Little Yokozuna Page 6

  "I don't know," said Annie. "I never really thought about it. I don't think most people in other countries have a philosophy of gardening, like the Japanese do. Most people just garden according to what seems nicest to look at."

  Kiyoshi-chan's old obaa-san poked her white head out the door and looked with friendly curiosity at the children in the yard. Moving very slowly, she slid the door shut and shuffled down off the porch toward them. The children stood up and bowed to her, as she smiled and bobbed at them. Her face was as wrinkled as a dried peach. She moved away, pottering meaninglessly.

  "She's very beautiful," said Annie.

  Kiyoshi-chan gaped at her. "Beautiful?" he said. "How can you call my grandmother beautiful? Did you use the wrong word?"

  "No," said Annie. "I used just the right word. She is more beautiful than almost anyone I ever saw. I can't explain why exactly. In some people the years add up differently than in others. You can see at one look how hard she's had to work all her life, but there's no sourness in her at all."

  "It's true that she's had a hard life," said Kiyoshi-chan. "So many wars. She had an older brother who died fighting the Russians."

  "The Russians?" said Knuckleball. "I don't picture the Japanese fighting the Russians. You mean in World War II?"

  "No," said Kiyoshi-chan. "I mean in the old war with the Russians."

  Annie looked at Knuckleball, who was puzzled. "Nineteen-oh-four, Knuckler," she said, then wished she hadn't, as she saw him look hard at the old woman again.

  "No way" he said. "She's not that old."

  "Well," said Annie, quickly, "back to the gardens. What else do we know?"

  "We know we can't go back the way we've come," said Knuckleball. "The gateways seem to close up as soon as we come out of them."

  "Do we know that for sure?" asked Annie. "Have we really tried it? Why, Kiyoshi-chan saw Little Harriet come right out of this garden and then dive right back in."

  "That's true," said Knuckleball. "I didn't even think of that. I hate when I don't think of things."

  "Maybe I dreamed it," said Kiyoshi-chan.

  "What else do we know?" asked Annie. "Think hard."

  They squatted on their heels and thought hard, while Kiyoshi-chan watched them. Brown house sparrows hopped around the branches of a budding cherry tree over their heads. Knuckleball took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes to concentrate, while Annie stared at a particular knot in the twine that tied the bamboo fence together.

  "Nothing," admitted Knuckleball at last. "We know nothing else. We've just been blindly stumbling our way along after Little Harriet. We can't possibly figure out

  how to control these gardens, or to choose where we go. They take us wherever they want. And so far they've wanted to take us wherever Little Harriet went."

  "Until last time," said Annie. "Then only two of us, and now we've lost her. I thought this garden might be the key, but if it's a gateway it's obviously closed." She stood up and stamped her foot on the very spot where Kiyoshi-chan said he had seen Little Harriet dive into the earth. A little cloud of dust poofed out around her shoe.

  "Listen," said Knuckleball. "Maybe it has something to do with the person, not the garden. Maybe there's something about Little Harriet that opens the passages between gardens. She was the first one to have a garden open up to her, there in Boston."

  "Maybe," agreed Annie. "Maybe that's why the oni is lugging her around with him. Maybe she's like a key."

  If there wasn't such a sadness always in them about their little lost sister, they might have smiled at the mental picture of the demon warrior sticking Little Harriet in a door lock and turning her like a key. No one smiled now.

  "Maybe she was his key, you mean," said Knuckleball. "He seems to have lost her now, or she got away, or something."

  "And maybe we didn't stay close enough to her. Maybe that's why we've lost her now," said Annie.

  "Maybe, maybe, maybe," chanted Kiyoshi-chan, smiling.

  "Maybe we have to learn a magic spell," said Knuckleball. "Like certain words to open up the garden, Open Sesame or something.

  "Maybe there are certain places to stand," said Annie. "Certain times of day. Certain weather conditions. Certain positions, certain gestures. Certain combinations of circumstances. We just have to keep experimenting until we hit on it. The scientific method, and all that."

  "Maybe," said Knuckleball, "it's all mathematical somehow. Maybe all the Japanese gardens in the world are arranged in some pattern, and open up according to a regular timetable, like a train schedule."

