Within These Lines

by Stephanie Morrill

  “Which apartment is yours?” I ask the boys, and I make sure they’re inside with the door closed before I slip down the firebreak.

  The sounds of smashing glass and vengeful laughter become a ghost behind me. As I curl around the corner toward four, James hisses, “Taichi!”

  Relief sings through me when I see it’s not just James, but Lillian and Ted’s parents as well.

  “Thank God. I was just coming to check on you. What about Mrs. Yoneda?”

  “She and Tommy already left. There’s a group of them on block four.” Lillian’s voice is husky with fear. “Twenty or thirty of them.”

  “They’re tearing up Tokie’s place right now. It’s good that you got out. Where are you going?”

  All three of them grip suitcases. “The administration office. That’s where Elaine Yoneda said she was going. I requested police protection, but no one ever showed up.”

  “We should go this way”—I point—“or we’ll run into the group on three. Lillian, let me take your bag.”

  “We’ve seen a few police out,” James murmurs as we move along the shadows. “I’m eager to get to the station and find out what’s being done. What happened at the meeting?”

  I give a truncated version of the out-of-control meeting, the list being read, and the groups splitting.

  “I think the police station is going to be nuts.” I look down another block as we pass by and find it deserted. “About half of them went to the station and the rest to the hospital.”

  Lillian’s eyes are wide. “But didn’t you say Aiko is there?”

  “They only want Fred Tayama.” I ignore that itchy fear that’s been growing in my chest ever since I chose to go to Rose’s instead of to the hospital. “I told Dr. Goto this afternoon about the threat, so they’ll be prepared. My family is safe there. I’m sure of it.”

  Lillian keeps looking at me like all my family just died, and I turn away. The edges of Evalina’s letters dig at my skin, and after seeing how the men ripped apart Tokie’s place, I’m glad I removed them from under my mattress.

  For once I’m grateful for the searchlights crisscrossing through camp. Even a block away from the police station, we can hear the noise of the mob.

  At the administration office, James pulls open the door, and I pass Lillian’s suitcase back to her. Mr. and Mrs. Kamei bow and say hurried thank yous.

  “Thank you for taking care of me.” Lillian’s voice is stiff as she withholds tears. “Ted would thank you too.”

  “You’re safe now, Lillian,” James says in that authoritative way he has.

  James and I watch the door of the office close behind her, and then we turn away. If only the same could be said for us.

  We stare toward the streetlamps, which illuminate the crowd gathered in front of the building where James needs to go.

  “You could come to the hospital with me,” I offer. It’s on the opposite corner of Manzanar, and I’m not looking forward to a solo walk through the dark camp.

  James tilts his head. “Is that . . . singing?”

  I listen for a moment. “Yes. ‘Kimigayo,’ I think. Some of them were singing it back at the meeting.”

  James starts moving closer, and I follow. Sometimes my mother would hum “Kimigayo” when she cooked, gardened, or missed her childhood, but I’ve certainly never heard it sung this way before. The words rise up in a haunting, ominous kind of fog.

  “We shouldn’t go any closer,” I say.

  “I have to get to work, though.”

  But that’s not the only reason that compels James. Crowds are a flame that draws his inner moth.

  In addition to the military police in the guard towers, there are more on the ground than I’ve seen in the entire evacuation. A whole line of them stands along the police station—at least a hundred—their faces hard and stoic. For the first time, I understand why they feel their presence is necessary. Why, maybe, they think they needed to set up those machine guns on either end of the police station.

  There are hundreds of Japanese Americans crowded around the station. “Kimigayo” has faded away, and there’s a restless energy pulsing. Every part of me wants to run. Wants to get as far from here as I can.

  “James, no one will care if you don’t show up for work.”

  James pushes onto his tiptoes. “I care.”

  “This crowd will kill you if they think you’re headed into this building. And that’s if the MPs don’t get you first. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m wearing my uniform. They won’t hurt me.” James nudges a man lingering on the fringe of the crowd. “Do you know what’s going on here? What are we waiting for?”

