“I don’t know if I can do that. How can I just ignore that Taichi—”
“Stop it,” Gia snapped. “Stop acting like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”
“I’m not acting like—”
“Yes, you are. You don’t see me moping about or wearing black to parties.”
“But Lorenzo actually had a choice when he enlisted. Taichi’s life has been stolen from him.”
“It’s terrible. I agree with you. But you spoiling your own vacation isn’t going to solve anything. Just be grateful.”
I stopped fighting and let her scrub away the crimson polish. Then I repainted my nail at home. As I stare up at the same mountain range that Taichi can see from Manzanar, I offer up a prayer of protection and rub at my thumb like rosary beads.
“What a gift, to be able to capture beauty like this.” Mama nods at a painter who’s also watching the sunset and transferring it to his canvas. “Alessandro, are you okay?”
I swing my gaze to Daddy in time to see a pained expression fade from his face.
“Yes, I’m fine.” His smile seems strained.
“No, what is it?”
“Nothing serious. My throat feels a bit scratchy is all. And I have a slight headache. But I’m sure all I need is a good night of sleep.”
A shuttle bus pulls up to the stop near our viewpoint. With a schhh, the doors open and out spill other tourists who have come to watch the sunset at Half Dome. The empty spaces around us fill in with others who gaze in wonder or set up their tripods to take a photograph.
A man standing at my elbow says, “Yep. Looks just like it did this afternoon. Like a big rock.”
“Arthur,” says a woman, her tone suggesting the well-practiced eye roll of a wife.
I glance their way and find two couples who look to be about ten years older than my parents. The men are both in slacks and sweaters with excessive pomade in their hair and shoes that are a bit too nice to be hiking trails. The women wear stylish, jaunty hats over coifed hair and earrings that dangle. One of them has on pumps.
“You want to see a nice sunset?” the other man says to no one in particular. “Hawaii is the place for that.”
One of the women rests a hand on her heart, as if overcome. “Hawaii is divine.”
“Too many Japs in Hawaii,” Arthur says with a sniff.
Daddy’s arm stiffens around my shoulders, and I feel Mama’s sidelong glance.
“Speaking of Japs, you know what I heard? I was talking to my cousin John in Bakersfield. He said the Japs who farmed the strawberries there had cut arrows into their fields, pointing toward the cities on the coast.”
“Chuck, we don’t know that,” says the woman who thinks Hawaii is divine.
“John saw them for himself,” Chuck says. “Said the arrows were pointing toward Santa Barbara, and sure enough that’s where that oil refinery was blown up.”
I try to keep the words locked in my mouth. Nope, they’re coming out. “By submarines.” The two couples have turned to look at me, but I’m too furious to feel the embarrassment I probably ought. “That refinery was hit by Japanese submarines, not airplanes.”
They all blink at me, as if in disbelief that I spoke. As if they didn’t realize others could hear them.
One of the women puts on a smile. “Let’s all just enjoy the beauty of the sunset, why don’t we? Let’s not ruin it with discussing politics.”
“This isn’t politics, it’s people.” But I’m now talking to the backs of their heads.
“Evalina,” Daddy says quietly. “Just let it go.”
That seems to be what everybody wants me to do these days. Stop talking about it. Stay quiet. Don’t point out inconvenient facts or question the fairness. Just let it go.
Yet everything within me wants to grab hold tighter. Wants to yell louder. Wants to ask every question, push down every wall.
“Alessandro, are you okay? You feel feverish.” Mama frowns up at Daddy. “We should leave now.”
Daddy grimaces when he swallows. “The sunset will only last a few more minutes. I’m fine.”
I fix my eyes on Half Dome and watch. As the brilliant sunset cools to gray, I vow my anger over blatant discrimination will not cool. As these rocks stay steady through season changes and time, so I will remain steady.
I will not be silent. I will not let this go.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Taichi
Friday, June 19, 1942
I can tell Margaret is trying to catch my eye as I wipe up tables after dinner. Finally, she says, “Hey, Taichi. Can I talk to you a minute?”
I like Margaret, but I don’t think I want to discuss what she came here to talk about. “Of course.”
Margaret twists her fingers together and smiles without showing her teeth. “I know you aren’t a big fan of dancing, but I wondered if you were coming tonight anyway? The music is going to be swell.”
I slop my washrag onto a table I’ve already cleaned. “I’ll be there. Aiko said she would only go if I went, and she loves to dance. So, that is why I’m going.”
Please let that be enough. Please don’t let her bring up—
“Rose will be really happy to hear that. You know, tomorrow is Rose’s seventeenth birthday.” Margaret twirls a clump of hair around her finger. “I know it would mean a lot to her if you asked her to . . . I mean, if you decide you want to dance, I know Rose would be happy to dance with you.”
My laugh sounds tight. “That’s only because she hasn’t seen me dance before.”
Margaret releases the lock of hair. “I’m sure you’re a fine dancer. Even if you’re not, Rose would still be happy.”
I rub the washcloth over the table again. I’ve practiced this response for the last few weeks now, ever since I began to suspect that I might have to have this conversation. “I’m not going to ask Rose to dance, because I have a girlfriend.”