  "Maybe, maybe, maybe," said Kiyoshi-chan again.

  "Maybe," said a feathery old voice, "the gardens wish to keep it all... a surprise"

  They turned to see the old obaa-san smiling beside them."

  "What do you mean, honored person?" asked Annie, very politely, using the full Japanese range of respectful speech for her question.

  "You are trying to understand the gardens," said the old woman, "by binding them up in a net of words. If you weave your net well, you think, you can catch the thing you seek."

  "Is that wrong?" asked Annie. "We're only trying to understand them so we can use them."

  "Wrong?" repeated the old woman, smiling as if the word was a great joke. "Wrong?" She chuckled.

  "Help us," said Annie. "We need your help."

  "If you catch anything in a net of words," said the old woman, "you have taken the first step to losing it. Words make a great thing small enough to hold in your hand, but what use is it to you then?"

  "Could you explain that?" asked Annie.

  "The ocean washes the whole world," said the old obaa-san, "but if you take your ink brush and write the character for Ocean on a piece of rice paper so you can hold it in your hand, can you sail a boat on that piece of paper?"

  "I don't think I understand," said Annie.

  "And I know I don't," said Knuckleball. "I still think we need the scientific method."

  "Good," said the old obaa-san, but it wasn't at all clear what she was calling good. "It is time for dinner." She gestured toward the house and shuffled in that direction, bowed almost in half.

  As they went back to the house, Knuckleball lagged behind to speak to Annie.

  "Annie, I've been thinking," he said. "We're finally in a place where we can call Mom and Dad and let them know where we are. I haven't seen a phone here, but there must be one somewhere that we can use."

  "I don't think that would work," said Annie. "Trust me."

  "Why not?" asked Knuckleball, persistent. "Just because we have no money with us? Can't we just call collect?"

  "That's not the problem," said Annie.

  "Well, what is?" said Knuckleball. "You're hiding something from me. Does it have something to do with that Yazu stuff?"

  "Later, Knuckler," said Annie, in a no-nonsense voice. They went in to dinner.

  CHAPTER 10

  From Bad to Worse in the

  Dead End Mine

  Q.J. and Libby wandered back along the impossible tunnel, the hand-hewn mine with no entrances. They felt drawn back to the end with the stone garden, as to a familiar place. They stepped across the tiny stream and paused for a second on its bank.

  "Nothing bigger than a tadpole could get in or out this way," said Q.J., pointing to the stream. "It hasn't exactly cut a very big channel through here. Looks like ghosts carved out this tunnel."

  "Brrrr," said Libby. "I wish you hadn't said that."

  In fact, there was no apparent point of entrance for the stream at all. It trickled out of the wall near the ceiling, then washed down the side of the cave in a wide, thin, steady sheet of falling water. Having made its scanty way across the cave floor, it then disappeared into the rocky rubble at the base of the other wall.

  "Can we at least drink it?" asked Libby. "I'm very thirsty."

  "I would think so," said Q.J. "It looks very clean. Look how it sparkles in my light. But it'll be ice cold, I bet."

  Libby got down on her hands
and knees and scooped up some of the water to drink. She sat up making a pained expression.

  "Ow!" she said. "Feels like my teeth are frozen."

  Q.J. was paying no attention. She was playing the beam along all the walls, looking for any kind of opening at all. By shining the light directly back toward the next crook in the cave, she could just see past it the dim shapes of the stone garden, its lantern and "trees."

  "Almost home," she said. "It's not really much of a tunnel."

  She was surprised at herself for not feeling more panicky about their situation. Neither of them were hungry, there was a source of water, and it was impossible for there not to be an exit from this unimaginable cave. Then suddenly her light dimmed for a second, and fear clutched at her before the little bulb brightened again. She realized then that it was nothing but the light that was giving her hope. She took a deep quivering breath and tried to speak in a steady voice to Libby.

  "Let's get back to the garden," she said. "These batteries won't last forever."

  They took hands again and started to walk on.

  But hardly had they done so when Libby stopped without warning, pulling at Q.J.'s hand.