  “I don’t know very much,” the man says. “Two men are in the police station trying to get Harry released to go home. The captain came out just a bit ago telling everyone to go back to their barracks, but everyone wants to know what’s going to happen.” He gasps. “That young man is going to get himself shot.”

  I follow his gaze and gasp too. One of the Black Dragons has turned his behind to an MP in front of the station. He slaps his exposed buttock several times, laughing and taunting. The MP doesn’t even flinch.

  James gives me a look. “See? I’ll be fine.”

  I ignore him and ask the man, “Do you know who’s in there with the police?”

  “I only recognized Joe Kurihara.” He frowns and points to the other side of the crowd. “I had been standing over there, but then a large group arrived. They had been terrorizing the hospital, and they were too rowdy for me.”

  Terrorizing the hospital. The awful phrase sticks in my head.

  James swallows. “Did they kill Fred?”

  “No. It sounded like he escaped somehow.”

  “I have to go find my family,” I say in a low voice to James. “It’s dangerous here. Come with me.”

  “I’ll go around the back way, and I’ll be fine once I get inside. There’s Yosuke.” James waves his hand frantically. “Yosuke!”

  Yosuke had been edging his way around the crowd and turns at the sound of his name. “Oh, good. We can go together. I think if we head in the back door, we’ll be safe.”

  “I agree.” James waves over his shoulder at me. “I’ll come by your place tomorrow morning to see how your family is, okay?”

  I barely get out the word, “Okay,” when James breaks into a jog to catch up with Yosuke.

  I want to sprint away from here to the hospital, but it seems dangerous to run while I’m still near the mob.

  As I walk briskly away, several of the MPs guarding the door begin to shout at the crowd. “Back up! Everybody back up!”

  The authority in their voices makes me break into a jog. I’ve just reached the edge of the closest block when I hear screams behind me. “Tear gas! They’ve thrown tear gas!”

  I turn. My heart sinks to my feet at the sight of the fog rising up over the crowd, oddly reminiscent of my bayside Saturday mornings with Evalina. No longer is the mob one sentient being, like at the rally after dinner, but rather like a vase being dropped to the floor and splintering in all directions.

  There’s a mass of people moving toward me, and I tuck myself around the corner of a barrack. Did James and Yosuke make it in okay?

  Pop, pop—the distinct cracks of a firing gun fill the air, and I hear myself screaming. Why is someone shooting? What’s happening?

  All around me, men yelp with fright as they run through the block.

  Pop, pop. Pop, pop. More shots. I squeeze my eyes shut. My body slides along the tar paper to the ground. Did people try to climb the fence?

  After a few minutes, the stampede of people thins and then stops. When I stand, my knees are trembling so much, I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk. I peer around the corner, back toward the police station.

  Bodies.

  The streetlight that once illuminated an angry mob now reveals one still body. No, three. It’s hard to tell with the harsh shadows.

  I didn’t know your heart could
beat right in your ears like this. Or that you can hear your own blood roaring through your veins.

  I was there in the mob. I walked away, but men slower to do so were killed.

  One of the men is moving, and my heart leaps with hope. I run toward the twitching man, only to be blasted by the full glare of a searchlight and a deep voice on a loudspeaker. “Stop right there!”

  I instinctively hold up my hands. The MPs are just silhouettes against the lights. So are their submachine guns.

  “Don’t shoot!” I hold my hands up higher. My eyes water from the hovering tear gas. “I only want to help the ones who are injured!”

  “We’ve already called for medical help. Clear the area.”

  “Please, let me help!”

  “Authorized personnel only. Move along, or we’ll be forced to arrest you.”

  One of the Manzanar police cars pulls up, and out climbs George Fukasawa, who I’ve played baseball with before. “George!”

  He looks from me, to the bodies, and up to the MPs. His face is as stricken as mine feels.

