gave Shizuo a curious look.

"Yeah, that's my nephew," Yun said, his hands casually stuck in his jacket's pockets. "He's come up from the country." He grinned at her and she seemed to decide that it wasn't her business.

It was a hotel next, with the same curious look, except from more jaded eyes. This time Yun told the secretary that Shizuo was his son. "Good kid. Not that bright, he still gets lost," he said.

The hotel room had one bed, green wallpaper, a desk without a chair, and a lamp with a grimy yellow shade. Shizuo sat on the bed. Yun threw the bread and peanut butter on the foot of it and went into the bathroom. Shizuo scooted forward to fix himself a sandwich. After a moment his ears perked, and he realized there was no sound. He didn't like not knowing what was going on.

After a few minutes, Yun came out. Shizuo looked up from his second sandwich, glanced at his father's eyes and looked away, not wanting to look like he was challenging him. Yun fell backwards onto the bed, and Shizuo thought he might fall asleep. But he just nudged Shizuo with his knee and said,  "Fix one for me, won't you?"

Shizuo made two more, one for each of them. When Shizuo finished his, Yun leaned over and took the bread bag. He folded the paper top. "That's enough. You'll make yourself sick," he said. "Tomorrow, all right? For breakfast." He sat up, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a knife. Yun went over to the desk and tore out a sheet of note paper. He sliced at a corner. It went straight through. He let the pieces flutter to the floor.

Shizuo watched him closely. "You need a haircut," Yun said, "come here," and he went back into the bathroom. Shizuo stayed where he was.

"Shizuo!" He went as far as the doorway. His father was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, knees apart and knife in hand.

"Take off your shirt," Yun said. Shizuo did so and threw it at the bed.

"And your tank top."

That joined the shirt.

"Sit down." Yun tapped the floor with his foot. Shizuo sat with his knees up, facing his father and the knife, hands held near his chin, covering his neck. Yun raised an eyebrow. "Other way."

Shizuo sat facing the sink. He could just see the top of his head in the round, dirty mirror. His father grabbed a hank of his hair. He wrapped his legs around him, pinning his arms. With a soft shck, the tautness was cut. Yun threw the piece of hair aside and grabbed for another.

Shizuo tilted his head away from the knife. He could have pried himself free, but didn’t want to hurt his father's legs.

"Don't move," Yun said. "You'll get cut."

Shizuo heeded the threat. He stayed still and let him finish the haircut. Yun smacked him on the shoulders a couple times and unwrapped his legs. He shoved Shizuo to make him stand. "Sweep this up," he said.

Shizuo couldn't find a broom, so there the clippings stayed, on the bathroom floor. He got in his boxers and laid down. The forbidden bread and peanut butter was still on the foot of the bed. Yun paced around for a minute. He leaned over the notepad on the desk to scratch something down, then turned off the lamp.

A page tore. There was no more sound, no more movement until Shizuo drifted off.

Shizuo was alone in the dark. He rolled over to see a drop of light coming from outside the curtains. But that was peacefully still, while Shizuo knew something was amiss.

His father was awake. The room smelled of smoke. Shizuo sat up, but there was no spot of light where the desk was. He got out of bed and edged towards the door. He opened it and looked into the hallway. There was nobody out there.

"Where do you think you're going," Yun said. Shizuo whipped around. There was his father, his squinting eyes fixed on him. Yun pulled Shizuo back into the room by the waistband.

He'd been sitting in the bathroom. He tugged the lamp chain and the light stung Shizuo's eyes.

"Want a cigarette?" Yun pulled two cigarettes out of a pack on the edge of the sink. He lit them with the stub of the one in his mouth and gave one to Shizuo. He took it and left it to rest in his mouth.

"I guess it's your birthday now," Yun said. "Congratulations." He sat again on the edge of the tub, and this time Shizuo sat next to him. They were quiet for a second. Yun didn't really like that. He was restless, bouncing his legs and looking around without really looking for or checking anything.

"You're gonna help me tomorrow," he said. Shizuo looked at him. "Yeah, you're gonna make yourself useful."

"Where," Shizuo said. His cigarette tasted strange, but felt nice in his mouth.

"I'll show you where. You don’t worry about it yet. Now go back to bed."

Shizuo woke when it was light again. His father was shoving things into a satchel. "Come on," he said when he saw his son was awake, "we're leaving. Get your clothes on."

Shizuo go up and did as he asked. His father stared at him for a second. He stepped forward, hand raised, and for a second Shizuo thought he was going to smack him, but he just dusted him off.

"All right," he said. "We're going. Oh. And this." He pulled a newsboy hat out of his bag and put it on Shizuo's head. Shizuo adjusted it, trying to get it situated so that it didn't feel strange.

Yun said a smiling goodbye to the secretary and they headed for the edge of town. He stopped in a little wooded place and turned to Shizuo. "On the other side of these trees is a freight yard. We're gonna hop a train. You ever done that before?"

Shizuo shook his head. He could smell the whisky on his father's breath but knew it wouldn't stop him doing whatever gymnastics he had to do.

"Listen close, then. The train's gonna pull out of the station and we're going to hop into one of those cars. You know your way around that crazy house back north, shouldn't be that hard for you. Follow right behind me, son. Do what I do."

Yun led him through some bushes and lurked behind a tree. After a few minutes, where he shuffled his feet and kept glancing down the track, a whistle blew. "There's our call," Yun said. The train's engine went past them. Yun darted out, Shizuo on his heels. "There," he said. He let a few cars pass them. There was one open on the side.

They jogged alongside the metal beast. Yun grabbed onto an edge and hoisted himself up. He crouched and offered his hand to Shizuo. The boy was running now as the train picked up speed. He grabbed the side of the doorway and put his other hand on the rattling floor.

"Come on!" Yun shouted. Shizuo gave his best push with his legs, which felt worn from lack of use in the institution. His right foot got in. Two people grabbed him by the sleeves and jacket. What must have been a branch whacked him on the outside foot. Shizuo dug his right knee into the boxcar's floor, and then he was in.

His father's eyebrows were raised, not too pleased. But in a moment he'd shook it off and looked amiable again. The other man was a few years older than Yun. He was looking right at Shizuo.

"Close call, son," he said. "New to this?"

"Brand new," Yun said. "He came to town the right way, didn't you? In an auto. Now, since your mother ain't here, I guess I'll say it: you oughta thank this guy for gettin' you up."

"Thanks," Shizuo. He crawled into a corner so his back was to the rattling wall. He didn't want to sit seeing everything flash by, but he especially didn’t want to sit across from the stranger.

"No problem," the man said, and Shizuo could tell by his voice that he was still looking at them. Their voices sounded odd in the train car.

Yun pulled a flask out of his jacket and took a drink.

"You two travelling together?" the other man asked.

"Yup. That's my son. We're taking a trip to see his mother." He held out the flask. "Want some?"

"No thanks," the man said. "I'd rather not twist my ankle when I jump off."

Yun shrugged. "Shizuo?"

He looked up. There was silence for a second, then he realized what had been asked. He shook his head.

"Suit yourself. You take after her." He gave the man a bright smile. "So! You headed anywhere in particular?"

"Can't say I am. Contract ran out an' the landlord wouldn’t have no patience, so I'mma just see what I can find."

Yun pulled a sympathetic face. "Sucks when you got no money."

"Four dollars, eighteen cents," the man said with some sort of pride.

"Hey, that's better than me," Yun said with a chuckle. "I got two-fifty. Wanna play me for it?"

"Play what," the man said evasively, glancing between them.

"Poker." Yun pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket. They were crisp white and red, clearly new.

"I'm not that good," the man said, waving a hand.

"Neither am I. I just got these to pass the time on the way to the old lady's house." He shrugged. "Nothing else to do, is there?"

"You have a point there." The man crossed his legs and sat facing Yun, who dealt the cards.

They played, Yun pretending to exclaim in surprise when he got the upper hand. When the train began to slow, Yun had won, but he insisted that since the fellow was down on his luck they'd split it fifty-fifty, each getting three thirty-five.

The stranger tipped his hat to them and wandered off, away from the trains. Yun looked around for a moment as though judging where they were from constellations. Then he pointed where to go, and they waited for the next train.

This time they had the car to themselves. Yun stretched out on the floor, his feet near the door.

"You didn't like that guy in the last car," he said. "You were glaring at him like he'd sold you tea in a whisky bottle."

There was a pause, a space where Yun pretended Shizuo had answered.

"Listen, son, you got to act nice to people you hate. Makes 'em trust you. People you don't hate, too. You never know when it's gonna be a good opportunity."

Shizuo didn't think he was worth trusting, but he didn't argue. He watched the peaceful side of the train car, the one without everything flashing by all at once.

"Dad," he said, suddenly remembering.

"What."

"You were going to do something."

"I was gonna do what."

"I was gonna help you with something."

"Oh. That. Turns out I didn't need you." Yun waved a hand in the air. "The place wasn't as staked-out as I thought it would be. Now shut up, we got a long haul to San Jose. You oughta sleep too. Close that door."

Shizuo went on hands and knees to the door and slid it shut. Then it was dark, just the rattling and the thought of home to fill his mind.

January 30, 1934

"Y'aright, kid?" Yun asked his son, shaking him by the shoulder. "Didn't break your foot, did you?"

Two questions with opposite answers. Shizuo ignored it and took a step forward, which Yun seemed to take as reassurance. Shizuo was OK, he'd only stumbled on landing. He'd done it well the first time, and the second, and third, but now he was tired. Sleeping was easy in a boxcar if they both did it, but with a stranger with them or a door open or Yun pacing around it was hard. Yun also seemed to have forgotten that they should be eating. "Come on," he'd snapped, "it isn't far."

Shizuo followed him now, not having any idea where they were, though something about the place was not right. Not right. There was something hidden about it, furtive.

"Hello there!" Yun called suddenly, throwing a hand in the air. There was someone else in the woods along the train tracks. The man waved in return. Yun kicked aside branches and made his way towards him, stopping when he was a few paces away.

"There wouldn't happen to be a camp around here, would there?" Yun asked him.

"Sure is," the man said. "That way." He pointed into the trees as his eyes flicked between them.

"Thanks," Yun said. "Come on, boy." They went down a crudely trampled path into the trees, until they came to a clearing where a few dozen men were sitting, lying, sprawling on the ground. There were a few tents, too, pitched up ahead.

They sat down and Yun at once struck up a conversation with someone. Shizuo, who would have dreaded the stillness of another train ride, found himself perfectly comfortable on the ground here.

"This here's my son. Aw, you're too old to be shy. Introduce yourself."

"Shizuo Heiwajima," Shizuo said.

The man Yun was talking to nodded. He leaned over. "Where was Joe Hill buried?" he asked.

Shizuo stared at him.

Yun raised an eyebrow, amused. "Ah, the kid doesn't know. But if you get asked that again, son, the right answer is 'everywhere but Utah.'"

"The right answer is nowhere; his ashes were scattered everywhere but Utah."

"That's right." Yun winked at his son. He stood up. "They've got a pump here," he said. "And stuff for baths." He beckoned, and Shizuo got up, not sparing the other hobos a second glance.

There was a water pump, basins, soap from the satchel, and some measure of privacy afforded by the trees. They washed and returned to camp. Shizuo thought he should ask his father for food again.

"Oh, yeah," Yun said, as though the request had never bothered him. "Ask Jumu over there." He gestured over at a man tending a large pot over a campfire. Yun handed Shizuo his tin cup and he went over to get some soup.

"Can I have some?" he asked the man at the fire.

"Sure," the man said. The ladle came up and poured into Shizuo's cup. He drank it straight down.

The man stared. "You must be hungry," he said.

Shizuo nodded. He held his cup out.

"Don't burn yourself, it'll be there in a few minutes," Jumu said as he poured the boy another ladle of stew. "Whyn't you sit down?" Shizuo sat, watching his bowl, waiting for it to stop steaming.

"How long you been waiting ta eat?" Jumu asked.

"A day or two," Shizuo said.

Jumu whistled sympathetically. "Had no chance to?"

"Forgot," Shizuo said.

"What do you mean, 'forgot'?"

"Dad forgot." He'd had had other things on his mind, other things to keep him going. Still, after a little while he came over and took his turn drinking soup from their cup.

"I'm going into town," Yun said. "You won't cause trouble here?"

"I won't," Shizuo said. Yun glared at him for a moment. "You know what, why don't you come with me. You'll like it."

Town turned out to mean a saloon where Shizuo sat in the corner with his glass of water. He could see everyone from the corner. Nobody paid him much attention. Nobody seemed to be doing much at all, but his father was in the middle of it. He was talking to a woman, twirling his fingers in her hair, and glanced over at Shizuo a couple times.

Eventually someone did sit next to Shizuo. She smiled at him. Her face was made up, but not as obviously as his mother did it. The girl had short, tightly ironed brown hair and a dress that sparkled in the electric light.

"Mind if I sit with you?" she asked. Shizuo shook his head. The girl leaned one elbow on the table. "Like that?"

"Like what," he said.

"Your drink. What is it?"

"Water," he said.

"Ohh." For some reason she seemed to think water was a pleasant mystery. "You're smart," she said. "You don't want to get sloppy drunk." Really he had had no say in the matter. He was too young for alcohol and wished he could have milk instead.

A moment passed in silence. "I'm sorry," the girl said. "I just walk up and start talking to you. I'm Mawar. And you…"

"Shizuo Heiwajima." Why did this girl care? He looked at her and she smiled.

"It's nice to meet you," she said. "What brings you here?"

"He did," Shizuo said, pointing to his father. Yun had gotten up from his table. He came over to stand in front of them. Had there been another chair he could have fit between them, but he managed to hem them in with his presence.

"Hello, son," Yun said loudly. Mawar looked up at him, wary.

"Hello," Shizuo muttered.

"And who are you, Miss?" Yun said, turning to the girl with a smile.

"My name's Mawar." Yun held out his hand. She offered hers slowly; Yun shook it and didn't let go.

"My boy's not very friendly," he said, and Shizuo could sense a danger that Mawar seemed oblivious of. "So you must have sought him out."

She tried to pull her hand back. She glanced at Shizuo. "He don't mind," she said.

"I bet you didn't notice that my son is fourteen years old."

"No he's not."

"If you'd seen his mother, you'd believe me. And he's enough trouble for me as it is, so you—" his eyes had taken on a coldness, focused on the girl "—had better get lost." He let go of her hand. She got up and left.

Yun chuckled. He sat down next to his son, where Mawar had been, and leaned close to talk without being heard. "That girl was no pro," he said. "Don't get involved with some regular girl. You don't know what you're in for with them. You don't want to end up like Jianzhu."

Seeing the look on Shizuo's face, he said, "Gee! That's not what I meant. You know why he married my mother?"

Yun waited. Shizuo only wished he would leave him alone. He didn't know why and frankly wasn't curious.

"It was only 'cause of me, you understand?"

Shizuo had once seen a picture from his grandfather's wedding. It was marked 1903, and that was before Yun had been born. He must be lying.

"Come on!" Yun said, sounding frustrated. Shizuo put his arms on the table in case he had to sock him. "You're telling me nobody explained this to you?"

Wong had taught Shizuo to count up to twenty dollars so nobody could short-change him. Momma had shown him how to find North. Rangi had tried to teach him to type.

Yun stood and squeezed Shizuo's shoulder. "I'll explain when we get back to camp."

On one edge of clearing, near the path that led to the water pump, was a large wooden crate tipped on its side to make a den for a dog and several puppies. They were brown, some with white and black patches.

"You see those puppies?" Yun asked. Shizuo nodded. "You know where they were a month ago?"

This was some sort of trick question, Shizuo thought. They could have been in New York City for all he knew.

"Same place the baby back home is," Yun said. "In the b—'s stomach. You know how it got there?"

Some of the men nearby laughed. Shizuo turned around, but Yun yanked him back, saying "I meant the dog, not your mother! That's just what a girl dog's called."

He cleared his throat. "You know the difference between men and women, don't you?"

January 31, 1934

It was late afternoon, the sun hidden behind a scruffy green hill. Shizuo hadn't talked to any girls in town this time, but had gotten in a fight with a man who said he'd insulted him. He'd done no such thing. The guy insisted, and Shizuo socked him, but not before he got his nose bloodied.

"You did good," Yun said. He sat against a tree, watching his son rinse his face under the pump.

"Why'd you stop me," Shizuo asked. He could still taste metal, like the coins he would stick in his mouth as a kid. He spat, and then it seeped down again.

"Wait for the bleeding to stop," Yun said. Shizuo sat next to him. The blood and water dripping down his chin made it itch.

"You've got your momma's arms," Yun added. "Aw, she used to get me good sometimes. Before the baby... and she wanted the world from me."

"Why'd you stop me?" Shizuo asked again.

Yun laughed. He was good at drinking, but Shizuo could still tell. "Y'could've knocked his head off," he said. "You gotta learn to keep it—to go easier than you do. You don't want to end up in the clink 'cause some guy lost an eye or something."

They were quiet for a minute. It was getting dark. Shizuo watched the trees.

"I think your nosebleed stopped," Yun said. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wet it under the pump, and tried to rub away the half-dried blood.

He squinted at his son's face. "Hey," he said, "you're due for a shave. Wait here."

He went back to camp for his satchel. Throwing it down, he got out a safety razor and the cake of soap. "Here," he said, "lather your face up. Not the whole thing. Just your chin and upper lip. And your jaw. That's it."

Shizuo did it and pressed his lips together. He knew soap tasted awful.

"Now, you take the razor—" Yun handed it to him "—and, uh, scrape the soap off. Not hard. But hard enough."

Shizuo looked at the razor. He'd seen his uncles do it but had never paid attention. He ran it down his chin as lightly as he could.

"Just the flat side," Yun said. Shizuo froze. "If you go sideways you'll slice yourself."

Shizuo tried again in the same place.

"No, not like that. This side—here—I'll show you." He snatched the razor back and took a swipe at Shizuo's face. He stepped back without thinking.

Yun grabbed the front of his son's shirt and backed him into a tree. "Quit moving," he said. "This is how you do it."

Shizuo tried to hold still till it was done. Then all that was left was his upper lip.

"Open your mouth," Yun said. Shizuo did so. The razor slid down his lip, pushing the soap into his mouth.

It was strange at first, and in a second turned to burning. He twisted away. Yun swore. He shoved him aside and went to the pump, not caring what revenge he might earn for it.

"Stupid kid," Yun muttered. Shizuo stuck his face under the pump and pulled the handle. The water was cool, some kind of compensation for the last few minutes.

He straightened up and wiped some of the water off his face. His hand came away bloody.

"Look what you did," Yun said. "Let me see that, I'll fix it up for—"

Shizuo took off into the woods, back towards camp. He stopped just short of the clearing. He didn't want to see everyone. Instead he went around the outskirts of the camp, on the blind sides of the tents. He laid down in the shrubbery. After a minute he heard his father come back into the clearing. Soon he was laughing and talking to someone, telling them about the time he climbed the roof, how Jianzhu caught him, broke a bottle, and made him run over it. He took off his shoe to prove it.

February 1, 1934

"What you got there?"

Shizuo blinked in the bright light. His father stood over him, satchel strap on his shoulder. Shizuo could tell they were leaving. He rolled onto his back, still holding the puppy to his chest.

"Oh," Yun said. "Put that back, we're leaving."

Shizuo sat up and set the dog on the ground. It got its footing and looked up at him.

"Get up," Yun said. "Put the puppy back in the box."

Shizuo didn't move.

"What, you want to take it with us?"

He hadn't thought of that. He'd wanted to stay, and if his dad left, oh well. But taking the puppy along sounded good too. "Yeah," he said.

"You can't."

"Why not."

"They're somebody's."

"Ask them if I can take him."

Yun shuffled his feet and sighed, then shouted to the camp, "WHOSE DOGS ARE THESE!"

A murmur went through the group, and then someone said, "I don't know. Doesn't seem nobody's been feeding them. We just been tipping the box over so she can hunt."

"Fine. You can bring it, but you got to take care of it yourself. I'm not having another blasted thing to worry about."

"You've got to train it," Yun said. "If you don't you won't be able to later. I learned that the hard way with you brats."

The puppy was curled in Shizuo's lap, its brown fur moving up and down with each sleeping breath it took. It made him think of when Suki was a baby and he'd watch her nap. He kept his eyes on the puppy, rather than on his father, who was pacing around the boxcar. He half-wished the other hobos would wake up or stop reading so he'd have some company.

"It's simple," Yun went on. "When it does something bad, pinch it or thump it. And when it's good, show it affection. That way it learns, just like a kid."

The puppy was little. So little it probably couldn't understand a word of what anyone said. Shizuo hurt anything he touched whether he tried or not. He broke things without trying. No, he thought, he was going to leave the puppy alone.

Friday, February 2, 1934

The train roared into another town. This time they found a flophouse to stay in.

"See that clock?" Yun said, stopping his son on the sidewalk and pointing to the church. Shizuo nodded. There was a pause. "How high can you count?"

"Twenty dollars," Shizuo said.

"All right, when the clock strikes three dollars you come in after me." He dug a couple coins out of his pocket and gave them to Shizuo. "Ask for a bed for two nights and give them this. They should give you, uh, two dimes in change. Got that?"

Shizuo sat on the curb to wait. It wasn't long before the clock chimed and he got up. He went into the flophouse and up to the woman behind a little table.

"Two nights," he said, and put the coins on the table.

She looked at him, the coins, and the puppy under his arm. "All right. You got to tie that dog up outside."

"I don't have a rope," Shizuo said.

"I'm sure there's one around here."

The dog was tied in the backyard and Shizuo found his bed, one of six in a room on the second floor. There was a cupboard above each. His was next to a window. He took off his shoes and laid back, arms behind his head. The sun was on his face. He closed his eyes, ready to sleep.

Yun tapped on the metal footboard. "I'll be back tonight or tomorrow," he said. "You'll be here?"

Shizuo nodded.

"OK, enough with that. I'm not your mommy or your fairy uncle, and if I ask you a question, you say 'yes sir' or 'no sir'. Are you gonna stay here and not make trouble?"

"Yes sir," Shizuo muttered. If they hadn't moved out of Jianzhu's house before Shizuo learned to talk, he surely would have demanded the same thing.

"Good." Yun left. Shizuo closed his eyes again. Though he was alone, surrounded by strangers, he felt perfectly at peace.

When he woke, the sky was dim. He turned onto his side to look out the window, but couldn't tell if it was morning or dusk.

The man next to him was reading. "What time is it," Shizuo asked him.

"Five PM. Something like that," he said without looking up.

"Thanks."

"Uh-huh."

Shizuo looked around the room. His father wasn't there. He sat up, thinking of what to do. He was hungry. Probably the dog was too. He still had twenty cents, he could get something with that, but he didn't know when his father would return.

The sky grew darker. He'd been ordered to stay put, but, Shizuo thought, if Yun wasn't back he wouldn't be till morning.

Shizuo got up and went outside into the breezy night. He wandered around till he saw a diner, with its big glass windows and people sitting at the counter. He went in and stood near the door. He'd never been in one of these alone before.

"Hey, what can I getcha," the man behind the counter said.

"What is there," Shizuo asked, moving forward. The man gestured to the large sign behind him.

They were quiet for a second. The man glanced between Shizuo and his sign. "Do you have hamburgers?" Shizuo asked.

"Yep. That'll be a dime."

Shizuo nodded and payed him. He ate most of the hamburger and put the rest in his pocket.

"Here you go," he said, crouching down and dropping the food in front of his dog. It was panting, even though it wasn't that hot. He guessed it needed some water. He went upstairs and looked for the cup, but his dad had taken the satchel with him. He returned to the yard, looking for something that could hold water.

There was nothing, so we went to the lavaratory and filled one of his shoes with water till it started to leak out the laces. He tipped it back so the water stayed in the heel. He held it for the dog to drink. It lapped it enthusiastically.

"Good boy," he muttered.

There were a couple of men standing in the doorway behind him. Shizuo turned to look at them, and they immediately began talking to each other.

"Where d'you think you'll go next!" one of them asked the other loudly.

"Heck, I don't know," he said. "I just got to Fresno."

Fresno. Shizuo remembered the town from years ago, when his family had been making their way up from Los Angeles. Fresno must be south of home. Shizuo rocked on his heels, mulling it over until it was dark.

He knew his father by his footsteps before he say him. "What do you think you're doing," Yun said.

"Nothing."

"Answer me."

"I fed the dog."

Yun sat next to Shizuo. "Fed him with what?"

"Bit of hamburger," Shizuo said. He instinctively moved away from his father. He could see the twitchiness, the restlessness, and knew what he'd been up to.

"You bought it?"

Shizuo didn't answer, not wanting to admit he'd been out.

"I'll remember that," Yun said. "Come on, you've got a bed, you're not sleeping out here." He stood up and jerked the back of Shizuo's collar. "And you gotta learn to sleep alone. I don't want to be your teddy bear at three in the morning."

But it was he who woke his son not much later. He kicked him gently in the back. Shizuo turned and saw why. He was clutching one of his hands. "Shh," he said. "I got a little situation you're gonna help me with. Get up."

Shizuo stood. The room was dim, with light from an electric lamp covered with a makeshift shade. Yun's eyes were unreadable. Was he angry? But Shizuo could sense that he was not—yet—in trouble.

"Grab my satchel," Yun whispered. "And the candle on the nightstand there." Shizuo followed him down the stairs and through the hall that ran between the downstairs rooms. At the end was the water closet.

"Go in," Yun said. Shizuo opened the door and went in. His father came in behind him. "Close the door."

Now the only light was from the stars outside the little window high in the wall. Yun told him to light the candle. Shizuo rummaged in the satchel, found the matches, and struck one. By its light he could see his father, standing close, though as far away as he could in the cramped room without touching the walls.

Shizuo held the match to the wick until the flame leapt higher, then blew it out and dropped it in the sink.

"Set that down," Yun said. Shizuo looked around. "Where's the candleholder? You didn't pick it up, did you? You stupid boy, you—"

Jianzhu had had high expectations for his son. No reason Yun shouldn't be the same way. Shizuo tried to ignore him. He lit another match while he went on and melted the bottom of the candle so he could stick it on the windowsill. Yun went quiet, apparently satisfied.

"There's a knife in my inside pocket," he said. He lifted his hands to the level of his face. "Well? Get it!"

Shizuo unbuttoned his father's jacket and retrieved the knife.

"Clean it. With water. Don't cut yourself, I'm not calling the doctor because you're too dull to feel it." When that was done, he said, "There's carbolic in my bag, clean it with that, too."

Yun set his left hand on the sink, wrist on the edge of the basin. The back of his hand was sticky with blood that leaked from a small bruise.

"Hold my wrist right here. Yeah. Move, you're blocking the candlelight." They shuffled around so that Shizuo was nearer the door and Yun could see. Yun clenched his pinned left hand, the one with the old dark scars that made it look like it should be chopped off.

For a second Shizuo thought his father was going to chop it off, as he lowered the knife to his skin. But he just made a nick in the freshest mark, then another, then a fine, delicate slice perpendicular to those, like he was cutting open a fish.

He pushed the very tip of his knife into the cut and gave it a flick. The needle fell into the sink with the matches.

Yun sighed, as though he'd just got done with a fight. "Let go," he said. Shizuo did. Yun's hand bled faster, but he was no longer worried. It was running neatly into the sink.

"There's some bandages in my bag," Yun said. He sounded calm. He washed his hand and doused it in carbolic acid. As he wrapped it up, Shizuo remembered what he'd intended to ask him earlier.

"Where's Fresno?" he said.

Yun raised his eyebrows. "We're in Fresno," he said.

"You said we were going home," Shizuo said. "Fresno's south." Now he knew why San Jose had felt off, and why the weather was getting drier and warmer. Yun had lied.

He did not miss his son's annoyance. "We are going home, if by home you mean Eureka. Hold on—we're going to see Hei-Ran first."

A crashing wave in Shizuo's chest met the sea-wall, the spray falling back on itself.

"You wanna see Hei-Ran? She lives in LA, remember? We'll see her an' then go north." Yun tied off the bandage and waited. Shizuo's breathing eased. He nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes sir."

Saturday, February 3, 1934

It was all right to punch somebody in San Jose, and here it brought the same kind of scrum of spectators. And here, when Shizuo had been pulled off the guy, he heard his father yelling.

"I got him, he's my son, I'll take care of 'im." Only there was a difference in his voice. This time Yun pulled Shizuo around his shoulders and lifted him. His fingers were tight around his wrist, his elbow clamped on his leg.

Yun threw his son down in the backyard. The wind was knocked out of him, and Yun kicked him over. He put a knee on his back. Shizuo tried to lift his head and Yun slammed it down.

"What does Rangi do," he said through grit teeth. Shizuo didn't know what he meant. Rangi did any number of things.

"Does she still pull you over her knee?" he asked, and Shizuo understood.

He shook his head. Kyoshi didn't like her kids getting spanked.

"Yes or no! Does she?"

"No sir."

"She still hit you, though."

"Yessir."

"Where."

"My back." He remembered the switching before Christmas, when he'd gotten fired from the pear farm.

"You're tough, huh. You don't feel it no more."

Yun let go of Shizuo's head. His weight shifted. He was looking in his bag for something. He yanked Shizuo's hair back and wedged a spoon into his mouth, then shoved something rectangular in.

It was a big house, surrounded by farms. The chessboards and the cards—for Old Maid in those innocent days—were on the table of his grandfather's study. The room had a heavy wooden table, heavy wooden walls, and a heavy wooden door.

Down the hall was where the soap was kept, and though Kyoshi was "too sentimental over her boys," if Jianzhu was quick about it not even Auntie Mui would know what had happened.

Shizuo had done something bad, and this was the retribution, in the form of soap shoved down his throat, in the name of discipline, because he'd thrown a fit.

"Don't swallow it," Yun said.

"You'll get sick if you do," Jianzhu added.

There were people looking out the door of the flophouse. They could see him. Dimly, Shizuo could hear his father lecturing. "You be nice, remember! Your mother might be a sullen, miserable nag buy you're my son and you're gonna turn out better!"

They left Fresno the next morning. Going south. Shizuo resigned himself to it: they were not going home yet.

Sleeping was easier with the dog next to him, warm and unconditionally friendly. Shizuo could sleep through the talking and pacing. They didn't camp anywhere but pressed on. They got food before they left, cheese and cans of tomato soup. The cheese grew to smell funny in the hot boxcar, so they told a guy it was supposed to be that way and traded it for peanut butter.

Shizuo knew when they were nearing Los Angeles. He could feel it by the air. He leaned out of the car, his hand tight on the dog's rope, hoping that the city would be in sight.

"Get back in here," Yun said. He'd cheered up with a bottle of whisky but was in a bad mood today, between his hangover and his nose bleeding on and off.

