“I do,” said Claire enthusiastically. “Especially Karuizawa. Your father was right to send you here. You’ll be much safer than if you were in a big city. If the Allies were to bomb Karuizawa and kill us all, it would be an international incident. There are so many foreigners from so many countries, like me. And then there are the Jews. A Jewish family owns that store right there,” said Claire, pointing to a home furnishings store that didn’t seem to have anything to sell but blackout curtains. “And while there isn’t a lot of food, if you buy on the black market and befriend the right people, there is a little.”
“If you befriend the Germans, you mean,” said Emi as they made their way to the Mampei Hotel. They paused in front of it, and Emi admired its fa?ade. With its crisscross brown wood details on a white stucco background, it looked more Austrian than Japanese.
“I didn’t say that,” Claire replied before they walked in.
“I speak German,” Emi admitted. “So I feel I might give in to the temptation of securing myself some bread, even though I would be very angry with myself for taking from the Germans.”
“Why? The Germans aren’t so bad. Some of the soldiers are quite handsome,” Claire declared.
“They may not be so bad when they are in Japan, but when they are in Europe, they are inhumane,” said Emi.
“Maybe these Germans are different,” said Claire, seeming unmoved by Emi’s words. “They don’t bother me.”
Emi stayed quiet as Claire gestured to two empty seats in the lobby. “Is it funny to be in a Japanese hotel full of Europeans?” she asked, as they watched the Caucasian men hurry through the hotel.
“No,” said Emi. “The strange part for me is to be back in Japan during a war. I’ve spent very little of my life here and it’s always been a peaceful, beautiful place to return to between postings. Now it feels as if I’ve come back for good, but nothing is the same. I miss what it used to be.”
“Me, too,” said Claire, telling her about the latest rations. “The Japanese and the foreigners sometimes get different food, but lately it’s all measly portions and practically rotten. The bread that is rationed to foreigners isn’t made of flour, but potatoes. And many say it’s half potatoes and half wood pulp. That’s if you’re lucky enough to get a light-colored loaf. The dark loaves—they’re not what the Germans eat. I’ve been told that ours are made of black flour and ground-up silkworms. And then the meat in the rations is almost inedible. Every cut I’ve been given was nearly rancid. So now I eat the Japanese rations, just like you. I don’t think the government will poison their own people’s rice. And I’ve been in Japan so long I prefer rice to bread anyway.”
Emi nodded, horrified. She would ask the Moris what they were surviving on when she returned home. As Claire went on, Emi half-listened as she observed the people starting to fill the lobby. Most of them looked like diplomats, but there were also many Japanese, the majority in the very casual Western clothing that had grown in popularity during the war. They looked nothing like the well-heeled foreign visitors Karuizawa was known for. Emi wondered if those days would ever come back, or if this would be the look of the new Japan.
After she had shifted her weight to peer out the other door, Emi noticed what looked very much like a piano nestled behind a shoji screen.
“Is that a piano there?” she asked Claire, craning her neck further to confirm.
Claire looked, too, and nodded.
“Do you think I could play it?” Emi asked. “I’ve been desperate for a piano. I haven’t played properly in almost two years. Just a few times when I was interned in the United States.”
Claire glanced around. “In cases like these, it’s better to just play and not ask, don’t you think? If you play well enough, I’m sure no one will mind. This town needs something nice to listen to instead of the sound of their own fears.”
Emi, conscious of her newcomer status, walked over to the piano as Claire looked on. She pushed back the screen and uncovered the instrument, then without checking to see if anyone was trying to stop her, she positioned her hands and feet and played a piece by Beethoven, one she hoped was pleasing and familiar to the mixed crowd.
When she was done, she heard clapping before she had even turned around. And when she did, she saw that many people had paused in the hotel’s lobby and hallways to listen to her.
“Play another!” a Japanese man called out, prompting more applause.
Smiling, Emi nodded and turned back to the piano, this time playing a more difficult piece by Mozart. When she finished, she laid her hands on the piano, feeling an elation that she hadn’t felt since she’d played with Christian by her side. She wished he were with her now. He would have liked to see her surrounded by people, clapping for her.
When Emi stood up and turned to rejoin Claire, she was cornered by a German military officer who had been listening to her play from just a few feet away.
“Good,” he said to Emi in strained Japanese. “Good, good.”
At the sight of the swastika on his armband, her heart dropped.
“Thank you,” she replied in Japanese, taking a step to the side to move around him. She was about to motion to Claire that she was going to leave the hotel, but Claire came and joined them, introducing herself and immediately offering up that Emi spoke German.
“Deutsch, Deutsch,” she said, smiling at Emi.
“Do you speak Deutsch?” the officer asked Emi, thrilled.
She acknowledged that she did and curtly explained why, before trying to move around him again, but he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“Perhaps I have met your father,” the man said, switching to his native language to introduce himself as Standartenführer Hans Drexel, acting German consul-general in Karuizawa. “You have such talent,” he said flatteringly. “You must play at our New Year’s party. The German New Year’s party. We can have this piano brought to my home and you can play for us.” He leaned closer and said, “You play so well, and a beautiful Japanese girl like you will be a nice sight for the officers. Please come. We can offer you hot food. Enough so you’ll be eating for hours. Until your stomach hurts.”
Emi knew she should say yes, food was clearly never declined during war, but she did not want to play for the Germans. She was about to refuse when Claire said, “She will! Of course she will. And perhaps she will bring me back a little food, too. That is all anyone wants right now,” she said, looking at Emi. “Hot, plentiful food. So if you can promise her that she will play.”
“Of course I can,” Hans said. “Then you will come, Emiko. Good. And you will uplift everyone’s spirits.”
Emi could only shake her head yes.
CHAPTER 24
LEO HARTMANN
DECEMBER 1943