Orchards Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2011 by Holly Thompson

  Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Grady McFerrin

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Thompson, Holly.

  Orchards / Holly Thompson. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Sent to Japan for the summer after an eighth-grade classmate’s suicide, half-Japanese, half-Jewish Kana Goldberg tries to fit in with relatives she barely knows and reflects on the guilt she feels over the tragedy back home.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-89834-1

  [1. Novels in verse. 2. Suicide—Fiction. 3. Racially mixed people—Fiction. 4. Japan—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.5.T45Or 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010023724

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  In memory of Julie, David and Makiko,

  and dedicated to survivors everywhere

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Because of You

  Chapter 2 - Half

  Chapter 3 - Uniform

  Chapter 4 - Orbiting

  Chapter 5 - Thinning

  Chapter 6 - Outcast

  Chapter 7 - Atoms

  Chapter 8 - Baths

  Chapter 9 - Hats

  Chapter 10 - Faults

  Chapter 11 - Gifts

  Chapter 12 - Rapport

  Chapter 13 - Tokyo

  Chapter 14 - Projects

  Chapter 15 - Sisters

  Chapter 16 - Evidence

  Chapter 17 - Blink

  Chapter 18 - Stupid

  Chapter 19 - Dance

  Chapter 20 - Preparations

  Chapter 21 - Spirits

  Chapter 22 - Visitors

  Chapter 23 - One Hundred Eight

  Chapter 24 - Good

  Chapter 25 - Send-off

  Chapter 26 - Friend

  Chapter 27 - Postcard

  Chapter 28 - Heat

  Chapter 29 - Different

  Chapter 30 - News

  Chapter 31 - Body A, Body B

  Chapter 32 - Mistakes

  Chapter 33 - Surprise

  Chapter 34 - Crumbs

  Chapter 35 - Pact

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One week after

  you stuffed a coil of rope

  into your backpack

  and walked uphill into

  Osgoods’ orchard

  where blooms were still closed fists

  my father looked up

  summer airfares

  to Tokyo

  why?

  I protested

  it wasn’t my fault

  I didn’t do anything!

  exactly!

  my mother hissed

  and made the call

  to her older sister

  my aunt

  in Shizuoka

  nothing would change

  their minds

  all my mother

  would say

  as I followed her

  through garden beds

  transplanting cubes of seedlings

  she’d grown under lights

  in hothouses

  all she’d say

  row after row

  in tight-lipped

  talk-down

  do-as-I-say

  Japanese

  was

  you can reflect

  in the presence of your ancestors

  not that I’m alone

  in being sent away—

  Lisa’s off to summer school

  Becca to Bible camp

  Mona to cousins in Quebec

  Emily to help in her uncle’s store

  Erin to math camp

  Abby to some adventure program

  Noelle to her father’s

  Gina to her mother’s

  Namita to New Jersey …

  all twenty-nine

  eighth-grade girls

  scattered, as Gina said,

  like beads

  from a necklace

  snapped

  but we weren’t a necklace

  strung in a circle

  we were more

  an atom:

  electrons

  arranged in shells

  around Lisa,

  Becca and Mona

  first shell solid,

  the rest of us

  in orbitals farther out

  less bound

  less stable

  and you—

  in the least stable

  most vulnerable

  outermost shell

  you sometimes

  hovered near

  sometimes drifted off

  some days were hurled far

  from Lisa

  our nucleus

  whose biting wit made us

  laugh

  spin

  revolve

  around her

  always close to her

  indifferent to orbits

  like yours

  farther out than

  ours

  after you were

  found in the grove

  of Macs and Cortlands

  that were still tight fists

  of not-yet-bloom

  and the note was found

  on your dresser

  by your mother

  who brought it to the principal

  who shared it with police

  who called for an investigation

  and pulled in counselors

  from all over the district

  word got around

  and people in town

  began to stare

  and talk

  and text

  about our uncaring

  generation

  still

  I don’t think I

  personally

  did anything to drive you

  to perfect slipknots

  or learn to tie a noose …

  with what?

  I wonder

  shoelaces?

  backpack cords?

  drawstrings in your gym shorts

  as you waited for your turn

  at the softball bat?