The puppy nipped Shizuo's hand. He smiled. It was always on the move, wanting to look at things. He'd learned that when it wanted to fight, it really just wanted to play.

"For crying out loud, don't let it do that!" Yun said. "I won't be happy if it bites me."

Shizuo wrapped the rope a few more times around his hand. Soon they would be with Hei-Ran. Hei-Ran made sense.

"You know where she lives?" Shizuo asked Yun once they were on the ground.

"'Course I do. You never sent her a letter? Oh, right."

They walked for a few hours through the rows and rows of houses. The air was thick with a bright haze. It was dry, but it wasn't too hot. Shizuo wished he had more rope for the puppy. It ran around until it got tired and Shizuo carried it.

"Here we are," Yun said at last. This isn't it, Shizuo thought, though he'd never visited Hei-Ran here before. He said nothing as his father went up and rang the doorbell.

They stood there, Yun tapping his foot. When there was no answer, he shouted "Hello!" through the mail slot.

Another minute passed. "I've waited so long," he said to himself. He came down the steps and went around the side of the red wooden building. Shizuo followed. He'd not been invited, had not been ordered, didn't want to come. Yet he knew that he should.

He stayed a little way back from his father, watching him bang on the back door and cup his hands around his eyes to see into the back window. He was watching as one watches a candle set near a stack of papers. Yun got something out of his satchel and picked the lock. He stepped inside. "Don't just stand out there," he said to Shizuo. "You look like you're up to no good. Come in."

The house was very clean, yet very dusty. Shizuo trailed his father through a living room with no furniture, where neat, deliberate nails stuck out of the walls. They took a turn through the whole lower floor. Yun swore and headed up to the second.

Shizuo took the loop of the dog's rope off his wrist and put it around the handle of the back door. "Wait here. Good boy."

"Hei-Ran!" Yun called form the landing. His nails dug into the wooden ball at the top of the stairs. "Did ya miss me! It's time for a reunion!"

One by one he opened the doors, saw that the rooms were empty, and slammed them again.

"She moved," Shizuo said as they stared into the master bedroom with its bare bedframe. Yun was breathing heavily, eyes blazing with dangerous indignation.

"I know that," he said. "I know that and you know something too—where is she!" He rounded on his son.

It dawned on Shizuo like a stroke of lightning to the head, why they were here, why Yun had picked the lock, why he was enraged to find her gone. He wanted Hei-Ran to meet the same fate as Jianzhu.

She had gone to Humboldt. Rangi had invited her a while ago. She must have changed her mind. "I don't know," he said.

Yun kicked the wall in frustration. "You do know!" he sad. "You've spent the last nine years with that infernal daughter of hers! Don't you lie to your father! Can't you remember she tried to shoot me? Tell me where Hei-Ran is, I just wanna pay her a visit!"

He had Shizuo by the collar. He had a good view of those eyes, the eyes that Mother said held something other than the human she'd married. Were they still his father's eyes, or had he been replaced?

Didn't matter. Shizuo shoved him away. Yun staggered back, knocked into a wall, and sat down hard.

"Oh, you want to fight? Well there's no-one here now! Go ahead!" He sprang to his feet.

He was going to use his knife, Shizuo thought. He couldn't get stabbed. A singular thought pierced through his mind: warn Hei-Ran. He stepped back and bumped into a small table. He picked it up.

The blade was out of its sheath. Shizuo held the table up in front of him, the flat part facing his father. He ran forward and rammed him, knocking him back into the bedroom. He seized the door and slammed it.

"Hey!" Yun shouted. Shizuo leaned back. His father yanked the door and Shizuo was afraid he'd lose his grip. The puppy downstairs was yapping. Shizuo leaned all his weight back, trying to think of a way to keep his father inside. There was a metallic snap. Shizuo fell backwards, the doorknob still in his hands.

Ignoring his father's yells, he ran downstairs, took the puppy, and ran out the back door.

Monday, February 5, 1934

Home was north. Shizuo knew that, and he also knew that north was to the left of where the sun came up. So he saw which train went that way, and got on it. He was careful of railway bulls. He couldn't get arrested, or he wouldn't be able to warn Hei-Ran.

The train car was hot. There was another man who tried to make conversation, but Shizuo lay down and ignored him.

When the puppy started whining, Shizuo knew it was hungry. He hadn't thought of that. He got off at the rail yard—not sure where he was—and wandered down the nearest road. There was no forest here, only fields.

There was a farm off the road. There was a barn with its door open. Shizuo bent down and untied the rope from his dog's neck. "Go," he said, patting it and nudging it towards the barn. "Good boy."

He sat under a withered tree near the road and waited. After a while, when the puppy had not returned, he hopped over the fence and entered the barn.

The puppy was running around in the hay that was piled at one end. Shizuo realized the trough was too high for it. He picked up the puppy and lowered it carefully so it could eat.

There were footsteps and Shizuo whirled around. There was an old man in a frayed Stetson hat. "Hey!" he said. "Whataya think you're doin' here!"

If someone was mad at you, one of Shizuo's uncles had told him, lie. "I lost my dog," he said.

The farmer glared at him. "Well you found it, so take your dirty little mutt and get out of here!"

Shizuo left. Don't get arrested, he reminded himself. He wouldn't steal anything, not by day anyway. He was hungry too, but he could take it. The dog didn't know they had a goal.

Shizuo's mouth was dry as week-old bread, and that bothered him more. He still had one of the soup cans; he dipped in in a stream when he came across one. He lowered the dog very carefully into the water to drink.

He found his way back to the rail yard. He hadn't realized the first time, but he had reached a dead end. The train simply turned and went back the way he'd came.

Very well. Shizuo could find his own way. He picked up the puppy and began to walk. When it squirmed too much he let it walk beside him.

The sun turned from an annoyance to a dull, pressing brightness that was spread over everything. When it went down, he sat in a ditch, intending to rest for a moment. He slept till the sun was up again.

The next day was the same. He balanced the soup can in his pocket, stopping to fill it for the two of them whenever he saw a pump or running water. He got ahold of some eggs and dug a hole on the side of the road to make a fire. Kirima had once showed him how.

It was not much cooler than Los Angeles had been, and it had not so much as drizzled. Home still seemed a long way off. Shizuo didn't know how far he'd gone. He should ask somebody when he got to the next town.

He fell on the side of the road to sleep again, out of sight, the leash tied to his wrist. When he got up, the road ahead seemed to shimmer.

"Wanna walk?" he asked the dog. It was calmer than usual. Tired. He picked it up. It didn't weigh anything to him. It nestled in. "Good boy," he said.

He rested again under the noon sun. Why? He should go on, he told himself. Hei-Ran. He had to warn her. And she was awful strict. She wouldn't approve of his taking a break when he didn't have to.

"But the puppy," he said aloud. "He needs water."

She made no reply. Shizuo braced himself against the tree he sat under. He looked up at it. What kind of tree was it? He could almost see the leaves. But it was dark. A cloud must have been passing over. Maybe it was going to rain. Shizuo raised a hand to rub his eyes.

He woke in the bed of a truck, with the puppy licking his face. There was a man sitting next to him on the hay. A young guy, blocky and tan with overalls and a close-brimmed hat pulled down to his eyes.

"Hey," he said.

Shizuo pushed himself back so that he was sitting too, against the cab of the truck. "Who are you," he demanded. He eyed the road. He could jump if he had to, if this guy turned out to be trouble.

"Kadota." The guy held out a hand. Shizuo blinked suspiciously at him for a moment, but shook it.

"Shizuo Heiwajima," he said.

Kadota nodded. "Your dog was barking like crazy," he said. "That's how I knew you weren't just drunk."

"Where are you going," Shizuo demanded.

"Back to the farm." Kadota didn't seem worried. "It's why you're here anyway, isn't it?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'm just going through."

Kadota sniffed. "Through to where? There ain't much for a while, I'll tell ya."

"I'm going north," Shizuo said. "I've got to get home."

"You were walking?"

"Yes."

"Listen, all you'll get if you walk north is sunstroke. What's so urgent, anyway?"

"I've got to warn Hei-Ran."

Kadota scratched his chin. "The guys that show up here all have the same story," he said. "And you've got something else. And if you wanna tell it, I think you oughta start further back."

Shizuo pulled one of the boiled eggs out of his pocket, cracked it, and fed it to his puppy. Where to begin. He could start with how his parents met, and the job that had led his father down the wrong path. But this story, he thought, had a clear beginning much closer at hand.

"'Bout a month ago," he said, "the cops showed up at our door. They taked me and my brother an' our little sisters to an orphanage. Then they sent me to Sonoma, and that's where my old man picked me up." He glanced at Kadota to make sure he'd heard him. "He said he was taking me home. He wasn't. I realized that in Fresno. We were going south. I asked him about it and he says we're going to see Hei-Ran."

"Hei-Ran?"

"My aunt's mother."

"If you say so. Go on."

He finished the story by the time they arrived back to the farm. Kadota hopped down from the truck. "I got one question," he said.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you write her a letter?"

"I can't. Can't write."

"Oh. I'll tell you what." Kadota smiled. "You can talk to the boss here about getting you a job. If you get it, I'll write your letter after dinner tonight. You can work here for a month or so and then go home. If he don't take you, I'll write the letter anyway and we'll drop you off next time we're in town."

Shizuo thought about that. "Promise you'll write it? Write it exact?"

"I promise."

"All right."

Chapter Text

February 8, 1934

People used to say that Hei-Ran and Rangi looked alike, so alike that they could be twins. That was true, Kuruk thought, only if you didn't know either of them. He stepped around the old man sleeping on the porch and knocked on the Heiwajimas' door. Rangi answered, and despite all the memory-tricks his eyes liked to play on him, there was no mistaking her.

"Hello," he said. "Good afternoon."

"What's the matter."

"I heard your mother was here. Wanted to pay her a visit. Is she home?"

"She's on a walk," Rangi said, her eyebrows raised.

Just like Hei-Ran, Kuruk thought. He wanted to laugh. She was hiking through the soggy hills while still convalescing. "Know when she'll be back?" he asked.

A woman's voice sounded from the room to Rangi's right. Dining room, if he remembered correctly. "Who is it?" It must be Kyoshi.

"Kuruk," Rangi replied. She turned back to him. "Half an hour or so," she said. "I suppose you want to come in and wait for her."

"I can wait out here."

Her eyes traveled from him to Lao Ge and to the dining room. "No," she said. "Come in and have some tea."

There were stairs in the hall now, made of pale, fresh wood, splinters mostly beaten down already. Kyoshi sat at the dining table in her house-dress and purple smock. Her posture was upright, like a queen waiting for the victorious enemy to take the castle.

She turned her head and looked at her uncle out as though across a roaring river.

"Hey," he said. "How you been?"

"Fine." She folded her arms. He noticed the old acid scars on her hands like they were fresh.

"You sure fixed those stairs up nice," he said.

"Wong did that." Her belly showed her breathing, rapid and shallow. "The social worker said we should."

"Oh yeah. Jinpa. Can't remember his last name."

"Lhamo."

"Yeah. He's a sweet kid."

Kyoshi looked her uncle in the eye. "Are you one of his cases too?"

Kuruk smiled, hoping it would catch. It didn't. "No. He came to ask me about the family. Back in January. I thought he was one of Tonraq's friends at first, he's so young."

"Mm-hm."

"I took it Sonoma State wanted a pedigree for—for you." His voice died in his throat as he saw her turn away. He hadn't meant to remind her of her son. He'd only meant to stop silence from falling.

He searched around for something else to say to her. Not about Yun coming back alone. Not about the kids. In short, not about family, though that was the only place their lives intersected.

"Did you hear about those seaboats that made a trip from Frisco to Hawaii?" he asked.

"No," she said.

If he said much more, she'd probably think he was drunk. He wasn't. He'd only had enough to avoid getting the shakes. So he let the silence fall like he was hiding from someone.

Rangi set two cups of tea on the table for them and began talking to Kyoshi in a low voice that Kuruk pretended not to hear.

"Are you feeling OK?"

Nod.

"Have the pains gone away?"

Nod.

"Has the baby been moving?"

Nod.

"I'll take care of the laundry. You get some sleep. Don't argue with me, the baby needs it."

"No, I'm helping you," Kyoshi said. "I need my rest, but I need some exercise too. Let me help, at least." Her voice was firm. A good sign, Kuruk thought.

Rangi pressed her lips together. "We'll ask Atuat," she said.

"Ask me what?" a loud voice called. There was Atuat coming through the kitchen door, hair sticking up at odd angles from the wind. Hei-Ran was on her heels.

Hei-Ran stopped, leaning on her cane. She surveyed the scene with guarded surprise.

"Mother!" Rangi said. "You're early, you said you'd be back at six."

"I said that so you wouldn't worry."

Atuat bounced around the table and bent down to give her brother a hug. Three years had gone by since they'd met in person, but she was just as Kuruk remembered. She didn't seem a day older.

"Good of you to stop by," she said.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"You let my mother go out in the rain?" Rangi asked when Atuat straightened up.

"It's good for her," she said without missing a beat. "'Bracing', as they say. Anyway, what did you want to ask me?"

"I said I could help with the laundry," Kyoshi said quickly.

Atuat waved a hand. "Go ahead. She isn't some Victorian invalid." She turned and took Hei-Ran by the hand. "This is a surprise visit, isn't it?" she said, grinning.

Kuruk thought of saying something to Kyoshi, but seeing her head down, he knew she didn't want to hear it. He followed Hei-Ran and Atuat into the living room.

The wall separating it from the moonshine room had been knocked down. There was a bed on that side now, its legs propped on bricks. In the corner was a folded camp bed. Like the ones in France. Kuruk tried not to look at it. It was Atuat's, he told himself. Nobody was going to die on it.

Hei-Ran lowered herself onto the sofa. Atuat sat on the bed.

"You know, Sis," Kuruk said as he took the chair that was left, "between poison and shrapnel I think you should take the hard seat."

Atuat smiled her mischievous smile. "You'd get ideas sitting here," she said, eyes glittering.

"Atuat," Hei-Ran chided her. She laughed.

Maybe she was right about the bed. Hei-Ran's hair was gray now; her face was lined. But she retained all her grace, all her authority, as well as the force that made one want to be sure of their grammar before speaking. He'd marry her again if she suggested it, if he was good enough shape to take care of her.

"Come on, if your leg really hurt you'd have brought your walking stick," Atuat said.

"Sure." Kuruk's attention was off her now. Hei-Ran watched the siblings with amusement. That was something, that she was happy. If Hei-Ran was happy, everything must be right.

"Do you miss Los Angeles?" he asked through the brilliant fog in his brain that Hei-Ran had brought on. "You must be cold."

"There isn't so much dust in the air here," she said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess not. Easier to breathe?"

"A bit. I think it's as healthful a climate as any."

"You're feeling well, then?"

"As well as can be expected."

"Good." Letters could reassure, but not as well as seeing someone.

He looked to Atuat and lowered his voice. "And how 'bout Kyoshi?"

"Anemic," she said. In a second she changed, became the serious girl whose quick wit got her through medical exams. Just as tough, but the style of a general rather than a scrappy schoolgirl.

"Won't affect her having the kid, will it?" he asked.

"It might. I can handle it."

"You—hang on, you're going to deliver the baby?"

"Yep. She doesn't want a man doctor."

He had questions, and he didn't want to know the answers to most of them. "What if she needs a hospital?"

"I've got a license. I've got ergotamine. If I fail, they would too."

It still didn't sound right. He frowned.

"You're too worried about her."

"Maybe I am. I don't want to see any—any more family go."

Atuat tilted her head. "I got used to it a long time ago. I thought you would have too."

Gotten used to it? Like getting used to being stabbed. Shouldn't each one be easier than the last?

"We're not all surgeons," he heard himself say.

Hei-Ran laid her hand on his arm. "Atuat," she said, "don't tease him."

"Fine," she said, puzzled.

Friday Feb 30th [Kuruk's journal]

Kelsang isn't much fun. Not if you're measuring by fun. But he's the best company. I think we have an understanding between us, both being branded the same way. Draws us closer than any mere drinking buddies can get. See I could be at a dance hall and forget the shrapnel in my leg but these days I think—for what? Those kinds of contacts don't cut it. I can't tell anyone everything but my friends know me at least.

Kelsang was talking about the new line boss in Building B. Asked what I thought of him. I said I was sick of it, the job was wearing me down.

"There's a lot of things wearing you down faster than work," he said. Had a point, still, in the woods you feel like you're doing something worthwhile. I can't shoot, I've lost the middle ground—either my hands shake or my eyes blur. But my old man taught me to catch snakes. You can sell them for more than fish. Rattlesnakes. I could catch them in the woods.

Speaking of family Yun's been back two or three weeks and as far as I could tell till now behaving himself. There haven't been any "incidents." He works at the car shop. They're fixing up those stairs, I saw it last time I gone to see Hei-Ran.

Kelsang said Kyoshi's worried she'll lose the baby. Never lost one before? Nope. So it must be Yun, she must have pains on his account. Either he beat her or he's hassled her so much that she's buckling.

Now Kelsang knows Jinpa came and talked to me and he asked if I had any news on her. He knows he don't know something. He doesn't know how the boy treats her. Thinks his main problem's the gambling. H—, gambling's the one thing he does steady. Gambling and dope. And she lays the blame on that. But you can do that and not misuse anyone.

She's a tough lady. I don't know how she lets him get away with all of it. Would have thought he'd have shown up in the coroner's office with his skull bashed in. Just by accident. My Ma was half her heft and would have layed Tuta flat if he tried anything with her. Would have gouged his eyes out. Those white-hot eyes. Some days I remember wishing she would for our sake.

Anyway I couldn't bring myself to tell Kelsang. Not his little daughter and all these years he doesn't know. It's not his fault. She's a good liar when it comes to that. She's good with the makeup.

Early March, 1934

Kuruk had a goal now, a path set before him as clearly as a river to sail down. Jianzhu's boy was going to learn the hard way that he didn't have impunity. Kuruk would not watch his niece fade like his mother had, aware of the destruction and lying down to surrender.

But as soon as he had begun to focus, Yun was gone like an eel dropped on a dock. He was alert. Different stuff in his veins, Kuruk thought. He was all stirred up, with the evasiveness of a thief's son and a smuggler's protegee.

So the hunt was on. For several days the boy stayed out of reach, and when Kuruk called out in greeting, or mentioned to someone else he wanted to talk to him, he would disappear. Frustrating. Kuruk found himself looking over his shoulder when he lost him. He didn't want to catch a knife in the kidneys and have an open case like Jianzhu's.

He finally caught up to the kid when he took a shortcut through the woods. There were no windows to hold reflections. Kuruk walked silently, keeping an eye on the path ahead so he'd know when he would turn. When they were out of sight and earshot of town, he closed in. He looped his hand around Yun's elbow, twisting his arm behind his back.

Yun shouted. That was fine with Kuruk. He wasn't really hurting him. He pushed down on his shoulder, took a step forward, and drove him to the ground. Kuruk pinned the bent arm with his knee. Yun's free nails dug into the dirt.

Kuruk huffed. There was satisfaction in finally having gotten to the sneaky kid.

"Guess I've still got it," Kuruk said. Yun twisted his head as far as he could to give him a one-eyed glare.

"What do you want," he said.

"Want. Nothing of yours. I want to talk, that's all. I want you to listen to me."

Yun twisted his legs, to no avail. He was smaller, he was stuck, and he realized it. He quit moving. "You're crazy, old man."

"So what. I've got news for you. You're going to treat your woman right. Like a man does. I don't care if you love her or don't. Either treat her right or get out of town and stay away. She'd be better off without you."

Yun's arms tensed like a current went through him. "She wants me around," he said. "You don't see marks, do you?"

"She's a modest woman."

"She's happy."

"She's kidding herself."

"Let me up and I'll take you back, you can ask her what she thinks of me."

Kuruk could see the scene, Kyoshi sitting and Yun standing over her, making her say what he wanted. He yanked Yun's other arm back. "You heard me. You might have her fooled, but not me."

He stood up. Yun scrambled to his feet. There was murder in his eyes. Kuruk turned and walked away anyways. He'd hear him coming if he tried for revenge.

Chapter Text

March 12, 1934

She heard the dog first, before she saw the owner. He was a lanky young man in jeans and a dusty shirt, with unkempt blond hair sticking out of a cap. He was looking at her intently.

"Hello there," she said.

"Atuat?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "but it's Dr. Mikajima to you." She supposed he'd been sent to fetch her. And there was something familiar about the boy's expression. He knew her?

"Sorry," he said. He twisted the leash around his hand again. He looked familiar, she thought, because of the vigilance in his eyes, the jaded nonchalance of his bearing. Her brothers always looked like that when she was young. She supposed she looked like that, too, back then.

"Were you looking for me?" Atuat said after a moment, when the boy stayed quiet.

He shook his head. "I'm going home," he said.

The puzzle fell into place in her mind. "Shizuo!" she said. "Ah, why didn't you tell me it was you."

He nodded.

Atuat laughed. She closed the distance between them and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ooh, your mother's going to be over the moon. Where have you been!"

He blinked, then launched into the story. "Come on, let's get out of the rain," she said, interrupting as he told her about leaving the hospital. They walked, and he told her of the haircut in Sonoma, of riding the freight trains for the first time, of the hobo jungle, of Yun's warning about women, of the puppy.

She kept her ears open, noted what was relevant and let the rest slide from her awareness.

"What happened to your lip?" she asked.

His hand went to it. He had two cuts—a jagged one on the upper lip itself, and a cleaner, longer one on one side of that. "Shaving," he said.

"Hm. Go on with your story."

He thought.

"You'd just got the puppy."

He went on, about the flophouse in Fresno, how Yun had got a needle broken off in his hand, and arriving in Los Angeles.

He stopped talking abruptly.

"And how'd you get home?" Atuat egged him. "Is that when you ran away?"

"I ran away," he said hesitantly.

"That's no reason to be embarrassed," she said. "My brothers ran away at least once a month when we were kids. How'd you get back up here?"

This was more straightforward. Thieving, exhaustion, and an offer to work on a farm. He'd "done his time" quietly, spoke as little as possible to the other farm workers so as not to get into fights. He'd been amicable enough, in fact, that he'd caught the train to Eureka with a friend.

"Where is he now?" Atuat asked.

"The jungle."

"Let's see if he'd like dinner. Come on, we'll swing by the jungle."

Atuat thought it would take a while to find the other boy, but there he was, near the edge of camp, talking to a few guys. "Hey, Shizuo," he said when he saw him. He glanced at Atuat. "Who's this?"

"My aunt."

"His great-aunt," she said. She stuck out a hand. Kadota shook it, looking slightly surprised. Whites were always surprised at her demeanor. "You want to have dinner with us?" she asked.

"Sounds great." He got up and started the trek across town with them.

"You're from Nevada?" Atuat asked while they walked. The puppy was eager to run around and look at everything, and Shizuo had no will to resist it.

"I'm from San Francisco, but yeah, I came here from Nevada. Getting tired of the heat, you know."

"I know very well. I just came from LA."

Kadota looked thoughtful. "LA. Shizuo told me about a Hei-Ran Sei'naka—"

"Yeah! She's a good friend of mine. We moved together."

"Oh." She could see the gears turning in his brain, trying to figure out how on earth everyone was related. "Did you get that letter?"

"Sure did. Arrived the same day Yun did. I guess you wrote that."

"Yep. I wrote 'cause if what he said was true, I couldn't rightly let that happen."

"Didn't believe him? Nobody wants to believe stuff like that, real bad crimes."

"I didn't know whether to believe him. But I think he's telling the truth. His truth anyway. He's, uh, he's a little funny."

"Yeah. He gets that from his mother. My side of the family." Atuat laughed. "Wait till you meet his brother."

"What's he like?" Kadota asked, looking a little nervous.

"Oh, he's got an even temper. Just looks funny's all."

"I didn't mean nothing against him."

"Nor did I. I'm just stating facts."

"You know anything about the situation?" Kadota said quickly.

"I think the boy had the right idea. He's crazy, but not delusional. You know that, sonny? Not all crazies see things or get delusions."

"I just meant—"

"About his dad? Yeah, he's dangerous. I can see why he wants revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yun's dad's dead. Kyoshi says he did it. He might've put Hei-Ran in the same bucket."

"Shizuo's grandpa."

"Yeah."

"He mentioned him."

"He used to be my brother's friend. Hei-Ran's, too. But something in him went screwy. Guess he got what was coming to him. You know, the funny thing is, out of the handful of people I've known to get revenge, Yun's the only one who's enjoyed it."

Kadota looked out of his league. He was, Atuat thought. She could give anyone a good shock if she talked long enough. Rafa used to say things—true things—just to see people stop dead. She figured she should enjoy it double, since he couldn't anymore.

"Guess who's home!" Atuat shouted, grinning, as she came in the door.

Hei-Ran stood up and looked around the wall. "Shizuo!" she exclaimed.

There was a clatter from upstairs and Kyoshi came tearing down the stairs. She stopped in the doorway just before she plowed her son over. She breathed for a second, then lifted Shizuo up in a hug.

"Mom," he said. "Put me down. The baby." But for the first time since he'd arrived, he was smiling.

"Who are you?" Kirima asked Kadota sharply.

"Kyouhei Kadota," he said. "I'm a friend of Shizuo's."

"Shizuo," Hei-Ran said. "Introduce us to him."

"Shouldn't he introduce him to us?" Atuat said.

"Shush. He needs practice."

Shizuo looked around. "This is my mother," he said. "That's my aunt, her too. My uncle. That's Hei-Ran."

"Tell him our names."

"Kyoshi, Rangi, Kirima, Lao Ge, and Hei-Ran. Mrs. Sei'naka."

Hei-Ran sighed. "Good for a first attempt," she muttered.

Now that Kadota had been introduced, Kyoshi pulled her son close again. "I've missed you," she said, her voice constricted. Constricted was all. She would never cry in front of a practical stranger.

"Good to see you," Rangi said. "We thought your dad had killed you."

"Rangi!"

"'Ran away,' you expected me to believe that?"

"I did run away," Shizuo said.

Rangi seemed to think it over for a moment, weighing one possibility against another. But she sighed and said, "All right. The story'll come out in the wash, I suppose."

The story came out over dinner, the two boys sharpening it against each other's words. From being suspicious, the family warmed to Kadota, and invited him to stay so long as he helped them with chores and whatnot.

"Very nice o' you," he said, smiling. "I'll take you up on that. Just till I find some place to work."

"Good luck," Atuat said. "I been here a month and haven't gotten many calls."

"Calls?"

"I'm a doctor."

Poor kid. He didn't know what to think of these crazies.

March 13, 1934

Hei-Ran put away what she'd been reading and took up her cane. A walk. Atuat stood too. "Shizuo," Hei-Ran called to the next room. "I'm going for a walk. I'd like you to come with me."

He followed the two of them out the door and down the road leading around one side of town. His dog followed him, running to and fro without its leash. Atuat could see the trepidation in Shizuo, the question of whether he was in trouble. She'd seen it many times before in friends and cousins who couldn't tell whether her father was angry or whether he just looked that way.

"It's a very crowded house," Hei-Ran said. "Between me, Atuat, and Kadota, it's nearly as full as it was in November." She turned and raised an eyebrow. Not angrily, but Shizuo said, "Yes, ss—ma'am."

She seemed mildly surprised at his manners, but went on with what she had planned to say. "Atuat tells me how you made your way home." She pulled the letter out of her pocket. "Did you send this?"

He squinted at it." "It's the letter warning about Yun," Atuat said.

"Oh. Yes I did."

"How." Hei-Ran stopped, and the other two stopped automatically.

"Kadota wrote it for me."

"You dictated it."

"I told him what happened and he wrote it."

Hei-Ran smiled. "Clever boy," she said. She was not committed to teaching him and so could be as nice as she wanted. "I thought you'd done something of the sort."

They resumed walking. Shizuo and Hei-Ran both seemed comfortable in the silence, but Atuat could almost hear her thinking. "I showed the letter to your mother," she said evenly after a few minutes. "She didn't believe that you had sent it. She didn't think Yun would want to kill me. What made you come to the conclusion that he did?"

Shizuo frowned. "I don't know," he said. "Just came to me."

"You do know," Hei-Ran said. "I believe you're right about your father. The clues must have been there at the time. Think back to when you realized it."

"He knocked on the door." Shizuo looked up in thought, tilting his whole head towards the sky. "You wasn't home, and he said he'd waited too long. Then he went round the back and jimmied the lock. We went in. It was all empty. Up on the second floor he started shouting. 'You know where she is.' That's when I knew. I shut him in a room and took off with the dog."

Hei-Ran nodded with an air of satisfaction. "Thank you for the warning," she said. "Brave thing you did."

"I'm not scared of him," Shizuo said, his eyebrows knit.

"You oughta be," Atuat said.

"I'm not. I'm bigger than him now." He watched the dog bouncing around.

"You're at that age, huh. Just big enough to stand up to Dad and it's going to your head."

"Say, what's your dog's name?" Hei-Ran asked Shizuo.

"I didn't think of one. I just been calling him—well, nothing, mostly it's just 'good boy'."

"His name is Boy, then," Atuat said.

Hei-Ran smiled, but Shizuo said quite seriously, "Guess so."

There were things beyond the finest minds, including Atuat's. Epilepsy was that way before phenobarbital came along. There was nothing to be done about these things, incurable conditions and afflictions of the mind. Therefore there was no reason to worry about them.

Atuat did not worry about her brothers anymore. An ulcer she could treat; manic-depression was a mystery. A face could be put back into working order; catatonia was different. An abscess could be lanced, but an addiction was down to will, and the boys lacked that, it was nobody else's fault.

Insomnia was a rare condition that lay on the border. It originated in the mind, but was quite treatable with a dose of barbital.

Kyoshi would have none of it. She'd take nothing stronger than coffee. Atuat let it go. It was down to Rangi to help her sleep, to keep her calm and away from her husband.

Rangi somehow remembered that Yun had left July eighth the previous year, so March thirty-first was the last possible date that the baby was due. If it was late, Atuat would be slow to worry—Kyoshi was too big for dystocia.

Kyoshi was restless on the twenty-ninth, keeping to herself more than usual but not admitting that anything was awry.

Rangi shook Atuat awake after midnight. She was holding a lamp and looking agitated.

"The baby," Atuat said. Rangi nodded. Atuat felt a zap of heat flow down her arms, to ready her for action.

Not being sure when the baby would arrive, the family had made few preparations. Atuat had fixed that. She set Rangi to boiling water, put an apron on, and took her medical bag upstairs.

There were three bedrooms up there. Atuat knocked at the one at the right, where the men were. Wong came to the door. "Get the boys up," she said, "and take 'em downstairs."

He nodded.

She moved on to the next door. It was open; Yun was sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxer shorts. "You," Atuat said.

