She paused to sip her tea. “In autumn, when the leaves yellowed and fell, I went away from home and studied. And then, years later, my father died. That was the winter of my life. I felt so cold. But my winter did not last forever. It is once again spring. And I am as happy as the songbirds.”
Mattie looked to her father, her eyes tearing. He reached for her fingers and held them tight.
“May I tell you something else, Mattie-chan?” Akiko asked.
Nodding, Mattie looked at Akiko’s big brown eyes. “Yes.”
“Now, I think, you are in the winter of your life. But spring always follows winter, no matter how deep the snow.”
“It’s deep. As deep as a house.”
“But it will melt. And after it does, remember that just as the seasons come and go, so will smiles and tears. What will you learn from the tears? How do you share the smiles? How can you honor your mother by being a good person? Those are the questions that we must all learn the answers to. And I am sure that you will learn them.”
Again Mattie nodded, her fingers still within her father’s grasp.
“Thank you, Akiko-san,” Ian said quietly. “Your students are lucky to have you.”
“Oh, I do not often share such thoughts at school. But here, among new friends, after a pot of nabe, it seems right to do so, yes?”
Mattie sniffed and turned to where she had set her blue backpack. She opened it, leafed through her sketch pad, and came to the picture she’d drawn of the cherry blossoms. Her small fingers carefully pulled the edge of the drawing, tearing the paper from the pad. “This is for you,” she said, handing her drawing to Akiko.
Akiko bowed, taking the offering, surprised by Mattie’s skill, delighted by her gift. “It is beautiful, Mattie-chan,” she said. “You do me a great honor by giving such beauty to me. I am undeserving of it.”
Mattie shook her head. “I’m glad you’re happy, Akiko-san. And that you like my drawing.”
“Your drawing reminds me of all those wonderful spring days. And I am going to put it somewhere special in our home. Where my mother and I can look at it and smile.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And, Mattie-chan, please trust me when I say that you will be happy. That the snow will melt.”
Mattie looked at her host, wanting to believe Akiko’s words, repeating them in her mind. But she didn’t know if happiness would find her again. She’d always longed to have a little sister, and that now seemed unlikely. She’d wanted to show so many more of her drawings to her mother but now never would. It was as if each of her childhood dreams had been turned into a glass bottle and thrown from a moving car.
Still, Mattie wanted to try to be happy, even though these days she was far more familiar with tears than smiles. And so she thanked Akiko again, sipped her green tea, and pretended not to notice that her father felt and acted the same way she did.
THE NEXT MORNING, A BULLET TRAIN LEFT downtown Tokyo, accelerating with breathtaking speed and grace. The interior of the train car that carried Mattie and Ian hardly seemed to move. Nothing rattled. No bumps or sways were felt. A girl walking down the wide aisle didn’t have to hold on to anything. The train glided forward in an almost magical fashion, seeming to hover above the rails instead of rolling over them. Outside the long windows, Tokyo rushed past, cars becoming blurry, people nearly impossible to discern.
“It’s like being on a plane, isn’t it?” Mattie asked.
Ian stretched out in his chair, looking around, impressed with the mode of transportation. “It’s better than a plane, luv,” he said. “It’s always right on time. There’s no turbulence or danger. It’s a heap more comfortable. And it’ll get you anywhere in a tick.” He pointed to an electronic sign at the end of the long, gleaming cabin. “See those numbers? That’s our speed. When we reach the countryside those numbers will jump like roos in the bush. I reckon we’ll hit two hundred miles an hour.”
“Wow,” Mattie replied, looking outside, then about the cabin. She couldn’t believe how large the interior of the train car was. “It’s like being in a spaceship.”
“Kind of wallops the subway back home, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How about a bit of homework, luv? Remember, you’re supposed to study three hours a day. That’s the deal we made with your teacher.”