This doesn’t seem to surprise Margaret. “James told us. She knows it would just be a dance, Taichi.”
“Still, it doesn’t seem very honorable to either of them. So, I’ll be there, but I won’t dance.”
Margaret twists her hair again and releases it. “That’s really not helpful. If I tell Rose why, she’ll only like you more.”
Her smile shows she’s teasing, and I don’t know what to say to that, so I just smile back.
Margaret rocks on her heels. “Did you see they have Coca-Cola stocked at the store again?”
The tension leaks away from our conversation as we chat for a few minutes, and then Margaret heads off to get ready for the dance, and I put away my cleaning supplies for the night.
I suppose it’s time to admit that Evalina is not going to pay me a visit. Yesterday was the first day she thought she might come, but all that arrived was a postcard from Yosemite. And now that dinner is over, and the sun is slipping closer to the mountains, I know she’s not coming today either.
Not that I really expected her, or that I even wanted her to see me here. Still there’s an aching disappointment in my chest.
When I step out the door of the mess hall, I find Ted hurrying by. “Are you okay, Ted?”
He looks up, and it’s clear I’ve jolted him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’m coming back from the hospital.”
“Lillian again?”
Ted nods. “Dr. Goto says it’s this dust that keeps aggravating her lungs. She’s had problems before, but never like this.”
“Could you get transferred to another camp? One with less dust?”
“Lillian wouldn’t want that. She feels like we’re needed here. Plus my parents are here. Though if she keeps having trouble . . .” He cocks his head to the side, listening.
I hear it too, the rumbling that grows increasingly louder. Almost like—
Ted grabs me by the shirt and pushes me against the wall as the Manzanar garbage truck comes careening around the corner. Hitting the wall knocks the breath out of me, but it’s better than b
eing knocked flat by the truck.
“Hey, watch it!” Ted yells after the truck.
The boys in the cab of the truck are laughing, and Raymond Yamishi leans out the window and yells something at us in Japanese that I can’t make out. Two flags have been affixed to the top of the truck, and they whip violently in the wind.
“Raymond is going to kill someone with that stupid truck.” Ted pulls me away from the wall. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”
“I’m glad you did. I would rather not be carted off to the hospital.” My hands tremble as I wipe off my shirt. “I haven’t seen the flags on there before. Could you tell what they said?”
Ted’s face is grim. “Manzanar Black Dragons Association. They’re idiots, every one of them. They had a meeting last week, and that Raymond Yamishi talked nonstop about how Japan will win the war, how Japan will be landing in California soon. I spoke up against him, which is probably why he nearly mowed us over just now. Sorry about that.”
I take a step and feel the shakiness of my knees. “I can’t believe the administration would let them keep those flags up.”
“They can’t read them. They don’t know a lick of Japanese. Still. It’s on my list of items to discuss with Ned Campbell tomorrow. He’s the assistant camp director. Do you want to come with me? Corroborate my story about the truck nearly running us down?”
I’m not sure that my word will mean much, but, “Sure.”
When we say farewell, I duck into my barrack intending to change into my nicer clothes and head over to the dance. But I find myself just sitting on the edge of my cot, staring at the ugly walls, reliving the careening garbage truck over and over.
Then I’m lying on my cot, a headache blossoming as I stare up at the single lightbulb. Other lights are on in the rest of the barrack, but in our apartment, the light is off. Who made the decision that one bare lightbulb was all each family needed? What happens when it burns out? Is there a supply somewhere, or will we just live in the dark for days?
The beam from the searchlights crosses over our wall, alerting me to how late it is. I’m not going to the dance, apparently. My hand finds my breast pocket and withdraws the photograph of Evalina.
She’s beautiful in her senior portrait, but it’s a sterilized beauty with every curl in place and a practiced smile. I close my eyes and think about the way she looks when she arrives at the market—her curls windblown, her cheeks pink, and her smile warm and personal.
I knew it would be best if she didn’t come. If she didn’t see how we live, or that I’ve been less-than-truthful about our conditions, but the less rational part of me wanted more than anything for her to show up. For the chance to see her, smell her, touch her.
I tuck the picture back into my pocket, where her image is safe from prying eyes, and I watch the searchlights cross over the ceiling.
It really is for the best that she didn’t come.
Ned Campbell has a round face, like a boy’s, and he pats at his temples every few minutes with a handkerchief even though to me it feels nice and cool in here with the fan.
“See, now, we had some of your people consult us on what kind of food to buy so they could make meals y’all would eat. Are you saying the food still isn’t satisfactory?”
“There’s very little protein,” Ted says, gently but firmly. “And very little variety. Some blocks have cooks who were in the food industry before coming to Manzanar, and they’re able to do more than most. But, sir, in block nine, the cook used to be a gardener. In block two, the cook who just quit was a janitor, and the one who took his place was a tailor. They’re each being asked to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for three hundred people.”
Mr. Campbell dabs at his red face again. “We’re all doing our best, Ted. I commend those men for stepping up to the challenge of feeding their blocks.”
The two men look at each other.
Ted speaks slowly. “I do too, sir. But that doesn’t change the lack of satisfactory food.”