"What." He didn't seem happy to be awake.

"Go downstairs."

"Can't tell me what to do."

"I'm a doctor. Your wife's in labor—"

He cut her off. "I effing know that, she was tossing and turning all night."

"So you better get out of our way," she said loudly.

He glared at her.

"Go." He got up and left the room, bumping her with his shoulder as he passed her.

"And fix her something to eat. Something light," Atuat said. "Toast or something."

Kyoshi must be in the third room, Atuat thought, where the other women slept. Sure enough, there she was with Kirima. She was standing in the corner, looking as sheepish as a girl who'd been put in a dunce cap.

"Don't worry about that, it's just water," Kirima was saying.

"There you are," Atuat said. Kyoshi looked around, startled. "Come on, let's give you a bath. Kirima, could you go downstairs and get my camp bed?"

"You woke up when the waters broke, didn't you?" Atuat asked as they returned to the room. Rangi sat next to the light as though she were a guard.

"Sort of. I was trying to fall asleep till I felt it," Kyoshi said.

"Isn't your nightgown wet?"

"Uh-huh."

"You ought to change."

Kyoshi clenched her hand on her nightgown. "I don't have another one," she said.

"Well then, just get under a blanket."

"No...."

"All the men are downstairs."

She shook her head. "I don't mind it."

"I'll get you something," Kirima said. She left the bedroom.

Atuat laid an oilcloth on the bed, and some of the linen on top. Kirima came back with a large nightshirt and gave it to Kyoshi. She put it on before unbuttoning the nightgown and shimmying out of it. She laid down, pulling the blanket over herself.

Atuat went downstairs. The men sure looked funny, she thought, in their pajamas with no idea what to do. Men always had the feeling that something must be done. No. You do things either for a purpose or because you want to.

"Where's the food?" she asked, putting her instruments in the hot water. "Can't expect us to do this on empty stomachs."

Wong stood up to start something.

Atuat gave Lao Ge a pointed look. He yawned, stretched his leathery arms, and said, "Well, it doesn't look like I'm needed awake. I'm going to sleep on the sofa."

Upstairs, Kyoshi was lying on her back, her feet on the edge of the camp bed. Kirima sat next to her on the bed with the mattress, and Rangi hovered nervously on the other side. As Atuat watched, a pain began. Kyoshi grabbed the side of the bed. Her legs stiffened. Kirima and Rangi both leaned forward to try and comfort her.

Atuat set her bag on a chair and opened it. "Rangi," she said, thinking she should give her something to do, "get us some water. Drinking water."

She took out her stethoscope and listened to Kyoshi's heartbeat. It was normal. Perhaps she should count it as high—the larger a creature was, the slower its pulse.

The baby's heartbeat was also normal, about twice as fast as its mother's. "You know," Atuat said as she stood up, "you're dorsal recumbent. Very convenient for me, less so for you. Why don't you turn on your side."

Kyoshi turned. Kirima pulled up a chair and took her sister's hand in preparation for the next pain. Rangi came back with a pitcher of water and a glass.

"What do we do now," she said, setting it down on the nightstand. Her eyes had a shimmering panic in them, and her arms were at her sides like she was going to box someone.

"Nothing much," Atuat said. "In fact, Kyoshi, you shouldn't push until you have to. You'll only tire yourself out."

"Uh-huh."

The clock ticked on to 2 AM. Kyoshi took the pains in silence, though her legs still stiffened like in a grand mal seizure. Atuat supposed that between the lack of anesthesia and Suki's being eight, this would be like a first labor. "Don't resist," she told Kyoshi. "Try to go with it."

"The h— do you mean by that."

Atuat waited for the pain to end. "You had Suki and the boys. Your mother had you. Her mother had thirteen kids. And on and on, for millions of years, with hardly a hitch. Try to relax."

"Relax," Kyoshi said sarcastically. "You've never had a baby."

"I've delivered quite a few." The Mexicans in Los Angeles had trusted her like whites up here didn't.

At three, Atuat went downstairs to fetch more cloth for the bed. Both boys were asleep, sitting up and leaning against the side of the stairs. Wong and Yun were drinking coffee.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" Atuat said. "Wake the boys up instead."

"I've had too much coffee to go back to sleep," Wong said.

"Why does anybody got to stay awake," Yun said. "You got all the help you need up there for your witchcraft."

Atuat frowned at him. "What d'you have against me?" she said. "You've got a fresh mouth on you. If I wasn't busy I'd smack it right off you."

Yun stood up, eyes flaring. "You couldn't do nothing."

"I had four older brothers, kid, you don't want to get me sore."

There was a wail from upstairs. Both men looked at the ceiling.

"She's fine," Atuat said. She looked into the living room. Hei-Ran was sleeping with her brows knit like she was dreaming of arithmetic. Lao Ge was also asleep. his arms behind his head. Atuat stepped forward, intending to shout in his ear, but as soon as she was within two feet of him, he opened his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Thought you were asleep."

"I thought I was too."

"The h— does that mean."

He gave her a winning smile.

"Save that for someone who'd buy it, why don'tcha."

The pain was over, but Kyoshi still held Kirima's hand with both of hers. Rangi brushed the hair out of her face in rhythmic sweeping motions. Atuat watched this for a second.

Another pain came. The legs became broken poles again, stiff and trembling. Kirima winced as her sister squeezed her hand. Rangi rubbed Kyoshi's shoulder and said "You're all right, you're all right."

"Stand up, Kyoshi," Atuat said when she'd relaxed. She didn't move. "I've got to change the blankets."

"I'm OK," Kyoshi said. Her voice was only audible because it was quiet at night. It was dim, like the rumble of horses felt through the ground.

"It'll take two seconds, and you can lay back down."

Kirima patted her hand. "Come on."

"Rangi," Kyoshi said.

"Yes?" She seemed anxious to hear what she would say.

"G—go in the hallway."

"The hallway?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to see me."

Rangi looked surprised. Then her voice took on a warmth Atuat wouldn't have expected. "Kyoshi, I won't think less of you. This is dignity, too, not having some strange man deliver the baby."

Slowly, Kyoshi got up. She leaned against the wall.

"Kirima, get the stained cloth out of here."

"Me?" Kirima said.

"Yep. Am I right, Kyoshi? Rangi can stay with you, and Kirima'll do the practical things for me."

Kyoshi blinked and nodded.

"What do I do with this?" Kirima asked.

"Put it to soak in the tub or something. Put some salt or iodine in there. Then wash your hands."

Atuat bent to put the fresh cloths on the bed, but got another idea. "Kyoshi," she said. "Why don't you stay standing?"

"Standing?"

"Or. Here. Sit on these." She arranged the cloth on the floor. Kyoshi lowered herself down onto them. Kirima returned. The next pain came. She frowned and clutched the others' hands, but she didn't seem quite as stiff.

"Is that easier?" Atuat asked.

"Yeah."

The night wore on. There was something exhilarating about the night, a sense that an adventure could, or even was, happening without anyone to see or stop it. Rangi implored her friend to eat, and when she wouldn't, settled on giving her sugary water.

Near sunrise, the labor picked up. She wasn't silent anymore, but groaned into Rangi's shoulder.

"Kirima," Atuat said, "get a couple bowls. Bowls, buckets, whatever."

"Should I wash 'em out?"

"Sure. It's for washing the baby."

Kirima left and Atuat pulled on a pair of gloves.

"What are you doing," Kyoshi asked nervously.

"Nothing to you. I'm going to catch the baby."

Rangi patted her on the back. "It's almost over."

"Yeah." Her brow was sweaty, eyes dull.

The baby arrived in a quiet rush at 7:15. A girl with wispy brown hair. She began to cry. Atuat cut the cord, washed the baby, put the silver nitrate drops in her eyes, and wrapped her in a towel.

"You did it!" Rangi said. Her voice was high; her hair had gone flat. Kyoshi laughed weakly and nodded. She flipped the blanket back over her legs.

"What do you want to call her?" Kirima asked.

Kyoshi looked down at her, at the tiny baby who looked even smaller in her arms. "Koko," she said, and bent her head to nuzzle and kiss her.

When the afterbirth was out, Atuat took off her gloves, washed her hands, and went downstairs.

"Breakfast!" she shouted, and all four of the boys jumped. "Yes, the baby's here! It's a girl. Yun, your little's girl's called Koko."

He ignored her. All the better, she thought, and sat down. The hot water was dumped out in the backyard and eggs were cooked, and orange juiced poured for the family. "I'll take the girls some," Atuat said. "All four of 'em now, haha!"

Kirima halted with a jerk at the top of the stairs. Her eyes were wide, or as wide they could be. "Atuat!" she said, and the alarm was enough to know what to do next. She set the plate on the stairs and hurried up to the bedroom.

Rangi was crouching on the floor, holding the baby. Kyoshi was on her side.

Out, was the only thought in Atuat's mind. Out light a light. Her hands worked in a blur, getting out the syringe and the ergot, with the knowledge that Kyoshi wasn't just asleep. She didn't need to see the blood seeping across the floor to know that.

"Atuat!" Rangi shrieked.

"I've got it!" she heard herself say.

Chapter Text

Friday, March 30, 1934

In the six years that had gone by since Suki was a baby, they had lost most of the equipment. There was no bottle, only a light blanket over Kyoshi's upper body. There was no crib, just mother and baby resting next to each other. Not that either of them could do much more.

Atuat was hoping to give Kyoshi a blood transfusion. She had an array of beakers set up in the living room, and she'd taken blood samples from each of them that morning, before the men went to work. Each of them except Hei-Ran, because she was weak, Yun, because he was a lowlife, and Kadota, because Hei-Ran said she "couldn't ask such a thing" of a guest.

In the afternoon, Shizuo ran downtown to get his grandpa. It was two, still technically school hours, and before they might have made him wait for fear of truant officers. But his adventures had left him looking like a proper, scruffy 18-year-old. He was slightly taller than his father now.

"Hello, hello," Kelsang said in a perfunctory way. Kirima waved and Hei-Ran nodded and they didn't talk, not wanting to hold him back from going upstairs. Rangi put on a pot of tea for him.

Kirima listened, as she peeled potatoes for dinner, expecting laughter or the sound of their voices, but heard nothing. Funny to think how two giants could be so quiet. One was weak, sure, but the other was just gentle.

"Oh, thank you," he said when Rangi offered him the tea. He sat down with a sigh at the kitchen table. He smiled through his beard. He had time now that he had seen his daughter and her baby and made sure they were all right. The main event was done.

To Kirima's surprise, Rangi sat down across from him. She blew an errant strand of hair off her forehead. "Mr. Arashi," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial, "I wanted to ask you..."

"Yes?"

Rangi cleared her throat. "It's been quite a trial having the children so far away." Trial, Kirima realized, as in trial by fire, not as in the courthouse. "Could you take them in?"

Kelsang rubbed his beard. "I wish I could," he said, "but I don't have the room. Are you worried about them? Are they OK at the orphanage?"

"Yes, but we don't want the baby to end up there too. Mr. Lhamo's coming on Wednesday."

Kirima broke in. "What about that friend of yours?" she asked Kelsang. "The big Indian fella. I heard he had foster kids."

Kelsang shifted in his seat and turned his cup in his hands. "No, uh, it's—just about the opposite. His kids don't live with him. The oldest, I think he's about twenty, he looks after the younger ones. His sister, though! She's a foster mother."

"Yangchen," Rangi said with a nod of approval. "Good idea. You can write her."

"I'll have to ask Kuruk," he said. "I'm not sure where she lives. She travels. Last I heard she was in Chicago, but that was months ago."

Atuat had told Kyoshi to get up as soon as she felt she could, and Rangi had ordered her to stay put, so Kirima brought her up a bowl of soup and some bread. Koko was next to her mother, under her arm, her tiny face sticking out from her swaddling blankets.

Kyoshi looked half-asleep, but stirred when she noticed her sister. Kirima set the bowl down on the nightstand and picked up the sleeping baby.

Kyoshi pulled herself to a sitting position, using the headboard. From outside they could hear the dog barking. The lamp flickered.

"Your dad said he'd get in touch with his friend's sister," Kirima said.

"Who?"

"The Indian's sister. Yamuna or something."

"Yangchen," Kyoshi said.

"That's the one."

"She's my aunt," Kyoshi said.

"How do you—" Kirima stopped herself.

"She's the spitting image of my mother," Kyoshi said, her expression hardening.

The door opened. "Oh," Rangi said to Kirima. "Hello."

"Hi."

Rangi sat on the end of the bed, setting down the nightshirt she'd brought in from the laundry line. She frowned at Kyoshi, though not angrily. "Your hair's tangled," she said. "Wait here, I'll get a comb."

"As though I have a choice," Kyoshi said, smiling.

Rangi kneeled on the bed behind Kyoshi, took a lock of hair in hand, and began combing, starting with short strokes at the bottom. It wasn't that bad, Kirima thought, imagining how her own hair would look if she hadn't combed it in twenty-four hours.

"Does that hurt?" Rangi said, sweeping a strand of hair back from Kyoshi's face.

Kyoshi's voice was soft, almost relieved. "No." Her hands curled in her lap, fidgeting with her skirt. It did hurt, Kirima thought, judging by the look on her face, though she didn't wince.

The baby started to squirm, then whine. Kirima went to change her. She returned and sat down where Rangi had been. Kyoshi looked over at her and the baby, eyes sideways so as not to turn her head. Her eyes began to water, and she let out a sob.

Rangi froze. "What's wrong!" she said. She dropped the comb on the bed and grabbed Kyoshi's shoulders, who shook her head.

Rangi put her arms around Kyoshi. Her head dipped and her shoulders softened. Kirima bounced the baby, hoping to keep her quiet. "It's all right," Rangi said. "We're here, we're not going anywhere." Her black eyes flicked around; she seemed to be searching for the source of Kyoshi's tears. "We'll visit the children as soon as you're well enough," she said.

"It's not that," Kyoshi said, her breath twitching out of her control. "I—I'm just happy she's OK."

"She? Who—"

"Koko."

"Oh. Oh, of course she's OK." Rangi glanced at Kirima. A fleeting smile of relief pulled one side of her mouth.

"Just—everything that's happened—"

"We've always pulled through," Kirima said. "We're experts at close shaves." She considered mentioning Jesa, but reconsidered in a hurry.

Rangi let go of Kyoshi. She looked around like a lost child, but Rangi only moved so that she was sitting next to her.

Kirima got the feeling that she should look away. Her eyes fell on the baby. Koko's skin was still blotchy, bumbling pink. Her eyes were closed, but lightly, as though she by napping she was upholding her end of an inconvenient agreement.

Her lips twitched, pulled apart; her brown eyes blinked open, then shut, and she began to cry. Rangi looked up as though coming out of a reverie. "Is she wet?" she said.

"I just changed her."

"Right."

"She's probably hungry," Kyoshi said. Her clumsy fingers came up to undo her nightgown's buttons. The others got up and she laid down. Kirima set the baby next to her and Rangi flipped the blanket over them.

"Here you go, here you go," Kyoshi murmured to the baby, "aw, I'm here." She smiled. The storm had passed, and sun was breaking through the clouds.

"Koko's got the right idea. Let's have dinner," Kirima said. Rangi nodded but lingered in the room, making sure mother and baby were happy and protected from drafts. She closed the bedroom door silently.

"What are you grinning at?" she said.

"Hated to leave her, didn't you?"

Rangi's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

Kirima considered what to say. Exactly what she suspected, or a cloaked reference? Or nothing near it? She decided to be blunt. "You're sweet on her."

Rangi's white face turned pink. "Wh—I didn't—"

Kirima started to laugh. "Your interests aren't news to me, but your liking Kyoshi is. This explains why you're always at Yun's throat! Rivalry, plain and simple." She stopped herself laughing, but the air escaped her nose. Rangi rubbed her face in frustration.

"That," she said, "is a matter of principle. No man with an ounce of decency—"

Kirima held up a hand. "I wasn't saying I minded. Heck, I grew up in the twenties. Don't get in a tizzy."

"There you are," Atuat said as they came through the dining room. "Kirima, you're O too."

"I'm what?" she said, caught off-guard.

"That's the chemical name for oxygen," Rangi said.

"No, no. Blood types. The types are A, B, O, and AB. Kyoshi's O. She can only take a blood transfusion of other type-O blood. Shizuo's also O. I'll do two more tests on you and if you'll agree you can give a donation. All right?"

"What are these other tests?" Kirima said, raising an eyebrow as she sat down with her soup.

"Wassermann and tuberculin skin tests."

"I'll take your word for it," Kirima said, reaching past Lao Ge for the salt.

Atuat gave the orders after dinner, that the folks sleeping upstairs were to divide into boys, men, and women. Kadota and Shizuo would share one room, Wong and Yun another; Kirima and Rangi would stay with Kyoshi.

They laid their blankets on the floor, a few to lay on and one over that.

"She intended to keep Yun away from his wife," Kirima said as she spread her top blanket out, "but I think I ought to keep you at bay too—"

Rangi hastily shushed her, her eyes darting to Kyoshi.

"Ah, don't worry, she's asleep."

Chapter Text

Thursday, April 19, 1934

"How do you know Mrs. Sei'naka?"

"She's my friend's mother."

"She lives with you."

"Yes."

"Who attacked her."

They were in a great white spare room of the hospital. Kyoshi sat, and the police stood, so that they could imagine they had the upper hand over their witness. Kyoshi reminded herself that they knew her, or they knew of her, and would have treated any other wife-of-a-suspect differently.

She knew them too, and was not at all keen to answer their questions.

"Mrs. Heiwajima, I'm asking you—"

"My husband." The strange words tumbled from her numb lips and into the air. It was better, she thought, that she could not properly see their faces, could not take in much of anything through the fog of shock. If she had seen and felt as usual, it would all be sharp—rusted metal flying toward her in a hurricane.

One policeman was taking notes. "You three were the only ones home at the time," he said.

"And the baby."

"How old is the baby."

"Three weeks tomorrow."

"Your husband's?"

"Yes." Why they felt they had to ask, she didn't know.

"And what did your husband do."

She thought the question over. Though she was sure they wanted details, the whole scene had to be condensed to essentials for her to think about it without the floodgates falling down. "He stabbed her in the chest," she said, her voice quiet and tired.

"What does your husband look like," the other cop asked.

"The same as he did in December," she said. "Brown hair, greenish brown eyes. Five foot eight and... I'd say a hundred and twenty pounds. He has a knife," she added, before some kind of trap-door shut in her throat.

"Where is your husband now," the policeman went on, oblivious to her conflict.

"No clue."

"Did he say where he was going."

"No!" He had run, dripping blood from his shoulder and knowing Hei-Ran wouldn't miss a second time. He'd barely looked at Kyoshi. The scene flared into her head before she pushed it aside again.

She'd come to the hospital to assure herself that Hei-Ran would live. That was all. She wanted to go home. She had to. Koko would be hungry, she thought, trying not to let any worse scenarios form in her mind.

"Where was everyone else," the note-taking cop said.

Kyoshi thought back. There were so many to keep track of. "Atu—Dr. Mikajima had a call," she said.

"What kind of call."

"A patient, I don't know—"

"And what about the others. You live with six others."

"No... ten people. W—"

"Where were they."

With an effort, she exhaled. She was always on thin ice with the police, ever since she'd come to their attention. She had to remember that. "Wong and Kadota were at work. Rangi and Shizuo were visiting my father. Kirima was on an errand—"

"Doing what."

"Getting groceries." It occurred to her that they might check every alibi, or—and this irked her worse—they might not. They might be badgering her for its own sake.

"You said you lived with ten people," the cop with his hand on the table said. "That's six."

Kyoshi strained to think. She wished he would back away from her. "I was including Hei-Ran, Yun, and the baby," she said. She didn't want the cops to know Koko's name.

"That's nine," the closer one said like she couldn't add three and six.

"I don't know where Lao Ge was. Probably at a bar."

"Which bar."

"I. Don't know. Is that all, sir? I have to get home to my baby."

"That's not all," the note-taker said. "Tell us what happened. From start to finish."

Kyoshi closed her eyes, willing herself to return to the scene. The day, it seemed—hard to believe it was only six hours before. She could not bring herself to watch it as she had at the time, in her own body, with the hands she desperately pressed to Hei-Ran's ribs. So she watched herself as though it were some other woman in the nightmare.

"I was upstairs, taking a nap with the baby," she said. "I woke all of a sudden when I heard a gunshot. I didn't know if it was real or I'd dreamed it, but I went downstairs to see. I found Hei-Ran and my husband grappling. I tried to pull him off her. Then he got free of both of us and Hei-Ran fired again. She hit him in the shoulder."

"But he got away."

"I went to get a doctor."

"I see."

Kyoshi didn't want to tell them anything else. About the trail of blood being made utterly unimportant by the puddle forming on the living room floor. Hei-Ran's yelling, not in pain, but urging Kyoshi to follow him. Rangi's face when she learned what happened.

The police had what they wanted. They left her to gather her thoughts and try to put some energy into her numb legs. Koko, she thought. She would see her baby.

Despite her fatigue, Kyoshi did not stop to breathe before climbing the last hill on the way home. She was too eager to get there. The walk had allowed to her to look forward to home, to her family, to her babies, to the rickety house that was, darn it, good enough for her.

Kirima and Wong were sitting in the living room, talking. Kirima stopped as Kyoshi came through the door, and Wong turned to look at her. Kyoshi just nodded and headed upstairs.

The baby wasn't crying, which surprised and relieved her. She found Koko in Rangi's arms. She was sitting on the bed, rocking her. There was a spoon and and a cup of milk on the night-stand.

Kyoshi sat down next to them, noting that her friend was in her pajamas and thinking she'd be lucky if she got up the will to change before she fell asleep.

Rangi said nothing, didn't look up from the baby. That was funny. She was probably still shocked herself, still mired in her thoughts.

"The cops caught me as I was leaving," Kyoshi said.

It was quiet.

"I really think they just wanted to pester me."

She gave it a moment. There was no way Rangi hadn't heard her no matter how deep her concentration.

"Rangi?"

Rangi turned, and the look in her eyes dropped a weight in Kyoshi's stomach.

"You knew." Her words were pure venom, and suddenly Kyoshi felt as though she were at the wrong end of a wizard's telescope, shrunken to a pebble.

"I—I what?"

"You knew! You'd seen that letter!"

The letter, the letter she hadn't believed, the letter she'd convinced herself was nothing important, was sent as a prank, was an awful misinterpretation. Hei-Ran had told her daughter all about it.

If Rangi had had her hands free, she'd probably have slammed them down. Kyoshi's head was spinning. "I didn't think—"

"You didn't think he was dangerous! You didn't think your own son knows his father! You didn't think it was something I should be told about!"

"He's a—"

She had been about to say that Shizuo was always distrustful, but Rangi provided her own view of what the other 'he' was. "And you let him back in the house!"

"Rangi...." Kyoshi had no idea what she could say to reverse her fate. It had never occurred to her that Rangi might hate her. She had been loyal through good times and bad times and downright strange times, and here it was all going up in smoke.

The words came to her out of the blue, a thoughtless miracle. "They say she's going to be OK."

Rangi's nose flared. She set Koko down on the bed and straightened up. Kyoshi gaped at her. "I am never," Rangi said, her accent becoming more definite in her passion, "never, going to forgive you."

She left the room, slamming the door behind her. Koko began to cry.

Kyoshi lay, with nothing much filling her thoughts. Nothing much in her heart. Koko was the only one who might have gotten her attention in the quiet darkness, but she was asleep. Kyoshi wished she could too, just close her eyes and be off, but sensed that her dreams would not be so kind. She could see Hei-Ran's blood on her sleeves. That was another bloodstain on her nightgown, added to the one from October.

You knew. She ran her finger under her hair. Could she still feel the gash from that night? Had it left a scar?

Bang! Mother and daughter, both with the same target. They were right, of course. Only misguided, forgetting that he meant all the best.

The old wound had apparently healed. She couldn't find it. Or perhaps her fingers were simply too mutilated for the task.

Not just the scars—her hands had always been clumsy, useless. She remembered Jesa's hands enveloping hers, trying to guide her. Her impatience, her winding up when her daughter set her off.

Kyoshi had been terrified of Yangchen those months she'd spent with her in Yukon. She had been sure she'd leave her to freeze. She'd clung to her, tried to wedge herself into her coat and make herself a permanent fixture of her life, however odd that life was.

Seattle and Kelsang were warm.

"Kyoshi?" Wong's voice pulled her back to the surface.

"What." She sounded rude. She hadn't meant to. Wong, after all, had not turned on her.

"I—do you want your nightgown?" he said, cautiously poking his head into the room.

Blood stains, waters, the knowledge of guilt. She had an urge to burn her nightgown in the oven. "It's dirty," she said.

"You can borrow my nightshirt again."

"Don't you need it." Someone, please, to believe her side of the story. Someone to tell Rangi not to hate her.

"I have other ones. Yeah?" He went and got it for her and shut the door for her to change. When she had done, she stood near it. "Are you there?" she said, her voice quiet.

"Yeah."

"You can come in now."

He bent over the baby while she got under the covers. She hated to ruin his smile, but she had to say it. "Wong?"

"Hm."

"Rangi's mad at me." It sounded childish once it was out, but now all she could do was hold her breath for his response.

He stiffened, straightened, avoided her eye. "I know," he said gently, and waited for her to go on.

"Could you—tell her—tell her—" Tell her what? Her mother hadn't been stabbed? Kyoshi hadn't known about the warning? Hei-Ran was sure to be all right? Kyoshi's voice betrayed her and came up with nothing.

"Kyoshi," Wong said, "your husband is dangerous. You've known this for years. He killed his own father—"

"He was never convicted."

"You were the one who accused him!"

She shrank down, an unwilling gesture that she didn't know how to replace. If only they were all strangers. If only she could menace these criminals like she menaced all the others, and keep them from ever affecting her. Wong sighed. "You could have told her that Hei-Ran was in danger."

"I didn't...."

"I know, Kyoshi. Hindsight's all too clear."

She nodded, her mouth clamped shut against the surge threatening to crash through her chest.

Rangi slept on the pallet nearest the door, and furthest from Kyoshi. Though she'd been eager for rest after having the baby, Kyoshi wished her husband was next to her now.

Sleep took her easily, aided by exhaustion and the wish to get away.

It was a murky place that met her on the other side, as though she was so tired that even in dreams she could not maintain awareness. There seemed to be a veil obscuring her view, some kind of inky fog.

Hei-Ran's neck was cut, sticky blood spilling from her wound. She smiled and closed her eyes. "Get him!" she shouted.

"No! No, you were going to be all right! They said you would!"

"Get him!" Hei-Ran's voice called into darkness. What else could Kyoshi do? She fumbled her way backwards, looking for the door. A rod smacked her on the head. She was in the woods, then wading through a creek.

Panic rose in her chest. "Shizuo!" she shouted. He was lost somewhere on the other side, in the gloom, and she was being swept down by the water.

The days rolled by as though she hadn't wakened, as though she were still in her gray dream. But Hei-Ran wasn't there—she was said to be recovering in the hospital. And Shizuo was home. Sometimes she checked on him to be sure that he wasn't lost again.

The baby was also real. Koko needed to be fed, bathed, changed, rocked to sleep. Kyoshi was grateful, for something to do and for their warmth. Only her two children would be with her without a veil of suspicion and blame thrown between them. Only they trusted she was not a traitor.

But though they tolerated her, none of the family, not a one of them, saw her point of view.

"I'll kill him when I see him again."

"Don't say that," Kyoshi said, though it was about the first thing her son had said in days.

"I'll kill him."

"Shizuo!"

He seemed to hardly hear her. "I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I'll kill him."

The road ahead was straight, allowing Rangi to turn around and give him a warning.glare. "Better not let Mrs. Keo hear you talk like that."

They were headed to Arcata. It would be thirst time Shziuo had seen Kasuka, Suki, and Mingxia since January, and in fact the first time all five kids would be together. The social worker had taken a look through the house and said it was all right for Shizuo to stay.

Kyoshi had Koko across her lap, out of the way of the wind that blew Rangi's hair around her face. Kyoshi found herself staring at it. It caught her eye like a portal to the fairy world.

After a moment, Rangi threw her a glance. "What."

"Nothing." Kyoshi turned her eyes to the road.

She should have been happy, at the prospect of all her children safe and together. But her joy found no fuel left to burn.

"Where is he," Suki said. Kyoshi couldn't stand to see her little girl's face so serious.

"Where's…who?" Kyoshi said, falling into a chair.

"Dad."

"He got away," Rangi said. This was not how Kyoshi imagined her daughters meeting the baby. She'd thought they'd be home, warm, if not fed then nestled in their family's love.

"How do you know about that?" Kyoshi said.

"Because people read the newspaper," Suki said. "And talk about it."

"Suki," Kyoshi said, unsure if her daughter could tell she was pleading, "don't worry about it. Hei-Ran is going to be fine." She felt Rangi's hard stare on her neck.

Suki nodded. She seemed to shift—OK, that question was behind her. She smiled at the baby. "Mingxia, look, she has blue eyes like me."

Tuesday, May 1, 1934

The dog was loose in the yard, barking. Kyoshi wondered dully whether Shizuo was making any effort to hold it back. It would be the mailman, given the time of day. Kyoshi stood, feeling as stiff as an old, rotting tree. She stuck her head out the bedroom window. Sure enough, there was the mailman and there was Shizuo, holding his puppy and watching him with a suspicion probably just as great as his dog's.

And there was Lao Ge. Poor mailman, Kyoshi thought, coming up to the secluded house and being met with a half-feral dog, a half-feral boy, and a half-feral old man.

Kyoshi lay back down, her thoughts drifting up to the ceiling. It was easier to be detached, though it made her head feel strange, like a band pressing outwards in her skull.

She was brought back to herself by a knock on the door. "Yes?" she said. She did not want to invite someone to come in, but wouldn't care if they did.

"Letter for you," Lao Ge's voice said.

She sat straight up and opened the door. "Who's it from."

He waved a hand. "No idea," he said, the smell of cheap wine wafting from his mouth. She snatched the letter. He had not opened it. She fumbled with it for a moment, trying to open it, thinking she could just rip it in half and read the pieces.

"Here." Lao Ge took the letter and deftly slid a steady finger under the flap. She inwardly cursed him.

"Give it back," she said. She returned to her bed to shake the letter open and read it.

My darling—

I'm in Stockton now. Wanted to let you know I'm all right. Shoulder's sore as h— but I found a job where that don't matter. I'm no sissy, it'll take more than attempted murder to stop me.

Hei-Ran's always been like that. Of course, she was good friends with Jianzhu. Aided and abetted him all the way. You shouldn't be surprised that she did this to me. She has the same attitude—"how dare this kid have a life of his own! He's mine, I can mistreat him however I want." Ask Rangi how her mother treated her. Sent her away. She didn't give a d—.

