After saying this, Fumi pointed out Hisako’s window.
—Look, over there. That’s our old school. Do you remember it?
Hisako turned and looked out the window. They were about to enter the village. A small school was on the road parallel to theirs, separated by an irrigation canal. Rows of beefwood trees encircled the grounds. It was summer vacation, so there weren’t any students, but you could tell it was an elementary school from the jungle gym and horizontal bar. The white paint of the concrete building stood out against the blue sky, and the three silver flagpoles at the back of the playground glittered in the sunlight.
—It was here?
—You don’t remember, do you? That’s because the school was made of wood and nearly burned down during the war. Afterward, we had our classes under those tents that the Americans gave us. Oh, look! Do you remember that banyan tree over there? That’s been there since before the war.
—I guess so.
Now that Fumi mentioned it, Hisako vaguely remembered playing beneath a large banyan tree. And that brought back other memories: how the rain pelted the roof of the tents; how she loved her young teacher, Miss Kiku; and how before the war, they trained in the yard with bamboo spears, with the male teachers spurring them on. But the memories were like blurry black and white photographs, which she couldn’t connect to the colorful bright scenery before her.
—Why don’t we head over? asked Yōichi, glancing back at Hisako.
—No, that’s all right.
Hisako felt uncomfortable after she’d answered. Her lack of emotional attachment to the school reminded her that she’d only spent a year here, as an evacuee and outsider.
When they entered the village, Hisako remembered the Garcinia trees with thick foliage, which had cast shadows on the white sandy roads and the concrete block walls that surrounded the houses. The walls and sandy roads were now gone. In their place were asphalt roads, burning under the scorching sun.
Yōichi pulled into the community center parking lot, and Fumi jumped out immediately, as if to prevent Hisako from helping her. The community center was a one-story reinforced-concrete building, which looked relatively new. Hisako thought it looked impressive. Fumi walked across the gravel parking lot and headed toward a banyan tree off to the side. Hisako clearly remembered the tree.
She and Yōichi hurried to catch up with Fumi, who waited for them in the shade of the tree, with its branches spread wide.
—Do you remember the bell made from an unexploded shell? Fumi asked. It was hanging from this tree.
A memory stirred in Hisako: she was cutting grass in the woods when the bell started ringing to notify them that American soldiers were coming.
—Oh, that’s right! I remember.
Fumi looked pleased.
—So what happened to it?
—The bell? It was donated to the city museum and is now on display. Though by display, I only mean it’s just sitting there with other household items used after the war, without any explanation.
—Right, said Hisako, laughing at her friend’s dissatisfied look.
Fumi joined in the laughter and slapped the trunk of the tree with her palm.
—When you get older, the one thing that never changes and that best helps you remember the past... is trees. People die, one after another; buildings and roads change; and there’s hardly anything in town that stays the same. But trees like this stay rooted to the same spot for hundreds of years. Standing under this banyan tree has helped me to remember the past more than anything else.
—That’s so true....
Hisako nodded at Fumi’s words and looked up at the tree. The branches were the same as when she had climbed them as a child. She could practically hear the cheerful shouts of children playing beneath them.
—See that house over there?
Hisako looked to where Fumi was pointing. In the distance, facing an open space and hidden behind the Garcinia trees that seemed to be the only unchanged remnants of the past, were the red tiles of a roof.
—That’s Seiji’s house.
—Oh! He’s still alive? asked Hisako in surprise.
Her memories of Seiji’s being shot and carried off on a stretcher, together with what Fumi had said at the cave, had led her to assume he was dead.
—That’s right; I didn’t tell you about that. Well, Seiji returned. How long was it after the Americans shot him and took him away? Everybody was saying he’d be executed, so I don’t know how he was saved. One day, I saw a man sitting under this banyan tree. I thought I recognized him, so I moved closer to get a better look. When I did, I practically had a heart attack! His face had changed so much you wouldn’t have recognized him. Even though he had the same close-cropped hair, I didn’t think it was him at first. But it was! He looked angry and was muttering to himself, so I got scared and ran home. Later, I heard from my father that a US military jeep had dropped Seiji off at his house four or five days earlier. After that, I saw him all the time. After the second time, I realized he was blind. Everybody said it must’ve been due to the tear gas. He’s been living in that house ever since. Seiji’s younger brother inherited the family home. He graduated from university with good grades and got a job working for the government. That’s why he could afford to rebuild the house like this, and have a separate little house on the grounds for his brother....
Hisako couldn’t see the smaller house, but the dark green leaves and red roof tiles beneath the bright blue sky looked like the placid scene of a picture postcard. However, she knew that what Fumi had explained in only a few minutes