  because of you, Ruth,

  I’m exiled

  to my maternal grandmother, Baachan,

  to the ancestors at the altar

  and to Uncle, Aunt and cousins

  I haven’t seen in three years—

  not since our last trip back

  for Jiichan’s funeral

  when Baachan

  told my sister Emi

  she was just right

  but told me

  I was fat

  should eat

  less

  fill myself eighty percent

  no more

  each meal

  but then I was small

  then I didn’t have hips

  then was before this bottom

  inherited from my father’s
/>
  Russian Jewish mother

  my mother was

  youngest

  of four children born

  to my grandparents

  mikan orange farmers

  in a Shizuoka village of sixty households

  where eldest son

  inherits all

  but there were

  no sons

  in her generation

  so my aunt

  eldest daughter

  took in a husband who

  took on the Mano name

  took over the Mano holdings

  became sole heir

  head of household

  my uncle

  into my suitcase

  my mother has stuffed

  gifts—

  socks

  dish towels

  framed photos of Emi and me

  last year’s raspberry jam

  pancake mix

  maple syrup—

  and ten books for me to finish

  by September

  books she didn’t pick

  I know

  because she only reads novels

  in Japanese

  and these ten are

  in English—

  books chosen by a librarian

  or teacher

  or other mother

  with themes of

  responsibility

  self-discovery

  coming-of-age

  reaching out

  I GET IT

  I want to shout

  she also changed dollars

  into yen

  and divided bills

  into three envelopes

  labeled in Japanese—

  one for spending

  one for transportation and school fees

  one with gift money for Buddhist ceremonies

  to honor her father—my Jiichan,

  this third summer

  since the year

  of his passing

  the nonstop flight to Narita

  is thirteen hours

  but

  door to door

  my home in New York

  to theirs in Shizuoka

  is a full twenty-four

  on the plane there is

  time …

  for movies

  books

  journal entries

  meals

  magazines

  movies

  sleep

  meals

  magazines

  sleep

  boredom

  apprehension

  I have never been to

  Japan alone

  never traveled anywhere alone

  except sleepovers

  and overnight camp

  for a week in Vermont

  on the plane

  flight attendants chat with me

  unaccompanied minor

  praise my language abilities

  assume it’s a

  happy occasion

  my returning

  to the village of my mother’s childhood

  for the summer

  but they don’t know

  what I know, Ruth—

  that it’s all

  because of you

  Before landing

  I’m bumped up

  to business

  to a seat of vast slippery leather

  with ample room even for my

  Russian Jewish bottom

  that Baachan will scorn

  but it’s on the aisle

  so I can’t see out to

  coast

  fields

  towns

  cities

  whatever is out there

  where I will soon be

  after landing

  and immigration

  and baggage claim

  and customs

  my older cousins

  Koichi and Yurie

  appear with a banner

  that says Kana-chan

  take my bags

  bow to airline staff

  and lead me to a parking lot and van

  following them

  I see they are both

  lean

  Yurie’s legs two

  skinny

  sticks

  below

  a hipless

  butt

  on the highway

  we drive past wet paddies

  with green lines of rice

  forests of bamboo and cedar

  trees different from in New York

  tile-roofed houses

  town centers

  then offices

  apartments

  housing complexes

  cities of concrete

  buildings all jammed close

  like the play blocks

  of the Collins kid I sit for

  will Emi sit for him

  instead

  this summer?

  thinking of him

  thinking of her

  thinking of home

  I’m homesick already

  I think

  from the front

  passenger seat

  Yurie says

  you’ll live with me in my room

  I thank her and add

  words my mother

  would want me to say—

  I’m sorry to be

  a bother

  no bother

  she says

  I work during the day

  so I’m mostly not there

  she says she hopes

  I will have enough privacy

  she hopes

  I will feel at ease

  she says she is sorry

  about what happened but that

  she is glad

  I am here

  that it will be

  like having

  a sister

  as we hum along the highway

  Koichi puts on music

  and I fall asleep

  dream an earthquake sways

  our New York house

  bends and flexes it

  like a bamboo frond

  till Emi’s and my second-story room

  bows down

  down

  nearly scrapes

  the ground

  and I jerk

  awake

  Kohama Village is dark

  when we arrive

  cross the narrow bridge over the river

  and veer left at the village hall

  where I learned to ride a unicycle

  taking turns with Emi

  when the adults were all

  at Jiichan’s cremation

  three years ago

  Koichi wedges the van

  into the driveway

  cuts the engine

  figures appear

  in the still night

  Baachan looks me over in yard light

  as I step from the van

  and straighten

  she notes my size

  and grunts

  Aunt bows,

  takes my two hands

  firm in hers, says

  okaerinasai—welcome back

  Uncle nods and nods

  I bow and bow

  Koichi unloads my bags

  Yurie hooks her arm in mine

  and leads me inside

  to their home

  my home

  for now

  after I wash my hands

  twice

  and gargle

  as instructed

  I join them in the front room

  where Baachan kneels

  before the altar

  tells Jiichan

  I’m here

  tells the ancestors

  I’m here

  announces my visit

  yanks me down to kneel

  light incense

  close my eyes

  and reflect

  I suppose

  later, Aunt takes the jar of my mother’s jam

  that I’d pulled
from my suitcase

  and places it beside altar greens

  and incense

  as an offering

  to Jiichan

  the first three days

  in Kohama

  I wake up

  early

  even before Yurie

  who rises at five

  to dress

  and wash

  and start the laundry

  and help Baachan

  make the miso soup

  serve the rice and fish

  and eat and drive to her job at a pharmacy

  I try to help

  but my ears

  aren’t used

  to Baachan’s words

  Aunt and Uncle and Koichi’s words

  so much Japanese

  so fast and constant

  not

  the half-and-half mix

  of English

  and Japanese

  I hear from my family

  or the Japlish I share

  with Emi

  in New York

  to my relatives here

  I am Kana-chan

  I am Japanese

  period

  even though it should be a

  semicolon

  since half of me

  is not Japanese

  even though I’m

  Kanako Goldberg

  and feel alien here

  I try to learn fast

  make up for my

  non-Japanese half

  but Uncle makes

  remarks

  like after I set the breakfast table—

  how are we supposed to eat …

  with our hands?

  I rush to set out chopsticks …

  seconds

  too late

  they seem to think

  I can just switch

  one half of me

  on

  and leave the other

  half of me

  off

  but I’m like

  warm water

  pouring from a faucet

  the hot

  and cold

  both flowing

  as one

  But even being away

  from home

  even trying to be

  all Japanese

  is easy

  a million times easier

  than the hardest thing

  I’ve ever done, Ruth,

  which was to speak to your mother

  during shiva