Yukiko had dreamed she was holding a bag of persimmons, a sweet, lumpy armful, bestowed on her by a devious woodsprite. The woodsprite had cast a spell on the persimmons, and if Yukiko ate one, she would be forced to live in the woodsprite’s cave behind the waterfall, at the base of a Mizuyama. Still she wanted badly to eat a persimmon, to savor the delicate flesh as she used to when she was a girl, when she would lie in the grass under the persimmon tree behind the summer cabin, the sky growing dark, the stars beginning to show, and the voices of her parents drifting out through the screened windows.
But she was holding a pillow, not a bag of persimmons. At 4:32 in the morning, according to the green numbers floating in the dark. Her new wake-up time, for whatever reason. Insomnia was the latest onslaught. She had tried sleeping pills and herbal remedies, had tried drinking alcohol and not drinking, had given up coffee. She sprayed lavender mist on her pillows. None of it helped. Each night she fell into bed exhausted, but then she would lie there, awake until one in the morning, when she would finally drop off to sleep for a few hours.
The silhouette of Sophie’s head appeared in the dark, her ears swinging as she wagged. The ears always reminded Yukiko of the looped braids of a German girl. “Das Madchen,” she murmured. She reached out and folded a silky ear in her hand, and Sophie grunt-snored and wagged faster, her tail knocking the table. “How are you so cheerful this early?” Yukiko said. Thump thump thump. Which meant she was ready for a walk, even now, at this hour. They might as well, Yukiko thought—it was better than just lying in bed awake. So she dressed and took Sophie out onto her street.
The air was chill and damp but with bands of warmth that stroked her face as she passed through them. Sophie was pulling hard this morning, swerving back and forth with her nose down, following a scent. She stopped to sniff one spot intently, then she veered sharply to the left, still sniffing, then she darted in the other direction. Yukiko tried to make her heel but she was too tired, and Sophie was so strong, even with her gimpy back leg, which would never totally heal after the accident, according to the Vet. But with her seventy pounds and three good legs she could still pull Yukiko off balance. When they reached the end of the block Sophie lunged into the Fisher’s yard, straining against the leash.
“Stop pulling, you heathen beast!” Yukiko hissed.
She leaned back with all her weight, but the leash tore out of her hands and Sophie ran free. She bolted across the yard, her nose still down and tracking a scent, and then she dove into a clump of bushes, her tail still wagging. She’s found a bunny, Yukiko thought. But Sophie’s tail went straight and froze, and then she backed out slowly. Something was draped over her neck and shoulders. What was it? A clump of greenery? Some loose branches. No, a blanket. But as Sophie backed out fully, and as the yellow light from the Fischer’s front porch fell on her, Yukiko realized that it was a person draped over her dog’s shoulders. A child. A little girl in a white dress with a tutu skirt, her bare legs exposed. Yukiko gasped and stopped breathing for a moment, she was so stunned. But then she crept over the wet lawn to get closer. The little girl was kneeling with her arms thrown around Sophie, her face buried in her shoulder.
“Hello?” Yukiko said.
There was no response. She tapped the little girl on the back and she looked up, her eyes wide and fearful. Her hair had been drawn into two high ponytails resembling bug antennae, now loose and uneven. Bright lipstick was smeared over her lips and onto her cheeks, and a bruise bloomed across one eye.
“Where is your mommy?” Yukiko said. The little girl seemed to think about it, and then she mashed her face into Sophie’s shoulder, squeezed hard, and said, “Mommy.”
“Yes, where is your mommy?”
The girl pulled back and thumped Sophie on the head. “Mommy,” she said again. And she gave Sophie another hug.
“This is your mommy?” Yukiko asked. The girl nodded into Sophie’s neck fur. “Are you lost?” she said. The girl nodded, her bug antenna waving. “Is there someone I can call for you? Can I take you somewhere?”
Yukiko didn’t know what to do. She could knock on the Fischer’s door, but she was sure this girl had nothing to do with them. The Fischer’s were elderly, their children grown and gone. They had grandkids, three boys who visited twice a year and who, in the summer months, stayed out in the driveway playing basketball, the sound of the bouncing ball echoing up the street.
“Maybe you can come with me for a little bit and get warmed up, and then we can call someone,” she said.
The girl squeezed Sophie and said, “Mommy.”
