Within These Lines

by Stephanie Morrill

  “No big speeches made at the police station, which is good,” he said. “I wouldn’t have been able to understand them anyway. The only thing of note that happened is that Joe guy climbed on top of one of the vehicles—”

  “He didn’t.” Lillian put a hand to her mouth.

  “I think he was just trying to be heard,” James said. “There were no loudspeakers this time.”

  “You probably didn’t hear what he said, I guess?” I asked.

  “I pretended I couldn’t hear and asked a nearby woman. According to her, Joe said some terms had been agreed to for Harry’s release, and one included the crowd dispersing and no more mob demonstrations. And that if Harry hadn’t been released to Manzanar by six tonight, they were going to . . .” He glanced at Lillian. “Do away with all the traitors in the camp.”

  Even the euphemism landed hard among the three of us.

  “How did the crowd react?” Lillian asked, keeping her voice calm and light, but her hand moved absently over her round stomach.

  “There was some grumbling, but they dispersed. Sounds like they’ll gather again around six. Same place as earlier, Taichi. I’ll try to be there.”

  But James must have finally been able to sleep, because there’s no sign of him now. Unless he’s here, but I can’t spot him among the crowd, which has quickly swelled to be much bigger than the post-lunch meeting. There are over two thousand, I’m sure. And that’s not counting those like me, who linger close enough to hear, but too far away to be absorbed by the mob.

  My heartbeat slips into a fervent run as Joe Kurihara fiddles with the loudspeaker. Maybe he’ll announce that Harry was released. Maybe this is where my faith in the administration will be restored.

  There’s a shrill moment of feedback and then Joe’s voice projects across the crowd. “I am happy to say that Mr. Harry Ueno has been returned to Manzanar.”

  Relief seeps through me. A cheer goes up in the crowd, and the tense energy that had hung over the block seems to pop like a balloon. I applaud along with them.

  “Those of us who negotiated with Mr. Merritt this afternoon have seen Harry with our own eyes. We spoke with him at the camp jail for about ten to fifteen minutes, and we therefore request to be relieved from further committee responsibilities.”

  Several boos rise from up front in the crowd, and the tension inflates just as quickly as it had evaporated.

  “Harry should be at home!” one man yells. “Not in jail!”

  “Bring Harry home!”

  Joe raises his hands, as if to calm the crowd. “Harry is back in Manzanar. Those are the terms we agreed to—”

  “Bring Harry home!” The crowd chants. “Bring Harry home! “

  “We will bring Harry home,” Joe shouts into the microphone. “We will! But let us continue our negotiations for his unconditional release tomorrow.”

  Joe continues to shout, but the crowd drowns him out. Some hold up homemade clubs, and others broken bottles.

  My heart twists with fear as part of the group begins to march off in the direction of the jail, continuing to chant, “Bring Harry home! Bring Harry home!”

  Joe and some of the others from the afternoon’s meeting scramble off the platform, rushing to get ahead of the angry mob.

  “Perhaps the administration thinks we will not kill the traitors of Manzanar, as we said we would should they not release Harry.” Raymond’s voice, pitched low and dark, makes me want to run and hide in my barrack. “After all, they never do what they say they will do.”

  Cheers of outraged agreement go up in the remaining crowd. A chant of, “Kill the dogs!” rises into the air.

  Raymond allows the crowd several moments of building frenzy as he withdraws a piece of folded paper from his pocket. “We will show them that we know how to keep our promises. We will finish the work we began last night. We will go to the hospital, and we will find Fred Tayama.”

  The ground seems to tremble as the mob stomps and cheers. I feel as though my blood has turned to ice.

  “And then we will take care of the others on our list. I will now read to you the list of traitors. The list of the condemned.” Raymond clears his throat. “Tokie Slocum.” He allows a beat before moving on. “Karl Yoneda. Ted Kamei. Koji Ariyoshi. James Oda. Togo Tanaka.” The list stretches on in a dark, hypnotizing kind of way. Even though I know it’s coming, my heart still thunders in my chest when he says, “Fuji and Taichi Hamasaki.”

