Clark and Division

by Naomi Hirahara

  “That’s because she’s a Nisei.”

  “She is?” I was surprised. Most of my Japanese American friends had parents who were straight from Japan like Mr. Nakasone, who was from Yamaguchi Prefecture.

  “Because she was American-born, her citizenship was taken away when she got married, just like Aunt Eunice’s was. Only my mother got hers back earlier.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The Nisei women made a fuss. They were able to amend the act to exclude them about five years before it was done away for good.” Art held up his glass as if he was toasting me. “Never cross a Nisei woman.”

  We both took swigs of our lemonade. It was refreshingly tart with a sweet aftertaste from the sugar that had accumulated on the bottom.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “If your father is Issei and your mother is Nisei, what does that make you?”

  “I don’t know. Nisei and a half? I never was into labels.”

  I decided that I wasn’t going to be into labels, either.

  As we sat and finished our lemonade with Crockett purring in Lois’s lap and the bugs safely buzzing away on the other side of the screen, I felt more relaxed than I had felt in almost three years. “I like where you live,” I told Art.

  “That’s a first. I don’t hear that often.”

  “It’s like a neighborhood. A real one. Clark and Division seems more like a way station. People are always moving.”

  “That’s true. I guess that’s one of the few places where you camp people can move in.” Art gestured down the road. “Phillis and her family live on the other end of the street in that brownstone with the yard.”

  I squinted in the setting sun. A number of brownstones were lined up against each other like soldiers. I thought I spotted a chain-link fence around a square of green.

  Mrs. Nakasone came out on the porch with a message for Art. “Yoshizaki-san called. His car battery is dead so he can’t give Dad a ride to the Mutual Aid Society meeting tonight. Can you take both of them to the meeting?”

  I got up from the love seat. “Maybe I should leave then, too.”

  “No, no, I’ll be gone only a half hour or so,” Art said.

  Mrs. Nakasone also insisted that I stay. “Lois can keep you company.”

  I remembered that Art had told me that the society meetings had been banned, so this gathering must be clandestine. It was a bit exciting to be part of a type of Issei secret organization that helped families like mine resettle in the “free” area of the Midwest.

  Lois continued to stroke Crockett in her rocking chair as Art and Mr. Nakasone piled into the pickup and drove away. She was like Art in that she was perfectly fine to sit in silence, so we did that for a while.

  As twilight descended, black men wearing work uniforms trudged home with their lunch pails while younger ones riding on bikes called out to each other. Two Nisei girls, one obviously older than the other, strode down the sidewalk toward the house.

  Lois began to wave at the women. The younger and smaller one only offered a weak wave back.

  “She’s one of my classmates, Betty, and that’s her older sister, Elaine. They live in that green apartment building.” We watched them cross the street. “Betty was helping Daddy with his grocery business this summer, but she hasn’t been coming around lately. She hasn’t been feeling well.”

  My mind whirled. Could this be the girl that Art had mentioned? Marge and the other Nisei women gathered outside the loading dock of the candy company had revealed that the attack victim was the younger of two sisters. And the name Betty sounded familiar.

  “Was she the one who was—” I felt bad bringing this up to Lois, who was only a teenager. She was mature enough to understand and nodded.

  “Maybe she’ll want to see your new kitty cat,” I suggested.

  “Ah, no. I don’t think so. Art says not to bother her.”

  “But think how Crockett could cheer her up. I know my dog, Rusty, could make the darkest day brighter.” At least that last statement was true. “We should go over there, even if it’s only for a minute. I know that I’d want to help a neighbor and classmate.” I fixated on getting into their apartment. Surely there may be a clue that would tie this girl to Rose?

  Lois reluctantly agreed. I felt a pang of guilt but pushed it away.

  The sisters lived on the bottom floor, Lois explained to me, as we approached their weathered door. The paint was peeling and a pie pan was hammered on the wall to hold mail.

  Lois gently knocked. “It’s me, Lois Nakasone. I’ve brought over my new kitten that Betty might want to see.”

  The door cracked open. “Oh, Lois,” said the older one, Elaine. “I don’t think this is good time—”

  “I want to see the kitten.” Betty’s voice from within the apartment sounded high-pitched and frail.

  “Well, only for a minute.” The door was opened to us. We walked into a one-room apartment with faded pink wallpaper. Clothes were hung on hooks on doors, pipes and walls. The kitchenette consisted of one gas burner and a small, dingy icebox. A couple of plates, utensils, one pot and a pan were stored on a low table. I didn’t see a sink or bathroom, so I figured that they had to share with other people in the building.

  Betty’s pale face brightened when she saw the kitten. Her dark-brown hair looked like it had been cut at home; her bangs hung unevenly over her forehead. She was a child, nothing like the force of nature that Rose had been. The only thing they seemed to have in common was that they were Nisei women, so far from home.

  The two girls sat atop the bed—there was only one—and teased Crockett with a piece of loose yarn.

  “I’m Aki,” I introduced myself. “I’m Art’s friend.”

  Elaine, whose wavy hair was up in a loose ponytail, introduced herself, too. Since there was literally no place to sit, we stood and talked.

