A Thousand Cranes

by Jane Williamson

They watched her. From across the school library a group of younger girls sat and stared.

"What is she doing?" one of them said.

"I think she's folding paper" another replied.

She was. As they watched, from the square piece of paper, a bird emerged with outspread wings.

That was all she ever folded, birds. The Chinese girls offered to teach her something else, how to fold a flower or a heart. She refused politely saying, it was all she needed to know how to fold. She knew the order of folds so well, she could do it blindfold. In lessons, underneath the desk, her fingers would move quickly and at the end of the lesson she would drop a small stash of them into her schoolbag. No one knew what she did with them; they never ended up in the bin. Nobody asked her, they just watched her.

She could still remember it. She must have only been about five or six, irritatingly cute with masses of brown curly hair and blue eyes. Her mother and father were having a guest for tea. Her mother explained to her, that their guest was Asian and he was a very nice man, in England to study politics with her father. She didn't really listen; she was too busy playing with her doll. Besides she didn't really know what an Asian was, she thought it sounded nice though.

When the guest came, she had a sudden fit of shyness and hid behind the sofa. Her parents ushered their guest into the sitting room saying, "Our daughter's here somewhere!" She peeked out from behind the sofa and saw him. He looked at her, glasses slipping down his nose and black untidy hair falling into his eyes.

"I think I have found her." he said.

He came over and bent down next to her. She sucked her thumb and looked up at him.

"I have brought you a present."

She took her thumb out and held out a hand. He reached into his pocket and placed in her open hand a small bird made out of paper. It was gold and shimmered as its outstretched wings caught the light. She whispered, "Thank you" and went to hide behind her mother's skirts.

Later that afternoon, he showed her how to make one. Her hands were far too small to fold the small sheets of origami paper so her father cut out a big square of newspaper.

Finally, hands grubby from the print, she'd done it. There on the table sat a huge paper bird.

"It is called a crane" their guest said. "It is said that if you make a thousand of these during one year of your life, it will bring you long life and good fortune. Senbazuru. A thousand cranes."

"Have you made a thousand of these?" She couldn't imagine a thousand, it sounded like a lot though.

"No, not yet."

After a moment watching her play with the bird he added, "I have a little girl just like you back in my country. Before I left, I taught her how to fold cranes as well."

"Has she made a thousand?"

"I do not know. Perhaps."

He asked her mother for a pen and paper.

"To write down the instructions so that when she is older she can fold Senbazuru, a thousand cranes."

He covered a page in his small, neat writing with sketched diagrams and then gave it to her mother, who promised to keep it safe. He turned back to the little girl.

"A crane is also a symbol of peace."

She was no longer paying attention, she was running round the room with the big newspaper bird, pretending that it was flying.

As he left, she impulsively hugged his legs.

"Are you going to come back and teach me how to fold flowers and things?"

He exchanged a glance with her parents over her head.

"Of course. Next weekend?"

"Do you promise?"

"Yes. I will be here next weekend."

Then he left.

The next weekend she waited. She sat on the sofa next to the window, the huge paper bird next to her. She waited all afternoon for him. He never came. Finally her mother put her to bed with tears running down her cheeks. The paper bird was left on the sofa where it remained for a couple of days before her father threw it out by mistake. The tiny gold bird her mother put in a special box in the little girl's room along with the instructions on how to fold cranes and there they stayed for several years.

It was some years later that she learnt what had happened. He had been in the United Kingdom illegally, fleeing from persecution in his own country. He had been forced to leave North Korea or be killed, leaving his family behind. He never knew if his wife and little girl were still alive after he left. Her father's university offered a place on one of their courses as he had a brilliant mind and a fantastic grasp of the English language. That weekend had been the weekend after he had learnt of his success in obtaining an honours degree and he had been invited to tea to celebrate with her family.

Then the British government sent him home. They had sent him home to a country where he would almost certainly be killed. He had broken his promise to a little girl just because her government wouldn't involve themselves, wouldn't help him.

She didn't really understand. To her, North Korea was far away, and she didn't know what was going on there. What her government did or didn't do wasn't very important. Not then anyway.

She never found out if he survived.

One day in her history class, her teacher told them that they were going to start to study communism and dictatorships.

"Some of you might not think that such things as these still exist in our world today, but I can assure you girls that they do. I'm going to show you a video about North Korea. It might upset some of you so if you don't want to watch the rest of it, you can go outside."

Some of the girls had to leave halfway through but she watched it all the way to the end. That night she went home and found the box that contained instructions written in small, neat handwriting and made her first crane.

From then on, she made them whenever she could. Out of all kinds of paper. Soon she had all the colours of the rainbow folded neatly in small birds and kept in a box in her room. She used a notebook to keep track of them. She folded them out of every colour except gold.

She could feel them watching her from across the library. A group of first years, watching her fold the small piece of gold paper. Her fingers smoothed the last crease then she took hold gently of two folds and pulled. The wings unfurled.

The last one. Senbazuru. One thousand cranes.

With it still in her hand, she looked up to find one of the first years standing in front of her. The first year looked nervous, she smiled at her, in what she hoped what a sympathetic way. The first year swallowed then asked:

"Will you teach me?"