Within These Lines

by Stephanie Morrill

  According to the nurse’s gossip, Joe Kurihara, Raymond Yamishi, and many of the others trying to get Harry released have all been rounded up. Nobody seems to know where they are now.

  Manzanar is quiet. But at too high a cost.

  All day yesterday the hospital had been fairly empty, but now every bed is full of both those who were beaten up by the mob and those who were part of the mob. All of whom are being treated within feet of each other.

  But not James. Because James is dead.

  I rest my head on the edge of Aiko’s bed, dizzy with fatigue and homesickness and sadness. I want to sleep in my own bed, walk land that belongs to us, eat a home-cooked meal, and see Evalina again. I put my hand inside my pocket and rest it on Evalina’s photograph.

  I snap up when Aiko’s hand brushes against my hair. My neck is tight and aching from the way I had slept.

  “I think I fell asleep for a minute.”

  My sister takes one of her pillows and moves it to the edge of her bed, where it’s easier for me to rest my head. “I think that would be good for you.”

  Out the hospital window, Mount Williamson turns a becoming shade of gold as the rising sun reflects on its peak. The day has dawned, and it has done so without James.

  I lie there, think about James, and cry silently.

  But not silently enough, because Aiko’s hand rests on my head. “When I lost the baby,” her voice is graveled from disuse, “I never thought I was going to feel happy ever again. Which is strange because it’s not like I had even wanted to be pregnant or wanted to marry Dennis. He had broken up with me when I said I was going to have it. I felt like I had done the right thing, and then . . .”

  She smooths my hair the same way Mother does when she’s comforting me. I can feel Aiko’s tears damp on the pillow alongside mine. “Taichi, sometimes we do the right thing, and life kicks us in the teeth just as hard as if we’d done the wrong.”

  Evalina

  Tuesday, December 8, 1942

  I run for the dormitory, not caring who thinks I look unladylike or strange. Grace’s words, the ones she’d greeted me with at breakfast, reverberate with each footfall. “Father says to call him right away. He says it’s about Taichi.”

  I keep telling myself it could be good news about Taichi. Maybe Mr. Bishop has finally worked out details for their release. Though would he have gone to the trouble of telephoning Grace and asking her to have me call him right away if it was good news?

  My fingers tremble so much that I pinch the tips of them when trying to close the door. I fumble the dime into the slot and spin the dial.

  After being transferred by Mr. Bishop’s secretary and waiting for what feels like endless minutes—though it can’t be too long because I haven’t even put in a second dime—Mr. Bishop comes on the line.

  “What’s happened? Is Taichi okay?”

  “As far as I know, yes. But when I spoke to Mr. Heath, the man in charge of relocations, he told me there was a riot at Manzanar on Sunday.”

  I gasp, my head a mess of all those stories about death lists and garbage trucks from Taichi’s letter. “A riot?”

  “Yes. He told me it was stirred up by a small group of men who were pro-Japan, and they targeted those who are vocally pro-America or for cooperating with the administration. The families who were in danger in camp are being moved to a facility in Death Valley. The Hamasakis are one of the families on that list.”

  I realize I’m squeezing the telephone, as if this will cause more details to pour out. “I don’t understand how Taichi could have been in such danger.”

  “I know. I don’t understand the details yet either, but I knew you would want to know. The Manzanar administration isn’t quite sure what to do from here. If they should release the families from Death Valley, just not to locations within the military zone, or if they should send them to another camp until they get this figured out. There’s a lot still up in the air.”

  Poor Taichi. He had already been destroyed by the news of Diego being presumed MIA, and now this.

  “Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Bishop. I appreciate it.”

  “For whatever its worth, Mr. Heath thinks getting the Hamasakis released to Stafford—where my son lives—could eventually work. He just isn’t sure if it will be days or weeks or months.”

  “I hope it’s days.”

