Japan, 1957
Hatsu, Jin and I sit on the steps of the maternity home’s wraparound deck to enjoy the cool evening breeze. Summer packs its flowered bags in hues of mossy green in preparation for its upcoming departure.
We do, too.
Safe from prying ears, we talk of nothing else. But I grow impatient.
It has been two days since we made our pact to help the lost spirits cross over by making Jizō statues. Two days since we pledged to seek out Brother Daigan if we cannot keep our babies or keep them safe. Two days of checking the gate’s lock and searching the grounds for ways to escape.
It has been two days too long.
So far, we search in circles. I sigh with a substantial breath. It can’t be helped. I have a heavy heart.
“What’s wrong?” Hatsu asks with a nudge.
I glance over my shoulder to ensure Aiko and Chiyo are not in earshot, then lean in. “It’s just we search these grounds several times a day and every time we find only more of the same. We know there is a front path between the locked gate and the maternity home and a back path to where the spirit babies wait. But the rest is an infinite wood surrounded by an endless fence.”
“That’s why we keep looking.” Hatsu lowers her chin.
“But there’s too much ground to cover and too little time to search. Housemother’s only gone for quick errands, so we mostly cover the same ground.” I sit tall to gather my thoughts. “We’re like the three blind monks who are asked to describe an elephant. Their perception is only a fraction of the whole.”
Jin and Hatsu glance at one another.
Hatsu crosses her arms. “But what else can we do? We cannot just walk out a locked gate.”
My eyes pop wide. My heart thrums. Why not?
It is as if I climbed on the elephant’s back and can see what is obvious. “What if we could?” I ask, looking between them. “The surest way out is the way we came in, right?” I take a deep breath, excited by this revelation. “We do not need to find another exit, we just need to find the key! We know she keeps it in her room, right?”
Hatsu’s eyes round, then cloud with worry. “But how? If the key is here, Housemother is, too, and she is always nearby. When would we have the opportunity?”
“We create one.” I am giddy with possibility. “When they are inside, we draw them out to the clearing. You and Jin create a commotion of some sort.”
“Like what?” Jin asks with nervous eyes darting from me to Hatsu.
I shrug. “I don’t know, pretend you are hurt or fighting, something. Anything. Who cares? Just create a big distraction. Then I will go in screaming like crazy for help.” I almost laugh. This could work. “When they come out. I will stay in and find the key. It is simple.”
“It is risky.” Hatsu shakes her head.
“It is a bigger risk not to try.” I sit tall, resolute, hoping my spine is strong enough to support their doubts. “I know I can find it. Then we can leave. I cannot stay here.”
“Stay here? What is this whispering, hmm?”
We startle and turn. Housemother stands at the door with suspicious eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her unlit cigarette dangles from her starburst mouth.
I paste on a smile. “Oh, we were just discussing friends and family, right?” I face Hatsu and Jin and speak as if continuing a previous conversation. “And like I said, Kiko may not even know I am staying here.” I raise my brows to encourage their participation.
Hatsu plays along. “Kiko is your sister?”
“Like a sister. She is my childhood friend.”
Satisfied, Housemother pushes the brass lighter’s thumb button and inhales deeply.
“Or at least she was.” My chin drops, no longer pretending. “At my mother’s funeral, she still held her grudge and refused to look at me. My grandmother would say, prosperity grows friends, adversity proves them.”
Hatsu, sitting between us, bumps my shoulder, then Jin’s. “Then we are the best of friends. The three monkeys.”
We smile at one another. This is what we call ourselves. Hatsu is the one who covers her sad eyes—she’s seen too much. I am the one who covers her ears—haunted by the cries of spirit babies. And Jin is the silent one, who speaks quiet and with few words.
Housemother harrumphs from the doorway. “You are three foolish monkeys grasping at the moon’s reflection to believe such nonsense. You arrived alone, and you will leave alone.” She stifles a smoke-filled laugh.
I cover my ears. “Did you say something? Sorry, I cannot hear you.”
Hatsu covers her eyes. “Who said that?”
Jin covers her mouth and giggles.
Housemother rolls her eyes and blows out another smoke-filled breath.
We wait out her presence with everyday conversation. “Do you miss school?” I ask.
