The story Chappy told me, after we’d found our way back into our common language and common memories, was the story of his deportation from Aotearoa and his arrival in Japan. For two years he had lived in the ruins of Tokyo, working at shifting rubble, and was now living in the old part of the city, working in a factory making radios. When not working he would take a train to Yokohama and watch the boats come in, believing he would find me one day. He found Mo instead.

When I tried to talk to him about returning to New Zealand, he wouldn’t respond. Although he had wanted to get hold of me it was not, I soon found out, with the hope of being able to return to his wife and children. I did my best to find out his reasons, but all he would say, in a roundabout way, was that it wasn’t for the best.

We stood and walked for a while. Carp and turtles broke the surface of the lake. Different kinds of water birds cruised about. I spoke to him of home and family as we made our way out of the park and on to a little crowded restaurant where Chappy ordered bowls of seafood and vegetables that had been dipped in batter, deep fried and seasoned with black sauce and radishes. It was good. I hadn’t eaten since I left the ship.

Once again I tried to discover the reason for my brother’s reluctance to discuss a return to his wife and family.

‘Japan is not loved,’ he said. ‘In Tokyo I have work. I must help rebuild Tokyo.’ He paused. He smiled. ‘But I’m happy to see you. You and your little brother.’

Where did that leave me? It was time to return to my ship. What was I to say to Oriwia? He gave me a parcel which I was to take to her.

Chapter 16

Oriwia

My grandmother and I were breakfasting together one Sunday morning while she read out what she had translated from the most recent tape. When she finished, I put a cup of tea in front of her and, thinking this was an opportunity to keep her in one place to do some recording, I turned on the tape recorder and asked her how she’d first heard news that her husband was living in Tokyo. She didn’t answer that question straight away.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘even though I had asked Aki to find Chappy for me and trusted that he would, in my heart or stomach or somewhere like that, liver maybe, I believed my husband would come home the way he left – riding on his bicycle. Perhaps a new bicycle with a new tinkle. From the time the war ended, I listened every day for the ring and rattle, bike wheels churning the stony road. The sounds were in my dreams.’