  Raymond folds the list and puts it back in his pocket. Those in the crowd start calling out other names. “Aoki Taisedo is a rat!” one yells. Another calls out, “Dale Nunotani spies for the FBI! Block seven!”

  And then a voice yells out, “Koko Ogawa!”

  Koko Ogawa . . . Like Rose Ogawa. Koko must be her newly returned father. Do they have any idea that they’re potentially in danger?

  The volume of the crowd grows as more and more names are pitched toward the stage. After a few minutes, Raymond draws the microphone close. “I will lead a group to the hospital to take care of Fred Tayama once and for all. Tonight we will see Harry Ueno released, or we will die trying!”

  I’ve never personally heard a battle cry, but that’s what I think of when the loud, ferocious yell goes up from the crowd. There are chants of, “Down with the dogs!” and choruses of “Kimigayo,” the Japanese national anthem, as a large portion of the mob moves northwest toward the hospital. Others head in the opposite direction, to join those who left for the police station.

  My heart yanks toward the hospital, toward Aiko. The mob seems to be taking a direct route through the orchard, and even though I would have to skirt around them, if I ran at top speed, I could probably make it in time to warn the hospital staff.

  Of course, I warned them earlier. But I don’t think the Ogawa family has any idea that their patriarch’s name was mentioned tonight. The hospital has a strong leader in Dr. Goto; I must go to block nine to the Ogawas’.

  Dinner hasn’t been over very long, but I don’t see a single person out in either of the blocks I cut through on my way to Rose’s. I pound on her door, hoping I’ve remembered the address correctly.

  A man on the other side calls, “Who is it?”

  Not in a kind way, but rather like a man who anticipates unwanted visitors.

  “My name is Taichi Hamasaki. I’m looking for the Ogawa family.”

  “He’s a friend, Papa.” Rose’s voice rings clear through the gaps in the walls. “You can open the door.”

  The door unlatches and creaks open, and a gaunt man with thinning gray hair peers out at me. Rose stands behind him, smiling in a relieved sort of way. Her mother, younger brothers, and toddler sister are huddled by the heater.

  “Sorry,” Rose says. “It’s a little scary out there today.”

  “That’s why I’m here. A meeting just broke up where they read the death list. Mr. Ogawa, your name was shouted out in the crowd as a suggestion—an addition.”

  Mr. Ogawa takes the news without a flinch, but Rose’s eyes widen, and Mrs. Ogawa leaves her place by the fire to draw closer to the conversation.

  “It was a long list,” I say. “I don’t know that they’re coming, but I think you should find somewhere else to stay for the night.”

  Mrs. Ogawa’s chin sets, like Rose’s did when I tried to leave her on the dance floor. “There’s nowhere safer in Manzanar than block nine. Those of us from Terminal Island look out for each other.”

  “I hope you’re right, ma’am.” Because Joe Kurihara is from Terminal Island.

  “Mother is right.” Rose nudges her way to the front. “Taichi, if you’re on that list, you shouldn’t be out on your own. You should stay here with us.”

  I shake my head. “I need to make sure Ted Kamei’s and Karl Yoneda’s families have left their apartments. They’re numbers three and four.”

  Rose’s eyes search my face as her father drifts away from the cold, back to the heater. “After that, you should come here. You’re just one person. You can�
�t save everyone when you’re up against a mob like that.”

  Those thoughts have been like vultures all day long, taunting me. What good do I think I can do against a large, angry mob of men? The truth is I don’t know, and that maybe I can’t do anything. But I won’t find out if I just cower in my barrack with my bat.

  “I know,” I say, already backing down the steps. “But I have to at least try.”

  Evalina

  For an unnecessary amount of time, the boys just pull items from the trunk—a few baseball bats, a can of paint, paint brushes so old their bristles jut in various directions. I can scarcely breathe, I’m so nervous.

  But then they just stand by the house, holding the brushes and bats, laughing and chatting. Occasionally they look to the house, and then away from it. None of them seem to know how to get started.

  Maybe they won’t.