If I'm rambling it's because I got to drink or my shoulder kills me. Even you understand—you're puritanical but you've had a shot or two of morphine in your life when you was cut up too bad.

It doesn't bother me. I can take more than your average guy.

Another important thing—I don't want you to come to conclusions based just on what Rangi and Hei-Ran say. I didn't have time to explain to you, running for my life, but there's more to it than they'll tell you. Can't write it in a letter, of course. When I see you in person.

I'm on Mr. Wibawa's farm, Carpenter Rd, if you care.

Kyoshi stared at the letter. It filled her with a sense of sinking nostalgia. She had to hide it. In her fog, she stuffed it under her blankets, next to the baby. She wouldn't have to see it until someone came to put her blankets in the wash.

She didn't have to see it, but it was glued to the inside of her eyelids. The thought of it was constant even as she fed the baby, even as she had dinner, while the sun went down and her family settled in for the night.

Hei-Ran. Though Kyoshi knew she would be all right, it was as though she was already dead, in Rangi's silence, her sadness, the way she brushed past without looking at Kyoshi.

Can't write it in a letter. Kyoshi couldn't imagine what the frail, upright woman could have done to deserve a knife between the ribs.

But who would have believed Jianzhu was capable of what he was? He was a perfect man, a well-known professional. Yet he threw his son out, terrified his grandson, tried to make Kyoshi return to that shark-infested town.

And how could she reply? Yun knew perfectly well that she could barely hold a pencil. She tore the problem through her mind, and in her dreams she fought against strawberry jelly sticking her hands to a desk. She closed her eyes, sure a ruler would come down on her knuckles.

The solution came to her one quiet afternoon. She called her son in.

"Shizuo, can you help me with something?"

"Yeah."

She patted the bed and he sat. She placed a large flat book on his lap, followed by a paper. She opened another book on her own lap. It was one of Kasuka's that he'd left behind; she'd chosen it for the larger type. She opened it to a random page.

She handed Shizuo a pencil. He looked at it like it was a trinket from a distant land.

An object in motion tends to stay in motion, read one sentence. Kyoshi pointed to the first letter. "That's an A," she said. Shizuo looked at her, but—a sign of potential, she hoped—looked at the A, too.

"Can you draw the A on your paper?"

He tried. The result was at least recognizable. It would have to do. She wouldn't be sending letters to the king of England, after all.

She had him practice ever chance they had to be alone. Alone because someone would have suspected. Her family were no fools. She told her son not to mention the letters. He spoke so seldom that she trusted him.

[May 14, 1934]

My shoulder seems infected. I've been washing it as best I can. I can take care of it myself.

I talk to the guys here but nothing can replace you, sugar. I'd like to hear from you, just in case this shoulder doesn't get better. How are the kids? Baby making it OK?

You shouldn't be mad at me. Don't think I ever meant to hurt you. As I said, if we meet again I'll tell you everything. You deserve the truth. You didn't ask to get caught up in this.

I love you.

Shizuo could write each letter, in imitation of the capital printed equivalent. Kyoshi dictated letter by letter, spelling the words as well as she could, and he jotted them down. Spaces and dots were the only punctuation he knew, but at the very least it was legible.

[May 16, 1934]

I DONT SEE WHAT RESON YOU HAVE TO WANT HEI RAN DEAD. HOW COLD THE PAST BE SO PRESING. SINCE SHE CAME FROM LA SHES BEEN NOTHING BUT HELPFUL. WATEVER DISAGREEMENTS YOU HAVE WITH HER CAN BE LAYED TO REST. AND SHE WAS RIGHT TO DEFEND HERSELF. IM SORRY YOUR SHOLDER HURTS. YOU REALY SHOULD SEE A DOCTOR. I LOVE YOU TOO.

She ought to add something else to the letter. It looked too short. While Kyoshi thought, Shizuo waited, his hand raised over the paper like a typewriter's hammer.

That was fine, she thought. Any more and her thoughts would get tangled. "All right, Shizuo," she said, "fold it and put it in the envelope. Good."

[May 28, 1934]

I'm surprised, Kyoshi. You helped me with Jianzhu, don't you remember? We both had the same goal, because we knew enough about him. And we pulled it off. This really isn't different. You're a sensible girl. You know things aren't what they seem.

PS: how are you writing back to me?

[June 3, 1934]

I TAUHT SHIZUO TO RIGHT A LETTER AT A TIME. HE CANT READ IT DONT WORRY. YES I REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AND IT WASN'T WHAT I IMAGINED. IT DIDNT BRING ME MUCH PEACE. WHATEVER YOURE AFTER YOU WONT GET THAT WAY. IF THERE ALL GONE WHAT WIL THAT GET YOU.

She took the letter from Shizuo and read it over. Very short this time. She and her husband seemed to be exchanging quick worded jabs. Would this make Yun angry? She shook her head. Now was not the time to worry about that. He was miles and miles away, and she had to know—why should he have done something like this?

Koko's cries brought her out of her thoughts. "Close your eyes," Kyoshi told Shizuo as she got the blanket arranged around her shoulders.

Koko seemed to anchor her mother; while she fed her, she could just be absorbed in watching the little cheeks going, like those of a bunny chewing leaves. She was small, Atuat had said, and she had to be fed as often as possible.

Her sucking slowed. Her shiny blue eyes roved around, up to her mother's face and back down. Only when she was asleep did Kyoshi realize Shizuo still had his hands over his eyes.

She checked that the blanket completely covered her and said, "You can open your eyes, Shizuo. Put the letter in the envelope. You remember what to write on it?"

[June 11, 1934]

My love. You think I did it for revenge? Nah. It has been a while. But Hei-Ran was there again, with you and the kids. With Rangi and Hei-Ran both, it tipped the scales. I was worried about you, honey. And the kids. Those two are vicious.

I just wanted you and the kids to be safe. About Jianzhu? Sure, he done me wrong, but I was out of his house, no reason to press it. I did it because he was a danger to you.

I could have left you for good any time. Could have changed my name and married some sweet little lady. And I haven't done it. I love you, Kyoshi, I'm not gonna hurt you.

There was a hole in the world. The center of her understanding buckled, and she was left to built in the ruins from scratch.

Dinner had no taste; she was back at the table downstairs. The talk of her companions was meaningless buzz to her ears, though Rangi's cold looks still sent a pang through her soul.

Never meant to hurt you. She could almost hear the phrase; it knocked on the inside of her eardrums. He must have written it while he was lucid, she thought. This was the genesis of her reply, which she spelled out so fast that she had to stop to let Shizuo catch up.

[June 15, 1934]

YOU SAY YOU DONT MEAN TO HURT ANYONE. YOU HAD A CHANS AND ANOTHER AND ON AND ON. WHY DONT YOU GO TO A HOSPTAL WEAR THEY CAN FIX YOU UP. I NO ITS NOT YOUR FAULT BUT YOU COULD TRY TO RESIST.

[June 21, 1934]

I miss you, Kyoshi. I want just as much as you do to go back in time. It was just the two of us, and the kids. Guess I miss you all.

On our own, determined to do things right, I think we could start the show over. I thought the loving, patient, unselfish mother was just a legend until I met you. And I've done my d—est to support you.

Obviously I can't visit you in Eureka, but I'll be in Trinidad in a couple days (about the 25th). At the old house.

Chapter Text

Friday, January 5, 1934

The house was an isolate, a turn-of-the-century structure that almost seemed to hide between two hills. Laundry was strung between an upstairs window and a tree. A few of the windows were boarded, and the wood holding up the porch and its roof seemed thoroughly tired.

The house looked half-abandoned, though Jinpa knew, from various reports, that between four and twelve people lived there. He ascended the moldering steps and knocked. There were heavy footsteps, a thud, and the door opened.

Kyoshi Heiwajima was tall. He'd known—he'd seen her in the newspaper plenty of times—but it was something else to see her in person. She was half a head taller than him, perhaps four months pregnant, and dressed in a beige checked house dress and a gray apron.

She was barefoot; her hands, which barred the doorway, were scarred as though with hot oil. She had an unusual combination of brown hair, tan skin, freckles, and green eyes.

She peered down at Jinpa coldly.

"Good morning," he said. "I'm Jinpa Lhamo. I'm a social worker."

"Goodness," she muttered. "I forgot you were coming."

"I hope I haven't interrupted you," he said.

"No. You didn't. Come in." She turned and Jinpa followed her into the house. In front of him was a stairwell, or what had been a stairwell. The lower half had—probably long ago—fallen away, leaving the lowest step some four feet off the ground. It had remained only because there was a closet below it.

To the right of the doorway was the living room. Jinpa, distracted by the stairs, caught only a glimpse of it. A pair of decrepit shoes stuck out over the end of a sofa in the unlit room.

Jinpa followed Mrs. Heiwajima the other way, into the dining room, where a large table was surrounded by numerous chairs and boxes. She sat with her back to the wall, her arms folded on the table. He got the impression she was guarding something. He sat across from her and smiled.

She stared at him, challenging him to prove himself worth her while. There was a short silence. Her jaw did not move. He had to make the first move.

"Something smells good," he said.

"What."

"I said, 'something smells good.'" She had not looked away.

"I heard you. What smells good."

"Uh. It smells like soup."

"Oh." She neither confirmed this nor offered any.

"Do you smoke, Mrs. Heiwajima?"

"No." Her eyes flicked around his face, and to his hands. She did not trust him, he realized. She was not intentionally unfriendly; her mind was simply on other things. She might not have been aware of checking for lies and weapons. It had been ingrained in her: strangers could hurt you. Friendly people could steal from you. Authority was no promise of good intent.

He could not change what he was. He could make friendly conversation, the kind that got most people to talk freely. But if he did that with her, a clock would begin in her head, each minute adding to her suspicion that he was trying to sneak past her.

He had met a few people like Mrs. Heiwajima in his nearly two years of social work. The first had baffled him. His friendliness was seen as guile, his questions as espionage, his attempts to help as punishment. Mrs. Heiwajima did not seem the volatile type, but Jinpa knew that unless he kept his hands visible, so to speak, she would resist his very presence.

"There's no point beating around the bush," he said. "I understand your children have been taken to an orphanage."

She nodded once, her eyes now unfocused.

"I've been sent to talk to you and see what we might be able to do so that they can come home."

She nodded again, with more force. A good sign, he thought. Clearly she was not indifferent.

"How many people live here?" Jinpa asked.

Mrs. Heiwajima tugged at her sleeve. "Now?"

"Yeah."

"Rangi. Me. Wong, Lek—"

Her eyebrows suddenly contracted, and Jinpa's heart jumped, but then he saw that she was looking over his head. He turned in his chair. A bony, hunched old man shuffled into the room. He gave Jinpa a corroded grin before settling himself on a crate near Mrs. Heiwajima.

"—and that's Lao Ge," she said. "Go away."

The old man didn't seem fazed. "But I haven't even met this fine replacement you've found."

Her eyes flared. "He's a social worker."

The old man nodded. "Oh, I see, he's completely different. He has a conscience."

She snorted. "You're one to talk."

The old man winked. "I'm not that bad. Not like your husband."

"He's not—!" Mrs. Heiwajima covered her face with one hand in frustration. "He's lying about my husband," she said to Jinpa.

"I am?" the old man asked. "He doesn't run out on you? Doesn't slug the kids for no reason?"

"No!" she said, with an insistence and nervous look that didn't quite convince Jinpa. "My husband... he leaves to look for work. And he finds it!"

She glared at Lao Ge, who leaned back, letting the silence push her into speaking.

"It's only Shizuo that gets him mad."

"Your son?" Jinpa asked.

"He's almost fourteen now," Mrs. Heiwajima said. "He's—a willful boy."

"There you have it," Lao Ge said to Jinpa, apparently unaware of the lady's indignation. "It must have been a different man I saw down at the speakeasy."

"Get out of here!" she nearly shouted.

Monday, July 2, 1934

It was the first time Jinpa had actually met Mr. Heiwajima. He was around thirty, with brown hair and energetic hazel eyes. He grinned and shook Jinpa's hand like they'd just had a good game of poker.

"What happened?" Jinpa asked.

"This?" Mr. Heiwajima held his bandaged hand up, then stuck it in his pocket. "I just came from a farm in Stockton. I was there chopping wood with some other guy and his ax slipped."

"Sounds pretty bad."

Yun shrugged. "It'll heal." Like his wife, there was something surreal about meeting him in person. The newspaper photograph had come to life, complete with color and sound.

"Come in," Yun said. "You'll like it. It was my old man's place, 'fore he went." He turned a light on in the entrance room. "He was an architect. Designed this house himself." He laughed. "He had an imagination. It's way too big for three people."

"Aren't there five of you now?" Jinpa looked around as they walked down the hallway.

"Used to be just me, Dad, and his sister. Hey, maybe it's the right size for seven."

Jinpa nodded. "It might happen soon." He peered into a kind of living room near the other side of the house. He wasn't sure what to call it. He was more used to scrap-metal shacks than houses this big.

They were at the back porch, where Shizuo sat on the steps. His head snapped around before they touched the door.

"Hello, Shizuo," Jinpa said.

"Shizuo!" Yun said when his son stayed quiet. "Say hi to the cop."

"I'm a social worker."

Yun grinned. "I'm kiddin' with you. Come on, let's go upstairs."

The second floor had several bedrooms, most of them empty and perfectly neat, unused. They stopped in a porch-like room overlooking a slope.

"Thanks for coming all the way up here to see this old place," Yun said. He leaned on the railing, his face turned away. "My wife's been in hysterics."

"Of course. It's understandable. Isn't it?"

Yun was quiet for a moment. "Sure. They're good kids. The younger ones are, anyway. Have you met 'em?"

"I have. I was up there last week."

"Bet they're all dying to see Mommy again."

"You... could say that."

"She's—" Jinpa waited. "Never mind," Yun said, and shook his head. He turned around. Jinpa thought there was something bitter in his eyes, but after a moment it was gone.

"Made up your mind yet?" he asked, as though Jinpa was a judge in some county-fair contest. "Or do you want to see the other wing? I'll warn ya, it's more like the house in Eureka. My aunt's lived here alone for a while. Can't dust it all every day."

"Are you trying to get me out of here?" Jinpa said, smiling.

"'Course not. But I'm sure you're busy."

"I have time to see Kyoshi. Where is she?"

She was downstairs, rocking the baby, her shoulders stiffly square. "Hello," she muttered to Jinpa, not looking at him or her husband.

"Hey, cheer up," Yun said. "Your friend's here."

"I know." She looked up and tried, with no success, to make herself smile.

"How have you been?" Jinpa asked her.

"Fine." She pushed her chair around with her feet, as though she didn't want to see them.

"The boys take after her," Yun said, chuckling.

"What do you mean by that?" she said, her eyebrows knitting.

"I mean you three could give Calvin Coolidge a run for his money."

"Hmph."

"Just like that, see." He smiled at Jinpa like they were sharing a joke.

Jinpa decided to change the subject. "Have you found work here?" he asked. He tried not to sound accusing, though he had heard about Yun's patchy history.

"Yeah, down at the post office." Jinpa watched Kyoshi out of the corner of his eye. They had grown to trust each other in the last six months; it wasn't that he didn't trust Yun, but he was just meeting him. Kyoshi made no sign of disagreeing.

"I don't want to go," Suki said. Her arms were crossed, her big blue eyes halfway between nervous and stubborn.

"Why not?" Jinpa asked, bending down. "Kasuka's got his things in the car already." Mingxia hovered halfway between her siblings, her bag resting on her feet.

"I don't want to leave here."

"You're not going back to Eureka. You're going to live with Mommy and Daddy and Daddy's auntie in a big house."

She shook her head. "Mama—Mama was an orphan," she said. "So she can come live here." She had dropped her bundle of things in the hallway, just behind her.

"What about your daddy?" Jinpa said.

"Nuh-uh."

"You don't want to see him?"

"I've seen him before."

Jinpa tried not to smile, though another part of him felt only doubt. Was she afraid of him? She was a bright child, Mrs. Keo had said—she would have good reason.

It was too late, Jinpa told himself. The children were slated to go "home." If anything happened, they could always go back to the orphanage.

"You can sit up front," Jinpa told her.

She thought it over. She leaned around Jinpa, looking at her siblings in his car. "OK..." she said. She picked up her bag and scurried to the Model T.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" Jinpa asked her. He glanced at the other kids in the rear-view mirror. Kasuka was watching the trees go by out the window, his chin resting on his hand. He looked bored, even listless, but Jinpa reminded himself that he always looked like that. There was no telling what he thought. Mingxia was leaning on him, fiddling with a doll's cloth hair.

"I got a top," Suki said.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"It's painted. Look." She rummaged in her bag and pulled it out.

"Very nice."

"Yeah, look, I can—" Suki looked around for something to spin it on, and tried on the seat between them. "Well, I can spin it on a floor."

Chapter Text

They came running up the lawn, all three of the children. The girls grinned and shouted. Kasuka's face was blank.

"Mama! Shizuo!" Suki shouted. She was the redhead, Mui had been told. She and Mingxia bowled into Kyoshi, who bent down to hug them, not bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"I've missed you," she said, her voice strained. She took a breath to steady herself. "I've missed you all. Come on, Kasuka, you aren't too old." She held out an arm and her son let her wrap it tight around him.

"I'm happy to see you, too," he said calmly when she let him breathe again. He had been that way last time Mui had seen him, but he had been a baby then. It was somewhat disconcerting now that he was ten. But, Mui told herself, the boy was probably used to it all.

When the family broke apart, and Kyoshi buried her face in her apron, Mui crouched down. "Hello," she said to the kids, who were looking at her curiously. "You probably don't remember me. I'm Mui, I'm your father's auntie."

Suki nodded. "Mama told me who you were."

Mui turned to Shizuo, who was standing in the doorway. "What about you? Do you remember me?"

He ignored her. He was smiling at his siblings. She decided not to press him. It was the first time she had seen him smile since he arrived. Five days ago. It had felt so much longer, waiting for the paperwork to get through so that Kasuka and the girls could come home.

"Well," Mui said to the children once they'd fetched the bags they'd dropped near Jinpa's car, "you three should put your things upstairs."

Suki nodded again, eagerly, and said, "I want to see the baby."

"Come on," Kyoshi said, and hurried inside. Her children trailed behind her like ducklings.

"Thank you for bringing them home," Mui said to Jinpa. She had not shared Kyoshi's tears of joy until now. Her throat constricted.

Jinpa smiled. "Of course. We get a lot of cases like this, you know—parents who mean the best, but can't beat the Depression."

Mui nodded. "Would you like to stay for lunch?" she asked.

"I can't. I've got other cases today. It was nice to meet you, Miss Heiwajima."

Kyoshi and her children were in the living room downstairs. Suki held the baby while Kyoshi crouched in front of her, hands hovering under Koko.

"I'm not going to drop her," Suki said.

"I know, but she's wiggly. And she talks now!"

"Really?" Mingxia asked. She was sitting next to Suki on the couch, leaning to get a good look at the baby.

"Yeah. Koko!"

"Eh," Koko said. The girls laughed.

July, 1934

"You don't think it'll rain, do you?" Mui said. Kyoshi stopped, a wet shirt in her hands, and looked to the sky.

"Maybe," she said. She brushed her hair down over her left eye again. She handed the shirt to Mui, who pinned it to the clothesline.

"We could hang these in that back room," Mui said. Kyoshi didn't respond. "Is something wrong, dear?"

Kyoshi shook her head.

"You're awfully quiet."

"I didn't think there was anything to say." Kyoshi squeezed a clothespin in her fist and tried to get it onto the line. She missed, huffed in frustration, and handed Mui the tablecloth.

"Did you and Yun argue?" Mui asked after a moment.

"What—how did you know that?"

"Oh, he seemed in a bad mood this morning." That, and she'd heard them, and the previous night he'd accused his wife of preferring the dishes to him.

Kyoshi could not really blush, but she turned away. "It's nothing," she said. "I guess I was ignoring him."

"We should try to get things done earlier," Mui said. "Then you two can have some time together."

Kyoshi nodded hard. "Good idea."

Afternoon

The children ran home after school and almost immediately ran out to play, taking Shizuo and his dog with them.

At about six, the doorbell rang. Mui opened the door to see a man in a white hat—Jianzhu's old friend. "Kuruk!" she said. "This is a surprise."

He grinned. "I was heading to Crescent City, thought I'd stop by and see you."

"Oh. Well, come in." He stomped on the mat and followed her into the living room. He looked around, probably remembering when Jianzhu was around, and he had guests over, and the house didn't seem half-abandoned.

"Haven't been here in a while," he said, sitting on the sofa with his ankle crossed over his knee.

"You were here last New Year's, weren't you?" She remembered her brother trying to make his friend stop cajoling him to have fun.

"Yeah. I think that was the last time. Jianzhu liked to come down to see everyone at once. Efficient." He chuckled.

"That he was," Mui said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure. What's on tap?"

"Tea, coffee."

"I'll have some coffee. Thanks."

"Is Kyoshi home?" he asked when she came back into the living room. "I've been hoping to talk to her."

"I think she's upstairs," Mui said. "I'll get her."

Kyoshi was not happy to hear that her uncle was there. "I know," Mui said, "but I told him I'd get you. Next time I'll say you're out."

She sighed. "Say I'm asleep. He'll get that."

Kyoshi carried the cradle down the stairs. She set it up against the couch, next to Kuruk's knees, and sat on the other side of it. Kuruk smiled down at the baby and waved his fingers at her. Her arm swung up to bat at him.

"So," Kyoshi said. "What did you want to see me for?" She glanced at the clock that hung near the fireplace. Her brow furrowed, and Mui knew she was wondering why Yun was late.

"Just wanted to see how you were," Kuruk said. "You're far away now and everything."

"Couldn't have taken you long to get here."

"I missed ya."

"We never used to see each other much."

"Kyoshi," Mui said, embarrassed. "Don't be rude." She felt like she was scolding a much younger girl.

"It's all right," Kuruk said. He lifted the baby from her cradle.

"Ga."

"Yeah? Your mama's nice to you, ain't she? You're so little, you're all that matters to her." He turned to Kyoshi, who was frowning at him outright. Koko's head rolled around as though trying to look at her. She waved her arm a couple times, finally getting it into her mouth.

"Did you get my letter?" Kuruk asked his niece, apparently oblivious to her disapproval.

"I did."

"... and?"

"I don't know what you expected me to do about it." Mui assumed she meant the fact that she couldn't write back. Wouldn't he know that?

Kuruk glanced at Mui out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you could've figured out something."

The smell of coffee reached Mui's nose. She went to get it. It was only in the kitchen, where the rain tended to drum on the windows harder, that she noticed the skies had opened their floodgates.

She balanced the cups on a tray and made her cautious way back to the living room.

"I didn't say you didn't care," she heard Kuruk say.

"You can't pretend you're any better with yours," Kyoshi replied.

"I never let—" He stopped talking.

"Never let what."

"Nothing. She's coming back."

"Is everything all right?" Mui asked as she set the tray down on the table.

"Yeah," Kuruk said. "Why?"

"Oh, I—" Mui stopped herself. She didn't want them to know she'd heard them arguing.

"Peachy fine," Kyoshi said, taking her baby from Kuruk and standing up. "But I think Koko's hungry." With that, she swept out of the room with the certainty of a businessman.

"I'm very sorry," Mui said when Kyoshi's footsteps faded away down the hallway. There was something sad in Kuruk's eyes as he watched her go. It was unlike him, and she thought he must really be hurt by his niece's coldness. He was usually so happy.

He hitched a smile onto his face. "For what?" he said. "You should have met her mom."

"She's been away for a long time," Mui said, still trying to explain. She hadn't had the opportunity to lead the girl right.

"Sure has. It's been—how long. Years. Must be nice to have company again, huh?"

Mui seized on this, talking too fast about the neighbors, helpful and otherwise, until she saw somone pass the doorway out of the corner of her eye. "Shizuo!" she called. "We have a guest. Come here and say hello."

He doubled back, stopped in the doorway, and surveyed the room as though checking for assassins. "Hello," he said after a moment.

"Hey, kid. How you been?"

Shizuo seemed to take this as a statement. "Say, 'I've been well,'" Mui prompted him."

"She's been well," he said, giving her a curious look.

Kuruk chuckled. "Good to hear."

Shizuo turned and left, apparently thinking his visitor-greeting duties had been fulfilled.

"He's been in odd mood lately," Mui said, her face burning.

"Yeah? Since when?"

"Since he's been here. Yes, just since they moved in here. I mean, he's always been... well, odd. But Kyoshi says he's been different from usual. He's been here almost three weeks and he won't set foot upstairs."

"Huh."

"It's strange. He'd go up there when he was little, no fuss. Now you can't even carry him up. He's been sleeping in what used to be the music room."

Kuruk looked out the window, brow furrowed, at the warm clouds that had turned to rain. "Maybe there's something up there," he said.

"What do you mean?" Mui asked. The whole world seemed determined to throw her for a loop.

He shrugged. "Maybe—never mind. He'll warm up to it eventually."

"I hope so...."

On account of the rain and the distance back to Eureka, Mui asked Kuruk whether he would like to stay for dinner, and the seven of them sat down to casserole and baked potatoes. It was eight. She knew it was eight because Kyoshi's eyes kept going to the clock, and Mui found herself copying her.

She shouldn't worry, Mui told herself. Yun wasn't a teenager anymore. He had said he'd be visiting a friend. Maybe he had decided to stay over. Maybe he'd lost track of time.

"Mama," Suki said, leaning over and tugging her mother's sleeve.

"Hm?"

"Um." It was plain to Mui—though perhaps not to Kyoshi—that the little girl only wanted to get her mother's attention away from her father. "Did you see my top?"

"I did," Kyoshi said.

"Yeah. Yeah. Yesterday me and Mingxia rode a cart down the hill by Naima's house."

"You what!"

"Yeah. In one of those wagons for hay."

"We did," Mingxia said. "Without the boys' help. Suki pushed us off with a stick. Naima chickened out so it was just us, but we didn't hit anything."

"That's... that's good," Kyoshi said, and glanced at the clock.

"Girls!" Mui said.

"What?" Suki looked around, feigning surprise.

"That was dangerous! Don't do that again!"

"It wasn't dangerous, there was no trees on the hill."

"You could have tipped over!"

"Me and a couple of my friends went over a waterfall once," Kuruk said. "We all lived. Only one of us broke anything."

"Yes, well, we don't want to take any chances."

There was a faint noise from the living room. Kyoshi jumped up and returned a minute later, the baby in her arms. She sat down gingerly. Koko sucked her fist, quiet and apparently content.

Mingxia got up to stand in the baby's line of sight. She poked her gently on the nose.

"Duh," Koko said. Mingxia laughed, and Suki joined her.

"Girls," Mingxia said. "Sit down and finish your food. Then you can play with the baby."

Before they could argue, Kyoshi gasped. Mui turned around in her chair. There was Yun, standing in the doorway. He was scuffed and disheveled and drenched from the rain. His hands were balled into fists, one crushing the brim of his hat. His left eye was black.

He rudely asked Kuruk what he was doing there.

"Yun!" Mui said, shocked. Her nephew had never sworn before, and he was in front of all his children to boot.

Yun pressed his lips together, nostrils flaring. "I'm. Sorry. Why, Kyoshi, have you invited this guy over while I'm gone."

"I didn't invite him!" Kyoshi said. Her daughters had returned to their seats, their heads low.

"Don't lie to me," Yun said. "I know what he's like... anything in a skirt—"

"I'm her uncle!" Kuruk said indignantly. "What, I can't visit own niece?"

"Oh," Yun said. "Well—I didn't say you could just—"

Mui cut in, hoping to avoid an argument between the impetuous men. "Yun," she said, "you're soaking wet. Come on, I'll get you something dry to wear."

His expression softened and he let her lead him from the dining room.

"I'll get it myself," he said, stepping past her and shutting his bedroom door in her face. She sighed and waited.

"Why are you angry?" she asked when he came out, blocking his path down the hall.

"It was just the rain," he said, and laughed. "I'm sorry, Auntie. They don't look alike, I forgot they were related. I was just thinking of his reputation."

"Right." Yun sounded perfectly calm now, so Mui stepped aside and let him lead the way back to the dining room.

"Where'd he go?" Yun asked. Kyoshi jumped.

"I told him he'd better leave."

Mui decided not to interfere. She went into the coat room to find Kuruk putting his hat on. "Been nice seeing you," he said. He was good at hiding his annoyance.

"I'm—very sorry for that," Mui said again. She didn't know what had gotten into everyone, why there should be so much friction between them all.

"Ain't your fault," Kuruk said.

Mui exhaled. "Did you drive here?" she asked.

"H—I mean, no way."

"I'll lend you an umbrella," she said.

"Thanks, Mui. Nah, I'll get home fine. Someone'll pick me up. You take care of yourself."

She stayed by the door long after he'd disappeared into the darkness. The rain drummed on and she wondered why, after all these years, the family's second chance was slipping sideways.

Kuruk returned the umbrella one warm Saturday afternoon when Jinpa had come to check on them. The two men left at the same time, and Mui, who was passing through the dining room, heard Kuruk's voice through the open window.

"Hey, Jinpa, I was hoping to run into you."

"What's the matter?" Jinpa asked. Mui, in spite of herself, froze to listen.

"I got something to tell ya."

There was a pause. "Let's hear it."

"Thing is—look—could you not write this down?"

"That... depends on what you have to say."

Kuruk swore. Mui wanted to correct him, but stopped herself. They didn't know she was there. She felt partly guilty for eavesdropping, but there was an uncharacteristic seriousness in Kuruk's voice that made her hesitate to walk away.

"You know Kyoshi's a good mother," Kuruk said. "I don't want to mess things up for her." He seemed to be talking to himself at much as to Jinpa.

"I highly doubt anything you say will change my mind on the children living here," Jinpa said.

"All right. I just thought you should know—that boy don't treat his wife right."

"Yun?"

"Yeah."

"How do you mean."

"He beats her."

"Ohh." By his voice, it was obviously news to Jinpa, as much as it was to Mui. She had heard the couple arguing, but nothing worse. No thuds. No yelling.

Mui hurried away from the window, her mind reeling. Kyoshi had seemed so dejected over minor arguments. Mui had been giving her advice on how to keep house, how to be a better wife. Yet Kyoshi was not the one at fault.

Disbelief seized her. Yun was a good young man. He'd been so industrious, so determined to play the part of a perfect husband, even if he was just eighteen.

Sometime in the years between then and now, he seemed to have shrugged off that role like an actor's cape backstage.

Jianzhu had always said anything could happen where nobody could see. And his very own house had turned into such a place.

Mui wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She could not be certain. And yet—instinctively, she believed the accusation. She could not say why, but she did.