  “I think some of them are alive. They wouldn’t let me help.”

  “Yeah, come on over by the car, Taichi. You don’t need to see any of this up close.” George looks at his partner as he gets out of the vehicle. “Let’s figure out who’s injured so we can give the doc a head’s up.”

  The squad car is warm, and I lean against it, as if it can penetrate the icy cold that’s taken over my body.

  George’s partner crouches next to the man I had seen moving. I’m close enough to hear him speak in a soothing voice about how nurses are on their way. That he’ll be taken care of soon.

  George crouches over a long form. His mouth makes the shape of an O, and he presses his fingers to the man’s neck. He waits, and the searchlight glints on the tears that have filled his eyes. He looks up at me. “It’s James Kanito. He’s . . .”

  George doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. I can see the horrible, unchangeable truth all over his face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Evalina

  As Mr. Medina and I pick up shards of glass from the ground, Daddy pulls up in the Espositos’ car, Mama in the seat beside him. Their faces are unreadable as they get out, as though they agreed beforehand that they would reveal no emotion when they arrived.

  What had Mrs. Medina told them, anyway?

  Mama immediately comes to me, her hands cupping my face. “You okay?”

  I lean into her touch. To my surprise, my eyes pool. “Yes.” I choke on the word.

  Daddy’s arm slips around my shoulders, and when he rests it there, it feels like the weight of guilt.

  “I really am fine.” I wipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my coat. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “Could you please tell us what happened?” Mama asks. “Mrs. Medina told us you stopped some boys from vandalizing the Hamasakis’ house, that the sheriff was here, and we should come too.”

  “I only kind of stopped them.” I gesture to the house. “They broke a window.”

  “The damage would’ve been much worse without you, Miss Cassano.” Mr. Medina dumps a handful of broken glass into the trashcan we borrowed from under the Hamasakis’ sink. It wasn’t exactly the way I imagined seeing inside Taichi’s house for the first time.

  Mr. Medina rests his hands on his hips. “Brave girl you’ve got here, Alessandro. I was getting washed up when I saw a group of boys from town pull up. I knew there was going to be trouble when I saw who one of the boys was. Before the evacuation, his whole family had been pretty outspoken about their dislike for the Hamasakis.” Mr. Medina makes a sour face. “I knew I could run the boys off on my own, but I called the sheriff right away. I hoped maybe he could catch them in the act. Of course, had I realized Miss Cassano was sitting up in the tree, I would’ve gone over right away.”

  Mama and Daddy both turn their gazes to me. I swallow and stare at my oxfords.

  Mr. Medina goes on in agonizing detail about Danny making a grab for me, and how I shocked everyone by leaping out of the tree and running “like a deer.”

  “You should’ve seen her,” Mr. Medina says with a gruff laugh. “She looked like she swings out of trees every day, she was so graceful. And boy, am I glad that Danny kid is slow. He was chasing her with a baseball bat, but one of his friends caught up quickly and tackled him. The boys high-tailed it out of here after that.”

  A beat of silence falls.

  Daddy recovers first. “Well, that’s our Evalina. A unique mix of fire and grace.”

  I keep my gaze directed down while the adults finish up their conversation, and then we load my bicycle into the back of the Espositos’ car. I tell Mr. Medina thank you, and with trepidation, climb into the back seat.

  I should speak first.

  It would be the responsible thing to do.

  Daddy backs out of Taichi’s driveway. “Is heading back through town the fastest way to Berkeley?”

  “Or you can just take me to the train station.”

  “I think we could use the extra time to talk, don’t you?”

  Fear digs into my heart.

  Daddy looks at me in the rearview mirror. “It sounds like you were very brave this evening.”

  “I was just too angry to stay quiet.”

  “That counts as bravery, I think.”

  Even without seeing Daddy’s face, I can tell he’s smiling.

  Another silence falls. I swallow and smooth my skirt over my dusty knees. I should just open my mouth and say it. I’ve been keeping something from you for a long time now.

