SNOW AS IT FALLS, by Patricia Correll 8/10
Yoko was ill the next night and much of the following day. Shigeru brought her water and wiped the sweat from her brow, but in between these ministrations he knelt by the robe she’d made, staring. Yoko was a clumsy seamstress; how then had she made such a magnificent robe? Perhaps, he mused not without a touch of pride, her love for him had transformed her sewing skill.
Though it grieved him to let the wonderfully soft robe out of his hands, he took it to the village market and sold it for a high price. With the money he bought fish and sweets, a new coat for himself and an armload of things for Yoko—sandals, hair ornaments, and a splendid sash embroidered with cranes in flight. She was still ill when he arrived home, but by nightfall she was able to examine the treasures with the expression of wonder and delight he loved so well. She timidly ran her hand over the crane sash as if she expected the birds to rise up and fly away.
The money lasted some months. Shigeru and Yoko ate better than they ever had before, and Yoko looked like a great lady in her new clothes. But she seemed sadder and more wistful than before. When she was in the yard sweeping or scrubbing the laundry she often turned her face to the sky until her eyes grew cloudy and she dropped her broom.
Eventually they had to go back to boiled rice and fixing their own sandals. The walk to the yam fields seemed longer every day. Shigeru wished he didn’t have to farm for a living. He was getting older, after all. So he asked his wife to make another robe like the first. Yoko closed her eyes. “Will it make you happy, Shigeru?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Then I’ll do it.”
The second robe was even lovelier than the first, a wild swirl of red and yellow and orange, soft as the fur on a cat’s belly. It sold for a better price than before, but Yoko was sick again, this time for three days. The strain of creating these robes is too much for her, Shigeru thought. He swore he would not ask her again.
With the money from the second robe Shigeru built a new room onto their house. He bought fish every night and hired a girl from the village to help Yoko clean. Despite this his wife grew quieter and quieter. Her rare smiles drooped like dying flowers. She spent long minutes outside, staring at the clouds, and did not hear when he spoke to her.
A new house would make her happy, nearer the village, nearer people who would amuse her. With a little more money he could hire men to work his fields, so he might stay home with Yoko. And so Shigeru cast out the vow he’d made and asked her for one more robe.
Yoko was silent a long time. Finally she raised her great dark eyes to his. Shigeru was startled to see how the red of her lips had faded to pink, and her black hair looked dull. She opened her mouth as if to reply, but merely nodded.
“I know it exhausts you.” Shigeru hastened to add. “I will not ask a fourth time. I’ll help you as well. Just tell me what to do.”
His wife’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “No! You cannot help me. I must do this work alone. Please promise me you will not even peer into the room where I am working!”
Puzzled, Shigeru agreed. Yoko began work on the new robe that very night.
Candles burned in the center of the room. The crane clutched a needle in one foot. She slipped it under the fabric, and with a deep sigh she drove her long beak into the downy feathers of her breast and plucked one, stifling a cry of pain. A bare spot was spreading over her chest, banishing white feathers for wrinkled pink skin. The crane laid her feather upon the robe. Lifting the needle, she began to sew the feather into the silk.
There was a noise behind her, the creak of a floorboard. The crane turned quickly, one foot on the feather, the other still holding the needle. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Shigeru stood in the door, his mouth hanging open with shock. He rested one hand on the door frame, as if he would collapse without its support.
The crane dropped the needle. She wanted to fall to the floor, hide her head beneath her wing in shame, but she was frozen. Shigeru’s eyes opened wide; tears welled up and spilled over his cheeks. She tried to explain, to say his name, but when she opened her beak only a wordless cry emerged, the cry of an animal.
His mouth worked spasmodically. “Yo…ko?” He whispered.
Yoko. The sound of that stolen name broke her paralysis. She shrieked in despair, the sound rending the air, fluttering the candle flames. She had left a window open while she sewed. The crane leaped through it, into the open air. A flap of her wings sent her up, into the sky. She had not forgotten how to fly; no animal could forget, she thought bitterly. Though she was weak, desperation and shame drove her further into the air, away from her home…no, it was no home of hers. Animals did not share houses with humans.
She circled the house once, watching, but Shigeru did not follow her outside. Never before had she wished for the ability to weep. A gale was coming. She saw lightning flashing not far away, above the clouds. Perhaps this storm would kill her, as that other had nearly done so long ago. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the wind.
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