Kyoshi had clearly worked hard to keep things private. She'd be terribly embarrassed for everyone in the household to know of her troubles. Mui would not mention it to her. Not directly.

She would not let on that she knew. But she would be gentler on Kyoshi. She would try to indicate, in whatever way she could, that while wives were to follow directions, men were to give good ones.

Late July, 1934

It was one of Kyoshi's late-night vigils, staying up waiting for Yun to come home. She herself had pointed out that—these days—he always came home eventually. But she tended to worry.

The strangest worries, too. What if he got stabbed? What if he fell asleep somewhere and couldn't breathe? What if he was arrested? Mui struggled to understand why these things in particular came to Kyoshi's mind. A life with gangsters, she realized, had warped her expectations of life. She told herself it was only a matter of time before Kyoshi realized that things were different now.

Nevertheless, Mui felt compelled to keep the poor girl company, watching the clock and trying to make conversation. It must have been almost midnight this particular evening when Mui dozed off, her head awkwardly leaning on the arm of the living room's sofa.

She opened her eyes to see Kyoshi hurrying out of the room. The dog was barking outside. Burglar, she thought, before reminding herself why she was asleep in the living room in the first place.

She found the couple out by the shed. Kyoshi was standing, holding her arms like she was cold. Yun slammed the shed door and took off towards the house. A paint bucket bounced against his leg.

"Darling—" Kyoshi said as he flung it down. It hit the wall and he crouched to pry the lid open.

"What," he said.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't like this house." He didn't look at his wife, and Mui thought that he hadn't noticed her at all.

"So... you're painting it," Kyoshi said.

"Yep."

She glanced at Mui as though for help, and she wished she had some to offer. But she got the feeling that Kyoshi had a better idea of what to do than she did.

"Yun," Mui said, and he turned around. He smiled at her. At least she thought he meant to smile. It was a strange sight, near to ordinary but utterly wrong. Her boy never looked like that before.

She took a breath. "You can do that in the morning," she said.

"I could do it now." He jumped up and brandished the paintbrush at her. "Go inside and leave me alone if you know what's good for you!"

Mui opened her mouth to object, but Kyoshi took her by the arm and pulled her back to the house.

"What on earth—" Mui began once they were safely inside.

"He's just tired," Kyoshi said. Her face was blank. Blank, and sad. There was something driven about her insistence; she did not meet Mui's eyes.

"Kyoshi." They were at the foot of the staircase. Mui stopped, and Kyoshi did too, fists tugging the shawl around her shoulders. "He shouldn't have threatened you," Mui said, and again she felt unreal. Her nephew had been a sweet boy. He had loved the big, clumsy girl who tended to trail him around.

It couldn't be the same boy she spoke of now. Yet she didn't know what to think of the man in the yard, who had grown thin and erratic and seemed to forget all the flowers he'd given his sweetheart when they were younger.

Yun was as much a stranger now as he had been in 1918. He'd surprised his aunt then, bounding up and kissing her on the cheek. The energy of his youth seemed to have turned into a sputtering, over-bright flame.

"He—" Kyoshi shifted on her feet. "You can't blame him, Auntie."

"Of course I can! A man should use his authority to help his family. To keep them on the right path. Not selfishly."

"It's not his fault!" Kyoshi said, her voice rising. She seized the banister and bounded up the stairs. Mui followed, despite the distinct sense that Kyoshi didn't want to talk anymore.

"Kyoshi!" she said on the landing. She stopped.

"It's not his fault," she repeated, quietly this time. Mui could only see her silhouette in the dark hallway, illuminated by the hazy light of the stars.

"What do you mean?" Things had been odd enough, and Mui wanted something she could wrap her mind around. Kyoshi needed to have a cast-iron reason to let her husband off the hook.

"He's—he's not—Auntie, he isn't thinking clearly."

"...why?" A terrible thought occurred to Mui—she had heard something about Yun being gone for long stretches of time, and she thought of syphilis.

Kyoshi took a breath and let it out as though blowing a bit of dust off her lip. "Remember when the doctor came by? and we thought he left one of his needles behind...."

Chapter Text

Suki dug her fingers into the grooves on the tree, her feet braced against it. She glared up at the redwood like they were fistfighting, in the moment when one backs off to check one's progress. Mingxia scratched the dirt with her stick, making lines and dots that didn't quite come out the way she imagined.

Suki dropped to the ground. She looked over Mingxia's shoulder. "What's that?" she said.

"That's Mommy," Mingxia said, pointing with her stick to the biggest figure she had drawn. "And that's the baby."

"She doesn't stand up yet," Suki said.

"They're, uh. They're laying down." She had drawn her mom before deciding to draw Koko.

"Oh." Suki bounced over to Kasuka, who was staring off to the left, waiting for a car to come by. "How long is this gonna take?" she said.

Shizuo answered. "Something like every third car will pick you up. Nobody drives through here is all."

Suki stuck out her tongue.

Eventually a car spotted the kids and stopped. "Where are you kids going?" the driver said.

"Eureka," Kasuka said, stepping past Shizuo and pushing him gently back lest he scare the couple in the car.

The woman riding shotgun patted the driver's arm. "It's not a stretch, Hyun-Joo, why don't we take them?"

He rolled his eyes, a smile on his face. "All right. Climb in the back. Might be a squeeze...."

Suki got in first; Shizuo hung back as though protecting his siblings till they got in. The car sputtered to life again and took off down the dirt road.

"You kids must have been out there forever," the woman said, turning around to talk to them. "Nobody goes that way. Why didn't you go down to the highway?"

"That's an idea," Kasuka said. "We'll try that next time."

There was something about his voice that made Mingxia look around. To her astonishment—and Suki's too, judging by her wide eyes—Kasuka was wearing a friendly, happy expression. It even changed slightly when the driver spoke.

"You going to see some family in Eureka or some such? Why you going so far from home?"

"Our grandpa lives down there," Kasuka said. "What about you?"

"I have a friend just east of Eureka," the woman said. "Just had a baby. I can't wait to see 'em."

Kasuka smiled. He smiled. "What's he doing?" Suki whispered to her sister.

Mingxia thought hard. "He's pretending to be not-weird," she whispered back.

"This is weird."

"These guys don't know he never makes faces."

They looked out the window, occasionally turning furtively back to gawk at their brother, who was chit-chatting about everything from preserve-making to the weather.

The couple dropped the siblings off a few block's from Kelsang's place, and as soon as they were out of sight, Kasuka reverted to his usual blank expression.

"That was spooky, Kasuka," Mingxia said.

"How did you do it?" Suki asked.

"Easy," he said. "I thought about my teacher. He talks and talks and talks."

"Do you think Grandpa's home?" Mingxia asked the group as they started walking towards his building.

"'Course he will be," Shizuo said. "It's Saturday, isn't it?"

"It is," Kasuka said.

"Sometimes people work on Saturday," Suki retorted. "If he's not there, can we get some candy?"

We don't have any money," Mingxia said.

"Kasuka can ask somebody for some. Just pretend to be Daddy."

"He's home," Shizuo said, pointing to Kelsang's window.

"How do you know?" Mingxia asked.

He shrugged. "Looks like he's home." All Mingxia could see through the window was some ceiling.

They dashed up the stairs and knocked on Kelsang's door. "Grandpa!" Suki called. "It's us!"

The door opened. It was not Kelsang. It was a dark-haired girl, about Mingxia's age, with a neat dress and a mild, curious smile.

"Oh," Suki said. "Wrong door."

"This is his," Shizuo said, eyeing the door frame suspiciously. "Where is he?"

"Are you a burglar?" Mingxia asked her.

"No," she said, not seeming offended. "Are you Kyoshi's kids?"

"Yeah."

The girl nodded like a teacher, talking with a colleague who made a good point. "This is the right door. Kelsang's gone to the post office. I don't think he'll mind if I let you in."

"D— right he won't," Shizuo said. The girl giggled.

"Who are you?" Suki asked her.

"I'm Saki Mikajima," she said; Mingxia realized she was some cousin of theirs. "And I don't have any tea for you. You can go downstairs if you want a sandwich or coffee or something." She sat on the bed and stared at Shizuo, who took the only chair.

"Mama says I'm too young for coffee," Mingxia said, sitting next to Saki Mikajima. "I have to be twelve or thirteen."

"Tonraq won't let me drink it after six 'cause he wants me to sleep," Saki said matter-of-factly, "but he won't let me have any gin either."

"She doesn't want us to have gin ever. She told us one time when we were going to look for Suki's dad in a speakeasy."

"Yeah. My daddy said if you drink too much, even if it's not the stuff for cars, it'll burn a hole in your stomach." Saki swung her legs and fell into amiable silence. Suki crawled around Kasuka to look out the window.

"When's he coming home?" she asked.

"Uh..." Saki twisted a bit of the blanket under her fingers, thinking. "Two weeks. And it's been 3 days already. So a week and—"

"What! I thought he was just sendin' a letter!"

"Oh. Kelsang. He didn't say when he'd be back," Saki said, still with her lighthearted smile in place. "You want to see him bad?"

"I'm bored," Suki said.

"Want to play with my dolls?"

Suki and Mingxia both did, and Saki hopped up to get the dolls from the dresser. After a few minutes, Saki looked up to study the boys' faces.

"Are you bored, too?' she asked.

"I don't know," Kasuka said.

Shizuo shrugged.

"They can't play," Mingxia said. "All the dolls are girls."

"We can play family," Saki said. "Shizuo will be the dad and I'll be the mom."

"I want to be the mom," Suki said.

Saki shook her head. "I'm older. I'm nine."

Suki crossed her arms, and Mingxia came to her aid. "I'm nine too."

"Nine and how many months."

"Um." She counted on her fingers: January, February, March, April, May, June, July. "Five."

"I'm nine and ten months," Saki said. Now that was just unfair.

"No you're not," Suki said.

"Yeah I am. My birthday's in two months."

"I don't want to be the dad," Shizuo said. Saki looked at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"You don't like your dad?" she asked.

"No. He's useless. And mean."

"Tonraq said that about our dad too," Saki said. "That he's useless. But he's nice."

"Why are you here, then?" Suki asked her.

"Well, Tonraq was being the man of the house until he had to leave."

"For what!" Suki shouted. Mingxia knew what she was thinking, because she agreed—that he must have had a darn good reason.

"Yeah," Saki said, still calm, " 'cause they said he burned down a warehouse. And Unalaq was staying at a flophouse, which is only for boys. So I went home with Daddy and his house was all messy and he said 'sweetie, I oughta set things right for ya.' So I come to live with Kelsang while Daddy's doing the DTs." She told this story like she was reciting lines in a play for the first time, as though it hadn't happened to her and wasn't, as Rangi said, 'any reason to fuss'.

Mingxia frowned. "'Doing the DTs'?"

"Um." Saki swung her feet and said, "The blue devils."

"Your daddy got arrested?" Saki asked.

"No!" Saki laughed. "It's the—the snakes in your boots."

The others stared at her. Saki tilted her head, puzzled by their ignorance.

"It's—it's what you get when you stop drinking ethanol too quick."

"What's ethanol?" Kasuka asked.

"The stuff Nyahitha has. The... the stuff they mix into alcohol, that makes it alcohol."

"Oh," they said, almost in unison.

There was a click and Mingxia jumped. The door opened. Kelsang stopped, surprised. Then he broke into a smile. "Hi!" he said, as Suki and Mingxia hugged him. "I didn't know you were coming to visit!"

"We came to visit," Kasuka said.

Kelsang smiled and paused, giving the kids an odd concerned look. His pale blue eyes stopped on all of them for a moment, and before Mingxia could quite figure out what he meant, the sad look had disappeared from his face. "Did you kids come here on your own?"

Mingxia nodded and Shizuo said, "Hitchhiked."

Suki crouched, her knees touching her chest, on the floor of their secret house. It was made of sticks and leaves and you couldn't see it from the dirt path through the woods. They had checked. And though it was still Trinidad, you couldn't see the big green house. They were hidden safely away.

This fort was different from the one back home, but Mingxia liked it almost as much. They had gone to visit the old one earlier in the day when they were down by Eureka. You could still sit in it, though the plants were starting to eat it up.

Back at the house, Kirima had taken them aside, lectured them about boys, and given them each a sap. They were circular bits of metal sewn into leather. The saps were small. Auntie had told them they could carry them and nobody would know until they were getting walloped.

Suki tapped hers on the ground, clearly thinking it over. She wound up and whacked her own foot.

"Ow!" She dug her knuckles into the spot to stop it hurting. "Where do you think we should keep these?" she asked her sister.

Mingxia looked down at her clothes. She didn't have pockets, except when she wore an apron or a coat or her brother's shirt. "Our socks," she said.

Suki stuck her sap in her sock and stood up as far as she could without dislodging their ceiling. "I don't think we could grab them easy if we needed them," she said.

Before Mingxia could answer, she heard a voice. Both of the them jumped.

"Suki. Mingxia," a boy's level voice called. Kasuka! The girls got up and scampered out of their fort. He was standing on the path in his shorts, a towel tucked under his arm. "We're going swimming," he explaied. "Do you want to come."

"Yeah!" Suki said.

"Where'd you get the towel?" Mingxia asked as they set off down the trail.

"Linen closet," Kasuka said. "I found one down that upstairs hallway."

"Could you get us one of those?" Mingxia asked.

"Sure."

"We could have a floor!" Mingxia told her sister.

"The house already has floor all over it," Kasuka said.

Mingxia laughed.

"For our tree-fort!" Suki said.

Kasuka nodded and looked back in the direction they'd come from. "When you leave it," he said, "sneak through the woods for a little while before going on the path. That way you don't give away where it is."

"Good idea," Suki said, glancing up at her brother with a rare glimmer of admiration. She tapped her sap against her leg.

Shizuo was already in the water, and Kasuka dropped his towel on the bank and lowered himself in. Suki tucked her sap into the folds of her crumpled dress. Mingxia copied her. It seemed very efficient.

The creek was cold, but once she was used to it, Mingxia liked it. Her brothers had to bend their knees to keep their necks in the water, while the girls tread water against the current. They didn't care—they could swim good. They all could. Mama had worried about them when they were little, especially Shizuo and Suki. They were the reckless ones.

Mingxia darted towards Kasuka, tagged him, and swam furiously away. He stared at her.

"You're it!" she said.

"Like tag!" Suki said as she paddled away from him. "And feet don't count!"

Kasuka turned around and tagged Shizuo, who, with his longer arms, got him right back. He went after Suki. She screamed—a happy scream—and ducked her head under the water.

They had drifted some ways from their launch point when they heard a man shouting. Kasuka began swimming back. Suki and Mingxia hung on to Shizuo's shoulders as they swam back. He was fourteen, he was a boy, and so he was their shield. He'd done it plenty of times before.

"There you are," Yun said. He stood on the leafy bank of the creek, looking down at them and the clothes on the bank. Mingxia studied the way he stood, the way his arms were folded, the tilt of his head, his voice. He wasn't angry, she decided. Not even the cold angry he got sometimes.

But they'd better be good anyway.

"Hi, Daddy!" Suki said in her best cheery voice. She'd noticed it too.

"You kids better get out of the water," he said. He picked up Suki's dress from the ground and shook it slightly. "So get—hey, what's this?" The sap had fallen onto the ground. All four of the kids were silent. The sisters looked at each other.

"Where'd you get this?" Yun asked, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. When they stayed quiet, he shrugged and put it in his pocket.

"Hey!" Suki said. "That's mine."

"Well, it ain't anymore. Come on, get out of the water and get dressed. Rangi's here."

They did as he said and the five of them set off back up the path towards the house. The new house. The house, new to the girls, that scared the boys for some reason.

Suki tugged Mingxia's skirt and shuffled her feet. They fell behind the others. Suki leaned in to whisper in her sister's ear. "I'm going to jump on him," she said. "Grab his arm."

Mingxia nodded. She eyed her sister's dad, remembering which pocket he'd put the sap in. It was on the right. So Suki was going to grab for that side while Mingxia held his left.

As though he could hear them thinking, he turned around. "What are you two—aah!"

Suki sprung at him, and Mingxia was right after. He put his hands up, but that was what they were looking for. Mingxia dropped her weight, clinging to his arm. He pulled up, trying to lose her; her knees left the ground for a moment, but thudded back down.

"Let go! What the f— are you—" Suki had both her legs around one of his, holding his sleeve with one hand while the other searched for her weapon.

The boys both moved to help, but before they got to the tangle of people, Suki had swung her foot up.

Yun folded like a beam collapsing. Mingxia let go. She sprang to her feet. She and Suki exchanged half a glance before bolting away.

They tore through the back door of the house. Their momentum was thrilling, and they ran right into the room where Rangi and Mama were. They were standing close, and the sisters crashed into them.

"Girls!"

"What—are you doing?" Suki asked, out of breath.

"Nothing. Why were you running?" Rangi's face was bright pink.

"You were standing real close," Suki said, not distracted. She had her weapon back, and with that, she was happy.

"Your—your mother had something in her eye. Now, really, what was the hubbub about?"

"Um..." Suki looked around the room, trying to think of something.

"We heard a sound in the woods," Mingxia said.

"Yeah! Like: woooo-ooo. And so we ran."

Rangi frowned. Not really angrily. But she didn't believe them. "All right," she said, to Mingxia's surprise. "Where are your brothers?"

"They're coming."

Mama had picked up the baby from her basket by the window. She was bouncing her, facing the other way, but glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of her daughters, and their wet hair. "Were you swimming?" she asked.

They hesitated. But Mama wouldn't mind them swimming. "Yes," Suki said.

Shizuo came into the room and went to stand by the window, looking out like a guard. His hair needed a cut again, Mingxia noticed.

"Where's Kasuka?" Mama asked him.

"Upstairs."

"Oh. Rangi's here. Say hello to her."

"Hello," he said without taking his eyes off the yard.

Mama looked around the room. "So," she said deliberately, "did you have fun swimming?"

Chapter Text

Late July, 1934

The knock came hard and quick, and carried on until Dr. Ogawa opened the door of his office. There was a man he vaguely recognized. A thin man who had clearly not slept in some time.

"Hello," Dr. Ogawa said before the man cut across him.

"Hey, Doc. Listen, my wife sent me over here. We've got a baby, four months old I think, got a fever and she's been screaming her head off. Think you could take a look at her?"

"I... could," Dr. Ogawa said. The man nodded and ducked off the porch.

It was lucky, Dr. Ogawa thought, that he had not unpacked his bag since his last call. He checked it anyway, to make sure nothing was missing. Outside he found the man sitting in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Ogawa said as he got into the passenger side, "I didn't catch your name."

"Yun."

"Heiwajima, of course."

"If you say so." Yun turned the key in the ignition and the car jolted to a start.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your father's passing," the doctor said.

Yun shrugged. "Nice of you."

"Of course. It was such a surprise. He wasn't very old, was he."

"You don't have to be old to get stabbed," Yun said.

"Oh dear. Was that it? The newspaper didn't say." He had heard conflicting rumors as well.

"Yeah. What do they know." Yun's hands were clenched on the steering wheel, and the doctor got the feeling that he should change the subject. In casting around for one, the only thing that came to mind was how fast they were going up the road.

"Is the baby seriously ill?" he asked, bracing his feet against the floor of the car.

Yun snorted. "Nah. My wife wouldn't quit nagging me, that's why I got you." Yun took one of his hands off of the steering wheel, pulled a flask from his pocket, and took a swig.

"I—I really don't think you should do that," the doctor said nervously.

"Ah, it's good for me. I don't get drunk. I've got twenty years of practice."

Dr. Ogawa had last visited the Heiwajimas' house about a year before, under much more unusual circumstances. It looked much the same as then, but something about it had gone. The house was just as large, but without the grandeur.

Yun's wife was in an upstairs bedroom, bouncing her small, fussy baby in her arms. Dr. Ogawa recognized her at once: dark, freckled, and impossibly tall.

"Here ya go," Yun said to her. "Here's a doctor. Just as good as the wench back home."

Kyoshi nodded stiffly. The doctor smiled at her. It did not seem to put her at ease. That was to be expected, he thought—mothers were often so concerned for their babies.

"So," he said, "what's the matter?"

"The baby has a fever," she said.

"For how long?"

"Since yesterday."

"All right," Dr. Ogawa said kindly. "Lay her down and take her clothes off."

The baby did not have a rash. Her temperature was 102 degrees, her heart beating normally. The doctor was in the process of checking her lungs when she baby began to cry in earnest, her little fists flailing. Kyoshi picked her up and tried to quiet her by rocking her. After a moment she said, "She's hungry."

There was a pause. "Is she bottle-fed?" Dr. Ogawa asked when Kyoshi didn't move. She shook her head.

"What, have you forgotten how to do it?" Yun snapped at his wife.

"You... I don't want you to see," she said, and the doctor wasn't sure which man she was addressing.

Yun's eyes narrowed. "No way in h— I'm leaving you two alone," he said.

"I can step out," Dr. Ogawa said.

The two men left the room, Yun grumbling under his breath. He shut the door and stood staring at it, arms folded, tapping his foot. He looked so perturbed by the brief interruption that the doctor thought he ought to say something.

"The baby's sick," he reminded him. "It's all right to relax the schedule."

"She couldn't have waited five seconds—" Yun cut himself off and clenched his jaw. Dr. Ogawa could really not fathom what this man was angry about. Being with him gave the doctor an odd feeling. He knew everyone in Trinidad and was older than most of them. Normally he saw in people who they were when they were younger. He didn't see it with this man.

Yun looked down the hallway as one checks a big-city road before crossing. He seemed to expect something. He shook his head and turned around so that he was standing next to the doctor.

"Are you done!" he shouted suddenly.

"No," Kyoshi's voice replied. She sounded calm, even resigned. "Ten more minutes."

"It's not doing us any harm," Dr. Ogawa pointed out, vaguely hoping that Yun would volunteer a reason for his impatience. "There are millions of women in primitive countries who feed their children this way, and they turn out with more robust constitutions than ours."

Yun was not listening. He seemed to have spotted something on the wall, near the door-frame. Dr. Ogawa looked, but he didn't see it until the younger man reached out and began digging his nails into it. He was picking at a small tear in the wallpaper. In fact, he tore at it, and a strip came off.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Ogawa asked, unsettled.

"Hm? Nothing. I'm just cleaning."

"It wasn't dirty, son. It was just a bit of peeling wallpaper." Even his own office had some of that.

"What? Yeah." He had another patch of paper in hand, which came away in a larger chunk. The doctor wondered, glancing down the long, spacious hallway, whether Yun would continue "cleaning" until the whole hall was stripped of its wallpaper.

Dr. Ogawa stayed silent as the man tore bits and pieces from the wall, pocketing the smaller ones and letting the large ones fall to the floor. The doctor recalled reading a story about a woman who was driven insane by unpleasant yellow wallpaper in the room meant for her convalescence. Though this hall's paper was not that bad. It had certainly been fashionable when the previous owner put it up.

Yun was half-covered in dust by the time his wife opened the door, sleeping baby in her arms. She beckoned the men inside. "What's that on your hands?" she asked her husband.

"Just a little glue," he said. "Mind your own business."

She turned to the doctor, shifting her focus back to the sick baby. Her eyes showing her fear far better than her stoic face. "Doctor," she said, "what should I do for her?"

He instructed her on proper feeding, on keeping the baby clean and at the right temperature. Kyoshi gave little sign that she heard him, but he sensed that she was listening closely. Yun stood almost between his wife and the doctor. He was still restless, now picking at his dusty nails. What in the world was he waiting for?

The drive back was quiet, and just as fast as the drive up, as though Yun were in a hurry to get rid of the doctor. Dr. Ogawa stopped on the curb. "Mr. Heiwajima," he said, "are your other children well?"

"Well enough. Suki's got a cold. Probably was her who gave it to the baby."

Dr. Ogawa nodded. "And you. Are you all right?"

Yun raised an eyebrow. "Just fine." He pulled the door shut and took off.

Dr. Ogawa returned to his office, where he did his best to put the strangeness of the afternoon from his mind. It didn't do to speculate, he reasoned, or to meddle in people's lives. That family had been the talk of the town for years. Everyone knew they were odd. He had probably just forgotten what they were like.

Chapter Text

Meena worked at a diner downtown. She was older than Rangi and still quite pretty, and yet never seemed to have any suitors.

Rangi stayed late, drinking her coffee as slowly as she could and staring out of the window to avoid people's eyes. Finally she heard an upbeat voice.

"Haven't seen your friend in a while."

She turned around fast, saw Meena smiling, and glanced around to be sure the diner was empty but for them.

"My friend?"

"Yeah. That tall lady."

Rangi fixed her eyes on her empty coffee cup. She wanted to leave as fast as she could, but she had promised herself she wouldn't stay home and brood. If Kyoshi was going to leave her like that, she had to do the same.

"She moved away," Rangi said, her throat tight.

Meena's hand appeared to take her coffee cup away; Rangi looked up to see her wearing a sincerely sorry expression.

"Did you have a falling-out?" Meena asked.

"No, well—yes, actually. She moved back in with her husband."

"You must be lonely," Meena said. She stood very still and watched Rangi carefully.

"More than I can say," Rangi sighed.

Meena considered her, leaning forward over the diner's long countertop. "If you could get a new dress, what color would you get?" she asked, her voice measured so there was no way Rangi could miss her real question.

"Lavender," Rangi said with just as much intent.

"I knew it!" Meena burst out; in spite of herself, Rangi smiled.

Meena's apartment was a small, cozy thing that had a view of the water. At least it would, with the curtains open. Rangi opened the door to find it lit with a little wall lamp.

"Here," Meena said, pressing a small posy of purple flowers into Rangi's hands.

"Violets," Rangi said, her mouth seemingly full of cotton. She closed the door behind her, her eyes fixed on the flowers.

"Yeah. I heard they were a classic," Meena said, grinning as she sat back on her old sofa.

"Sappho wrote of violets and roses," Rangi said. "My mother told me... so long ago." She had smiled knowingly at her daughter, who'd been thoroughly embarrassed. Hei-Ran left the subject alone, but Rangi never forgot what she'd told her.

Meena chuckled. "Do you have a family tradition?" she asked.

"No, she—" Rangi stopped, thinking of Atuat. "—I don't know. That's not the point. My father had just died, and my stepfather-to-be was sending my mother all sorts of pressed flowers and sappy poetry. And she got to telling me the flowers' meaning...."

"She knew how you were?"

Rangi snorted. "Either she had a keen eye or it was glaringly obvious. I couldn't have been more than thirteen."

"I'd say you were obvious," Meena said. She twirled a strand of her brown hair around her finger.

Rangi sat next to her. "Not obvious enough," she muttered.

"What do you mean?" Meena said, putting an arm around her. "You're here, aren't you?"

Rangi closed her eyes. "Kyoshi always managed to ignore me," she said.

"Kyoshi?" Meena was not longer smiling. "Oh. Right. Heiwajima."

"I gave her lilies for her fifteenth birthday," Rangi went on, "pink ones, and he gave her orange ones. Fire lilies." Her voice rose, beyond her control, as the memory of those years rose before her eyes. "And it wasn't long before I heard she was having a baby!"

Kelsang had heard first, and told Hei-Ran, who told Rangi. She promised to tell no-one, but somehow, within a few weeks, the whole town seemed to know. So young! they said. What a disgrace! Rangi seemed to be the only one who did not thoroughly enjoy the scandal.

"We've all lost a girl to marriage, huh," Meena said, her tone split between sympathy and annoyance.

Rangi turned away. There was a pause, then Meena stood up. "So," she said, sounding perfectly, distantly polite, "you like your coffee black, right?"

Chapter Text

The newspaper lay, rolled and half-crushed in his fist on the table between the cons and their visitors. Lek guessed they'd used the same mugshot from December, the glaring, disheveled one. Lek had rolled up the paper so he didn't have to see his brother-in-law.

"Where's Kyoshi?" was the first thing he asked as Wong settled down into the chair on the visitor's side.

He glanced around, eyebrows contracting in worry. "Still in Trinidad. We visited her yesterday—Rangi, Kirima, and I did. She didn't want to see us." He shook his head, tapping distractedly on the table.

"He wasn't there, was he?" Lek asked.

"Yun? Nah, he's gone. Probably in Vancouver by now. And Kyoshi's determined to stay where she is. Barely admitted anything had happened."

"Come on," Lek said, throwing his hands up and letting them fall.  "She can't explain this away! Look, if he'd let 'em take 'im, he'd be outta the cooler in no time."

Wong shrugged sadly. "Can I see that?" he asked, and Lek handed him the newspaper through the gap in the partition. Wong carefully spread it out to read the front page.

"Four cops," he said, voice half impressed and half mystified. "And a bank manager and his assistant." He shook his head. "I didn't know he was that good with a gat. What d'ya think he wanted to kill them for?"

"How the h— would I know! Since the paper came in everyone's been asking me all about the guy. Haven't seen the bastard since December." Lek waved a hand around. "Prolly some a these guys that just came in on dope charges know 'im better'n I do."

"Yeah." Wong was quiet for a moment, going over the article as though it might change and make more sense. "He's a weird kid," he said.

"Kid? He's Kyoshi's age, ain't he? Ten years older'n me, and I'm not a kid no more."

"Guess you're right. The cops'll have a hard time catchin' him, though. Half the country looks like him."

Lek spared the photo of the surly man a glance. "Just make all the suspects roll up their sleeves."

Wong chuckled.

"Now look," Lek said, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "I don't mean ta offend ya, like you think like him, but you bein' out there and all, I thought you might know more about why he done what he did."

Wong frowned. "I don't know," he said. "I think he's slippin'. Seems he broke into the place after closing time and just assumed there was nobody in there. Didn't check for a light on or nothing. So he kills the guys who saw him, they scream, and he has to beat it."

Lek sighed. "Got to be loony to break into an office building 'stead of a bank. And not steal anything!"

"He didn't?" Wong asked, his eyes scanning the page quickly.

"If it was anything important, they'd've said," Lek pointed out.

Wong nodded. "He sure likes to put holes in people."

"Speaking of," Lek said, "how's Mrs. Sei'naka holding up?" Her name was Hei-Ran, he knew, and he'd never met her, but if even Kirima called her "Mrs. Sei'naka," Lek figured he ought to as well.

Wong looked up. He seemed surprised at the question. "I forgot about that," he said. "She's fine."

"Good. She seems a decent lady. Less stuck-up than her girl."

Wong grinned. "Ya can say that again."

Chapter Text

September, 1934

Someone was singing. Yun slammed his fist into the side of the train car. "Knock it off," he muttered. She could hear him. She was close by. She must have been singing for the past four hundred miles.

The singing went on. Yun opened the door of the boxcar and stuck his head out into the dry, chilly wind. There was nothing. He could hear nothing but air rushing over his ears. He shook his head to see if that shook off the sound.

