The cherry blossoms bloomed early this year. The days had grown a little warmer, and the wind had been particularly gentle. The scent had her wrinkling her nose as she stepped into the park. A canopy of pink was the backdrop of the scene. Petals swirled around her, carried by the breeze, a dance without a tune. Some had fallen upon her head, which she shook off.
Grim was, as usual, soaring in the skies. Basking in the freedom, or watching her, or both, she couldn't tell.
At this hour, the people weren't as numerous as they would be in the afternoon. Not that she minded the crowd, but it was relieving.
There was a rustling of tarps being laid out on the grass. Idle chatter. Pop songs from the radio. Children laughing and frolicking. Peddlers offering food and drink for those who couldn't be bothered to make their own. Cacophony and harmony all at once.
Finding where she was supposed to be wasn't difficult, given that Shoukaku stood out in the crowd. But there was only her there.
"Oh, Enterprise. If you are wondering about Atago, she suddenly had some business to attend to," she said, smiling gently. "She will be here later. Takao is somewhere practising and Zuikaku..."
Shoukaku seemed a little too amused, as if there was a private joke there.
"Yes?"
"Well, some neighborhood kids challenged her to games. Naturally, she couldn't back down. She will be back soon. Seriously, though, that girl needs to grow up."
Now she could understand why Shoukaku looked so amused. She chuckled.
"I see...yes, maybe she should, too."
"Well then, for now, there are only the two of us," Shoukaku patted a spot on the woven straw mat. "Go on, sit down."
"Thank you, Shoukaku."
She settled down on the mat, the surface feeling comfortable beneath her. Shoukaku's fingers ran across the worn lacquer container in her lap. Her posture was never rigid or even controlled, and yet there was a certain effortless elegance to her gestures. A sense of awareness of things despite the airy, almost nonchalant manner in which she moved.
Quite unlike herself, really.
"Here," Shoukaku poured tea from the container into the cup. The aroma was rich and sweet, and the color was dark brown.
"Thank you," she accepted the cup. The tea was fragrant, the taste mellow. She found herself letting out a soft sigh.
"Hungry?"
"N-no, I'm fine..."
"Are you sure? I don't think the others will mind you having some before they get here."
"No, really, it's fine."
"Ah, well, maybe later, then."
"Yeah...thanks."
"Think nothing of it."
Shoukaku's eyes always had a certain softness to them. Even more so now, as she gazed at the flowers. Yet there was intent in the act that even she could notice.
Remembering? Or contemplating?
"Say, uh...Shoukaku, do you...ever think about the past?"
Shoukaku paused for a moment. Her smile remained.
So much for trying not to be awkward.
"I think we all have," she answered. "It's natural, isn't it? For all of us who remember the war."
"Yeah...yeah."
Maybe they should just stop there. Or so she thought.
But Shoukaku continued.
"Sometimes I think of my dreams, or something about myself I wanted to change. Even...as a KANSEN, I have thoughts like that. Wild, isn't it?"
Another sip of tea. A slight twitch of the lips.
"And sometimes I remember people."
Shoukaku finally opened the box, almost without a sound.
The content was not what she'd expected.
Rice was a given, but there was only a little of the staple. A single piece of grilled salmon was on top, along with some tofu and seaweed, and a single umeboshi on the side.
It was, for lack of a better word, austere. More like a wartime ration than anything.
"You...didn't pack more for yourself?"
"This is the only way I could remember them."
"...Who?"
Yet another question that seemed like a mistake the moment she spoke. What if Shoukaku didn't want to talk about it at all? She should know that this was the kind of stuff best left alone. But now that it was said, she couldn't do anything about it.
And yet Shoukaku was speaking anyway, though the distant smile on her face spoke more about the meaninglessness of it all than any words she could ever say. More petals flew past before settling on Shoukaku's waiting hands.
"Lives cut short, like these blooms—one season, gone without a trace. And they believed there was beauty in their demise, when...there isn't."
She understood what her fellow carrier meant. Warriors often likened themselves to ephemeral things like fireflies and cherry blossoms. But did those left behind, too, feel that way?
