Waga Hana

I wiped a tear from my eye as I looked down into the valley below me, grinning widely. Nestled within the embrace of the blue-green hills was the home I hadn’t seen in two years, and the home I would return to today.

With a shout, I sprinted down the hill, my pigtails flying out behind me. I giggled, imagining soaring on the back of a dragon as I went. The dewy grass swished around my bare feet and blew in ripples of green over the hill as the wind greeted my return.

The puffy white clouds overhead parted and shone a beam of light onto my village. My home. Even from my distance I could see people wandering about, carrying baskets and sweeping front porches. I shouted again, sliding down the last bit of hill and running as fast as I could. I heard the calls of villagers noticing me, and soon a group of people stood at the edge of the village, waving flags and hands.

I grinned, and more tears flew out of my eyes as a tall figure swept through the crowd to the front. She held her arms wide, and I crashed into her, sobbing into her yukata. She held me close, patting my head and hair as if to make sure I was really there.

“I’m home, Mama,” I mumbled into her dress. “I’m home.”

“Oh, my Miyako,” she whispered. I could feel her hands trembling.

I heard gasps of alarm from the crowd and drew back to see a much shorter figure shoving her way through, pulling on people’s kimonos and stepping on geta. She emerged and fell forward with a grunt, but quickly stood, not bothering to brush off her dress.

“Koko!” she yelled, and some of the villagers covered their ears. “Koko! You’re back!”

I giggled and swept her up in my arms, but quickly put her down when she started squirming. “And how are you, tiny Tika? Still looking for dragons?”

Tika stamped her foot. “No! Mama said the dragons are mean. I’m looking for kitsune now!”

I rolled my eyes. The kitsune I had spoken to could be quite rude sometimes, but he was still of great help with our fight against Kurogane. Suddenly I felt a rush of excitement at the idea of telling Tika and Mama– and the rest of the village!– all about my adventure.

I turned to Mama, who was hiding her tears under a stern expression. “Now, before you even think about telling us what happened, you need food and rest.” She raised an eyebrow and pointed in the direction of the cottage.

I hopped in place, unable to contain my story. “But Mama! What about–”

She stopped me with a finger on my mouth. “Shh, waga hana. There will be time.” Her eyes grew tender. “Besides, Papa wants to see you.”

I gasped quietly before sprinting through the crowd towards our house. The village cottages and shops around me flew past in a blur, and all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing.

Finally I reached our house on the north end of the town. It sat alone on a small hill, with a few raised herb beds beside it. In the waning light of day, it was washed in the orange glow of the sun, and looked better than any of the spectacular sights I had seen on my adventure.

I slowed my pace as I neared it, my heart swelling with joy. I had done it. I had saved my village, and become the hero it needed.

With a smile, I dropped my boots by the door and knocked before swinging it open. The house was dim, but very clean. Mama must have been keeping herself busy so she wouldn’t worry about me. The kitchen looked just as I remembered it, as well as the living space, if only a bit more decorated with Tika’s art. The warm smell of miso soup filled the air and made my stomach growl.

A quiet cough from one of the bedrooms reminded me of my mission. I tiptoed across the creaking floors to the door and pushed it open. Papa lay in the bed, his head propped on pillows. A tea tray sat on the bedside table, steaming gently. His eyes were closed, but I could see that he was awake.

I took a small step into the room. “Papa?” I whispered, my heart racing.

He stirred, opening his eyes with a small grunt. They were bright and twinkling, and gave me hope. At first he just stared, and I was afraid he would not recognize me, but then a slow smile crept onto his face.

“Waga hana?” he said. “Is it you?”

I sniffed and wiped a stubborn tear from my face. “It’s me, Papa,” I said, willing my voice not to tremble. “I did it. I’m home.”

Papa gave a small sob and held his hands up, and I rushed over, hugging him as gently as I could in my relief. I heard footsteps behind me; Mama and Tika must have made it home.

I stayed with Papa for what felt like hours, crying and whispering how much I missed him. Soon I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Mama say that the soup was ready. “It’s okay, my daughter,” Papa rasped. “Go eat; I know you’ve missed your mother’s cooking.”

I nodded and stepped back, giving Papa one last smile before leaving his room and heading back to the kitchen. The house was achingly familiar, and I had to stop myself from touching all of the walls and doorframes as I passed to ensure they were real.

Tika grinned at me from her zafu on the floor. I grinned back and moved to where Mama ladled generous portions of miso soup into our old ceramic bowls. “Do you need help?” I asked, but Mama shooed me away.

“You just returned, waga hana!” she scolded. “Don’t trouble yourself with helping your mother.”