  "Did you hear that?" she asked.

  "Hear what?" asked Q.J.

  "A noise" said Libby. "I don't know what, you silly." They listened.

  "Nothing," said Q.J. "It was just the echo of our footsteps."

  "Maybe," said Libby.

  They started to walk again, but then, just as unexpectedly, Libby pulled to a stop again. Q.J. lurched off balance against the cave wall.

  "Lib!" she said. "What are you doing?"

  "I heard it again," said the little girl. "It's a sound. It's not water, and it's not us."

  Q.J. stood still and listened, but not for very long. That momentary dimming of their only light had frightened her, and made her impatient. She yanked on Libby's hand.

  "Come on," she said. "We're wasting batteries. Don't you get the idea?"

  But before they could take two more steps they both heard it, a sound that was impossible to identify. There was something nonrandom, purposeful about it, making it more than just a fall of pebbles or a natural shift in the earth. There was something else, something alive, there in the tunnel with them.

  Q.J. looked wide-eyed at Libby. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

  Trying not to panic, she swung the beam of light all around them, then back again in a quick sweep, to catch anything that might be trying to sneak up on them. Nothing was there. She swung it around again. Still nothing, not even any jumping shadows in the wild beam of the tiny lamp. The cave was empty.

  "What is it?" whispered Libby, gripping Q.J.'s hand with both of hers. "What is it?"

  Then Q.J. felt it, a ghostly sprinkle of something across the top of her head and shoulders.

  "Hey!" she said in a hoarse whisper.

  More particles of something fell on her, then a small hard thing like a pebble hit her shoulder.

  "Ow!" she said, aloud. "It's caving in! Run!"

  Grabbing Libby's hand, she fled toward the garden,

  expecting to hear a roar of collapsing earth behind her. Flinging herself to the ground between the lantern and the crane stone, with Libby shielded below her, she covered her head with her hands. She held her breath. Nothing happened. After several long breathless moments she opened her eyes and turned the beam back down the tunnel. There was nothing new to see.

  Perplexed, she turned the beam toward the ceiling for the first time since they had come into the cave. Seeing nothing noteworthy near her, she shone it upward and outward along the tunnel, drew in a sharp breath and stared..

  "What is it?" asked Libby, pulling her sister's arm more tightly around her.

  Q.J. flicked the beam as far along the ceiling as it would go. There was something there, a third of the way back down the passage, an ominous black shape clinging to the ceiling. Even as she stared hard at it, it seemed to move. Her breath caught halfway down her throat as she forced herself to look harder at the shape, trying not to remember that they had walked under it several times already, perhaps had stopped and stood directly under it. The sudden thought that whatever it was must have peered down at them with pale eyes or some other horrible apparatus turned her cold and the beam wavered, but she didn't dare turn it off. The thought of not being able to see the thing was far worse than the danger of showing it exactly where they were. She didn't know what to do. In one instant things had gone from hopeless to hideous. She began to walk backward, drawing Libby with her.

  "Hey, Quid!" said Libby. Q.J. tried to hush her.

  Better not to give the Thing any more reasons to notice them. "Q.J., it's a hole in the ceiling!" cried Libby.

  "What!" said Q.J., forcing herself to look again. She flicked the little lamp beam like a long whip, trying to get it to go farther. It certainly could look like a hole in the ceiling, looked at in a certain way. In fact...

  "Hey!" shouted Q.J. "You're right, Lib! It's our front door!" She laughed and jumped up, pulling Libby to her feet and dragging her back toward the shadow on the ceiling. "The mystery is solved!" she shouted.

  "What are you talking about, Q.J.?" asked Libby, hardly able to keep up with her sister. "It's just a hole in the ceiling!"

  "Exactly!" said Q.J. "Look!"

  The shadow on the ceiling was a great black opening, perhaps four feet wide. They stood under it and looked up. The weakening beam of the light ventured about thirty or forty feet up the smooth sides of a shaft, perhaps just catching the edge of another level of tunnel up above.

  "Q.J.!" shouted Libby, now annoyed and frightened at her sister's strange enthusiasm. "What good does this do us! We can't fly!"