  “I hope so too, Evalina. And you’ll need to talk this over with your parents, of course, but my family is going to Stafford over Christmas this year. You are welcome to come with us if there’s a reason to. Again, if it’s okay with your parents.”

  “Thank you. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Mr. Bishop sighs. “Yes. I guess so.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Taichi

  December 20, 1942

  When I awake, we’re still on the bus. Kansas still stretches on, flat and snow-covered with a pearl gray sky for as far as I can see.

  “Oh, good,” Aiko says. “You’re awake. We’re supposed to arrive in a few minutes.”

  I rub at my bleary eyes. “Okay,” I say through a yawn, and then I let my head rest against the cold, hard window.

  Once again, I’ve been loaded on a bus and told where I’m going. Stafford, Kansas, with several other Japanese American families. Once more, I had to pack all my belongings into bags that are no more than I can carry, though I never really unpacked them at Death Valley, so at least it was easier this time.

  And at least at Death Valley, everyone was saying goodbye. Aunt Chiyu and Uncle Fuji had been too nervous to come with us and live in predominately Caucasian communities, so they had chosen to be sent to one of the other camps in Wyoming. Lillian, her newborn son, and Ted’s parents were going there as well. Mrs. Yoneda and Tommy were being permitted to move back to her parents’ house in Los Angeles, so long as she promised to check in with the WRA about Tommy once a month.

  A few other families had chosen to go to Wyoming as well, but most of us were being sent to various farms in the Midwest. Or for a lucky few who were the right age and could afford it, to a university.

  I’ve desired a life outside the fence since April, but now that I have it, I find that I understand my aunt and uncle’s fears. In Colorado Springs, our bus had stopped so we could get some food, only the restaurant refused to serve us. We were only able to eat because a Caucasian man saw and went in to place an order for us. I had never felt so ashamed while eating a hamburger. There had been another incident in Garden City when I tried to buy a piece of fruit at a filling station.

  I’m jolted out of my thoughts by the bus stopping, and then turning off.

  We’re here.

  Aiko stands, and an envelope flutters out of her pocket and onto my lap. She snatches it up before I have a chance to react.

  I stand too, relishing how it feels to stretch my legs. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Aiko’s smile is bashful. “Just a letter I received from Ichiro before we left Death Valley.”

  On a better day I would’ve smiled and teased my sister. Instead I say, “Anything interesting?”

  “Mostly news about people we both know at the hospital. Not much that would be of interest to you. Though he did say that James Kanito had a very well-attended service. Even a lot of the administration came.”

  I snort as we start moving down the aisle. “I’m sure the Kanito family really appreciated their presence.”

  “Obviously it doesn’t make up for what happened.” Aiko’s voice and expression are both tender. “But isn’t it better that they came? Don’t you think it hopefully shows that they won’t just ignore complaints anymore?”

  Since we’re stepping off the bus, I don’t feel like I have to answer her. Of course I’m glad James’s service was well-attended, but I’m also not so naïve anymore to actually think—

  Evalina.

  I can’t seem to move. It’s really her. She’s really standing at a bus station in Stafford, Kansas, shivering in
the cold, and watching me with delight on her face.

  When she opens her mouth to call to me, her jaw trembles. “I promised that when you got off the bus, I would be here.”

  I drop my bag and run to her.

  Evalina

  December 25, 1942

  As soon as breakfast is over, I pull on boots to guard my feet from the snow and tie on my coat that’s always been sufficient in California, but that the Kansas wind seems to laugh at as it blows right through.

  I march down the road with exaggerated steps to warm myself until I arrive at the flaking, white house. Before I can knock, Taichi whips open the door—his handsome face still catching me off guard after being without it for so long—and pulls me inside. The wood-burning stove has their humble workers’ house so warm, I don’t hesitate when Taichi takes my coat off my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I murmur. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Evalina.”

  Even after five days, I still feel a strange shyness in our first few minutes together. Both his parents and Aiko are always here, and they’re always very friendly, but the newness still leaves me feeling awkward. If my mother were here, she would warn me that I’m being a pest, coming over here every day. Taichi assures me I’m not.