I laughed softly and sat on my old zafu. The familiar cushion gave me the same aching feeling. Had they kept it out, just for me? In case I returned one day? The thought brought more tears to my eyes.

Mama laid out our bowls of soup in front of us, and I could smell how wonderful it was even through the wooden lid on the bowl. She also set out a dish of rice and some grilled vegetables from our garden, which made my mouth water at their charred scent.

I couldn’t wait to dig into her food, and almost immediately I took the lid off my bowl and drank deeply, not caring that it burnt my tongue. Tika laughed and copied me, but quickly began panting with her tongue out.

“Hot! Hot!” she cried. Mama and I laughed.

“How are you liking it, Miyako?” Mama asked. I used my chopsticks to fish out a cube of tofu, stuffing it in my mouth.

“Ish bery goo!” I said through my mouthful, earning a raised eyebrow from Mama.

When the meal was over I sighed, leaning back on my hands. I was home, and everything was perfect, just as I remembered. My heart swelled with pride at saving my village. I had proven myself— the village did need me. And now everything would go back to normal.

. . .

“Hey, Miyako! How’s the garden?” Taro boomed, sweeping his giant hand toward his booth full of baked goods. I smiled and touched a warm loaf of shokupan, its heavenly smell making me sigh.

“Doing well,” I replied, before pulling a jar of red beans from my basket. Taro gasped and took the jar from me, uncorking it and inhaling deeply.

“These will work wonderfully for some anko paste!” he exclaimed, and I grinned. “Tell your mother I said thank-you for the red beans. Here, take whatever you like!”

I selected a steaming loaf of shokupan and placed it in my basket, wrapped in a cloth from home. “Bye, Taro!” I called and began making my way down the street to the next vendor.

Mama had me out running errands that morning, which was about the only thing she would let me do since I got back. She continued to find excuses, telling me to rest or enjoy being home. “I do enjoy being home,” I mumbled as I dodged a flying ball and the squealing children running after it. “But I want to help. The village still needs me.”

For the first few days after I had returned, almost everyone in the village had stopped by the cottage with gifts and thank-yous. I had felt a bit overwhelmed by their gratitude, but it felt nice to be wanted. I often worried when I was away that by the time I returned, the village would have forgotten about me, but I was happily proven wrong.

But now, two weeks later, I was back to being just Miyako– Kenji and Akiko’s daughter, the wild girl who ran like a deer and didn’t follow the rules. Who tried her best to help, but often found ways to make everything worse.

No, I scolded myself. I’m sure they still remember. I’m sure someone still needs you.

I waved hello to Kaito the fishmonger, trying not to gag at the pungent smell of his shop. His wiry frame sidled over to the counter and he rested his elbow on it.

“Hello, Miyako. Need something?”

I swallowed my nerves and stood tall, remembering that I had defeated Kurogane, after all. “Hello Kaito. Do you…” I paused. “Do you need any help?”

Kaito furrowed his brows, stepping back. “Well, now that you mention it, I’ve got some barrels of nori that need to be moved from my wagon to the shop. Do you think you could lift those and bring them over?”

I gasped. “Yes! Of course! Just let me–”

“Koko!”

I groaned, turning to see my sister running through the crowds toward me. “Koko! Mama needs you back home,” she yelled. Kaito covered his ears at her shrill voice, and I didn’t blame him.

“Coming,” I muttered, and gave the fishmonger an apologetic look before Tika dragged me away toward the cottage.

After a few steps I wrenched my hand from her grasp, stuffing both my hands in my pockets. “Why can’t Mama let me do anything?” I moaned, kicking a rock as I walked alongside Tika.

Tika cocked her head. “She let you come to the markets today.”

“That was after two weeks of begging!” I kicked the rock as hard as I could, and heard it thunk against the side of a building.

Tika started skipping. “Well, she was really scared when you were gone. I wasn’t, of course,” she said, puffing her chest, but I could see her bottom lip quivering. Her voice quieted. “What if she’s still scared? And maybe that’s why she wants you to stay home all the time? She needs you to stay safe.”

I blinked, trying to keep tears from falling. “But doesn’t she remember? The village is safe. I stopped Kurogane, and now the whole world is safe.” I looked down at the dusty path we walked on, the sounds of crickets filling my ears.

We reached the cottage just as the sun began to set. I stepped into the dim living room, but my chest felt hollow. Sometimes I wish I had stayed away, I thought miserably. At least I could do what I wanted when I was looking for Kurogane.

Suddenly my heart twisted, and I knew what I had to do. I swept past Tika and tiptoed to my room, hoping Mama was outside. When I walked through the door, I stopped and took a deep breath. After all, it would be the last time I smelled my room, the cottage, my family.