“Not math club,” Hatsu says with a laugh. “Why do our parents get to choose our club? Then we are stuck our entire school career.” She says under her breath, “If my baby wants to switch, I will fight the teachers to allow the change.”
“What would you have chosen?” Jin asks.
“Mmm...” Hatsu crinkles her nose. “Calligraphy—no, dance. What about you?”
Jin does not say; she just shrugs, staring at the blade of grass she rolls between her stained thumb and finger. She isn’t feeling well. I am sure Housemother’s toxic smoke cloud isn’t helping.
“I am in dance,” I say, fanning the air, then quietly add, “Maybe my little bird will be a dancer, too.”
Hatsu straightens. “Did you study Nihon Buyō?”
“We studied many traditional styles, but my favorite was Nō Mai. Do you know it? The Mai masks are magical. The carved hinoki wood allows light and shadow to alter the expression.”
From inside, Aiko and Chiyo yell in disagreement.
“Quiet down!” Housemother yells, then clucks her tongue with a long exhale of smoke.
I keep talking. “Mai means to dance, but only after one’s studied do you move.”
“I am going to move everyone into locked quarters,” Housemother gripes when something inside crashes. “Maybe three days’ punishment for all, eh?” She spins on her heels to scold the girls inside.
My heart jumps. “We need to begin our own performance before she makes good on her threat. Please. We are the three wise monkeys, right? Let us not act like the three blind monks.”
My pulse races wild. I nod. They nod.
“Good, go! Before we lose the chance,” I say, pushing at Hatsu’s shoulder. She grabs Jin by the arm and they run to the middle of the clearing.
We stare at one another.
“Did you say Jin fell?” I yell out, hoping to spur them on.
“Yes, Jin fell. She hurt herself!” Hatsu shouts back with cupped hands. Hatsu gently shoves her arm. Jin just stares. When Jin still doesn’t respond, she prods her again.
We both motion for her to fall. When she finally does Hatsu almost laughs until Jin shrills an ear-piercing screech. Hatsu and I both look at her, surprised.
Jin smiles.
“I will get help!” I yell, not wanting to lose momentum, but trying not to laugh. I wave for them to keep going. Hatsu shouts of blood and broken bones while Jin sits folded over, pretending an injury with fake cries. Together they create quite a commotion.
“Housemother, come quick!” I howl, running inside. I find them in the kitchen. “Jin is hurt!”
“Now what?” Housemother lifts her arms in exasperation.
Aiko smirks, drying the dish she was forced to wash. Chiyo laughs and hands her another.
I point to the door. “She’s hurt and—”
Another piercing scream from Jin. This one even louder. She is quite an impressive actress! Maybe her club was theater?
“You must hurry, Hatsu said blood and bones! She is in so much pain, her mouth spits fire!” I say, not to be outdone in performance.
Another cry, but this one’s from Hatsu. It inspires fast movement from all three. Aiko, Chiyo and Housemother dash for the door.
I stay behind.
My heart thuds so loud it almost drowns the commotion. As soon as they are out of sight, I dash into Housemother’s room to search for the key. Two futons positioned side by side rest center against the back wall. Low tables on either side give balance. A single sumi-e painting hangs on the facing wall.
I slide the storage door and peer inside. Linens, clothes, boxes for personal items. Everything is neat and orderly. Pushing my hand between them produces no key.
Heart racing, I peek out and listen. Jin’s screams curdle in my ears. Housemother’s voice matches in volume, but not in pitch.
Their voices draw closer!
I look left and right, then fix my eyes on the decorative box on the side table. I open it and stir the contents. No key.
There is another scream and Housemother’s voice barking for Chiyo to help propels faster movement. Kneeling, I feel between the futon and tatami mat. Nothing. Their voices gain in volume. My heart slams my ribs. Where, where, where?
I turn, eyeing the room.
Something glints from under the box I had just looked in. The space underneath created by its feet. I lift the entire box and there it is. A single key.
“Naoko!” Jin cries out.
I spring to my feet, stepping from Housemother’s room just as they step through the door.
My brows push down. Jin has one arm slung over Chiyo’s shoulder, the other over Hatsu’s. Aiko and Housemother prod them forward from the back. “What’s wrong?”