She had seen the letters sent to the families. Even she could imagine their sadness. Even she felt something resembling regret after sending the reports. She had seen how their comrades—Jerry included—quietly grieved after every mission when the casualties became known—a rare show of the wounds hidden in their hearts and behind their steely focus.
And here, Shoukaku, too, had that grief.
Whether for her own fallen or the immense losses the Empire suffered, perhaps her sorrow had endured the war and continued to endure even when the battles ended.
Shoukaku plucked the umeboshi and popped it into her mouth. She grimaced a little, then chuckled.
"Now, don't let that gloomy talk dampen this occasion. You should smile, Enterprise," she said. Her manner was gentler still. "If you are feeling hungry, I have this."
She put the box down and pushed another gently in front of her.
"Um, thanks."
"You're very welcome."
Unlike Shoukaku's meager meal, this was a full lunchbox. There was rice, pickles, fish, and tempura, which Zuikaku had sung praises over before. There was also a variety of different vegetables and roots, and miso soup on the side. Truly, only a mindful person could prepare such a spread.
"But...your...own meal...is it fine, really?"
"Hm? We all remember in different ways. Or not at all. And that's fine. And I usually eat little, myself."
Shoukaku went through the motions, murmured something like a prayer, and then ate. Her chopsticks were deft, snatching the grains as effortlessly as her rigging snatched enemy planes from the sky. The Japanese art of mindful eating embodied, if she could describe the sight with a word.
"Ah, sensei! Onee-chan!"
"Ara, Shizuko-chan," Shoukaku waved, welcoming the little girl with a warm smile. "Here with Papa and Mama?"
"Mm! Look, Mama is nearby, but Papa is busy looking for a place!"
The girl pointed to a pregnant woman walking just a few paces behind, who paused just as she noticed Shoukaku.
"Sensei," she bowed as deeply as she could before raising herself and nodding at her.
"Good day, Takenaka-san. How is the baby?"
"Almost coming, and he is well. Thank you for taking care of Shizuko all this time, sensei."
"Oh, not a problem at all. This little girl is such a delight."
The woman nodded, glancing at her daughter, then whispered something to her before nodding again.
"Well then, Shizuko seems to wish to play with you, sensei," she chuckled. "May I impose on you for a few moments while I find my husband?"
"I don't mind at all."
The little girl grinned and held onto Shoukaku's arms.
"Thank you very much, Sensei!" the woman called as she went deeper into the park.
Shoukaku ruffled the girl's hair affectionately, eliciting a laugh from her.
"You remember Enty onee-chan?" She turned to look at her. "Say, 'Hi', Enty Onee-chan!"
"Oh...uh...Hello, Shizu-chan."
"Oh, oh! You remember me! I remember you! The onee-chan from America!"
The girl eased into her lap before she knew it. She smelled of fresh fabric softened by the spring breeze, and felt lighter than a feather. Something Shoukaku would be familiar with.
"And onee-chan, sensei, guess what? I'm gonna be a sister soon! Did you hear what Mama told you? I'm gonna meet my little brother soon!"
"Wow, that's...that's wonderful, Shizu-chan!" She answered, letting the girl's excitement wash over her. Shoukaku nodded along.
"I'm sure you will be a good sister. You are a good girl, after all," Shoukaku laughed.
"Ehehe..."
They exchanged more small talk before the girl's father arrived. He profusely apologized as he brought the child back to the family, carrying her on his back and getting her to giggle.
"Flowers will still bloom, after all," Shoukaku told her. Her smile had turned serene. The music, laughter, and smiles had grown in volume as more people found their way around the park. "Sorrow should not blind you from the way ahead, ne? Remembrance is all well and good—but it's just a passing moment."
She wondered about that as she finally helped herself to the lunchbox. Grim had come to rest beside them, and he didn't protest as Shoukaku fed him a tempura. Shizuko and her family weren't too far away, and the girl was now playing with the other children.
And there were others—couples holding hands, siblings pushing each other playfully, parents watching their children.
Maybe they indeed remember, or don't. But flowers will bloom for them regardless.
And that was fine.