  Danny has the bat slung over his shoulder, and his gaze is the one that is drawn to the house the most often. My breath catches every time I see him eyeing the place, and I frantically pray that they’ll lose their nerve, that they’ll realize this is stupid and just leave.

  My heart plummets to my toes when Danny steps away from the pack and toward the house. Toward a window. He draws the bat off his shoulder, and the other boys fall silent as they watch.

  My fingers ache from gripping the branch, and I’ve grown lightheaded from the rapid pace of my breathing.

  Danny assumes a batting position. “This is for murdering my uncle, you filthy Japs.”

  Please no, please no, please no, please . . .

  Danny swings, and the window shatters.

  “No!” I hear myself scream. I clap my hands over my mouth, as if that will pull the sound back in, but nothing can be done.

  All five of them turn in my direction.

  I try not to move. Try not to breathe.

  “Did you guys hear that?” one says to the others.

  They stand unmoving, trying to hear me, and I stay frozen, trying not to be heard. My heart beats so loudly, I can’t tell if they’re making noise or not.

  Danny glances at the Hamasakis’ house, and then back in my direction, as if debating which to pursue. He shoulders his bat and takes several slow steps my way.

  “There’s no car or nothing,” one of the boys says.

  They’ve huddled together, though I’m not sure they realize it. Only Danny actively scans their surroundings.

  “Let’s just go,” another from the group says, taking a step toward the car.

  A breeze kicks up, and before I can somehow stop it, my skirt flaps. Fear slicks my throat as the moving fabric catches Danny’s eye. As Danny’s gaze travels up, up, up, until it connects with mine.

  For a moment, we stare at each other.

  Then Danny grins broadly, and my stomach clenches like I’ve eaten something spoiled.

  “Hey, boys,” he calls. “There’s a kitty cat up in that tree.”

  My arms itch to pull me higher, to get further away from Danny’s smile and the boys who are drawing closer. But that’s silly. They could easily climb up after me, and then what would I do?

  “Where did you come from, kitty cat?” Danny stands beneath me, the bat on his shoulder. His voice is good-natured, but his eyes tell a different story. “What are you doing hanging out in trees?”

  I glance at the Medinas’ house. There’s a light on inside. If I ran, could I make it?

  “Danny . . .” one of the boys says. While his voice holds caution, I can’t imagine them doing anything more than suggesting Danny leave me alone. Danny clearly leads this pack.

  Danny leans against the tree and calls up to me, “Come on down, kitty.”

  I scowl at him. I don’t know him, but I can see this boy needs more people in his life who stand up to him. “Stop calling me that.”

  “She speaks!” His laugh is loud and showy. “If you don’t want me to call you that, tell me your name.”

  If I grabbed that branch behind me, I would have a clear drop to the ground. It’s higher than I’d like, but I think I could do it without injuring myself. And without giving these boys a view of my underpants.

  “Instead, why don’t you just leave me alone?”

  “Why don’t you come down here so we can talk about why you’re spying on us?”

  I’ve known guys like him, including Gia’s Lorenzo. They’re all charm until you put a toe out of line. And they’re always at their worst when shamed in front of their followers.

  I glance at the group of boys, who shift uneasily, their thumbs hooked in the pockets of their baggy jeans.

  “I can talk fine from here, thanks.” I adjust my footing so I can push off for that branch sooner. My legs feel like they’re made of the fresh noodles we serve at Alessandro’s.

  “You know what I was just remembering, boys?” Danny’s smile is like the edge of a razor. He looks to his group, and then back up at me. “There used to be a rumor going around that Taichi had himself a white girlfriend.”

  I feel my lungs expand with a sharp breath. I keep steady eye contact with Danny. The longer I look at him, the more pointed his stare becomes.

  “Is that who you are, kitty cat?” Danny pitches his voice soft as he watches me. If he jumped, he could reach my foot. Grab hold of it. Instead, he twists the bat resting on his shoulder, spits in the dirt, and glares up at me. “Tell me. Are you that Jap’s girlfriend?”

  The self-preserving word no sits on my tongue, tasting sour. But it’s true, isn’t it? Only in my heart am I Taichi’s girlfriend, because he called it off nearly six months ago. He could be seeing another girl in Manzanar, for all I know.