It didn't.

Yun slammed the boxcar's door with all his keen energy and listened to it clang. He opened it and slammed it again, then sat back on his heels. The singing carried on, but maybe, maybe now he'd showed her who was boss.

He ran his fingers through his hair. He'd dyed it soon after leaving California, when he had a bottle of peroxide and a boxcar to himself. If it weren't so dark now, with the moon dustily hidden behind clouds, he could have seen it.

The other man in the car was staring at him. He knew it as surely as if the guy was in front of him, even though with the door closed it was pitch black. "What!" he yelled.

The guy was quiet. Yun stood up. "What are you lookin' at!" he yelled, before kicking the wall. He went around the perimeter, looking for the fellow.

There was a scuffling. Yun pounced on it and caught the man by the side of his shirt.

The man shouted in surprise and flailed his arms, catching Yun in the ear. "What do you want!" Yun demanded, grabbing the man by the shoulders and slamming him down.

"Wha—nothing!"

"Don't you lie! I saw you staring!"

"I—" the man panted, and Yun felt him pull his arms up to his face. "I wasn't staring at nothing," he said. "I'm sorry."

Yun flung him to the side. There was a thud as he hit the ground, and silence. Yun sat down, stood up, and drummed his fingers on the wall of the boxcar.

"Funny how we're the only two on here," he said. There had been five others on the first leg of his train journey, between Eureka and San Francisco.

"Mm," the other guy said.

"Guess everybody's going the other way."

"Yeah. I'm goin' a visit my uncle in Colorado Springs. He's expectin' me soon."

Yun shrugged his jacket off. He tossed it up in the air and caught it, tossed it, caught it, tossed it, caught it. "It's effing hot," he said. Unseasonable, he thought, but no, the wind had been cool when he opened the door. It must be this boxcar.

"Ah," his companion said, and after a pause, "tell me about it."

Yun tossed his jacket again and smacked it on its way down. He stumbled as the train jolted. He threw out his hands to catch himself and felt around for the jacket. He resumed his little game. It reminded him of when his sons were little and he'd throw them in the air. "Never got much of a laugh out of Kasuka," he said.

"Oh."

Yun got down on the floor of the boxcar to inspect a speck of light coming through the gap in the door, ignoring the singing. "Everyone's going west," he said again. "For work and oranges and 'cause it's warm in California and to get away from dust storms. Simple things. Things a kid could think of. Not for any higher ideas. It's a cut-and-dry plan folks have. Not a—not a whit of anything meaning anything. They all do the same thing."

"Yeah."

Yun kicked the door. "I got a wench back in California. I don't have to be in this dusty car heading to the middle a nowhere. I'm doin' it 'cause I got a reason. I got big plans."

"Yeah?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Yun said with a sneer. The man went quiet.

As the sun rose and shone through the door, Yun's high spirits slipped away, to be replaced by a weariness that refused to give itself up to sleep. The other guy was sleeping with shallow breath, like he was still thinking. Yun tried copying him. He rolled his jacket into a pillow, lay still, closed his eyes. Curled his arms under his head.

No dice.

He couldn't get anything done if he couldn't get a rest. He had a couple Luminals in his pocket. He took half of them, wishing he had something to eat too, and waited. Sleep came with a heavy momentum, carrying him into a slithering chasm of dreams that he reassured himself he'd forget in the morning.

He was woken by blinding pain. His head was thrown sideways. Instinctively, his legs and arms came up to shield him. Something stopped him rolling over. A fist on his shirt. The other fist sank into his stomach before grabbing its baton again and swinging at Yun's arm.

The railway bull lifted Yun off his feet. Big guy, Yun thought before he threw him out of the boxcar. He hit the ground half-sideways and rolled, scrambling onto his hands and knees before the bull could hop out of the boxcar. In a flash, he had his knife in his hand.

With a quick, confident movement the baton crashed into Yun's fingers, knocking his hand aside. For the moment. The bull shoved him in the chest, and Yun sunk his knife into his arm.

The man bellowed. Yun yanked it out and rolled over again, this time getting to his feet and running towards town.

He stopped in a narrow alley between a store and a house, a trash can hiding him from view of the street. He did a quick inventory. He could breathe OK—if his ribs were broken, it wasn't too bad. He'd left his jacket on the train. Oh well. It wasn't as hot as it had been, but it wasn't cold either. The side of his head was bleeding and his stomach hurt. If he got dizzy, he'd worry about internal bleeding, but as it was, it wasn't that bad. He took off his shirt to keep it from getting stained. He wadded up his T-shirt and pressed it to the side of his head.

With his pulse slowing to normal, the pain of his arms and fingers came back in force. Yun switched to holding the shirt with his right arm—his left had been hit—and grit his teeth. There wasn't much he could do. Chinese imports would be harder to find this far east, and he knew nobody here.

When the bleeding had stopped, he dribbled a little whisky on the T-shirt and tried to wipe the blood off his face. He forced himself to his feet and went into the store.

The boy behind the counter looked at him in surprise. "What?" Yun said.

"Nothing," the boy said, but ran a finger over his own cheekbone. "You got cut, Mister."

Yun sighed and tried to smile. He leaned on the counter like he knew the kid. "One of them bulls on the train," he said. "Smacked me on the head."

"Aw, they're the worst!" the boy said. "I heard they killed a guy dead last month. You're lucky, Mister. Here!" He ducked down and brought out a napkin and a bottle of Mercurochrome.

"Thanks a million." He hissed through his teeth as he put it to his cut.

"I could call my dad," the boy said. "He knows how to do stitches." His blue eyes were wide, full of innocent thrill.

"Thanks, buddy, but I think I'll live." The boy's father, he thought, was more likely to have read the newspaper, and remembered the faces in it.

"My mom can do stitches too, but she don't like seeing blood."

"That so?" Despite being tired and sore, Yun found he liked the kid, and he let him talk all about the time he'd gotten plowed by an angry goat. In return, Yun gave him a thrilling account of his encounter with the enforcer. The boy listened with rapt attention and started on about the one train ride of his life, though he'd been legally, and only as far as Denver.

"Say, Mister, you gonna buy something or not?" he asked after a few minutes.

"'Course I am, why else'd I come in a shop?"

"All righty."

Yun drifted away from the counter, considering what he should get. There wasn't anything fun, but there was food, and he hadn't eaten since Utah. He returned to the counter with a loaf a bread, some hot dogs, and a book of matches.

"Are you coming to live here?" the boy asked as he tallied it up.

"Nah, I'm headed for South Dakota."

"How come!"

"I got family there."

"Oh. Well, good luck!"

He found a tavern not far from the store, and by nightfall he was ready to catch his next train. This time there was three other guys in his car. Just as eager to hear about the encounter with the bull. He showed them his bloody T-shirt to add to the show.

They played some poker, but when Yun won, the other guys started got get angry, so he gave them back most of what they'd lost. He laid back, said nothing more, and let them fall asleep one by one.

Yun stayed awake, despite all he'd drunk. It was one of those nights—too many people and too far into the dry part of the country. Like when he was a kid, after he ran away, when he had neither money nor sympathy. If it was warm and dry he'd find a hidden spot to curl up.

If it was cold, or rainy, or there were people around, he'd stay awake, walking around, sitting with his knife palmed, hoping nobody wanted to beat him up.

Thunk-thunk went the train's wheels on the tracks and thump-thump went his heart. He felt his neck to be sure the pulse was not faltering. He couldn't tell. There was a creeping, oppressive feeling steeling into his bones. It begged him to run, to go the other way. Head west till he hit the ocean. He was utterly sick of this place. He wanted to run, and not look back till he was sure he was alone.

Yun reminded himself that he had no reason to hate this place. He'd been born in Portland. And raised in Reno. And he'd been to South Dakota only once in his life, when he was too young and too old to care about the acrimony between his mother and her family. He'd had a good time, playing with his cousins or whoever they were.

And he remembered one of their names: Luukan Sasaki. Yun doubted whether his mother would go by her own name these days, but if Luukan was still alive, and still as nice as he'd been back then, he might be able to point Yun towards her.

He got off the train without incident, sneaking around the men unloading cargo, and made his way through town, looking for the highway.

The sun was red. It looked more like a moon, on a night when the earth and sun lined up just so—one of those optical effects Hei-Ran had drilled into his head so many years ago. The dust was thick enough in the air to mimic fog. It turned the headlights of cars into solid yellow cones. Yun tied his T-shirt around his face and stuck out his thumb, hoping the drivers could see him.

After some time—too effing long, however long it had taken—a car stopped a few yards down from him. Yun went up to it and squinted in to see the passengers. Two white guys, the passenger old enough to be the driver's father.

"Where you headed?" the old guy asked.

"Tell ya the truth, I'm on my way to South Dakota," Yun said. "The Yankton Indian Reservation's my final stop."

"We're goin' to Kearney."

"That'll work," Yun said, guessing by the man's voice that it would.

"All right."

"What the h— do you want in South Dakota?" the driver asked Yun, curious enough to turn to look at him once they had gotten back on the road.

"My cousin teaches the Indians there," Yun said. "She wants to come west, but she's scared to come alone. I said I'd pick her up."

"Sweet a you," the driver muttered.

"Doesn't look like it's been an easy ride," the old guy said, glancing at their passenger too.

"Nothing's broken!" Yun said, grinning.

September 1934—Rosebud Indian Reservation

South Dakota. He was in South Dakota all right, on a reservation—all the Indians, and Prohibition was still in effect. He didn't remember getting here, but it had to be the right place.

But nobody knew a Sasaki. They'd been infamous. Nobody knew them? Us, he thought, though it was a bitter thought and he tried to ignore that fact. Everyone seemed to know the Sasakis when he was seven... or was it nine?

Yun was tired. His limbs felt heavy; he sat down on the ground. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was at the end of a street and apparently at the end of a town. One of those towns that had clear ends to its little huddle of wood and sod buildings.

The grass was missing, he realized. The plains. The great plains. They were supposed to have grass. This was dust, dust that breathed and sunk like yellow jelly.

That moonshine had tasted funny. He thought of Amak. Ah, Amak. The guy who'd show up at all hours and never seemed tired. The guy with knife and needle scars so neat it looked like he'd planned them. The guy who'd taught Yun so much. About fighting for more than kid squabbles. And about poison. Methyl alcohol and assassinations.

Yun could still see the surprise on Amak's face when he died, with the knife sticking from his chest.

There was another reason, one Yun picked up like a quarter in the dirt: he'd have a chance to avenge the poor guy soon.

There were clouds on the horizon, but the light still stung Yun's eyes. He covered them with his hands and tried to think what to do. Nobody knew a Sasaki....

A woman with long, loose hair smiled, eyes closed, swishing around in a loose dress. Yun remembered her. One of the stupid highway robbers. She looked different.

Another lady, this one a stranger. A woman he felt like he'd seen in a moving picture. A redhead, painted green. She nodded, lips pressed together, an infuriating look of superiority on her face. I told you so, she seemed to say, presuming he agreed with whatever she'd said and not giving him another option.

"Shut up!" he shouted at her. He was sick of her, sick of them. Her eyes bored into him with an impenetrable superiority, the cast-iron look his mother had when she had threatened him and carried through with it and was now acting like it wasn't her idea.

Yun climbed to his feet and stretched his arms out, trying to keep his balance on the tilting, hazy world. Sasakis. That was her maiden name, d—it, and he was going to find the b—.

An old man laughed, choked, cleared his throat and spat on the ground. Yun whirled around. There was his grandfather, leaning on his cane, the old bloody hankerchief held high in the air.

"Leave me alone," Yun said, turning resolutely away from him. He wasn't going to waste time talking to a guy who'd been dead for years.

"Very funny," the old man said in his raspy voice.

"Should have killed you." Yun meant the TB. It had been eating his grandpa for years. But he didn't say that, and could have just as easily been threatening him.

But the old coot understood. "Who's to say it didn't, my boy?"

"You're here," he said. Dead and not dead, and Yun was too tired to puzzle it out.

"But so are you."

"Shut up!" As though Yun was dead too. He knew he wasn't. He could see the brilliant sky, with the flying things that hummed like an obnoxious lullaby, and the traffic of little shadows diving into the dirt while others rocketed upwards.

"What have you got for me?" the old man asked. Just like his daughter. It was all for his convenience, and everyone else be d—ed, whether they were tired or sick or didn't want to go with his plan.

"Nothing. I'm not your... your flunky. And what can you do to me now?" Yun tightened his grip on the knife in his pocket. He could barely feel it, but he knew his arm would know how to use it.

The old man raised his cane, and Yun charged him.

He must have dodged, like a Spanish matador, because Yun found himself sprawled in the dust. He got to his feet again, squinting against the sun. The horrible Nevada sun. He didn't want to get up, but he wasn't going to let the old man cane him. He looked around.

Laughing, coughing, spitting. "I hope you choke on it!" Yun shouted as he turned in circles.

He spun too fast and fell again. There was a crack, the sound of a belt on a kid's legs, that told him his grandpa had landed a hit.

He screamed, hoarse panic unleashed from somewhere deeper than his throat. He caught a flickering glimpse of his grandfather, of the rust-colored slime that coated his shirt.

His grandfather was dying, and Yun sat on the floor of that rotten room with the death rattle and the sputtered admonitions. He stood up. "I'm not taking care of you," he said. "She otta be home by now."

He touched the old man's chest, the old man determined to spite him even in death.

He was cold. The dirt closed around him. Yun was trapped with him in the dust. It clogged his throat and he struggled to fight his way to the surface. Not this blinding-white death. There were things crawling in the dirt, crawling all over his skin.

He fell forward, trying to smack them off him. Things were shifting, he couldn't get his footing. He grabbed at the dirt to steady himself and came up with a handful of fishing line in his hands. But the ground was turning dark. There were two black waves, knee-high and so tall it was wrong. He scrambled forward. Running, running away before they closed in. Running, scrambling, falling and trying to get up even though he felt like he was made of stone.

He looked up. The sky was below him now, though that didn't seem to matter. A man in athletic clothes ran atop an old fence. Yun called out to him through his mouth full of dust, but he just disappeared. There was a man in Revolutionary War clothes staring at him. Yun stretched a hand towards the fence, thinking to find an anchor. There was thunder, bright thunder, and tornadoes roving all around.

Yun had come across an empty, one-room cabin in the end. He discovered that the thunder had been real, even if the tornadoes weren't.

The bottled fever dream had faded, leaving his throat dry, even as his hat dripped and his wet, muddy shirt clung awkwardly to his shoulders. He inhaled through the corner of his mouth to catch some of the water that ran down from his hair.

He took off most of his wet clothes and draped them over things to dry—his shirt on the back of a chair, his pants on the seat, undershirt on the foot of the bed. He hung his hat on a bedpost and left his shoes near the fireplace. Habit. His matches must be soaked, making the wood stacked in the corner useless.

He crossed his arms and went outside again. He turned his face to the sky to try to catch the rain. His thirst outweighed the cold. He was already soaked, he told himself—might as well. He lapped at the rain light a dog forgotten in a cage until, after an embarrassingly long few minutes, he noticed that there was a well nearby. Looking down into it gave him vertigo, and he couldn't see the bottom, but a tug at the rope told him there was a bucket down there.

Yun lowered it via the crank until he felt it hit the water and sink. He yanked it up with his own hands. Only after he'd drank half of it and spilled the rest did he pull up another bucket and give it a sniff. It seemed fine. Convenient.

He threw the bucket back down the well and started back towards the cabin. The rain was more bothersome now that his throat felt all right, but he paused to look at the outside of the cabin. It had once had at least two rooms, he decided. Something had damaged one side, and they'd torn it down rather than fix it.

Inside, Yun sat on the edge of mattress. His head hurt, and he knew the tremor in his limbs would soon turn to violent shivering. The former owners of the place had taken all the blankets with them. He'd have to use the curtains. If the leaky windowpane didn't soak them too.

He laid down flat on the floor, thinking to let the water evaporate from his skin before bedding down for the night. He stretched a hand in front of him, spread his fingers. Five fingers. They were still blurred. Wood alcohol, he thought—that could wreck the eyes, though he'd drunk its plenty of times without seeing such weird things.

But the light was fading outside the windows, which were thick with newspaper. He'd have to wait until morning to tell how bad his sight was now.

The curtains had been nailed to the wall. Yun stood with one foot on the windowsill and one on the edge of the bed as he cut them down. They were coarse, lousy substitutes for blankets, but they were what was at hand. He had long experience forcing warmth and shelter out of unfavorable places.

He fished the matches out of his pocket and emptied the box onto the floor near the end of the bed. There they could dry and he wouldn't step on them when he got up in the morning.

"There," he said.

He was so tired that he had little trouble falling asleep, even with his discomfort and the beginnings of dread coalescing in his chest. He reminded himself that there was probably no-one around for miles. He didn't have to keep one eye open. Nobody wanted this place, just as nobody wanted him.

He woke with a jolt in the dark. There was a weight on him, a cruel presence. Yun leapt out of bed, squinting desperately around the room as though he'd see someone hiding in a corner.

Nothing moved. There was no sound but the things outside, bugs and the distant howling of coyotes.

Yun caught his breath with his back against the wall, heart racing. He wasn't soaked anymore, but the draft revived his shivering in full force.

It was cold out here, all on his own, and all the imagination in the world could summon up somebody to be with. He'd have liked Kyoshi there. She wasn't one to judge. She could see to his core, and she liked him. Heck, Kasuka would have done. Kasuka hadn't attacked him yet.

And instead of being home with his family, he was alone, half-frozen and starved, with his foot in a puddle of water the door-frame had let in.

D—it. Alone, like he'd always been, like he was when his mother would go out and leave him with the withering old man. He hadn't thought about it in years, but now it forced itself to the fore of his mind.

Aggravation welled in him, rage at being left behind, left to die, to figure out everything on his own. Jianzhu might be gone, but his mother was still out there, the evil witch, with her eyes like ice and her empire of atrocity. She was out there, and there wasn't a d— thing he could do about it. Pain and useless fury flowed through him like lava, unstoppable, threatening to burn him alive, demanding an outlet.

He had nothing to give it. Nothing to pacify the monster, nothing to soothe the gaping, festering wound. Yet he needed it out. Quiet. Obliterated, however fleetingly.

Yun dropped to his hands and knees to find his matches. He fumbled past a heavy cooking pot and through the puddle his clothes had dripped onto the floor. The matches. And then he had them. He felt around for the candle—he'd seen one on the mantle, where was that? He knocked it over, snatched it up, sat down on the floor, and placed the candle between his feet. He struck a match.

"Aha!" Flame sputtered to life before him. With trembling hands, he put it to the candle. By time it fizzled out, the wick was ignited. Light danced into the air.

He dropped the match on the floor and stepped on it. The momentary burn was like vindication, a rough reprieve, for a moment, from his agony. It gave it form, burrowed past it like a heavy shovel stricking the root of a tree that stood in the way of something important.

Yun shuffled over to the chair and fumbled in the pocket of his pants. He had an inner pocket that was much trickier to get into when he wasn't wearing them. But he got out what he needed from there and yanked the belt from its loops.

His needle was still in its case, apparently undamaged. His cotton filter was muddy; he'd take his chances without it. He was in too much of a hurry to worry about it, though the thing that threatened to tear him apart had shrunk back, aware that its time was short.

He could use something to clean his skin before he broke it. Yun picked up the candle and stepped carefully around the cabin, looking for soap or alcohol or some other antiseptic. He found none. Figures, he thought, as this place once belonged to Indians.

He fetched his knife and went outside again, this time on tiptoe, though the rain had stopped. He pulled a bucket of water from the well, cut the rope, and brought it back inside.

He lowered his hands into the candlelight. The warmth of it was nice, but a taste of it only gave him a desperate desire for more. A shiver went through him. He ignored it, focusing on his inspection.

The insides of his elbows were mottled, riddled with bruises and marks that had toughened from heavy traffic. They'd had a chance to start closing up in the two or three weeks since he'd left California.

He examined the backs of his hands. They were darkened by soot, new and old. They were torn up too, and he turned his attention to his bare feet. The veins there were still a typical green.

He stood up, again with the candle, and began searching the cabin for a spoon.

Yankton Indian Reservation, South Dakota

Luukan Sasaki. He was, by the sound of it, alive, and living up a road Yun could hardly make out of the dust. The car or two that went by might have shown the way if they hadn't kicked up enough dust to make themselves disappear. Yun cursed at them, pressing his undershirt to his face to block the dust.

At last he reached a small wooden house—intact this time—with several chickens and two boys in the dirt of the front yard. The chickens pecked, and the barefoot boys were doing something with a loose wagon wheel. One of them—the bigger one, with the open shirt—caught sight of Yun over the other's shoulder. "Hey," he said, and the smaller boy looked around.

"Hello!" Yun said. "Is your dad home?"

The taller boy straightened, got to his feet, and tilted his head as he studied this newcomer. "No," he said. "Who are you?"

"Yun Heiwajima," he said. He'd had a plan of what he was going to say, but he couldn't remember it now. Oh well. These were kids. They wouldn't be so suspicious.

The shorter boy had drifted around his friend, and turned to jog around the house. The taller one followed. "Auntie!" he called. "They's a white guy out front!"

A woman came cautiously around from the back of the house, with the two boys trailing behind her. She was in her thirties, expecting a baby, and draped in a "Hello," she said, and waited as though she was talking to a cop who'd knocked on her door.

"Hi!" He smiled at her. "Are you Mrs. Sasaki?" From what he remembered of the family, there could be any number of Mrs. Sasakis, and he didn't care which one it was.

She nodded.

"I'm your husband's cousin," he said. "I thought I'd stop by to see you all."

The woman turned around again, and the boys scampered after her like a pair of eager dogs. Yun followed the three of them around the back of the little house.

"We got another guest, Akada," Mrs. Sasaki said to a girl in her young teenswho was standing by something cooking on a spit.

The girl gave Yun the same curious look the rest of her family had. "Doesn't make no difference," she said, a smile pulling at her lips. "He don't look like he eat."

The woman turned, saw Yun, and jumped.

Chapter Text

Akada was in the front yard, helping her brother and his friend mess around with a wagon wheel. It looked thoroughly defeated, Luukan thought. They seemed to be trying to twist it into the ground.

Akada smiled as she caught sight of him. "Papa!" she said. "Your cousin's here."

"This is my uncle, remember?" Luuksan said, stopping and nodding his head back towards Tatam.

"No—hi, Tatam—not him. Somebody showed up. Said he was your cousin. He's around back with Mama." She bent down again to press her weight on one side of the wheel.

"Oh. What, does that wheel owe you money?" Luukan asked, chuckling.

"We seen some kids when we was in Avon that had one, we trying to make our own," Agaska said.

"Hey, good luck," Luukan said, starting up again. He made his way around to the back of the house, leaving his wagon near the side of it.

There was his wife, standing by the fire. Amilgak clung to her mother's skirt. And there was a white man sitting on the back step, a man with clothes as dusty as if he'd rolled down a hill. He was fidgeting with what seemed to be a small knife wrapped in a rag.

"Hey," Luukan said, putting up a hand. "I hear you're my cousin."

"Yeah," the man said, sticking the thing back in his pocket, forcing a smile, and coming over to shake Luukan's hand. "Luukan, right?"

"Yep. This is my uncle Tatam. And you?"

"Yun." He did not offer a last name, or perhaps that was his last name. Either way, it made things simple. "Remember me?" Yun asked.

"No." This man was clearly not an official, so Luukan was not taking extra care to stay on his good side.

"Been a while, I guess. My mother and I visited here. A long time ago, what... nineteen-twelve. Or something around there." He was tired, Luukan thought. Very tired, pushing himself to keep standing and talking. He kept moving, fidgeting, shifting his weight. Luukan noticed Agaska and his friend had come around and were watching the men curiously.

Luukan closed his eyes and tried to think back. Twenty years. He did remember a little brown-haired boy who'd visited with his mother.

"I think I remember you," he said. "Come inside and we'll figure it out."

His wife glared at him.

The three men sat down in the living room, and Amilgak followed her mother into the kitchen. They had mostly cushions to sit on, but Yun didn't seem to care. He sat down and took off his hat. Underneath, in contrast to his brown eyebrows, he had blond hair. Agaska and his friend wasted no time in going over to examine it.

Yun tried to wave them away. They ignored this, and he settled on ignoring them.

"You surprised me," Luukan said. Mikali was clattering around in the next room, and he knew she was doing it pointedly. But Luukan was the only one who knew her well enough to know that. "Haven't heard from you since first we met."

Yun nodded, once, hard. "I heard my mother was sick," he said. He crossed his legs, then changed his mind and stretched them out in front of him. The tips of his worn shoes tapped together like an erratic, frantic heartbeat.

"Come a long way, huh? You lived in—ah, Utah, wasn't it?"

A scowl flickered across Yun's face, but he shook it off with a twitch of his head. He brushed his hair out of his face; the part closest to his head was brown, Luukan noted. He must have dyed it, like a movie actress. The boys, though they'd gotten bored and returned outside, would be disappointed when they learned it wasn't really made of straw.

"California," Yun said. "Someone, I don't know, he was passing through and gave me the news. So I came out here."

"I didn't hear about that." Which was weird. Luukan heard about everything. He had a half-cousin-in-law in Mexico who he heard about often enough.

"Well, h—" Yun started to say.

"You're not supposed to curse," Agaska told him.

"I'm effing old enough," he snapped over his shoulder. Luukan frowned at him.

"What? Anyway, this guy—I was walking home one day and he was there tryin' a thumb a ride. He asks if I'm me and I said yeah, and he he goes, 'I know your mother. She's sick, asked me to tell ya if I seen ya.' I was real surprised and forgot to ask him where she was. Thought she might have come back here. But I haven't found her." He bent forward to brush some invisible thing off his shoelaces.

He glanced at Luukan, an unspoken question in his eyes. They were the color of a dusty garden, and Luukan wondered who his father had been. A Viking, perhaps—if his mother was who Luukan thought she was, she'd been pale but with the usual black hair and brown eyes.

But he wouldn't accuse this man of being hers without making sure. "I think I know who you're talking about," Luukan said, "but I'm not sure. Who is she?"

Yun rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he was hesitant to say, or maybe it was just his restlessness. "Tagaka Sasaki," he muttered.

Luukan had been right. The plain-looking woman who, Luukan's mother had told him, ran a large criminal business. He hadn't known at the time what kind of business she meant, but he had some idea now.

"Oh," he said, pretending it made no difference to him. "Your grandfather was Tulok, huh?"

"Yeah." Yun frowned again, nodding and waving a hand as if to bat something away. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but closed his mouth.

"Tulok was my father's cousin," Luukan said.

"I seen him," Yun said suddenly. He pulled his legs back toward him and crossed them again, fiddling with the hem of his pants.

"He's still alive?" Luukan asked. He'd have to be at least eighty.

"No. Nah, he died a that effin' TB a long time ago. But—" Yun ran a hand over his face "—I still seen him on the way here. What was that about?"

"What was what about?" Luukan asked. Maybe Yun meant the water jug he was staring at.

"Me seein' him! He was just as mean as—as when I was little. Taunted me, you know. What was that about."

"I don't know," Luukan said. He was no expert on ghosts. Funny that his cousin—cousin, that was easier than being specific—thought he'd know.

Yun waved a hand again. "Forget it. I didn't come here about him. I just thought you might know where my mother was."

"Last I heard, she was in Minneapolis," Luukan said, watching his cousin curiously.

"When was that?"

"Uh. Six month ago." Give or take. Mikali might have more recent gossip.

Yun nodded, got to his feet, donned his hat. He stretched his hand out to shake Luukan's. "Thanks," he said. "It's been a pleasure to meet you again, Luukan."

Luukan didn't take his hand. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah. Minneapolis. Shouldn't be hard to find her with that."

Luukan studied his cousin for a few moments, long enough for him to put his hands in his pockets.

Tatam put words to Luukan's thoughts before he could. "You better stay here the night at least. You look dead on your feet."

Yun's head snapped around as though he'd just noticed him there. "Nah, nah," he said. "I'll go. I don't want to bother you."

"We got enough to share," Luukan said with a bit of pride. "Whyn't you stay for dinner?"

There was a clang from the kitchen that made Yun jump. Mikali must have dropped a pan on the stove or something.

"Just stay till the next train comes by," Luukan said.

Yun exhaled and forced himself to smile again. "Well. All right." He glanced around. "Which of those sheds was the outhouse?"

"The, uh—well, you'll know when you open the door."

Yun nodded, picked up a candle from a windowsill, and left with it.

Tatam frowned at his nephew. "What does he need a candle for?" he asked. "It's daylight."

Luukan shrugged.

"Luukan!" Mikali called from the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"I can't reach the spoon."

She'd dropped the big stirring-spoon. Luukan, unencumbered by a baby, picked it up and handed it back to her. Amilgak held up the broken fork she'd been playing for her dad to see.

"Did you eat that part?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Luukan," Mikali said quietly.

"Hm?"

"Why'd you invite your cousin to stay."

"He looked like he needed it," he said honestly. He smiled. His wife did not find it funny.

"I don't trust him," she said.

"Why not?" Sure, he was eccentric. Luukan expected no less from his relatives. And he wasn't going to blame Yun for having the mother and grandfather he did.

"Why doesn't he have any things with him? No bindle. But he came all this way."

Luukan thought about that. "Maybe things didn't work out good for him." He shrugged. When she looked unconvinced, he kissed her forehead and said, "He probably won't be here long. Seemed in a hurry to leave."

The back door clattered and Yun came back in. He slumped down with his back supported by the wall. He looked tired in earnest now, his eyes unfocused.

"Had to pee since you left home, huh?" Luukan asked. Tatam laughed.

Yun pulled his knees up and laid his head on them, crossing his arms around his legs to keep them in place.

"Tired?" Luukan asked.

"Yeah," Yun grunted. He already looked asleep to Luukan, in a strange way, suspended just above the boundary of sleep.

"Want to lay down? You can sleep in the other room till dinner."

There was a long pause before Yun mumbled, "Nah, I'm not tired." His head jerked up and flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling.

"You just said you were. Take a nap."

"Waste of time," Yun said, his foggy eyes drifting across the room. He shook his head as though trying to shake something out of his head.

Luukan chuckled. "Time here doesn't run like in the city," he said.

When he didn't answer, Luukan simply stood up and offered his hands. Yun took them. They was cold, Luukan noticed, with bluish stains on the backs. They looked like a cat had attacked them.

Yun silently let his cousin pull him to his feet; he overbalanced, and Luukan grabbed his arm to steady him.

He led him to the bedroom, pulled a few blankets from the bed and closet, and laid them out on the floor. "Hey, take off your shoes," he said as Yun made to lay down.

Yun sat on the floor, pulled off his shoes, and tried to hand one to Luukan.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry," he said, and he set it down.

