Chapter 6

SANDAL

on our bicycles

we follow the noise

and all at once

we smell

then see

               black smoke

               rising

 

where the fire trucks turn

where the lane meets the river

we stop because upriver a rooftop burns

               flames leaping

               clawing, snapping

               at neighboring homes

fire and rescue trucks

ambulances, police cars

cram every bit of road

or driveway or bridge

and jets of water

stream from hoses

then

sugei nā—cool!

says a voice I know too well

Shunta Mori

who rules han six

straddling his bike, his pride

all hand-painted with

lightning bolts and stripes

 

Yuki’s uncle’s house is right

behind the fish shop Shunta says

               Yuki

               who knocks me on the head

               when I give the wrong answer

               in class

does she live there? I say

no, idiot, I said it’s her uncle’s house

I don’t bother to argue

I don’t bother to say

               that Yōhei lives with his parents

                              and grandparents

               that Shō’s aunt lives with his family

because what I have learned

in one week with han six is that

               Shunta is always right

 

let’s go closer Shunta says

no, it’s too dangerous I say

then immediately regret it

because as usual my words

don’t come out quite right

what I wanted to say was

               we’d be in the way

               wind could spread this fire fast

               we have a good view where we are now

but in Japanese

my words always sound

too slow

too formal

too adult

or too young

 

for once Shunta

gives me a break and

just watches the flames

darting in all directions

then he shouts

the next one’s burning, too!

and it is

ash and embers fill the air

people pass buckets

from the river to houses

others point hoses

to douse sheds and fences

rooftops and trees

the wind whips—

spray and smoke

sting our eyes

and I’m thinking

what to say to Shunta

so we can just leave

 

but then a voice says

bōya! oi, bōya!

boy! hey, boy!

and an old man shuffles over

one hand on a cane

the other clutching

something under his arm

Shunta glares at him

turns back to the fire

the man comes closer

with his eyes on mine

he speaks but

sirens

people’s cries

Cora’s whines

blasts from hoses

the roar of the wind

take the man’s words and

                                             send

                                                      them

                                                                 sailing

 

the man shuffles closer

mumbles something

and nudges my arm

with a plastic … garden sandal?

Shunta jerks his head

let’s go! come on!

as if I’m supposed to

follow, pronto

I don’t, and when the man

sandal-taps my arm again

Shunta leans over

bats it down, and says

               get away with that filthy thing!

the man catches it

stumbles backward

tucks it under his arm

and moves away

then we all turn to watch the fire

hear the house groan

and see one side collapse

in huge billows of smoke

 

but Cora slides closer to me

signaling with her eyes

toward the mumbling man

so I shift toward him

he totters toward me, and I hear

police … fire …

and this time I accept the sandal

baka—jerk! Shunta says

mounts his bike, spits

and rides off a ways

I ignore him

bend toward the man and say

something to do with the fire?

a guy … running the old man says

and now I catch scraps of sentences—

motorbike … house … front … this dropped

where? Cora says

yellow house …

he slurs and waves toward

a distant two-story house

 

Shunta returns

yanks my arm

let’s go! he says now!

so I hook the sandal

over my handlebar

nod at the man

and to Cora

say come on!

then follow Shunta

wait, J!

I hear

but I don’t turn

because with Shunta

I have to pretend

I just don’t care

 

Shunta leads us downriver

across a bridge and up the other bank

to a small park of tilted pine trees

from where across the water we see

               smoking beams and rubble

               charred dressers

               and scraps of drenched clothing

               like street litter after rain

a few flames flicker and leap

onto an adjacent roof

then the fire is doused leaving

only rising steam and smoke

we hear crying

see a cluster of people

gathered around a woman weeping

and a man covering his face

Yuki’s mother and her uncle Shunta says

then swears and spits

her uncle’s whole house—just gone

 

Cora touches the sandal

gives me a sly look

and I nod, barely

so Shunta can’t see

and say we have to go

Shunta sneers

you taking that sandal?

that man’s a fool!

and lets go a torrent of words

that makes Cora’s eyes bulge

I duck when Shunta tries

a parting punch

that only barely

grazes my arm because

I move but hold

                          my center