Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes Read Free Page A

into
    our house.
    Mitsue and Eiji liked the golden crane best. But Mrs. Sasaki chose the tiniest one made of fancy green paper with pink parasols on it. “This is my choice,” she said, “because small ones are the most difficult to make.”
    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 …
    KENJI
    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.
    On good days Sadako was busy. She did her homework, wrote letters to friends and pen pals, and amused her visitors with games, riddles, and songs. 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,” she said, “so that a miracle can 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