  “How fortunate that you were there to stop those boys.” Mama’s statement asks an unspoken question: Why were you there, Evalina?

  I look at my lap. “I’ve been keeping something from you both. Something rather important. Taichi and I . . .” What are we now? What is the truth? “We’re not just friends.”

  The car is quiet. I make myself look up. Mama has turned to look at me over the passenger seat. “Honey, we know.”

  “You do? Since when?”

  Mama looks at Daddy. “When did you first figure it out, Alessandro?”

  Daddy shrugs. “Well, I first suspected when suddenly she was at the restaurant for every produce delivery.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “You were so snappy if you missed one. And on the few occasions that happened, Taichi would be looking all around the kitchen for you.”

  “You were well before me, then,” Mama says. “I didn’t really know until Taichi showed up at the house to tell you he was being evacuated. Oh, Evalina, the look of fear on your face when you saw him. If it hadn’t been such a terrible cause for a visit, it would have been funny.”

  I swallow. “But when I say we’re not just friends, I don’t mean that we just like each other. I mean . . . we’ve been seeing each other. For a while now.”

  Mama looks at me, her face soft. “We know what you mean, Evalina.”

  “But neither of you said anything.”

  “Well, neither did you.”

  “I thought you would be mad.”

  Mama and Daddy exchange looks. Mama is the one who speaks. “We certainly hoped that it was more of a passing fancy than anything else. I think I said that to you when we left Manzanar. But that has nothing to do with Taichi, and everything to do with how challenging marriage is even when you’ve been raised in the same neighborhood with the same values.”

  Mama doesn’t want to say it, but I will: “And when you’re the same skin color.”

  “Yes.” Mama draws out the word. “There are uniquely hard times ahead of you and Taichi if you marry. You know that.”

  I’m quiet. “Yes, I do. But I also don’t know how to not love him.”

  Mama and Daddy look at each other again. I thought I might feel awkward saying love, but instead I feel freer. Lighter.

  Daddy speaks this time. “If anyone I know is brave enough to handle what lies ahead, it’s you, my Evalina. Though, I don’t
understand how you can be brave enough to choose political science as your major or challenge ignorant strangers at Yosemite, yet be too scared to tell us the truth about Taichi.”

  “Because she would be fighting for herself.” Mama turns to face me again. “You have always excelled at fighting for others. But if you want to have the strength to continue to do so, you must value yourself enough to fight your own battles too.”

  Back at my dormitory, feeling like I’ve been gone for days instead of hours, the room of silver mailboxes beckons me. I bite my lower lip. I haven’t checked mine the last few days because I had grown so tired of being disappointed. But given the evening I’ve had, it’s not like an empty mailbox is going to bring me much lower.

  I pull out the key and open the door. My breath catches at the sight of a thick envelope. Of my name printed in Taichi’s neat script.

  I open it right there.

  Taichi

  Monday, December 7, 1942

  Dark is the night at this hour. The searchlights don’t reach this corner of the hospital. Or maybe the lights are turned off, or focused on a different part of camp. Even the moon has hidden its face tonight.

  The at-capacity hospital room is finally quiet now that everyone has been sewn up or bandaged and is resting. I’m the only one awake in here. The only one waiting for the sunrise to come, for the dawn of December seventh.

  Last year, it seemed impossible to think that another day could feel as dark as that Sunday. But now I struggle to imagine how I could ever feel light or happy again.

  Words swirl in my head, but they’re the same words that have been swirling since last night.

  James is dead. He was just trying to go to work. He was just trying to do the right thing. They shot him. James is dead. One of those shots I heard, it killed James. He was just trying to do what was right. He wasn’t even part of the angry mob, and he got shot.

  It’s just me here with Aiko. Everyone else in our family is in the administration building with the other families on the death list, waiting to find out what will happen now. Fred Tayama is there too, having survived by hiding underneath an orthopedic bed while the mob was searching for him.