“The refrigeration isn’t very stable either.” My stomach churns just thinking about that week all of us on block four had been running to and from the bathroom.
Ted nods at me and looks back to Mr. Campbell, who’s regarding me with a bit of skepticism. “Taichi’s right,” Ted says. “The administration needs to pay for more reliable refrigerators, or they’re going to be spending more money than they’d like on food.”
Mr. Campbell leans onto his desk with his elbows. “I’ll see if I can get a bit more money in the budget for protein. But I can’t promise anything. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” Ted straightens his shoulders. “Yesterday, Taichi and I were standing just outside the mess hall in block four when we were nearly run over by the garbage truck. I had to throw poor Taichi against the wall just to avoid it.” Ted glances at me before continuing. “I’ve told you about the Black Dragons. It’s mostly youth, particularly younger Kibei—”
“Those are the alien residents?”
“No, sir. Issei are the first generation, and Kibei are the citizens born here, but educated in Japan. Anyway, the garbage truck is driven by a group of young Kibei, one in particular, who Taichi has had words with before. Taichi said that he was threatened by them. Now they have flags hanging from the garbage truck that say Manzanar Black Dragons.”
Mr. Campbell frowns and considers this. Then, “Where did they get the flags?”
Ted takes in a breath, and I can tell he didn’t anticipate this being the first question. “I’m not sure, sir. I imagine they made them.”
Mr. Campbell continues to frown. “Well, the administration can’t handle every little detail. That’s why there’s the Manzanar police force, to help with disagreements among your own kind.”
“Sir, right now it’s a small percentage of the Manzanar population that’s stirring up Anti-American sentiment. I’m afraid if it’s not taken care of, and if all these other issues like poor food, open showers, and no privacy for families continues, this anger is just going to fester and grow. And it might become uncontainable.”
Mr. Campbell looks at Ted with bored tolerance. “You’re all Japanese. You’ll have to figure out a way to get along.”
His chair scrapes against the carpet of his office—my eyes haven’t seen a carpeted floor in over two months—and he holds out his hand to Ted. “As always, thanks for coming, Ted. You and the rest of the community councilmen are doing fine work.” He offers his hand to me too and winks. “Don’t walk in the middle of the road anymore, okay, son?”
We walk through the door to the sound of him still chuckling at his own wit.
Ted shields his eyes as a gust of dusty wind smacks us when we walk out the door. “I don’t even understand why we have a council if he won’t listen to what we’re saying. ‘You are all Japanese. You’ll have to get along.’ That makes no sense. I could just as easily say to him, ‘Americans and Germans are all Caucasians. You’ll just have to get along.’”
My eyes water from invading grit. “I don’t know.”
Ted makes a growling noise in his throat. “Sometimes I just feel so frustrated I don’t know what to do with myself. Is this where I have to raise my child? To go to a makeshift school, never eating a home-cooked meal?”
Through my streaming eyes, I can barely make out Ted’s face, but I can hear the darkness in his voice.
“Lillian is with child, by the way,” he mutters. “If you didn’t guess it from my statement. Sorry, that’s not the way I intended to share that news.”
My, “Congratulations,” has a dull ring to it, even though it’s sincere.
Ted doesn’t speak. I’m not used to this discouraged side of him.
“We’ll just keep pushing, Ted. We’re only a few months into this. Things are bound to get better. Especially with people like you fighting for change.”
“I’m already fighting the Ned Campbells of the world. I didn’t realize I would have to fight the Black Dragons too. They th
ink I’m just some stool pigeon.”
Our conversation fizzles when we run into my mother and Mrs. Kanito, James’s mother, standing outside chatting about gardens. Ted tucks away his frustration to greet them, and I stand there, looking around for James, but not seeing him. Maybe he’s sleeping? He’s started working at the police station in the dispatch room, and they’ve given him the really boring overnight shift.
When there’s a break in the conversation, I ask Mrs. Kanito, “Is James around?”
Mrs. Kanito opens her mouth to respond, just as someone walking by says, “Taichi Hamasaki?”
I turn to find a boy close to my age, who I think plays baseball. “Yes?”
He grins. “I thought so. You play a bang up second base.”
“Thank you.”
“That play you made in Wednesday’s game, where you jumped over the batter as he slid, and threw to first? That was amazing.”
My feelings of flattery have shifted into embarrassment. “Thanks.”
The boy grins at me a moment longer, and then startles. “Oh, right! I came here to fetch you. Your visitor is here.”
Everything seems to stop. Except for my heart, which might as well be pounding directly in my ears, it’s so loud.
“My visitor,” I echo.
The boy nods. “Yep. She’s waiting in a front office. I’ll show you where.”
I don’t intend to look at my mother, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I expect her eyes to be full of questions or curiosity, but instead I see something far more perceptive.
“Who is here, Taichi?” she asks quietly.
I put on a smile that I hope looks reassuring. “I’ll explain as soon as I return.”
And I hope by then I’ve thought of a satisfactory answer that doesn’t involve Evalina.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Evalina
Dust.
Tar-papered buildings.
Tall fences with five strands of barbed wire snaking around the top.
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