Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes - Happy Ending

CHAPTER 5

The next morning Sadako woke up slowly. She listened for the familiar sounds of her mother making breakfast, but there were only the new and different sounds of a hospital. Sadako sighed. She had hoped that yesterday was just a bad dream. It was even more real when Nurse Yasunaga came in to give her a shot. "Getting shots is part of being in the hospital," the nurse said briskly. "You'll get used to it." "I just want the sickness to be over with," Sadako said unhappily, "so I can go home." That afternoon Chizuko was Sadako's first visitor. She smiled mysteriously as she held something behind her back. "Shut your eyes," she said. While Sadako squinted her eyes tightly shut, Chizuko put some pieces of paper and scissors on the bed. "Now you can look," she said. "What is it?" Sadako asked, staring at the paper. Chizuko was pleased with herself. "I've figured out a way for you to get well," she said proudly. "Watch!" She cut a piece of gold paper into a large square. In a short time she had folded it over and over into a beautiful crane. Sadako was puzzled. "But how can that paper bird make me well?" "Don't you remember that old story about the crane?" Chizuko asked. "It's supposed to live for a thousand years. If a sick person folds one thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant her wish and make her healthy again." She handed the crane to Sadako. "Here's your first one." Sadako's eyes filled with tears. How kind of Chizuko to bring a good luck charm! Especially when her friend didn't really believe in such things. Sadako took the golden crane and made a wish. 

The funniest little feeling came over her when she touched the bird. It must be a good omen. "Thank you, Chizuko chan," she whispered. When she began to work with the paper, Sadako discovered that folding a crane wasn't as easy as it looked. With Chizuko's help she learned how to do the difficult parts. After making ten birds, Sadako lined them up on the table beside the golden crane. Some were a bit lopsided, but it was a beginning. "Now I have only nine hundred and ninety to make," Sadako said. With the golden crane nearby she felt safe and lucky. Why, in a few weeks she would be able to finish the thousand. Then she would be strong enough to go home. That evening Masahiro brought Sadako's homework from school. When he saw the cranes, he said, "There isn't enough room on that small table to show off your birds. I'll hang them from the ceiling for you." Sadako was smiling all over. "Do you promise to hang every crane I make?" she asked. Masahiro promised. "That's fine!" Sadako said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Then you'll hang the whole thousand?" "A thousand!" Her brother groaned. "You're joking!" Sadako told him the story of the cranes. Masahiro ran a hand through his straight black hair. "You tricked me!" he said with a grin. "But I'll do it anyhow." He borrowed some thread and tacks from Nurse Yasunaga and hung the first ten cranes. The golden crane stayed in its place of honor on the table. After supper Mrs. Sasaki brought Mitsue and Eiji to the hospital. Everyone was surprised to see the birds. They reminded Mrs. Sasaki of a famous old poem: Out of colored paper, cranes come flying into our house. 

After visiting hours it was lonely in the hospital room. So lonely that Sadako folded more cranes to keep up her courage. Eleven. . . I wish I'd get better. Twelve ... I wish I'd get better. Everyone saved paper for Sadako's good luck cranes. Chizuko brought colored paper from the bamboo class. Father saved every scrap from the barbershop. Even Nurse Yasunaga gave Sadako the wrappings from packages of medicine. And Masahiro hung every one of the birds, as he had promised. Sometimes he strung many on one thread. The biggest cranes flew alone. During the next few months there were times when Sadako felt almost well. However, Dr. Numata said it was best for her to stay in the hospital. By now Sadako realized that she had leukemia, but she also knew that some patients recovered from the disease. She never stopped hoping that she would get well, too. In the evening she always made paper cranes. Her flock grew to over three hundred. Now the birds were perfectly folded. Her fingers were sure and worked quickly without any mistakes. Gradually the atom bomb disease took away Sadako's energy. She learned about pain. Sometimes throbbing headaches stopped her from reading and writing. At other times her bones seemed to be on fire. And more dizzy spells sent Sadako into deep blackness. Often she was too weak to do anything but sit by the window and look longingly out at the maple tree in the courtyard. She would stay there for hours, holding the golden crane in her lap. Sadako was feeling especially tired one day when Nurse Yasunaga wheeled her out onto the porch for some sunshine. There Sadako saw Kenji for the first time. He was nine and small for his age. Sadako stared at his thin face and shining dark eyes. "Hello!" she said. "I'm Sadako." Kenji answered in a low, soft voice. Soon the two were talking like old friends. Kenji had been in the hospital for a long time, but he had few visitors. His parents were dead and he had been living with an aunt in a nearby town. "She's so old that she comes to see me only once a week," Kenji said. "I read most of the time." Sadako turned away at the sad look on Kenji' s face. "It doesn't really matter," he went on with a weary sigh, "because I'll die soon. I have leukemia from the bomb." "But you can't have leukemia," Sadako said quickly. "You weren't even born then." "That isn't important," Kenji said. "The poison was in my mother's body and I got it from her." Sadako wanted so much to comfort him, but she didn't know what to say. Then she remembered the cranes. "You can make paper cranes like I do,' happen." "I know about the cranes," Kenji replied quietly, "but it's too late. Even the gods can't help me now." Just then Nurse Yasunaga came out onto the porch. "Kenji," she said sternly, "how do you know such things?" He gave her a sharp look. "I just know," he said. "And besides, I can read my blood count on the chart. Every day it gets worse." The nurse was flustered. "What a talker!" she said. "You are tiring yourself." And she wheeled Kenji inside. Back in her room Sadako was thoughtful. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be ill and have no family. Kenji was brave, that's all. She made a big crane out of her prettiest paper and sent it across the hall to his room. Perhaps it would bring him luck. Then she folded more birds for her flock. Three hundred and ninety-eight. Three hundred and ninety -nine... One day Kenji didn't appear on the porch. Late that night Sadako heard the rumble of a bed being rolled down the hall. Nurse Yasunaga came in to tell her that Kenji had died. "I m going to die next, aren't I?" "Of course not!" Nurse Yasunaga answered with a firm shake of her head. She spread some colored paper on Sadako's bed. "Come and let me see you fold another paper crane before you go to sleep. After you finish one thousand birds, you'll live to be an old, old lady." Sadako tried hard to believe that. She carefully folded cranes and made the same wish. Four hundred and sixty-three. Four hundred and sixty-four...