Читать книгу Post Office on the Tokaido - Greta Gorsuch - Страница 6

Chapter Three

Siya caught her breath. That was close! She had to be more careful. For a minute, Siya just stood by the tall black bicycle on the side of the road. Then just ahead, Siya saw the red postal symbol of the Shindori Post Office. At last, she was getting close to work.

Shindori Yubin Kyoku was a small post office. It was what Siya called a “neighborhood-style” post office. It was a place where local people came to send letters and to do their banking. Most customers walked to such post offices from their homes. Siya lived close to one in Fukuoka City, where she grew up. She loved it. And she loved the post office workers. They were mostly women, some young and some older.

Her mother had left Japan, and Siya, when Siya was fourteen. Yet the post office workers always asked after her mom and said to say hello to her in India. The post office was the one place Siya’s mother, Prema, seemed comfortable in. Prema once told Siya she learned to count in Japanese at the local post office. Whenever she went to the post office to send a letter to her mother and sisters in Hyderabad she had to pay money for postage stamps. By handing over sixty or eighty yen, she learned to listen for the correct numbers in Japanese.

Outside the post office, Siya’s mom never seemed comfortable. She rushed through her trips to the supermarket. She bought everything as quickly as possible. Once as a young girl, Siya stopped to look in the windows of a flower shop. She loved the red and white roses, the deep golden chrysanthemums, and the pink carnations. But then Prema, always in a hurry, pulled Siya away. “Those flowers are nothing like the flowers in India,” she said as she pulled Siya along. Prema’s walking was like running. Siya kept asking, “Mom, Mom, why are we running?” Prema never answered.

Just a few years later, Prema left Japan. She said she missed her own country. “I need color, I need warmth, I need to hear my language,” she said.

After two months when Prema still didn’t return, Siya’s father sat her down. “Siya,” he said, “I’m afraid your mother isn’t coming back.” Siya wasn’t surprised. She couldn’t remember a time when her mother looked happy. But she still felt sad. She missed her mother’s stories and her soft voice waking her up to go to school. Then her father said, “I’m teaching half-time next year. I’m spending more time with you. Maybe I can learn how to cook?” He made a funny face. That made Siya feel a little better. And for a few years things were OK.

Now Siya was twenty-one. On this cold November morning she was ready to begin a new job. A job she always wanted to do. She pushed her bicycle to the back of the Shindori Post Office. Even when she wasn’t riding it, it rattled and made noise. She locked the bicycle. She knocked on the back door, and it opened.

The man who opened the door was short, and he wore glasses. He looked surprised. “Yes?” he said.

Siya answered in Japanese, “I’m Fujino, Siya.” She used the Japanese style of giving her last name first and her first name last. “I’m the new worker. I’m here to begin work.”

The man continued to look at her. His mouth opened. Then he shut his mouth. He said something like “Huh!” He said, “I’m Nakagori, section head of the Shindori Post Office.” He still stood in the door. Would he let Siya in? What was wrong?

From behind him, a tiny woman appeared. Her voice was sweet but strong. She said, “Mr. Nakagori, let the poor girl in! It’s freezing outside!” The woman pushed Mr. Nakagori aside and pulled Siya into the warmth of the back room.