  I open my mouth, try to say no.

  But even though there are so many ways that it’s true, it feels like a lie, and my denial of Taichi won’t come out.

  I glance from Danny’s face to the bat. Danny sees me do so, and his grin returns, slick with spite. “You should see me swing this.”

  “I already did.” The words taste like fire. “I think if you played on Taichi’s baseball team, you’d be nothing more than a benchwarmer.”

  He jumps, grabbing for my foot.

  I push back, take hold of the branch behind me, and drop to the ground. My knees groan in protest, but there’s no time to pay attention to them. Danny’s face is red, his eyes cold fury.

  “Get back here, you Jap lover!” he bellows, his footsteps loud behind me as I run for the Medinas’ house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Evalina

  I run.

  I run with everything that’s in me, making the wind whistle in my ears and my heart gallop. Or maybe that’s the sound of Danny’s footsteps right on my heels. I don’t know, because I’m not turning around.

  My eyes are bleary from the wind, so I don’t see Mr. Medina until he’s coming down his porch steps, jogging toward me. We have only met a few times, and I fear for a moment he won’t recognize me out of context like this, but as he draws nearer, he puffs, “Miss Cassano. What is going on?”

  Only then do I feel comfortable turning around to see what has happened. The car doors close one right after the other, the engine fires up, and dust puffs up from the car’s tires as whoever is driving peels away.

  “Those boys—” I can hardly get out a word with my labored breathing, and the stitch in my side that feels like a knife in my ribs. “They broke . . . a window.”

  “Wait to talk until you catch your breath.”

  The world is tilting, and I collapse onto the gravel. “One was . . . named Danny.”

  “I know all about those boys, Miss Cassano. I’ve already called the sheriff. Called as soon as they pulled up. We thought there might be trouble at the Hamasakis’ the next couple of days.” Mr. Medina gives me an assessing look. “I couldn’t figure out what was up in the tree that had the Nielsen kid so interested. You sit up in that tree often?”

  “No, sir. I just . . .” I take a gulp. “I just wanted to remember. That’s all.”


  “I don’t know what you said to that Nielsen kid, but I thought he would start foaming at the mouth. Sure glad his friends tackled him.” He removes his hat and scratches at his rumpled, graying hair. “If he’s anything like his father, his bark is worse than his bite. But still. It can be a nasty bark.”

  The trembling that had been confined to my legs and arms now spreads to my whole body. What would Danny have done if he’d gotten ahold of me?

  The screen door creaks on its hinges as Mrs. Medina comes out on the porch. “Everything okay?”

  Before Mr. Medina can answer her, the sound of crunching gravel interrupts. The sheriff’s car comes into view. Mr. Medina speaks in Spanish to his wife, and the only word I catch is my last name.

  She goes back inside the house, and he says to me, “The sheriff will be interested in what you saw, but don’t worry. I’m having Mrs. Medina call your father.”

  My father.

  “She’s calling my father?” I echo, but Mr. Medina is already striding toward the road as the sheriff pulls into the Hamasakis’ driveway.

  I stand on shaky legs and retie my trench coat.

  I guess the time has come—like it or not—to tell my parents everything.

  Taichi

  As I’m cutting through block three, I find two young boys standing outside the laundry room, peering around the corner.

  I slow to a stop. “You need to go home, fellas. It’s dangerous out here.”

  One of them looks up at me with frightened eyes. “They’re tearing up Mr. Slocum’s place. Why are they doing that?”

  I move to stand beside them and look around the building’s edge. There are a few men standing around outside the open door of a barrack. Through the gaping doorway, I see men thrashing about inside. The clang and crash of destruction rings through the cold air, but it’s the laughter and delight of the men that really chills me.

  “Did they get Tokie?”

  “No.” The older of the two shivers in his thin coat. “He was already gone when they arrived. I don’t know where he went.”

  I don’t want to find out what will happen if Lillian and Ted’s parents, or Mrs. Yoneda and Tommy are still at home when these men finish here.