As the days passed in Tokyo, and Emi started to feel the stark reality setting in of a country at war, her mother encouraged her to spend time with people her own age, to make it feel more like the Tokyo of her youth. Emi still had a few friends in the city, her childhood friends, but she had learned when she had been back in 1939 that there was a distance between them that she could never close, because she had lived throughout the world and they only in Japan.
During that sojourn in Tokyo, she had heard the father of her closest friend from childhood, Kiyo Ono, say that his daughter should approach Emi with suspicion now that she had spent so much time in Europe. When Emi had told her father he had tightened his lips and said he was growing more and more weary of the lack of individual thought in their country.
Keiko had suggested to Emi that she stop by the Onos’ house when they’d gotten settled after a few days but Emi shook her head and said she preferred to stay with her parents.
“In Crystal City I barely saw you,” Keiko told her daughter as they collected their rice ration a mile from their home later that day. “Now you are like my second skin.”
“I’m sorry if I abandoned you there,” said Emi, helping to strap half of the rice allotment onto her mother’s back. “I didn’t mean to.” There was a tear in the thin paper sack and she tried her best to fix it by tying her scarf around it. She never in her life thought she would be anguishing over a few grains of rice.
“You were happy,” said Keiko, shifting her weight to make the package sit straighter. “And I was happy for you. I knew what was awaiting us here. At least, I had an idea.” She sighed and helped Emi tie the rest of the rice to her back. “Look at us now, trudging through the city like peasants, carrying rationed rice that is probably crawling with insects.”
“But like you reminded me in Texas, we’ve seen much worse,” said Emi.
It wasn’t just rice that was rationed in Tokyo, but clothes and shoes and medical supplies like needles and bandages. Even cooking oil.
“Which is fine,” said Keiko, “since we have no food to cook.”
They sat around the table together that night, as Norio had promised to eat with them before going back to the office. Emi passed the limp vegetables to her father, which smelled closer to rotten than fresh, and asked him about his work.
“All I can say is that I spend far more time there than I do here, and I wish that wasn’t the case.” He put his chopsticks down on his plate and looked at his daughter, sympathy creeping into his face for the first time since she came home. “Emi, before I go back to the office we need to be frank with you about the future here,” he said, looking at her from across the polished table. He stood in front of his chair after his wife poured him more tea. Emi got up from the table and walked to the large living room wall. She put her arms against it and said, “I have missed this house terribly. I have missed living in it with you. I feel somehow very young again being here. The last time I was here I was only eighteen.”
“Did you hear me, Emiko?” said Norio loudly, banging the porcelain teapot on the table. “I said we need to talk about your future here.”
“What?” she said, finally looking at him.
“You’ll only be spending one more week here, Emiko,” he said. “You can’t stay in Tokyo.”
“Are we moving?” she asked, letting her arms drop.
“Not forever,” he said. “And not we. You. You are leaving Tokyo. I’ve made plans for you to stay with the Moris for the remainder of the war. Do you remember them? Yuka Mori and her husband, Jiro. Yuka is your mother’s cousin.”
“An older, distant cousin,” Keiko chimed in from her seat.
“Yes, but still family,” said Norio. “They lived in Tokyo but have a summer home in Karuizawa. A small one— a cottage—but perfectly decent conditions. You went there once when you were a child, perhaps fifteen years ago, twenty at most. Do you remember?”
“No,” said Emi curtly, trying to understand what her father was telling her. She shook her head vigorously. “Karuizawa? Are you saying that I just spent eighty-three days on a boat so that we could be reunited as a family and now you’re sending me away after just a few weeks to live with our distant family? Don’t you want me with you? Haven’t you missed me?” she finished, tears falling.
“Of course I have missed you, and yes I want you here with us,” Norio said, moving around the table to her. “But more than that, I want you to stay alive. I can’t have you living here with us in Tokyo. The city will be bombed. It’s not a question of if, it’s when. Emiko, if anything were to happen to you, I, your mother, we would die with you. If not in body, in everything else. You will be much safer in Karuizawa. Many foreigners from neutral countries are there—the Swiss, South Americans, Hungarians. The foreigners from Allied nations were interned in a camp near Kobe but those who weren’t deemed threatening are allowed to live in Karuizawa in relative peace. There are many Jews there as well. And embassy staff. The entire Soviet delegation works in a hotel. Other embassies—the Spanish, the Portuguese, the Turkish—are in town. Over two thousand foreigners from neutral countries are living in Karuizawa now. Because of that, it’s the safest place you can be in Japan. The Americans won’t dare drop bombs there.”
“But why would I go there? I’m not a foreigner. I’m not a Jew. No, Father,” she said shaking her head. “I won’t leave you. I won’t go through this war without you. I’ve been without you for too long. And if I go, everyone will label me a traitor. No one is leaving Tokyo—please don’t make me.” She ran back to the table and threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Let me stay with you here, I beg you. Please!” she said, looking at her mother.
“You do not have a choice in the matter,” said Keiko, standing up and removing Emi’s arms from Norio’s neck. “The Moris are fascinating people. They used to live in England; he even raced luxury cars there. You’ll like them fine.”
“I have no desire to live with an aging race car driver,” said Emi, angrily.
“He was a diplomat first,” said her mother, matching her daughter’s frustration. “And that’s beside the point. Your safety takes priority, Emiko, and we have a train ticket for you already. You leave in a week.”
“But I don’t even know them,” Emi protested, fear in her voice. “What if I go to Sapporo instead,” she said. “To stay with Megumi. If you pay her, I’m sure she will take me.”
“We did think of that,” said Keiko, who cared for Emi’s former amah as much as she did, “but she already has her own family to look after. You would be a burden.”
“And there is no guarantee that Sapporo will be safe from the Americans,” said Norio. “Karuizawa will be unharmed. They won’t target a town filled with foreigners.”
“I’ve spent my life following you,” said Emi, trying not to let her voice break again. “For the past year, I was a prisoner in America because of your job, Father. Because of you. And now you’re sending me away? I am twenty-one. When will I be able to make my own decisions?”