  “Where are your gloves?” Taichi presses my hands between the two of his, which makes my heart feel as though it just burst into flames.

  “I couldn’t find them.”

  “You should have waited to come over until you found them. I like all of your fingers. I would rather you not lose any.”

  I laugh, and some of the embarrassment slips away. “Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Hamasaki.”

  They look up from their morning tea. “Merry Christmas, Evalina.”

  The house is so small, there isn’t really anywhere we can go and have privacy. With the snow, we can’t even go outside. But the Hamasakis are used to close quarters, and his family is respectful about letting Taichi and me talk as if they are not present.

  We settle on the couch by the stove. Taichi’s fingers clasp mine.

  “How was Christmas morning at the Bishops?”

  “Fine. They’re a nice family.”

  “They seem like it. They’ve done a lot for us.” Taichi smiles, but it’s strained. Being sent somewhere else that he didn’t get to choose has cost him in pride. I hadn’t thought about that, but I could see it soon after arriving. He didn’t just want out of Manzanar, he wanted to be free on his own terms.

  “What will your parents be doing this morning?” Taichi asks.

  “I don’t know, really.” My stomach squirms with guilt, even though Mama and Daddy had blessed the trip. “It’ll be a quiet Christmas for them.”

  He squeezes my hand, perhaps seeing my sadness. “Maybe the three of you can celebrate next week.”

  I try not to, seeing as his parents are about ten feet away at the kitchen table, but my tears well and fall before I can do a thing to stop them. In five days, I will say goodbye to Taichi yet again, get on a train with the Bishops, and go back to San Francisco.

  “I just wish you could come with me,” I whisper.

  I cover my face, feeling sharp humiliation. On the very first day, after Taichi got over the shock of me being there to pick him up from the bus station, we had vowed that we wouldn’t waste our time whining about how little time we had.

  “I’m sorry.” I wipe at my tears with the sleeve of my sweater. “I know we said we wouldn’t do this.”

  “I wish I could go with you too. Or that you could stay here.”

  “Maybe I could.” My heart inflates at the thought. “They have universities here just like they do in California. What does it matter if I go to school here or there?”

  “No, Evalina.” Taichi’s tone is gentle, but the words sting all the same. “That’s foolish when we don’t know that . . .” He swallows.

  “You don’t know that what?”

  Taichi looks at me and takes a deep breath. “We’ve heard talk that enlistment might soon be open for the Nisei.”

  My response falls out involuntarily, no more than a whisper, “No.”

  Taichi is quiet for a moment. “How can I not, Evalina? If I want places like Manzanar to become just a bad memory, or Diego to be released if he really is in a POW camp, how can I not do my part?”

  Given everything that’s happened to him in this last year, how can he be willing to fight for America?

  Taichi leans forward until his forehead is matched with mine. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but you need to go back home. You need to study hard and get your law degree. And then someday we’ll be battling together. Side by side.”

  “You can’t guarantee that.”

  “No,” he says quietly. “But I think the chance of it happening is worth fighting for.”

  I swallow. “Me too.”

  “But not now.” He leans back. “Right now, we get to rest and enjoy being together. And you get to open your Christmas present. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not much.”

  “Still. I didn’t expect anything at all.”

  “That’s why it was so fun.” Taichi grins and hands me a box. “Merry Christmas, Evalina.”

  I slide the top off the box and burst out laughing. “It’s an orange.” I pull it from the box and hold it out to him. “You gave me an orange.”

  “They had them at a gas station we stopped at on our way. I tried to buy it because it made me think of you, but they wouldn’t let me.” Taichi’s face flickers again, showing his bruised pride. “Not until the guard said that we were on our way to help with cattle for the war effort. Then they seemed okay with it.”

  My blood pressure rises. “You should’ve bought it and thrown it at them.”