I grabbed my satchel I had brought on my adventure. It was worn and patched, but it had served me well, and it would serve me again. I started stuffing clothes and belongings into it, and then I slung it over my shoulder and went to the kitchen, looking for rations.

Instead, I found Mama.

She stood in front of the door with her arms crossed, Tika hiding behind her. I scowled and walked to the cupboards, digging through them for jars of rice and dried jerky.

“Miyako,” my mother said firmly. Her words made me stop, and I turned to her, half guilty, half angry. Her eyes were hard as she watched me, but underneath I could see her fear.

“I have to go,” I mumbled, and went back to collecting rations. “It’s for the best.”

“No, it’s not!” Mama gasped. “Miyako. I need you. You were gone for two years. Two years. You can’t leave again. Not now.”

“Why?” I snapped. “You survived well enough without me. It’s not like you need me!”

“But I do!” Mama sobbed. The kitchen went quiet, except for sniffles coming from Tika. Mama’s voice softened. “I do.”

My heart wavered. I knew she loved me. She was so scared for me when I was gone. And I remembered her face when I came back.

But the hollow feeling returned. “If you need me so badly, then why won’t you let me help?” I spat. “It’s because you don’t. You won’t let me do anything.”

Mama’s face hardened. “I just spent the last two years of my life without a daughter. I won’t let that happen again!”

Suddenly we both went quiet as a distant thump reached our ears. Then footsteps. We both looked to the hall, and I gasped to see Papa walking slowly down it, using his cane for support. The cane I had carved him from a stalk of bamboo all those years ago.

“Where is she?” Papa whispered, his voice gentle. I stepped toward him and his eyes met mine. For a moment we simply looked at each other, letting our desperate thoughts flow out into our gaze. Papa grunted, nodding to himself.

He looked up at Mama. “Let her go.”

“What?” Mama breathed, her face ashen.

Papa turned, walking back toward his room. His legs shuddered with every step, like young bamboo in the wind. “She believes we do not need her. Let her go, and one day she might realize how much she needs us.”

Mama gave a shaky sigh and stepped away from the door. I slowly walked toward her, and then with a final glance back into the house, I stepped outside.

The village lay sprawled before me, like a painting. I watched as it became washed in the orange glow of the setting sun. My eyes were drawn to another hill across the way, where a stout zelkova elm grew alone. It was known as the wishing tree, and I remembered visiting it frequently as a child.

I sighed and began my trek, and I was surprised to see that my feet took me closer and closer to the wishing tree. As I drew nearer, I could make out the hundreds of tiny papers fluttering along its leafy branches, tied with bits of red ribbon.

I smiled, remembering tying wishes there myself– wishes for good planting seasons, wishes for happiness, wishes for Papa to get better. And a wish for luck, the day I set out on my adventure.

I absentmindedly touched a twirling wish paper, smiling even though I felt sad. I didn’t really want to leave the village, but I knew they didn’t need me anymore. I never felt right here, and when Kurogane threatened to destroy it, along with the rest of the world, I took it as my chance to prove myself.

“I thought they would want me, if I saved them,” I said, a tear sliding down my face. “I thought they would need me here. But…they don’t. If I left now, nothing would change.”

The wind blew in answer to my words, fluttering the wishes along with the green leaves. I sighed and sat down at the base of the tree, leaning my head against its strong trunk. I thought this would feel like my last adventure. But this is sadder. At least on my last one, I had hope of being wanted when I returned. But now…

The wind blew stronger, and a wish paper came twirling down, landing on the grass near me. I picked it up, distractedly scanning the words written on it, until I saw my name.

Miyako.

My eyes widened, and I read the wish again, the wobbly script unmistakable for anything but a child’s.

Dear wishing tree, please help Miyako find her way home again. I miss her.

I smiled sadly. At least one person cared.

But then the wind blew even stronger, and more wishes came fluttering down, and soon the grass was strewn with white papers and red ribbons. I quickly began snatching them up, not wanting people’s wishes to be forgotten, but then I gave a gasp of shock.

Wishing tree, bring Miyako home safe.

Please let Miyako return to us!

We need Miyako to come home.

I miss you, Koko!

I began to sob, hugging the wishes close to my chest as more and more blew off the tree. I could barely think straight, my mind echoing with the voices of all the villagers, the villagers who wished for me to come home.

As stars began to dot the sky, I finally looked up. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting under the wishing tree, crying and thinking, but now I realized something. Something I should have seen a long time ago.

The village– my family– didn’t wish for me to save them. They didn’t even wish for me to defeat Kurogane.

They wished for me to come home. Because they needed me.

And I needed them.

I wiped a tear from my eye as I looked down at my village below me, and smiled.

See you among the shelves,

Emma G. McKee

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