“Yes, your mommy wants you to come inside and get warm.” And that did it. The girl stood, swaying backward, the skirt tilting up and exposing her mud-streaked legs. She bent over and grabbed the leash and as if on cue, Sophie started off toward home, and the girl fell in behind, and Yukiko followed the girl, the three of them moving down the street in a strange procession.
Yukiko’s neighbor Doc Reyerson was on his front porch, bending over for the newspaper. When he saw them he bolted upright and his mouth fell open.
“What’s this?” he said.
“Help me,” she called out softly. And he didn’t hesitate, dear Doc. He dropped the paper and came down the steps, moving awkwardly in his slippers, and he followed them into her house and into the kitchen. Sophie went to her dog bed and lay down, and the little girl squeezed in, dropping her head on Sophie’s rump.
“Who is this?” he said. He stood over the bed, his lower lip hanging loose.
“I don’t know I just found her.”
“Found her?”
“Under the Fischer’s bushes,” Yukiko said.
“But this isn’t one of theirs.”
“I know. The only thing she says is ‘mommy,’ and she seems to think that’s Sophie.”
He studied the child for a moment, and then, as if the problem were one of hearing, he bent over the bed and almost shouted. “Can you tell me your name, little girl? Or where you live?” She looked up at him, the bruise fully visible now. It completely surrounded one eye and spread out toward the hairline. “Sweet Jesus,” he said. A silver wing of hair lifted above his ear, poised for flight.
“Should I take her to a hospital?” Yukiko said. “Or call an ambulance? I have no idea what to do.”
Doc thought about it, then he got down on the floor, folding and unfolding his limbs the way you would an uncooperative lawn chair, until he was seated next to the dog bed with his legs extended and his sharp knees jutting up.
“So Soph here is your mommy?” he said.
“Yip.”
“Then that makes you a puppy!”
She nodded. He touched her chin and moved her face slightly so he could examine the bruise. “What happened here, puppy?”
She felt her eye and the skin around it, and she seemed to think about it. Then she flopped down into Sophie’s back, burying her face in her gold fur.
“Okay, maybe later,” he said. “But puppy, can I see your paw for a second?” There was no response. “Please?” he said. “I’ll bet you got nice big paws.” Without picking up her head she extended her arm toward him. He held her wrist lightly and looked at his watch and took her pulse. Then he drew her hand towards him and examined her arm closely, scanning it up and down, turning it and checking the other side. He stood and came close to Yukiko. “I don’t see any major injuries,” he said. “I would keep her here right now where she feels comfy and safe. Get a couple of blankets and an ice pack for her eye. Then call the police. Someone has reported her missing, I’ll bet.”
Yukiko retrieved blankets and an ice pack, and then she called the police, though she froze when the woman on the other end said, “911, Is this an emergency?” Yukiko couldn’t answer. Yes, it was an emergency. But how, exactly? A little girl, found under the neighbor’s bushes. She couldn’t talk, except to say ‘mommy.’ Who was the dog.
They would think she was crazy. And for a moment, she wondered if she was, if it was all a dream or an extended hallucination. But as she started explaining the situation to the woman, the phone heated up against her ear, which she always hated, and her lower back complained the way it usually did in the morning, and she knew from those little annoyances that this was not a dream—it was real.
Chapter 18
The police said the girl had been abducted by a woman named April. Here in the month of April, Yukiko thought, and she mentioned this because it seemed significant, like it should be their first clue: taken in April, by April. But the police were not impressed by this coincidence. They were more focused on getting the girl back to her family and on finding this April, though no one seemed to know where she was. And no one could explain how the little girl had wound up under the bushes. Had this April just left her in Yukiko’s abandoned her? Or had the girl escaped on her own?
The police tried their best to get answers from the child. One of the officers, a large man who seemed to be overfilling his uniform, stretching it to capacity, got down on the floor next to the dog bed, his handcuffs rattling, billy club flipping sideways. He spoke to her in a deep, soothing voice. But whenever he asked the girl about last night and about April, she buried her face in Sophie’s back and refused to say anything.
The girl’s older brother—her guardian, apparently, the parents had died—showed up with a man named Vern. The boy was powerful and thick-shouldered, though in that moment he looked fragile, his face washed out, his black hair going everywhere. He stood over the dog bed and when his sister looked up at him, revealing the bruise on her face, he drew in a sharp breath and pressed a fist into his mouth. He bent down and gathered her up and held her tightly, his eyes closed, and they stayed like that for a while. But then she wanted to get back to Sophie, and she hung down over his arm and and whimpered, swiping weakly toward her goal, Sophie. He gave up and settled her back in the dog bed, and as he stood his head dropped forward as if a supporting pin had been removed from his neck. As if it were broken. Yukiko wanted to help somehow. She wanted to offer some kind of healing, but all she could think to give them was food.