"Hey!" Luukan called as he approached his house again, a bag of flour on his shoulder. Agaska's friend looked around. "Are you stayin' for dinner?"

All three boys, Agaska included, nodded.

"Go help your mother with it," Luukan told his son.

"I'm a boy!" Agaska protested.

"You don't got a baby in you."

Agaska made a face, but went inside.

Luukan dropped the bag on the floor in the kitchen. "Smells good," he said to his wife. She smiled and offered him the big steaming spoon. He leaned forward to taste it.

"Tastes good too."

"You always say that."

"It's always true."

"Da guy gah scare," Amilgak said.

"What's that?" Luukan asked her.

"Your cousin's awake," Mikali explained.

"Yah."

"You said he got scared?" Luukan asked his daughter, crouching down to her.

"He go 'ah!' And... wook at da winnow wike for wooky for someting."

"He shouted in his sleep and looked like he was looking for something. You should go tell him dinner's ready," Mikali said.

Yun was still lying down. His eyes were open, but glassy. "Are you awake?" Luukan asked hesitantly.

"Yeah. What is it."

"Dinner's ready."

Yun sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Thanks."

"Yeah." Luukan offered his hands again, and again his cousin took them, letting the blankets fall to the floor as he stood up.

He blinked hard and ran a hand over his disheveled hair. A comb, Luukan thought. Maybe he could spare one as a parting gift. One of the ones Akada had broken. He'd say it had a pointy handle.

Yun put a hand on the wall as he swayed slightly. He was trembling. "Are you cold?" Luukan asked.

"Yeah... think I could..." Yun rubbed an eye again. He was struggling to focus on his cousin. "...borrow one... a...."

His hand slid from the wall. His knees buckled. Luukan lurched forward to catch him and got a hold of one arm before he hit the ground, slowing his fall. He laid him on his back on the blankets. "Hey!" he said loudly. "Yun!"

He didn't move. He need a few moments. Luukan sat back on his heels to wait.

Akada had appeared in the doorway. "He OK?" she asked.

"Think so," Luukan said.

"What's that?" Tatam had heard the commotion, and so had Mikali.

"He just fell," Luukan explained to the gathering crowd. "He's tired. He'll be OK." He was confident in most of what he said, and less confident in the last part.

"Dead," Amilgak said, pushing her mother and sister's skirts aside to get a look.

"He's not dead," Luukan said. "He'll wake up in a minute."

"He doesn't look OK, either," Mikali said. "You sure he's not dead?"

Luukan pulled a head to his cousin's neck. "Yeah, he's alive." He was also very warm, and didn't look like the nap had done him much good.

"I'll get some water to pour on him," Mikali said.

"No, Mikali, he... see, he's wakin' up now." Yun's eyes had half-opened and his hands drifted up from his sides as though to fend something off. "Hey, you all right?" Luukan asked.

Yun was still trembling. "Yeah, why?" he muttered.

Luukan chuckled, partly at the question and partly in relief. "You passed out," he said.

Yun's eyes made their way over to the family in the doorway. "Oh," he said, and brought an arm up to cover his eyes. "What were we talking about?"

"I think you wanted to borrow a blanket."

"Yeah... that was it." He crossed his arms on his chest.

"I was gonna say 'OK, just share with the rest us us.' But if you're sick you can keep 'em till ya leave. I know better'n to take blankets from sick white men." The joke was lost on Yun, but he didn't seem to mind it either.

"I'm not sick," he said, rubbing his arms.

"I think you are, cousin. Look." Luukan put a hand to Yun's forehead. "Feels cold, right? Means you got a fever."

Yun rolled onto his side so his back was to the door. Luukan tried to make a little gesture to tell the family not to stare at him, but either they didn't get it or didn't care.

"It's not contagious," Yun said.

"Yeah? How d'you know?"

"It's from, uh... bad cotton."

"From what?"

"I smoked it earlier, it's got me sick. It's happened before," he assured his bemused cousin.

"You... were smoking cotton."

"Uh-huh." Luukan could imagine it, now that he said it. Not that it seemed any less weird.

"Is that... why you took the candle to the outhouse earlier?"

"Yeah, I didn't have any matches."

Luukan was about to ask how he lit the candle without matches, but decided to drop it. He was not detective, and his cousin hadn't hurt anyone. He was just another strange person Luukan shared blood with.

"You gotta eat something," Luukan said instead. "I'll bring you some soup when it's ready."

Yun sat up and rubbed the side of his head, making his hair even more disheveled. He was still shivering. "Nah. Thanks. But I'll go out there with all a you."

"You sure?"

"Told you it wasn't contagious," he said.

"All right. If you say so." Luukan stood up and offered Yun his hands again. This time he put an arm around him once he was up, so that if he fell he could catch him. Or they'd both fall.

"One sec," Yun said, and bent down to get a blanket. He put it under his arm and they made their way into the living room, where most of the family was sitting. Luukan lowered him into an empty spot against the wall. Yun sat and pulled his blanket up to his neck.

"Goes the other way," one of Agaska's friends said. Yun turned it sideways, and the boys laughed. "No, no. Goes around your back. Like... a jacket."

"Oh. Oh, right." Yun wrapped it around his shoulders and crossed his arms.

Chapter Text

Early August, 1934

Hei-Ran woke suddenly in the dead of night. A sound that had woken her. Knocking? It was hard to be sure what was a dream and what was really happening. It was quiet now. The rain drummed gently on the boarded windows. Hei-Ran lay still, listening for what had woken her.

Knock, knock, knock. She sat up, patting the crate beside her for her matches. She found one, struck it, and lit her candle. On the cot next to her, Atuat stirred but didn't wake. Hei-Ran got out of bed and, hand around the candle to prevent their guest seeing its light, went up the stairs.

She carefully opened the door to Rangi's room. Most household would have had her share with Kirima, as both of them were women, but due to their peculiarities, Wong and Rangi shared instead. Hei-Ran approached the bed as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake either of them. She set her candle down on the windowsill; a draft extinguished it. Hei-Ran opened a drawer and took out the jewelry box where her daughter kept her pistol.

Rangi raised her head from her pillow. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Someone knocked on the front door," Hei-Ran whispered.

"Eh?" Wong said.

"Nothing," Rangi told him. She threw the blankets off herself and took the box from her mother. She brought out her gun and cocked it. She led the way down the stairs and to the door. "Who's there?" she asked.

In the dark, Hei-Ran made her way down the stairs slowly, holding onto the banister. She paused to hear their visitor's answer.

"It's Tonraq," a deep voice said.

Rangi opened the door. "Tonraq!" she said in surprise. "What—why are you here?"

She stepped into the kitchen to let him in and light a lamp. Hei-Ran reached the bottom of the stairs to see Tonraq shooing his siblings inside. He closed the umbrella and shut the door behind him. He did not answer Rangi's question. "Were you expecting someone else?" he asked her, eyeing her pistol.

"You never know," she said. He nodded. He raised his gaze and saw Hei-Ran.

"Hei—I mean, Miss Sei'naka, I—"

She smiled at him. "What you call me is hardly important now." The siblings had clearly left the house in a great hurry. They all had suitcases, and Saki seemed to be wearing her nightgown underneath her coat. Unalaq's brow was furrowed, but Saki smiled at Hei-Ran.

"I'm sorry to just show up like this," Tonraq said. "I... ah, where to begin."

"Did your house burn down?" Rangi asked.

"What—why d'you ask?"

"I smelled smoke earlier."

"Oh. No, that... you're not totally wrong."

He hesitated. His eyes met Hei-Ran's again, and she saw his panic. Though he was in his twenties now, strong and nearly as tall as Kysohi, she was reminded of the day she met him, just after his mother died.

"You need a place to stay," Hei-Ran said.

"These two, yeah," he said, gesturing to his siblings.

"Rangi, could you show them upstairs?"

Rangi nodded and beckoned to Unalaq and Saki. They followed her up the stairs.

Tonraq sank onto a chair and buried his face in his hands. "Thank you," he said to Hei-Ran. She sat down across from him at the table.

"What happened?" she asked.

"A fire," he said. He half-raised his face, not meeting his former stepmother's eyes. "A warehouse burned up. The cops think I did it." He was going on twenty-two, but he looked a decade older. It ran in the family, she thought sadly.

"Hey," Atuat's voice said. Hei-Ran turned to see her leaning on the door-frame. "You havin' a party?"

"Not quite," Hei-Ran said. "Tonraq, please finish your story." Atuat sat down next to her and leaned her head on her shoulder.

"Hello, Auntie." He rubbed his chin. "I got to leave town," he said.

Atuat yawned into Hei-Ran's shoulder. "You should go with Lao Ge."

"Who?"

"Exactly."

Hei-Ran looked around the dining room. The old man was nowhere to be seen. When Atuat did not explain what she said, Hei-Ran said, "Lao Ge is one of Kyoshi's... friends, for lack of a better word. He usually sleeps in here."

"Oh. Well, I gotta get outta here." He looked at Atuat. "A warehouse burned down. The cops are looking for me."

"Well, they're not gonna have a problem finding you," Atuat said. "You're a tank. And an Indian. So, did you burn it down?"

"No! No, I... didn't mean to."

"Take the first train you can," Atuat said. "Or hitchhike. Take the first whatever-you-can, in whichever direction."

"Except west," Hei-Ran said with a smile.

"Aw, don't worry, I'm not like that." She believed him, tentatively, though there was still desperation in his eyes, just under the surface. "I'll be all right," he said. "It's just, someone's gotta take care a Saki."

"What about your dad?" Atuat asked.

Tonraq shook his head. "I don't think so."

Hei-Ran nudged Atuat. "Of course we'll look after her," she said.

Tonraq's shoulders eased. He cast a last look around the dining room. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course."

And with that, he left into the drizzly night, leaving the umbrella propped against the wall.

Atuat stood up and stretched, but Hei-Ran remained sitting where she was. "Well?" she said. "Not good for you to miss sleep."

"Right." Hei-Ran did not get up. The late hour thinned the boundary between memory and the present. The past floated up before her eyes. Tonraq and his brother, half-orphaned, taking her hand for the first time. Her husband's dead eyes. Her young student, shouting to his girlfriend from the roof. The newspaper articles. Jianzhu's funeral.

Atuat looked back from the doorway. "Hei-Ran," she said. She sounded stern.

"I'm coming—"

"Hei-Ran, you can't rescue everyone."

Next day

The house was unusually empty. Hei-Ran and Saki were its sole occupants. Every other adult had gone to run errands, or visit friends, or, in the case of Lao Ge, comb the city for shiny things to pawn.

But when someone knocked, Hei-Ran decided to shut her daughter's pistol in its jewelery box. She wouldn't want to startle the police.

"Who's there?" she called through the door.

"Hei-Ran? Izzat you?"

"Kuruk?"

"Yep."

Hei-Ran opened the door. "Good morning," she said.

"G'morning. Listen, I don't know where to start," he said, running a hand over his face.

"Is this about your son?"

"Yeah... hang on, how'd you hear about that?"

It was Hei-Ran's turn to wonder how to begin explaining. "Why don't you come in," she said after a moment. "I'll explain over tea."

Kuruk sat down at the table. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and Hei-Ran went to the kitchen to put the water on to boil. Images of the previous night flickered through her tired mind like a moving picture. She wasn't certain what the time was. How far away could Tonraq be? Or had he been apprehended already?

"How'd you know?" Kuruk asked as soon as she returned to the dining room.

Hei-Ran sighed, lowering herself into a chair opposite him. "Tonraq showed up here in the middle of the night with his brother and sister," she said. "He asked me if I could look after them while he was gone."

Kuruk frowned at the table. "Didn't say where he was going, did he?"

"No." In the groggy blur of sudden drama, she had not thought to ask him. Though of course that wasn't a good excuse. "Did—did he visit you after he left here?" she asked.

"No! I left the house and someone said, 'Hey, I heard they was looking for your son.' I went over to his place, nobody's home. Figured he'd come here. 'Cause a his aunt. And you, of course." He did not meet her eye. She guessed what he was thinking, or trying not to think of. Her thoughts, too, turned to the days when they'd been a family, after the Spanish influenza had taken his sons' mother.

"I'm sorry," she said. It was half sympathy, for the present moment, and half apology, for the way things had gone since they were married.

"Don't be," he said, and was quiet for a moment. He looked up, out the window, as though trying to see all the way to where his son had gone. "Can't say I'm surprised," he said.

Hei-Ran went to check on the water. She poured their tea and returned to the dining room.

"Thanks," he said. "Saki and Unalaq are here, right?"

"Unalaq's out at the moment, but yes," she said.

"Saki's here?"

"Yes, she's upstairs, would you like to see her?"

"'Course I would."

Hei-Ran knocked on the door of the guest room. Though she had spent most of her life in more comfortable living arrangements, she had grown used to the crowded house, and thought it strange that there was now a spare room.

"Yeah?" the girl called back.

"Your father's here, he wants to see you."

The door opened. Saki darted past Hei-Ran and ran down the stairs.

"Hey, sweetie." Saki sat on the crate next to her father and he put an arm around her.

She smiled up at him. "Hi, Daddy," she said.

"Sorry I didn't pick you up earlier."

"It's all right."

He kissed the top of her head. "I woulda came if I'd known."

"I know you woulda."

It was a moment she would have frozen, if she had the power. Preserved it forever, like a flower in a bell jar. Kuruk's eyes were filled with warm happiness. Saki nestled close to him, her face resting against his coat. Affection, plain and simple, despite all that had happened.

"You're gonna come home with me, all right?" Kuruk told her.

"I'd like that," she said matter-of-factly.

He chuckled. "Yeah?" He patted her on the shoulder and withdrew his arm from around her. "Go pack your things, OK?"

"I haven't unpacked."

"Well, just go and check."

"OK." Saki got up and hurried up the stairs. Kuruk watched her go. His eyes were tired, and Hei-Ran was glad to see sadness behind them. Sadness was at least a sign of life.

He turned to Hei-Ran and lowered his voice. "Does she know?" he muttered.

"Saki?"

"Yeah."

"Does she know what."

"About why Tonraq left."

"I suppose she does," she said. It was an odd question. Hei-Ran could not imagine the bright little girl being woken in the middle of the night and told to pack without her asking why.

Kuruk nodded, and jumped as his daughter clattered down the stairs. "I'm all packed!" she announced, holding up her suitcase.

Her father smiled deliberately. "That was quick."

Saki looked around. "We're going home?" she said.

"Hey, your brother's not here yet."

"That's OK," she said. "He can stay here."

He chuckled. "Nah, he's family. Actually—" he stood up. "Hei-Ran, could you send him over when he comes home?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. All right, sweetie, let's go—is that heavy?"

September, 1934

For all the time she had spent trying to get children to behave, Hei-Ran now missed their noise. Breakfast was very quiet. Rangi was difficult to read, even for her mother, and her ominous silence spread like a blanket over the room. There had been no news of Yun, only that the police in neighboring states were looking for him. No news of Tonraq, either, in the nearly two months since he'd left.

A sharp rap on the door made all at the table freeze and turn to look. Rangi got up to answer it.

"Who's there?" she called.

"Detective Tso," came the reply.

Rangi opened the door. Hei-Ran did not recognize the man, but her daughter seemed to.

"Hello," he said, smiling at her. "Mind if I come inside? It's chilly out here."

"Do you have a warrant?" Rangi asked.

"Ha-ha! No, I'm not here to arrest anybody. Just thought maybe we could talk."

"Talk about what."

"We're working on a tricky case. Thought you folks might be able to help us out with it."

Rangi frowned, but after a moment of hesitation, stepped aside to let the detective in.

"Hello," he said, nodding at the people sitting at the table. "Sorry to interrupt breakfast."

"Hello," Atuat said. Wong and Kirima said nothing, but watched him like nervous children. Lao Ge gave the detective a good look at his rotten teeth.

"It's quite all right," Hei-Ran said, at odds with her companions' expressions. "Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you."

Hei-Ran began to stand, but Rangi said quickly, "I'll get it," and went to the kitchen.

Mr. Tso sat down in an empty seat. "Sure is chilly out there," he said. "I have a cousin in New York who came to visit me. It gets cold there, he says, but it doesn't get so chilly." Nobody answered. His eyes flicked around the table, lingering on Kirima's and Atuat's faces before he turned to Hei-Ran. "You must be Mrs. Sei'naka."

"I am."

"Ah! I was hoping to run into you."

She raised an eyebrow slightly.

"We're looking for Yun Heiwajima. We've arrested several suspects, see, but, well, they can't all be him."

"I see. You'd like to me to help narrow them down."

"Well, yes."

"I'd be happy to."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sei'naka."

"Hang on!" Atuat said. "She hasn't finished breakfast!"

Mr. Tso glanced at her as though she were a cat that had jumped onto the table.

"Could I have perhaps twenty minutes to get ready?" Hei-Ran asked.

"Sure thing."

The men in the lineup fidgeted, staring at the wall across from them. Hei-Ran smiled in spite of herself. She could see why each of the men had been arrested, but here it was plain to see that they didn't look much alike. One man was 5'10", another 5'6". Their eye colors ranged from green to brown. Their hair was all shades of brown.

The police seemed to know that Yun was underweight, but several of the suspects were simply small-boned. Others looked like they worked taxing jobs. Hei-Ran doubted whether any of them were familiar with narcotics, save for one, who looked thoroughly miserable. Probably deprived of his usual dose of laudanum. Poor boy. Yet she had never seen Yun like that. From what she and Rangi had inferred, he never used any one drug long enough to become reliant on it.

Some of the men were nervous, others bored. None of them glared at Hei-Ran. In fact, none of them seemed to recognize her. She took her time looking them over, so that the police wouldn't think she merely wanted to get out of there.

"He's not here," she said to the policeman in the room.

"He's not?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" the officer asked.

"Quite sure. I've known him half his life." More than that, she thought. Since he was fourteen, since Jianzhu had come back from the war and decided he wanted to find his son, and bring him home.

Atuat was out on a call when Hei-Ran got back to the house. She took her usual walk alone, going briskly up the hills and carefully down them. The underbrush glistened with rain.

She stopped on the trail and took a deep breath. It had been five months since Yun had stabbed her. She had healed quite well, though she doubted the scar would ever fade. No matter. She was alive, and that was a gift.

She was alive, and life was enough for her, in the present moment, unencumbered by the past.

She lay in bed, her eyes closed. On the cot next to her, Atuat rustled around for a few moments before settling down.

"Atuat," Hei-Ran said.

"Yeah?" The cot creaked as Atuat sat up. She could tell something was amiss in Hei-Ran's voice.

"It's nothing, you can lay back down...." She hesitated, thinking her words over with care. "I was thinking earlier about my time as Yun's tutor."

"Yeah?"

"I was... too harsh with him."

Atuat was quiet for a moment. "That's what he'd say."

"He says I'm unfair, which I don't think I was. But I never exactly objected to Jianzhu's... discipline." It was his son, true, but she had surely shared some responsibility for him, particularly in his mother's absence.

"Hei-Ran, you can't change things." Atuat sounded stern again. Hei-Ran worried for a moment that the old man who slept in the kitchen would hear them. But she got the impression that he wasn't one to repeat what he'd heard.

"I know I can't." She was regretting bringing it up. Atuat's view was one of direct fault. She saw no point in looking backwards, unless it was to learn a practical lesson. "I'm just saying he had a point."

"Bah. Listen, when I was growing up, my father wanted us gone. Jealous of how Ma cared for us. A couple times he came close to gettin' his wish, too. Anyway, seven of us got to be grown, and none of us turned out that mean."

Hei-Ran rolled onto her back. She thought over what her friend had said. She could argue that perhaps they had other influences. They had undeniably had each other. But she said nothing, and through the quiet, allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

"Miss!" Leila called from the parlor. Tagaka paused on her way past to see the girl peering out the window, holding the curtain aside. Her brow was furrowed. Tagaka went over to see what had caught her eye.

"That guy's been out there forever," Leila said, pointing. Another girl leaned over to get a look at him. There was a man sitting on a stoop across the street from the house. At first glance, he was unremarkable. Tattered and skinny, but that was to be expected. He looked awfully restless, shifting where he sat, rubbing his shins, lolling his head against the edge of the doorway he sat in.

Tagaka snorted. "I'd say his conscience and his instincts are at war. Well, either he'll leave or he'll knock on our door."

Tagaka yanked the curtain closed again. Leila nodded.

She'd been wrong. The man was still there when the sun began to set. He paced in tight circles, spinning his hat on his finger as though it had done him wrong. His blond hair was unkempt, giving it the look of frayed straw.

"He keeps looking over here," Leila said, a nervous edge in her voice. "He—he looks real angry."

He did, though not in the usual way men did, with fists and insults at the ready. This man instead simmered.

Tagaka stepped outside. The man across the street snapped his gaze up to look at her. For several moments they watched each other. He was perfectly still, like a wild animal that knew it had been sighted. She was certain he was there for her. He stood, and seemed on the verge of crossing the street, but didn't. She realized that, whatever his business, he did not want to meet her on the relatively busy street.

Perhaps he would be kind enough to tell her why. "Hello there!" she called. "It looks awful cold on that stoop. Why don't you come inside?" She gestured to the building behind her. A glance told her that Leila and a few other girls were watching them through the red curtains.

His lips twitched. "I wouldn't go back there if I had frostbite and you had a fire," he shouted. She noted the 'back'. Perhaps he had caught something from one of her girls. On the other hand, as ordinary-looking as he was, Tagaka felt she would have remembered him had she ever seen him. There was something distinctly amiss about him. Even the ordinary pedestrians sensed it, and gave him a wide berth as they walked past.

Tagaka descended the steps and began to walk down the street. She ducked down an alleyway between a laundry and a brick building whose windows were mostly boarded up. Sure enough, she heard the man's footsteps behind her.

She stopped and turned around. Up close, the man didn't look as ordinary. He was thin, a sickly kind of thin that couldn't be solely from the Depression. And his hair was dyed; his eyebrows and stubble were brown. A disguise, perhaps.

"Tagaka Sasaki," he said.

"Very good," she said. "A minus for research." Her mind worked, trying to guess what he wanted. Anything he might want to buy was back in the house.

An angry spasm crossed the man's face. "Research!" he shouted. Tagaka studied his face. There was something familiar in his green-brown eyes, in the lines of his face. He had once been quite handsome, before his habits had whittled him down, hollowed him out. He was probably much younger than he looked.

The man took a step forward, and Tagaka raised an eyebrow. "As though I could forget you," he said through gritted teeth.

"There are hundreds of people who could say that, son," she said. "You'll have to explain yourself."

His face went white, his eyes blank. "Don't pretend you've forgotten me! You just said—"

And it dawned on her. The boy—her little runaway.

Tagaka burst out laughing. In a moment, Yun lunged at her, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her into the wall. His other hand flew into his pocket and pulled out a dusty knife, which he pressed to her stomach.

He was certainly her son. He had her build and bloodlust, with his father's self-righteous attitude.

The last time she'd seen him was at his wedding reception, when she'd bumped off the assassin that had been bothering her. She'd gotten ten years for it, but she still remembered that night fondly. It had been fun.

"You've changed since twenty-two," she said, smiling at Yun. "You'll have to forgive me for not—"

His hand tightened suddenly on her neck, cutting off her words. Tagaka slipped a hand into her pocket and brought out her revolver. She put the tip to his chin.  Like magic, his grip loosened enough to let her breath. She drove the barrel upwards, and his head tilted back. Such an obedient boy he was.

He did not make a move, but he glared at her with all the vitriol of a child denied what he'd been promised. Her breath mingled with his, hot and bitter against her skin. As her chest rose and fell, she could feel the tip of the knife on her stomach.

Yun could easily shove it through her clothes, but he had spent enough time with his mother to know that that would be the end of him. And a shot to the head was a surer thing than stabbing.

"You wouldn't shoot your own son," he growled.

Tagaka slid her thumb over the gunmetal, warm from being in her pocket for so long. It needed some exercise. "Come now, son, I know you aren't stupid."

Chapter Text

Late September, 1934

Yangchen rubbed her eyes; fireworks burst against the cool red backdrop of her eyelids. The train bumped along as though telling her to relax, that it was all right, that she should lean on the window and fall asleep.

Even if she'd been alone in the car, she doubted she could. Her thoughts ran too fast. Family. Of all the myriad problems that had come to her attention over the years, those related to family were the only ones she could be sure of. She never knew what or when it would be, but there was no if. And she had been trying to remedy things for nearly fifty years.

At last, train bumped to a halt. Yangchen picked up her suitcase and made her way off the train. She quickly spotted Kelsang, standing near a pillar with Saki. Yangchen waved.

"There she is!" Kelsang said to Saki. He took her hand, and the three of them met halfway between pillar and train.

"Kelsang! It's good to see you," she said. He looked all right, though his beard was a good deal grayer than the last time she'd seen him. She hoped her brother would be as well.

"It's been too long," Kelsang said.

Yangchen smiled. "It is. How have you been, Saki?"

"Good," the girl said. She was shy, standing very close to Kelsang, and Yangchen did not offer her a hug. It was understandable, she thought, given that last time she'd seen her niece, she had inadvertently sent her away to chaos.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," she said as they left the station.

Kelsang rubbed his chin. "Doesn't seem there's much anyone can do," he said quietly.

They would see about that.

Things had changed much since Yangchen had last been with this side of the family. For one thing, Shizuo had made a friend. This friend had worked on a farm, but been out of luck since the crop was harvested. Kyoshi's kids were visiting him. Yangchen did not bother dropping her suitcase off before they went to see them. She had not brought much.

Saki, bored of the adults' conversation, led the way through a few trees to the hobo jungle. They came to a clearing. Men sat or sprawled on the ground. A few were doing laundry. It was a sorry sight. It was not cold, but the air, thick with the promise of rain, could have made a circus seem dreary.

"Kelsang!" a child shouted, and ran up to him. A slender little girl, with choppy auburn hair. This must be Suki. She turned her bright eyes on Yangchen. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Yangchen," she said, smiling down at her. "I'm your mother's auntie."

"Oh."

Suki led the way over to her siblings, who sat on the ground near the edge of the clearing. Now that Yangchen recognized one, it was easy to recognize the others. They had all grown a good deal in the last few years, their faces thinner, set harder against the pressure of life. Shizuo gave Yangchen a glance before he resumed his glaring into the trees, as though expecting trouble.

Kasuka looked as unaffected as ever. "Hello," he said, as though he had been expecting her.

Mingxia stood up and hugged Yangchen. "Hello, sweetie," she said. "Did your grandpa tell you I was coming?"

She let go and thought for a moment, before shrugging. She was not smiling. She sank back down next to her blond brother, curling up and leaning on his shoulder. Regret settled in Yangchen's stomach. She had seen the paranoia and the sadness before. In her brothers, in her sisters—even in herself. Here and now, it was evidence that she was right in coming out to see them. And she would not leave until things were improving.

"It's Yangchen!" Suki said, flinging herself down next to her sister.

"Ah, Yangchen, this is Kadota," Kelsang said, gesturing to a young man sitting on a stump. He had a healthy, outdoor complexion and a hat pulled low.

Kadota stood up. "Nice to meetcha," he said. She extended a hand, and he shook it. "Here, wanna sit here?" he asked, gesturing at the stump as she glanced around for a place to sit.

She was about to say it was all right, she had been sitting on a train for hours anyway, but she didn't want to discourage his courtesy. "Thank you," she said, and took the stump, which couldn't have been softer than the ground. Kadota sat next to Shizuo. Saki wedged herself in between them, leaving Kelsang to find a spot outside the rough circle.

Yangchen smiled. With the others sitting on the ground like this, she felt like she should start telling a fairy tale.

Chapter Text

A scream pierced the night, pierced Kyoshi's heart, sent her leaping out of bed and flying down the hall to her daughter's room. She threw the door open. Both girls were sitting up in bed, stiff and quaking in the hazy moonlight. Though she could not see clearly, Kyoshi knew which girl needed her. She picked Suki up and sat with her on the bed, holding her close and rocking gently back and forth.

"It's all right, darling, it's all right, I'm here...."

She could feel the girl trembling, gripping Kyoshi's nightgown as though it were a life raft in a hurricane. Her sobs were muffled in her mother's embrace.

"It was just a bad dream, just a dream, Suki, you're all right, it was just a dream...." She repeated the words as she ran a firm hand down her daughter's back, over and over. Over and over. Over and over. As though she could make her words come true. Just a dream, just a bad dream—

She never asked what the nightmares were about. Not when her girls screamed. Not when Shizuo shouted curses in his sleep, loud enough to hear from the second floor. Not when Kasuka went the whole day without speaking to anyone.

She never asked. She knew what they dreamt about. Not monsters, not boogeymen, not horrors the adult mind had long since forgotten. No—they dreamt of reality.

"He's going to kill me..." Suki mumbled into her mother's abdomen.

"It was just a bad dream, sweetie, just—"

"No!" Suki shrieked, pulling her face away and wiping it on her sleeve. "He was gonna kill me 'cause I took his fifty cents...."

The room shrunk, wrapping Kyoshi too tight for her to breathe. The window remained far away, out of the corner of her eye. It stared at her, the cold eye of an executioner on a murderess.

"It wasn't his, anyway!" Suki went on. "I got it, I betted with the kids at school, and he took it and—"

"Suki! It's over!"

Suki let go of her. Her arms came around and folded across her shaky little chest, between her and her mother. She would have toppled backwards if Kyoshi hadn't been holding her, holding her in numb, dead arms.

"Suki. Your father's gone. He can't hurt you."

She stood, laid her daughter down, pulled the covers back over her.

"Now go to sleep." She could not look in her eyes as she left, shutting the door and escaping into the still, dark hallway.

She knew Suki would not sleep. She'd have no chance till morning, and then her mother would be in her room again, as though nothing had happened, to make her prepare for school.

"Kyoshi, here, there's a letter for you."

She held out a hand and took it automatically. She thanked Mui, who gave her a concerned glance and a forced smile before she headed back downstairs to continue making lunch.

Kyoshi fumbled with the letter, partially ripping it as she opened the envelope. Why her uncle kept writing to her was beyond her. He had stopped for a time, but resumed after Yun left. She never answered, never visited, never took his advice. Couldn't he see it wasn't wanted?

And yet she sometimes read his letters, as though they might say something new, as though they weren't just echoes of every previous one, as though there might be something comforting on the page.

She read this new one in a fevered rush. It was not Kuruk's usual handwriting. His hand was hurt, he said, someone was writing for him. Who, he didn't say, although Kyoshi suspected another inmate—surely he would mention if it was a nurse.

His words were vague, to hide his meaning from the others on the ward, but Kyoshi had no trouble understanding them. It was the same thing as before, as every time he had written. Anger billowed in her chest. He could know nothing about her situation, yet he had the gall to act like he had the answers.