  "No, Lib, I know," said Q.J. "But we heard somebody up there, and stuff was falling on us down the shaft. There must be miners working up there who can rescue us! Don't you get it? All we have to do is scream for help. Sooner or later someone will hear us."

  The little girl did get it, and hope came like sunrise to her face."Hello!" she called at the top of her lungs. "Help!"

  "Help!" cried Q.J. "Help! Help!" they both cried together. The echoes of their shouts ran up and down the passage and swirled around them like laughing voices, rejoicing and dancing like invisible elves. "Help! Help!" they cried with all their might, and the echoes shouted with them, having a wonderful time.

  When they finally ran out of breath they stopped and listened, and when the echoes died away, there was a deep and awful silence. They stood absolutely still for a long time, listening.

  "Nothing," said Libby. "Nobody."

  "It's OK" insisted Q.J., hope still strong in her heart. "Maybe their workday is over. We don't really know what time it is. Let's try again, then wait awhile."

  "You mean we might have to stay in here for another whole night?" asked Libby, her voice trembling again.

  Q.J. squeezed her sister. "It's OK, Lib," she said again. "It would be worth it, because we will be rescued. But let's try again, now."

  They shouted and called again until their voices were croaking, like frogs. Q.J. shone the beam of her little reading light up the shaft.

  "It's OK," she said to her little sister, for the third time. "They'll come. We just have to be patient."

  Then they both heard it, sounds like faraway steps. Joy rose in them again, and they craned their necks to see up the dimly lit shaft.

  "There's a light up there," said Q.J. "Do you see it? Shout!"

  "Help! Help!" they shouted with every last ounce of their strength.

  There was a dull red glow far above, bright enough now so they could see the clear edge of the upper opening of the shaft. They shouted some more, Q.J. flashing her light on and off upward, heedless of batteries now.

  "Someone's there!" cried Libby. "Oh, hello! Help us! Rescue us! Don't go away!"

  There was at least one dark silhouette against the red light, of someone apparently looking down the shaft.

  "It's just us!" cried Libby. "Get us out of
here!"

  There was something strange about the shape of the silhouette above, as if the head was very large and maned, like a lion's. Q.J. stopped and stared upward, her mouth opened wide. She laid her hand on Libby's arm. Something large and black seemed to break away from the shape above them.

  "Look out!" shouted Q.J., flinging Libby aside, where she crashed against the cave wall. But before Q.J. could save herself, a large stone fell from the shaft, struck her a glancing but dreadful blow on the side of her head, and bounced away with a clash and clatter of echoes. She spun to the side, collapsed to one knee and sprawled on the floor. The little lamp flew from her hand, ricocheting a couple of times before going dark for good. The red light above was gone. The cave was as dark as ever. There was no sound, no sound from where Q.J. had been.

  Libby cowered in the corner, terrified at the turn things had taken, the swift death of hope.

  "Q.J.!" she said, in a hoarse voice.

  There was no answer. This was the most awful thing, this silence of her sister.

  "Q.J.!" she shouted. "Answer me!" Fear sometimes made Libby angry, as if she thought the Universe was out to get her. Now rage blazed up in her, trying to drown out the fear. "You answer me, Q.J.!"

  She was no ordinary six-year-old. It occurred to her suddenly that Q.J. was still lying directly under the shaft opening, unprotected against more missiles from above. She crawled on hands and knees across the floor, feeling with one hand and then the other. It didn't seem as if it could be difficult to find her sister, who must have fallen only a few feet away. But in the darkness she got confused somehow, and actually seemed to crawl in several wrong directions, and maybe even in a circle, before she finally laid a hand on her sister's warm body.

  "I have to get you away from here," she said through her teeth, which were beginning to chatter. If she had been older, and had studied first aid, she would have known that she should never move anyone with a head injury. But she was only six, and all she knew was that horrible stones fell from this shaft, and that she had to get Q.J. away from it. She was so confused now in her directions that she had no idea which way she was going, but it didn't seem to matter now. Toward the stream or toward the garden, either way would get away from the dreadful opening in the ceiling.