“Sam, is it?” she asked. He turned to her. His eyes were large and slightly almond-shaped, the influence of Asian blood, most likely. “Would you and Priscilla like something to eat?”
“No, thank you. We’ll get out of your way,” he said.
“You are welcome to stay. I will cook breakfast for you and your sister and—” She turned to see if the big guy was still there, and he was. He was sitting at the island counter, his massive back curved outward, a frayed braid hanging down. “I can cook breakfast for you and Priscilla and—”
“Vern,” he said.
“Vern. Please, let me do that for you.”
“No, that’s okay. We need to get home.” He tapped the girl’s back. She was covered completely with the blanket, and she didn’t move. “Pill, let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” Yukiko said. “She seems comfortable right here, and my neighbor who is a doctor thought it might be better to let her settle for a while.”
“No that’s okay. Pill, come on.” The girl wouldn’t move. He bent down and scooped her out of the dog bed, but when he stood upright she started flailing, thrashing and swimming her arms toward Sophie and shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!”
“We can get a jelly donut,” he said. “And we can go home and order you a castle.” But she writhed and kicked so violently he almost dropped her.
“Sam,” Vern said. “Maybe you should let her stay with the dog for a bit. I think it helps.”
“Yes,” Yukiko said.
Sam froze, and so did Priscilla. She was hanging upside down over his arm, her bug antennae swinging. “Mommy,” she said weakly. He sighed audibly and put her down, and then he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I guess we’ll stay for a little bit,” he said.
“You’ve both been through a lot.”
“I'm not sure--” He turned his head to stare at the window above the sink, which showed only the brick wall of the Reyerson’s house. “I’m not sure what to do. If I should take her to a doctor or what.”
“Yes, she should go to a doctor. But later, this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Give her some time to recover.”
“Okay.” Though it didn’t look okay. And how could it be, really? After a night of not knowing what had happened, if his sister was even alive, and then finding her in such a way. And he was so young. What had happened to his parents? Yukiko had so many questions, but it would be selfish to ask right now. She would just try to help them if she could. Breakfast was all she could think to do at that moment, and she was hungry. And not just for a piece of toast, but for a real breakfast, a Japanese one.
She filled a pot of water and set it on the stove.
“I should go,” Vern said. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You are not in the way.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes were enormous and floating behind his glasses.
“I’m sure,” she said. “It’s no trouble.” She opened the fridge and started searching.
“I think I knew your husband, a long time ago,” he said. “Lyle. We used to wrestle together. He actually invited me to your wedding, but I couldn’t go. Had a knee surgery and I was laid up. Anyway, I’m sorry about what happened to him. Heard about it in the news and I couldn’t believe it. Still can’t believe it.”
“Yes, well,” she said. She turned back to the fridge, trying to focus, but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes, the cold sour fridge air washing out. Lyle. Wrestling Lyle. She could see him standing on the stage in his trunks, holding a giant belt and smiling, his frizzy yellow hair falling down around his shoulders. The warrior triumphant. That image was from a picture she had somewhere, and she had an intense desire to find it, to spend the day pouring over it.
“Are you okay?” Vern said. “I’m sorry. I shouldna brought it up.”
“It’s fine. It just hits me sometimes.”
“Sure.”
“But let’s not talk about it.”
“Sure.”
Focus, she told herself. Carrots and scallions. Miso. Tofu. She dug around until she found them, and she lifted the lid of the miso, took a sniff. It was fine, earthy and salty. It never went bad, miso.
“Is that peanut butter?” Vern said.
“It’s miso.”
“I think I had some once, in a restaurant.”
“Did you like it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You will have a chance to try it again.”
She started washing the vegetables in the sink. What on earth was she doing? She was making a Japanese breakfast for these kids and a guy named Vern. She scrubbed the carrots under cold water as if this were a normal thing, as if it were her life. But it couldn’t possibly be. The surface of the earth had tilted and everything had slipped sideways, and she had dropped into someone else’s life, one she didn’t recognize but for the scent of miso and the carrots under running water.
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