Did she hurt herself for real?
Jin’s hunched, crying and...
Wet.
“What has happened?” My voice shakes as I step close to help. Did she learn of our plan? Did she strike out at poor Jin?
Housemother barks, “Chiyo, help Jin to the back. Aiko, help me with these two so they do not interfere.” She grabs Hatsu by the arm and yanks, throwing her off balance.
Aiko snatches my arm, but I push back and scream for an answer. “What has happened? Tell me!”
Aiko clamps her fingers around my wrist and pulls at me to follow. I lash out, but stumble into Hatsu as they shove us together in my room. The door is shut and locked as we pull and push against it.
“Housemother!” I continue to shout and smack the door, yanking at the handle. Then cast my eyes to Hatsu.
She folds to the floor, hands wrapped around her pregnant belly.
“Hatsu?”
Footsteps pound the hall and scurry about the house. Housemother dictates orders. It’s like my first night here. My chest constricts. Jin weeps from the other room. Another scream.
“Hatsu, please, what happened?” I say, crouching.
She lifts her chin. Tears fall one after the other. “We were performing just like we had discussed, but Jin stopped acting.” Hatsu’s sad eyes meet mine. “Her water broke, Naoko.”
So has my heart.
“We waited too long.” Hatsu’s face crumbles. She covers it with her hands.
I slide down beside her, lean onto her shoulder as she shakes with frustrated sobs and cover my mouth to silence my own. What do we do? What can we do?
Scrambling to the wall, I yell to Jin. “We are here with you! You are so brave, everything will be okay.”
Hatsu joins me. “You are doing great, Jin!”
“Please let us help!” We beg through tears. “Please let us—”
“Shut up in there!” Housemother shouts, then screams for Aiko to find more towels.
Jin’s screams pulsate through the wall followed by Housemother’s yells not to push. Something is wrong. We listen to Jin cry with Housemother’s explanation of breech. We hold our breath in silence. We wait.
The screams grow louder. I listen wide-eyed and find myself staring at the exposed ceiling again. The bamboo beams weave back and forth high above and I count them two dozen times. Twenty-two, twenty-three... The screams come faster, even before I get to the last row.
As night falls, we sit in the dark and watch their frantic shadows through the shoji rice-paper divider wall. An unnerving performance scarier than the demons of Nō plays. Even with closed eyes, their silhouettes remain.
With Housemother’s words to push, we thank the heavens and add our own to encourage her.
“You can do it, Jin!” we yell. “Everything is okay!”
And after a short time, near the final push, our reassurance returns to begging. “Please, Housemother! Let her baby live! Please have mercy—we can take the baby to the orphan home!”
Jin screams. A final push.
The floor creaks. Quick footsteps grow loud, then fade. Another floor creak and then soft cries. These are not from the baby or the mother.
They are ours.
We cry because Jin’s baby never did.
As the moon tiptoes across the sky, silence swallows our tears. The busy footsteps cease, and night’s symphony of singing insects resumes.
The house settles for sleep.
This nightmare will haunt me.
“Jin,” I whisper, still sitting beside the shoji dividing wall, “can you hear me?”
She does not answer. “Jin!” Will she ever speak again? I press my open hand against the wall. “Jin, your baby will cross over warm and loved. Hatsu and I will use our best clothing to dress your baby’s Jizō statue.”
“We promise. We will not forget,” Hatsu says beside me.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “And we will never forget you. Friends forever. We are the three monkeys, remember?”
Jin’s small hand matches mine from the other side. We sit connected, a million things unsaid. Then, after a beat, her fingers and their long shadows trail away into the light. Another image burned into memory.
Tears fall, but like Jin, I refuse their voice. Instead, I hold a blank expression, like the enchanted wooden Mai Nō masks. Our play did not have a happy ending, only an end. I look around the room, choked by unbearable emotion. Small table. Sumi-e ink painting. My luggage in the corner. I am still at the Bamboo Maternity Home. Where another baby was born.
Where another baby has died.
I have come full circle and it spins to make me dizzy. With a deep breath and new determination, I face Hatsu, then dig in my pocket to produce the key.
Our eyes lock.
We are leaving.