The trees in the garden were prickly white, and bundles of wooden prayer plaques had been tied to the racks outside, so I guessed that the snobby kids from the Imperial University must be having their examinations again. A crowd of GIs in khaki uniforms were gathered in the garden with their backs to me, and I wandered over to see what they were looking at. As I got closer, I felt a wave of excitement. They all had cameras, and they were squinting through the viewfinders, the shutters clicking and film whirring. Beneath a blossoming plum tree stood a Japanese girl, dressed like a geisha, her face hidden behind a golden fan. She wore a purple and crimson kimono and held a tasselled parasol over her shoulder. She waved the fan once, then suddenly snapped it shut. Satsuko. She looked so much like my sister that my heart actually stopped. Suddenly, in my head, I saw her treading water in the fiery canal; I could almost feel the flames scorching my cheeks, and I had a sudden terror that she would turn around and see me.