  Taichi laughs. “I thought about it, because I assumed that’s what you would tell me to do. But then I decided that I would much rather eat it and think about you.”

  “So, why didn’t you?”

  “Because I slept instead, and when I woke up again, we were practically here. Now I get to enjoy it with you.”

  I pierce the peel with my thumb. “Mrs. Ling thinks oranges are lucky for that reason. That they’re shareable.”

  I hand half to Taichi, and his fingertips brush mine.

  He smiles. “This is the luckiest orange I’ve ever eaten, then.”

  In a few days, this will all just be a memory. And if Taichi really does enlist, who knows how long it will be before we see each other again.

  But there will be plenty of days ahead for sadness and fighting. Today, I will instead choose to be brave by feeling the joy offered to me in this moment.

  Epilogue

  December 7, 1950

  Somewhere outside of Mojave, James is lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the highway, and I follow close behind him.

  I awaken when the car begins churning gravel under its tires. I blink, momentarily blinded by the glare of the afternoon sun on the snow.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  From the driver’s seat, Taichi smiles at me.

  I push myself upright. “How long did I sleep?” I can tell from how groggy I am, it was no catnap.

  “Over an hour. James is still out.”

  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have slept that long.”

  He gives me a long look. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. I’m dragging you and James all the way out here—”

  “You know I wanted to come too.”

  “Well.” Taichi turns and looks out the rental car window. “We are here.”

  Now that my eyes have adjusted, I realize there isn’t much to see. Where are all the buildings?

  “You’re sure this is it?”

  “I drove by it once and had to turn around, but look.” Taichi points.

  Now I see the sign. MANZANAR WAR RELOCATION CENTER. Beyond it, the rickety remains of a guard stand. The fence is still there too, just none of the ugly barracks that I remember from my one and only visit t
o this place.

  A gust of wind rocks the car and sends several tumbleweeds careening past. We both turn and look at James, who sleeps undisturbed across the back seat of the car.

  Taichi reaches over and rests a hand on my round stomach. “It’s hard to believe that this time next year, there will be two kids back there.”

  I settle my hand on top of his, and for a few minutes we just sit there. Staying in our mostly-happy present instead of slipping into the heartache of years gone by. Taichi lingers a suspiciously long time. He’s stalling.

  “Do you think the car can handle the old road?” I ask. “We could drive it while James sleeps.”

  Taichi holds my gaze, and the look on his face is reminiscent of when we were seventeen. Shame mixed with fear.

  And just like when we were seventeen, there’s only so much I can do to alleviate what he’s feeling. I squeeze his hands. “It will be fine.”

  His mouth quirks. “Normally that’s my line.”

  But with his jaw set, Taichi shifts into drive, and the car eases forward and through the dilapidated gates of Manzanar.

  When we knew we would be in California to visit family and friends, Taichi had written to his friend from camp, Ted, to ask if he’d ever gone back to Manzanar. Ted said he hadn’t, but heard there wasn’t much there anymore. Veterans from the war had lived in the former staff housing for some time, but otherwise all that remained was the cemetery, the orchard, and the high school, which had been built after Taichi’s time. After the war ended and the camps emptied, the government had sold whatever they could.

  “Maybe it’s senseless,” Taichi had said to me, pacing the small kitchen of our near North side home in Chicago. “But I just want to see it again. I want to choose to go there, and I want to choose to leave.”

  “Then let’s go,” I had said. “We will make it work.”

  That had sounded fine in Chicago, but now as pain etches Taichi’s face, I wonder if I should have talked him out of it. Maybe in a few years . . . what? When will the pain of the evacuation ever not feel fresh and raw? Seeing Manzanar again for the first time never would have been easy.

  We tacked the trip onto our visits in southern California. First we’d stayed with Tony, Mary, and their kids, and then Diego and his wife, who just welcomed baby number three. As our James and their oldest played tag in the yard, Diego had winked at me. “Didn’t I tell you we would get here someday?”