She paced, up and down the hallway, the knot in her stomach turning to poison. She hated these letters, these weekly admonishments. Half the time she threw them away. The other half she read them, and tried in vain not to think about them. It never worked. Her head began to ache, as it often did, as the words tumbled over and over themselves, battering her skull from the inside out.

Mendocino State Hospital

"Explain." The letter was crumpled in her hand. She must have been a real sight, because the lunatics on the ward avoided her eyes, stepped out of her way, inched their chairs closer to their tables.

Kuruk glanced around. "Sure," he said, and stood up. "Let's take a walk. Aw, where is she... Miss Matsumura'll let us go."

The clouds threatened rain as they made their way away from the building. Kyoshi had no idea how large the grounds were or what the layout was. She paid no attention to where they were going. She assumed Kuruk knew the place well by now.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the outside air. "Nice day," he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Look, let's get away futher from the building."

The walked in silence for a few minutes.

"You're here about Yun," he said, once they were out of earshot of anyone else.

"You said I was making excuses."

He nodded.

"But you know it's not him."

"Kyoshi—"

"You remember when he was a kid," she said, her voice rising. "You know he'd never hurt us." Us. The kids. Auntie Mui. Rangi. Everyone she had left behind to come here.

"Yes," Kuruk said slowly. "But it is him. That's the thing. This is what Yun's chosen to do." Seeing her about to protest, he went on. "I know he ain't right when he's high, but he's still got some control. Listen, you can ask Hei-Ran, I drank plenty when I was married to her and I never laid a hand on her."

"That's different," she said. "You were a drunk. It's different with narcotics. You wouldn't know."

"I wouldn't?" Kuruk's injured hand was fumbling with the cuff of the opposite sleeve.

Kyoshi raised an eyebrow. She knew Amak had been involved in that, but she'd never got the impression that the brothers were very close.

Kuruk got the button undone and yanked his sleeve up. Kyoshi looked at his forearm, at the mermaid tattoo, at the numerous old scratches and the fresh bruise. Then she saw it. In the brook of his elbow was a thin, white scar.

It was years old, long since healed over, but it was unmistakable. Kyoshi heard something between a laugh and a sob. Her eyes strung. She was laughing and crying; she couldn't stop either, and now that she had started, she didn't want to. "You!" she said. "I—I can't believe you!"

"Kyoshi, I can explain—"

"Explain? Explain?" The world was whirling, collapsing, the ground under her feet falling away. She rubbed her eyes with force, leaving them burning in pale imitation of her soul. Fury coursed through her. Fury and pain and a flood of frustration. It was the rot of old wounds that had festered for years and only now had a chance to shed their rot.

Kuruk tried again: "It was during the war, they—"

"They! Oh, so now it's someone else's fault? You—you—agh!" She struck him. Her fist sank into his stomach and he grunted, staggering back. His knees buckled; he sat down in the grass.

She turned away from him. She wanted to run. She wanted to go back. She wanted to leave and never be seen again.

Kuruk chuckled as he got to his feet. He spread his arms, presenting her an open target. "Go ahead," he said. "You have every right."

She wound up again. He gave her a smile, oddly calm in the face of what would probably knock him out. Heat surged through her arm and irritation nagged at her, but she hesitated.

Did she have the right?

No, she thought, she didn't. Setting another's house on fire would not put out her own.

She lowered her fist, crossed her arms. She looked up at the sky, at the darkening clouds. "Your story," she mumbled. "Make it quick."

Eureka

The sun was fading as she reached the house. She parked outside, next to the gang's beat-up car, and stopped to take in the scene. The house was small and shabby compared to Jianzhu's. The paint was peeling. Several windows were boarded. And it was the most peaceful sight Kyoshi had ever seen. The front door opened; a curious face peered out at her.

"Kyoshi!" Kirima came hurrying over as Kyoshi got out of the car. Her brown eyes were wide with fear. "What happened!"

"Nothing. Nothing bad, I—" She did not have the energy to tell her sister the full story. "—I'll explain everything later. I need to see Rangi. Is she home?"

"...Yes." Kirima gave her a curious look. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you later," Kyoshi said again. She was calm. She knew her purpose, knew what had to be done. It would be a relief, like a stubborn fever breaking on a cool night. "Please. She needs to hear it first."

She expected Kirima to ask questions, or at least to stare. But understanding passed through her eyes. She smirked slightly. "All right," she said. "Come on. You haven't been home in way too long."

The nerves hit Kyoshi in the hallway. Rangi was here. Rangi was here. She was going to face her, to tell her... well, she hadn't thought of exactly what she'd say to her. She needed a moment to compose herself, to think of something. But there was no time, Kirima was leading her upstairs and any second she'd be face-to-face with Rangi.

Kyoshi barely heard her sister calling "Guess who's home!"

And then door flew open and there she was. Kyoshi felt Kirima's hand on her back, nudging her into the room. "She's got something to tell you," she said, and shut the door behind them.

There was silence. Kyoshi could not speak. Rangi wouldn't look at her.

She had forgotten how beautiful Rangi was. Whatever time had taken from her it had repaid tenfold. Kyoshi was caught off guard, and for a moment she stood, simply seeing her. With her eyes, yes, but that was only half of it. Had they been in the dark, Kyoshi would have been content to be near her anyway.

Rangi had been in the middle of writing something. She snatched up the paper and shoved it into a drawer with uncharacteristic haste. "What brings you here," she said, her voice sharp.

"It's—I—I wanted to say—" There were a thousand things she wanted to say, and like things in a bag, the sum of them made it impossible for one to emerge. She could explain where'd she'd been, what she'd heard, why she had changed her mind.

"Wanted to say what."

Kyoshi's nerve was failing her with every moment that went by, but she had not come this far only to give up. "I'm sorry," she said. "You—were right about Yun."

Rangi whirled around. She stared at Kyoshi, her whole body stiff as though she was ready for a brawl. "I was, was I?" Her voice was low, simmering dangerously. Kyoshi nodded, trying to think of what to say.

"I know he'll be back, it's a matter of time, and I wanted to ask for your help—"

"My help?" Rangi's glare burned Kyoshi to the core. "After all this time, now you come back, now you apologize. All these years, I was right in front of you, begging you to see sense! And you—you would rather have your man and your delusions—"

It was all going horribly wrong. Kyoshi stepped back, her throat constricting, her eyes welling with tears. It was too late. Rangi would never forgive her. And if Rangi never forgave her, it didn't matter if the others did. There was no point. Kyoshi took another step back. Rangi was nearly shouting.

"You have no idea, every time I turn around there's another fight or the cops are after you or—and I—I—" Her arm came up.

Kyoshi flinched.

"—I thought I was going to lose you." Kyoshi felt hands around her, clutching the back of her dress. She opened her eyes. Rangi was sobbing, her face buried in Kyoshi's chest. I thought I was going to lose you. Relief flowed through Kyoshi, as warm as the woman she now embraced. It was all right. Rangi did not hate her.

"I'm here," she said, wrapping her arms around her. "I'm not going anywhere." She held her tight until her breathing eased into a smooth rhythm. Rangi sniffed, lifting her head and hiccuping.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Rangi, you're not the one who should be sorry. I—thought you were angry at me."

"I am. I'm furious."

"You were right and I was stupid."

"Prodigiously so." Kyoshi swept Rangi's hair off her face. She wanted to see her dark brown eyes, to know everything was different now.

"I don't know what I could do to make it up to you."

Rangi glanced at the door. She leaned up, and without thinking, Kyoshi bent towards her. Their lips met. Their arms were entwined. Kyoshi was free-falling, but this time, she knew that someone was there to catch her.

They broke apart as a floorboard creaked in the hallway. Someone fetching something from a dusty closet. Rangi smiled up at Kyoshi.

"That's a start," she said.

Chapter Text

November, 1934

In the dark, the house seemed to sway. Breathe. It was too big, bending the laws of what shouldn't be. It curved around to look at the stranger, the intruder, making his way through the trees.

Home.

He didn't bother to be quiet, to hide his footsteps or stifle a curse when he tripped and fell in the wet underbrush. There was no one around. No one. Just another hour of rain. Rain. And this—

Home.

Not home.

The closest he'd ever got.

Yun stopped on the edge of the yard, where the forest had spent the last few years creeping in towards the house. Those trees were alive, staring at him, with their ancient eyes, so ancient they were hidden under the bark. The house was on one side, tilting to look at him, and the trees were behind him. Raindrops fell their endless fall through the canopy, down the towering length of the trees till they crashed to their demise. Yun stumbled, at long last, out of the woods, and began to climb the slope to the garden.

He went in the empty wing, prying open a window—unlocked! the trusting ladies—and tumbling inside. He closed it behind him. Just in case either of the guard dogs got suspicious.

He stopped again, his breath catching in his chest. It was the dust. The dust. This house of dry wood and paper, architect's plans, books, beams, wallpaper, cotton. A tinderbox waiting to go. While he was soaked to the skin, from his hat to his feet. It hurt to walk. Hurt to stand. Hurt to be this chilly. He stood still for a moment, ears straining to hear—

A set of footsteps that would never cross the floor again.

Never. He'd made sure of that. Jianzhu was gone.

Still, his chest ached.

The world flashed by as the motorcar sped along, towards a life the boy had only seen quick glimpses of. He stared out the window, spellbound.

Shizuo slept on the first floor. Yun remembered that in the nick of time, before he got within earshot of the wretched boy. He doubled back and climbed the stairs, coming up at the end of another hallway, a sucking void that bent in, yearning to buckle and collapse. A door was ajar to his left.

His old bedroom.

Childhood was over. Childhood—scrambling in the dirt, trying to wrench a life out of an indifferent world. Now he was going to learn. To excel. Yun did what his father told him to, read what he told him to read, did his calisthenics until his bones were sore. All with the hope that, if he made his father happy, he would keep him. He never thought of it openly, but in the back of his mind was always the fear of returning to... well, there wasn't really a place, just anywhere else.

Here it was better. A thousand times better. Jianzhu fed him every day—three times a day!—and never beat him for no reason.

He put out a hand to navigate along the wall. No moonlight had made it through the clouds and the rain and the maze of rooms. Yun stumbled along, looking for the other wing. Either a bath or a bed or a change of clothes, he didn't care. He felt like an intruder, a thief, looking for something he'd been denied. As he had all his life.

There was also another reason to stay. Jianzhu had a friend, and that friend had a daughter, and that daughter was an angel. She was tall as a redwood and looked like she could snap his arm without trying, but she made up for it in her shy demeanor, her kindness. The way she looked at Yun. She liked him. Admired him, she realized later. She scolded him, but she never got angry.

She was different. She was never disappointed in him, not like Jianzhu was. He could be tired and playful and confused with her. She would understand him, or at least tolerate him with a roll of the eyes, a silent smile. Yun never wanted her to leave his side. He made excuses to have her over, to sneak off with her into the labyrinthine house....

A clang. Yun tripped and nearly fell, catching himself with his hands thrown out on the floor. He lowered himself to sitting and groped around for the thing. It was a tin car. He stood up and readied his arm to throw it down the hall, but stopped himself by an instant. The sound would let them know he was there. Instead he kicked the wall, feeling the jolt of pain up his leg. For now, that was consolation enough. He'd find those girls later—which one, he didn't care—and beat them good for tripping him.

Kyoshi was going to have a baby. She had told Kelsang, and Kelsang told Jianzhu, and Yun found himself curled on the floor of one of those innumerable rooms, deaf with nauseated pain as his father paced and nearly shouted, striking that stick on the air for emphasis.

How he hated that stick. He swallowed his rage as those leather shoes went back and forth, back and forth.

Yun had been foolish, Jianzhu shouted. It was too late to do anything about it. Even Kyoshi couldn't hide it forever. Maybe they could send her away to have the baby. She had relatives in Washington, maybe they could raise it.

The words swirled through Yun's head until, slowly, their meaning sank in. He raised his head. "I'm gonna marry her."

"You're too young." Jianzhu was almost calm now. "You're going to complete your studies first. If—when you're eighteen, you still want to marry her, you may."

As though Yun would never be free.

Yun's hand met thin air and he toppled over, this time striking his head on a hard, tiled floor. He lay there, hissing curses at the air, till he realized this must be a bathroom.

He struggled to his feet once again and slammed the door. He did not bother to shut it quietly—if anyone was awake enough to hear it, they would hear the water in the pipes anyway. He switched on the electric light, crossed to the bathtub, and opened the hot tap. As high as it went. Days and days and the chill had sunk into his bones; by now he'd rather scald.

He sank to the floor, his back to the wall, waiting for the water to heat up.

The faucet filled the room with a rush, a steady roar.

He'd been on the train so long.

And walking.

Walking.

He'd puke if he saw another tree, another nowhere street. That is, he would, if he'd had anything but acid in his stomach.

Nowhere to rest, nowhere to sleep, stealing scraps meant for animals. He'd be executed if they caught him.

But now, in the fortress that was this house—

"Worst mistake I ever made was laying down with your father."

One of her drunken, ascerbic spells. Yun didn't know what his mother meant, but he knew it had something to do with him. She regretted his existence.

He'd made himself small, tucked between the wall and the foot of the bed. A rat might nip his ankles, but that was all right if he could avoid being seen.

The water was hot. Yun jammed the plug into the drain and the water began to cover the base of the tub. Halfway up. Now all the way, a clear shimmering veil over white. He stuck his hand in, feeling the sharp heat and the cold ceramic underneath.

"Get back here, you sonofa—"

No matter. The tub would warm soon. Yun discarded his wet clothes on the floor and stepped into the bathtub. Water sloshed over his feet, infused with small swirls of dirt and blood.

With an intake of breath, he sat down. He didn't care, didn't care, would rather burn to the bone—

The wind tore at his little white face. The desert stretched on, as infinite and uncaring as the wide speckled sky. He stagged forward, his sob lost in the wind, pressing his hands to his eyes.

Couldn'tcry couldn'tcry, his eyes would freeze and roll away... he had to find somewhere to hide from the air. Act happy, act happy, smile and you won't have to cry.

The water rose much too slowly. Yun pressed a heel to the stopper, thinking perhaps it was leaking.

It made no difference. He'd simply have to wait. He leaned back, arms crossed tightly, the cold of the ceramic sending a shock through his back.

Maybe someone would find him out here. Maybe his father. Maybe his father would come and pick him up and take him somewhere warm. He lay and waited, possessed by a desperate hope.

But Yun was alone under the vast canopy of stars. Discarded with the potato peels, shivering, eyes open, sinking through cold delirium till the desert sun rose up to sting his eyes.

He'd been on the train so long, since... he couldn't bring the place to mind. Some town built up around a train stop, population four and a half, whisky cut with silt-water, the whole nine yards.

He'd got a room in an inn and shut himself inside, shot up half his big-city dope and told himself he was thinking of a plan while his eyes slid out of focus and the ceiling above him hummed.

It was in that room that he had realized he was tired. Tired. From keeping one eye open, sure, but it was deeper than that. He was alone, untouched, unseen, hidden in bleached hair and a cap pulled low and the alias of millions. Down at the bar, the only woman in town had smiled with her lipstick-stained teeth, a disgusting display of sham glamor. The same kind that had coated his mother's girls like varnish on rust. 

He rubbed his eyes hard, trying not to fall asleep. Trying not to succumb. Trying not to suffocate on the poison steam that rose from that roaring, corrosive cauldron of memory.

His mother liked his hair long. She was proud of her lineage—part Indian, part whatnot. She would sit her little boy down and give him a few minutes of perfection, an opportunity to be something other than a nuisance. He sat still when she combed his hair, even as the snags send shocks of pain through his scalp. Better to be a doll than a reminder. Better a silent plaything than a target.

Yun blinked. The water was up to his waist. Heat engulfed him, steam coating his trachea as he inhaled quick, choppy breaths. He couldn't fight it just laying here. He sat up, trying to focus on the white-tiled bathroom, on the door and—

He was still alone. No Kyoshi, and as long as he sat here, he'd have no chance to see her. He grabbed the soap, dunked his head underwater, and began to scrub it.

She went out sometimes, to who-knew-where, leaving her son to tend to his sickly grandfather. Tuberculosis. To the doctors, an infection. To Yun's mother, a nuisance. To Yun, an invisible terror.

Make food. Run it upstairs. Run away.

Change the sheets. Hold his breath. Cover his ears.

One last gasp shook the old man's body. A spout of purulent blood spilled off to the side, onto the floor, left to dry in an irregular stain that would never come out of the hardwood.

He shut his eyes. The soap was running down into his mouth. Burning his nose. He dunked his head again, staying under till panic tore at his lungs.

He came up with a splash, and an odd strangled sob that nobody heard.

He was eight when the truant officer noticed him. Can you keep him? his mother asked. The officer laughed along with her.

His angry front faded quickly. He couldn't stay mad at such a sweet kid, full of smiles and chatter, who held his hand and eagerly followed him all the way to school.

Because maybe he really would take him away.

Maybe.

The man had to go, and Yun wailed for two hours.

The water reached the overflow drain, falling off like a waterfall, draining the white water, threatening to climb back up the faucet. Yun turned off the tap and covered the drain with his hand. To stop that awful sound. Stop him feeling he was cascading down with it, dissolving in a rush, into the irretrievable death-slime that slept in the walls.

His hair dripped onto the bathwater.

Stop that, stop that.

Join it, put your head under again.

You won't be able to breathe...

Boys couldn't have long hair.

He ran. If she found out, if he let them cut it—

The teacher knocked on the door. Ma'am? Are you Mrs. Heiwajima? Is she home?

The teacher, looking flustered, explained the situation.

Quite firmly.

NononoMissdon't—you can't, I can't, don't do this to me—

He cried into his mother's skirt. As soon as that woman left—

Don't leave, don't leave, who knows what she'll do—

All the teacher heard was crying. And she was used to tuning that out.

A cough erupted from his throat, shaking his lungs, slopping the water over the side of the tub, seizing every muscle in his upper body to expel the soap-water he'd slipped into face-first. He gagged on air. Gripping the edges of the bathtub, he fought to control it. He hated it, hated it, hated being made a puppet. Even by a reflex.

He had to go on, finish the job. He was filthy all over, with dust and sweat; where the veins showed near the surface, his skin was caked with blood.

Ears next, those weren't so delicate—

"No! NO! I'm not going like this!"

"Quit fighting me or I'll take ya right back inside and you can join my girls!" And he didn't know what that meant, but if his mother was threatening it, it must be bad. Yun picked himself up off the ground and his mother raised a hand. He braced himself.

But all she did was dust off his skirt.

It took a minute, as he bit his inner cheek and felt the bath tile, for Yun to figure out whether the baby's cries were real or a dream. He teetered on the border of sleep, after so long without it. So long, not sleeping, not eating. Not feeling Kyoshi's embrace. He wanted to yell for her, run through the halls, burn down the doors until he found her. She was his harbor, where he could forget the hostile world.

He reached through the bars of the crib.

Holding his breath.

Cold.

"Mama! MAMA!"

He'd grown accustomed to bathing in streams and sinks, and before he knew it, he'd gotten down to his ankles.

The crying had stopped. Then perhaps it was real, and Kyoshi had quieted the baby.

He screamed, clung to his mother, beat his fists on the floor till they were bloody. He was five, he was ten, and he couldn't help it. He was five, he was ten, and she couldn't care. All the feeling she lacked had gone into him, burning him up from the inside.

People were selfish. Most of them, at any rate. Determined to have their way and too bad for everyone else. But he'd found a gem in the quarry. Something to hold tight, to treasure and to shield, lest someone steal it away.

"You invited her?"

"She's your mother," Jianzhu said, jaw set. The years had not eased the tension between them.

She laughed at the couple. It would never last, she said. Not young love. Not a shotgun wedding. She'd tried it. Yun argued with her at first, then ignored her and bit his tongue. But it was Jianzhu whom she goaded into shouting first.

The knife came out of nowhere. Buried, almost of its own accord, in Amak's back.

Let them complain. Let them try and separate them. She was a light on stormy water, and she knew it. A lighthouse never went dark when it was needed, no, it wouldn't just let people drown. He could take enemy fire as long as he kept his beacon in sight.

Red on white, the bride's dress marred. She rocked the baby, but might have been swaying herself, trying to forget what she had seen that night. What she had heard. A man's final throes. To Yun, just another choking on his own blood. Nothing new.

He would see her soon. More than see her. They were practically alone in the house. Perhaps he'd sneak off with her again, for old times' sake.

Almost, almost. He lifted a foot out of the water and inspected the skin. The side he could see was the side he'd been using. Well, not since early morning, twenty-some hours ago. He'd run out of dope. Perhaps that was just as well. The puncture sites had been doing odd things. Turning red, gray, purple, green. Expanding in clammy circles that disconnected, exposing whatever was underneath.

As strange as he was, he'd liked Amak. Where else could he learn what he'd learned from him? The quiet man would sometimes throw out bits of advice, or reminiscences, that sent Yun's mind churning for days. Much more fun than Homer, or whatever his father's latest task was.

Amak was gone, but Yun had met some of his friends. They'd liked him, too, and they offered him a job. Vague on the details, but it would pay all right.

He thought of Kyoshi, and the baby, who was really not a baby anymore.

Of course.

He was almost afraid to touch the wounds, afraid the infection would spread—claim his foot, his leg, his aorta and then life. But he bent forward anyway and began to scrub it.

Click. The door opened. Yun jumped, sending another bit of the bathwater over the edge. He looked around, and it took a moment, a split-second too long, to realize who it was.

Kyoshi. Blinking through the steam. In her nightgown, her hair loose. Nearly to her shoulders. She was as beautiful as he remembered, though raw, like a painter's rendition of a private affair. The emerald-green eyes traveled over him, and the floor, and the clothes he'd discarded.

The place was all right, she said. That was it—all right. Sufficient for her and the boy. She could take him on walks by the shore. It was easy to maintain. And it was easy for Yun to tell himself she was right. Easy to be content in his anesthetic haze.

"Hello." So quiet he nearly missed it, though there was no competing sound here in the blank canvas of night. Kyoshi reached down and peeled off her socks before stepping across the damp floor. Very carefully, she perched herself on the edge of the bathtub. Such a large creature. Unfairly tall. She had learned to compress herself, although now... she seemed to have forgotten. With nobody around but her family, she had let go of some of her grace.

He missed her. He missed her most when he came down, when all had been metabolized and he was left, knowing what he was. Nothing.

Discarded once again.

Nothing.

He told himself he was a husband, and he was, he was when he was in port. But otherwise, he was alone among the smugglers, and it was his best friend who visited Kyoshi, who kept her company, who gave her flowers to decorate the rooms.

"I'm glad you're home," Kyoshi said. Her voice was flat, and her eyes lacked their usual spark. But then, it was the middle of the night, and surely the baby and the rest of the ungrateful kids had been keeping her up.

"Glad to be home." And she finally smiled, reaching out to brush the hair out of his eyes. Her hand continued over his head and down, lingering for a moment at the base of his neck. A pause, and then it came to rest on his shoulder.

He grinned. "Missed me?"

"Every day," she said. Her voice still had the faraway quality that irritated him, but he ignored it.

"Well, get me some pajamas and go back to bed and I'll join ya."

She rolled her eyes, her hand returning to her side.

"You're right, I don't need 'em."

Kyoshi stood up and turned to leave. She cast a glance back at him. "Aren't you tired?" she asked.

"You're tired. I'm hungry. Go make something."

She nodded, and left, leaving the wet clothes on the floor.

Shizuo turned three without uttering a word. Without understanding a word either. He took after his mother, so at three he looked at least four, and it was all the more disconcerting to see him silently rocking back and forth. He still sucked his thumb and he still trailed Kyoshi around the house, getting all tangled up in her worn-out apron.

Her apron, the boy's clothes, even the furniture—everything was worn. Or broken. Or three years old, and Kyoshi hadn't bothered to replace it. Just because her strange little son was getting big, because her husband still came home, because both their fathers helped out, she saw fit to neglect the house.

"Well, you never bring anything home anymore!" she protested.

Rage flared in Yun's stomach. Everone he'd ever tried to please had cast him aside. His mother, sick of her son. His father, throwing him away the minute he turned eighteen. And now Kyoshi, the one who had chosen to be with him, was telling him yet again that he had failed. He was worthless. He had poured his soul and sweat and blood into the task set before him and it was—she said—for nothing.

She cupped her hand to the place where she'd been slapped. Blinked away tears as she stared at her husband in shock.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, a guilty weight replacing the anger.

She said nothing. In fact, she was quiet the rest of the night.

The bath was rapidly cooling to a comfortable warmth, and Yun knew if he stayed there he would slip away and perhaps never re-emerge. So he dried himself off, emptied his pockets of everything important (knife, syringe, two dollars) and left the bathroom with only the towel. Kyoshi had not returned.

Their bedroom was cold. The bed was even made. Yun at first thought he had the wrong room, but no, there were the pictures on the dresser. There was the window with the missing pane of glass, the one he'd sealed up with a book's cover and some glue.

He got a T-shirt and boxers from the drawer. He looked for pajama pants, but couldn't find any of his. Instead there were red pinstripes. They would have fit him around the waist, but were somewhat short. They smelled vaguely of smoke. And flowers.

He shoved them back in the drawer. Kyoshi thought he wouldn't notice. Oh, she'd learn her lesson... he'd wait here for her. Wait. And that whore would be sorry she'd tried to pull one over on him.

He came home late, stumbling through the front door and falling onto the bed next to his wife. She made a half-asleep noise of admonition.

"I'm home!" he said.

"Take your shoes off at least."

He threw everything in the corner, pulled on his nightshirt, and laid back down next to her. She lay with her back to him, curled on her side, ankles crossed. He put an arm around her, but she grabbed his hand and pinned it to her side.

"Kyoshi—"

"Leave me alone."

"Whyyy."

"I don't feel good."

"Wha'ss a matter." Didn't feel good. He found that hard to imagine. He was happy. The only thing brining him down was her rejection.

She sat up and glared at him in the dark, visible only by the August moonlight sneaking past the frayed curtains. "Guess," she said.

He'd strangle her with those red pinstripe pajama pants. He aimed a kick at the bed, but hit the frame. Pain shot through his foot.

Out of the bath, it still looked bad. A painting by an artist running out of light beige. Like something meant to represent the decay of society, superimposed on a man's metatarsals.

It was the needle, he decided. Being on the run had afforded him little opportunity to clean it. If he was going to stop the wound from getting any worse, he had to sterilize that needle.

He crept downstairs, staying as far away as he could from the room where Shizuo slept. Though the boy had never been sneaky. He would hear him coming if he made another one of his attempts at mutiny.

Two children. A third on the horizon. Two strange, silent boys who gave their father just as cold a shoulder as the rest of the world had.

They only cared for their mother. All her love, all her effort. went to them She'd rather take them to a park than do the laundry. She'd leave it in the basket in the middle of the bed, a rude reminder of the empty house.

Yun started avoiding home. He hadn't talked to Jianzhu in months. He didn't want to hear the harsh words, see the dangerous look in his father's eyes. Kyoshi was no different—perpetually disappointed, even if she'd stopped saying it aloud. Well, it wasn't his fault. Both of them asked the impossible.

What difference did it make if he stayed out all night. He had his anesthesia.

There was water boiling in the kitchen. Nice. He pulled the plunger out of his syringe and set it carefully down in the water. He fetched a spoon from the next room and carefully scooped up some hot water to sterilize the syringe with.

Like the dope he'd cook. Hidden from view. A lighter on a spoon. It was low, but it was also an art. People talked of liquid courage. Ha. Most of them were in the dark, too cowardly to really find it.

He missed it. But all the dope connections around here were miles around and knew his face, hair dyed or not. Maybe he could send Kyoshi. She didn't know the game, but she could be intimidating enough if she needed to be.

He chased her along the coastline, stumbling through the grass, aware of the cliff to one side. "Kyoshi, let me explain!"

"No!" she shrieked, loud enough for him to hear over the driving rain. It was the pregnancy. She was whipping herself into a hysteria. If she hadn't went snooping—

"KYOSHI!" He caught her by the back of the dress. She smacked him away, but she turned and stopped. Soaked in cold rain, she crossed her arms low, as though to protect the baby from what she'd seen.

He poured the hot water into the syringe.

Snap.

The glass shattered in his hands, leaving him holding the needle in his left hand.

He flung the spoon at the wall and whirled around, suddenly aware of a sound coming from the hall. A low voice. Kyoshi's. She must be talking to that beast she called a son. Yun had left his knife upstairs; he took one from a drawer and waited.

Ready for another chair swung at his head. A mad charge like a medieval berserker. A knife through the ribs, into the boy who'd tried to kill him before.

Family tradition, he supposed.

All he heard was his own breathing in the dimly-lit kitchen. This house. He couldn't believe he was stuck here again.

No attack came. He jumped forward as Kyoshi came into the room, but lowered the knife when he saw it was her.

She stared at him in surprise.

"I was expecting the kid."

She nodded and rubbed her eyes. "I sent him back to his room."

"Right." Suddenly, he remembered the pajamas. He crossed the room in four strides. Kyoshi's arms came up reflexively. He grabbed the collar of her nightgown.

She yanked the knife from his hand.

"LISTEN to me, Kyoshi—!"

"Don'ttouchme DON'T TOUCH ME!"  She shoved him. Too hard. She knew the instant she did it. Her eyes widened. She snatched his shirt—he grabbed at the air—but both missed.

Her scream filled the air as he fell.

SLAM—

dark.

"Yun, what are you doing. Let me go." He dragged her up the stairs and she stumbled after him, pulling back like a willful dog.

"Don't play dumb," he said through grit teeth. He threw open the bedroom door and flung her into it in front of him. She staggered, but didn't fall. She straightened herself up.

"These!" he shouted, grabbing the pajama pants and shoving them in her face. Kyoshi glared at him. She took a look at the pajamas as though she had just been told they'd been torn and she couldn't find the place to mend.

Comprehension finally dawned on her face. Yun bit the inside of his cheek till he tasted blood. "Well!"

"These are Rangi's," she said. She flipped the band inside out to reveal, embroidered in black thread: R.S'n. "She's been staying over, helping me with the house...."

He sat down on the bed. "Well, get me some food," he snapped. "What, did you forget."

"No," she said. There was a distinctly cold edge to her voice. She really had been alone too long, with all these kids who thought she was the best thing on earth. When really she was just some thirty-year-old wench with too many children. Too many scars. Clumsy. Too big for her own good.

She folded the pajama pants.

"What are you doing."

Put them in the drawer.

He stood up.

Slid the drawer shut. She said nothing.

He swung.

She caught him by the wrist and turned around. "Sit back down," she said. "I'm making dinner. Sit back down and be patient for three seconds."

"You think you can order me around?"

She let go of him and, before he could say anything else, swept out of the room.

He sat back down.