The Wishing Trees by John Shors Page B

that he would be strong enough to walk through Kyoto and constantly maintain his composure in front of Mattie. How could he look at something that Kate had touched and not be affected? Such self-control would be impossible. Perhaps years from now, when his memories had dulled, he’d be able to walk past the past. But not now. Not when he still awoke reaching for her. Not when she dominated so many of this thoughts.
    Please give me strength, he said silently, closing his eyes, his thumb moving back and forth. Mattie needs me to be strong. Like I used to be. So please, when we’re in Kyoto, don’t kick me in the teeth. Don’t let me fail her. I’ve failed her before, and I can’t do that again. I need a fair go this time. Please give me a fair go.
    Ian opened his eyes and glanced outside, surprised that they were already in the countryside. Shimmering rice fields dominated the floor of the valley through which they sped. Lush mountains rose in the distance. The mountains moved slowly to Ian’s left as he looked at them, unlike everything nearby, which rushed past as if comprising a colorful tapestry that spun around the train. Ian felt that he was moving forward at the speed of light toward pieces of Kate, for to him memories were pieces of the people who made them. He mused over the letter she’d written to him, still unsure what he thought of her request. A part of him continued to resent her for sending Mattie and him on this journey. It seemed too demanding—both physically and mentally. What if Mattie became sick in India? What if she got hurt or lost? Why in the world had Kate asked so much?
    A bullet train going in the opposite direction suddenly appeared. Even though the other train was well over a thousand feet long, it vanished in the blink of an eye. The view of the lush countryside once again filled the windows. As Ian glanced at an electronic map showing their progress, he realized that he was sweating. He swore to himself, pulling his shirt away from his stomach, which ached. He took off his black and green Statue of Liberty baseball cap and hung it from the seat in front of him. Trying to move his mind from their destination, he turned to Mattie, who was drawing a rice field with mountains behind it. “Good onya, Roo,” he said, forcing a smile. “That’s going to be a beaut.”
    Mattie looked up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
    “You’re a bloody good artist.”
    She nodded, but said nothing, picking up a lime-colored pencil so that she could add a different hue to her rice field. Hoping that her father was still watching, she tried to move the pencil the way that she’d seen older artists sketch, her hand in almost continuous motion. When Ian turned his gaze back to the window, Mattie’s pace slowed. She knew that her mother would have asked her questions about the drawing, wondering perhaps if the water in the field was cold, or if Mattie had thought about adding birds to the image. Her mother always asked such questions, always applauded Mattie’s ideas as well as given her new ones. Her father usually just said that her pictures were pretty. He didn’t have much else to offer, which made Mattie want to create fewer and fewer sketches. Drawing had given Mattie and her mother joy. And with her mother gone, that joy had been halved.
    Mattie put down her pencil. “I’m hungry.”
    Ian turned toward her. “Oh. Well, can you wait for lunch? We’ll be there in an hour.”
    “Mommy would have packed me a snack. She wouldn’t have forgotten that.”
    “She what?”
    “She wouldn’t have forgotten some food for me.”
    “Easy on, Roo. There’s a dining car down the way. Want to have a go at some sushi?”
    “I don’t feel like sushi.”
    “How about some noodles?”
    “We had noodles for lunch yesterday. And they tasted like paper.”
    Ian sighed, glancing again through the window. “Do you want to eat or not? There’s a heap of tasty treats on this train. Or we can wait and have a