  “What camp were you two in?” I asked.

  “Minidoka. In Idaho. Before that we were in Camp Harmony.”

  “Where’s that?” Camp Harmony sounded like a more pleasant place than the other ten camps.

  “Oh, it was actually the fairgrounds in Puyallup near Seattle. That’s the assembly center where they first sent us.”

  Fairgrounds and racetracks—those were the temporary holding centers that our family had been able to bypass by going straight to Manzanar.

  I learned the sisters came from Seattle. “We have relatives in Spokane,” I said. “That’s nowhere near Seattle, is it?”

  “It’s on the other side of Washington,” Elaine said, but not in a disparaging way. She seemed to enjoy talking about her home state, the difference between the wet Pacific coastline and the middle of the state, which was full of cornfields.

  “You’re Rose Ito’s sister?” Elaine studied my face as if to find any resemblance. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes, it’s been terribly hard.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “She didn’t kill herself,” I added. “I know that’s what people are saying.” I balled up my hands into fists, as if I were preparing myself to jump from a diving board into a deep, dark pool. “Someone hurt her. Even before she was killed by that subway car.”

  Elaine’s eyes widened. Her irises were a light brown, the color of amber.

  Now that I had jumped, there was no going back. “He’s hurt other girls, too.” I glanced at Betty.

  Elaine recoiled, as if she were too close to the heat of a flame. She knew exactly what I was insinuating. “I think that you better leave.” Her voice was not shrill, but unyielding. She locked eyes with me and I could feel that she was dead serious.

  “Lois, we need to go,” I said.

  “Already?” Betty seemed disappointed and I was relieved that our visit had been a welcome one, at least for the younger sister. Lois fumbled to catch the wriggling Crockett and then stood up, p
ressing the kitten to her chest.

  “We’ve overstayed our visit. Art should be back by now, right, Lois?”

  Lois seemed to sense that something was amiss and headed for the door.

  Elaine didn’t bother to say goodbye and as soon as we crossed the threshold, she pushed the door closed.

  Outside, a kickball game was in full swing in the street. The Nakasones’ pickup truck was back in the driveway, and Art was waiting for us on the sidewalk.

  “We were at Betty’s house,” said Lois, holding Crockett firmly by his middle.

  “Betty’s?” Art frowned.

  “Aki thought Crockett would cheer Betty up, and you know what, she was right.”

  Looking confused, Art was about to say something but stopped himself. For the first time, he seemed doubtful about me; but like the gray clouds of Chicago, the uncertainty had quickly disappeared, at least for the moment.

  Chapter 18

  Over the next few weeks, I began my new life as part of a couple. On Saturday nights, Art and I would attend dances at different locations, where we’d usually run into Ike, Kathryn, Chiyo and the rest of the gang. Louise started dating the tall, gawky Nisei, Joey Suzuki, whom she first met at the Aragon. Bespectacled Joey had long sideburns and an anemic mustache that didn’t show any signs of having a successful future. A nephew of Reverend Suzuki, he was also originally from Los Angeles and even attended the same junior college that I had, but he had graduated with a degree in recreational studies a year before I started.

  All of us were sitting at the same table one Saturday, drinking pop during the band’s break. Ike always gave me updates about Roy whenever I saw him. The latest was that Roy was hot and heavy with an Italian woman, which was causing all sorts of chaos within the Tonai family.

  “I can’t believe that Roy told his mother,” I said. Roy’s parents were very conservative, even more so than mine.

  “He’s serious about her. Like marriage.”

  Our intimate group gasped in response.

  “His family keeps sending him telegrams. Western Union is constantly knocking on our door.”

  “What do these telegrams say?” I asked.

  “Do not marry STOP,” Ike responded, and we all exploded into laughter. I felt a little guilty because Roy was almost like an older brother to me. But ever since our last encounter at the candy factory, I got the sense that Rose had been only a prize to him, not a full-blooded person.

  “Oh, guess who we saw at church last Sunday,” Louise said. “Hammer Ishimine.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Ike said.

  I was also dumbfounded.

  “He’s even a member of the choir,” Joey interjected.

  “You mean he’s a regular?” I asked.

  “That’s what my uncle was saying. He’s working as a house boy for a hakujin lady in Lakeview.”

  I realized I hadn’t seen Hammer since the altercation at Aloha. I was so distracted by my relationship with Art that I hadn’t even noticed.

  There was a break in the conversation, and both Chiyo and I excused ourselves to go to the ladies’ room. Chiyo had transformed over these past few months. Now a regular at dances, she had plucked her heavy, natural eyebrows into two perfect arches and was always reapplying her red lipstick. She and Kathryn were still competing for Ike’s attention, and it was obvious that Kathryn was in the lead.

  The hall had only one bathroom stall for women, and we talked while we waited outside the locked door.

  “Art’s nice,” she said.

  “He is.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “How did you two meet?”

  I told her the story about going to the Montrose Cemetery, where Rose’s ashes were being stored.

  “How long has it been now since then?”

  “Two months,” I said. Actually, two months exactly. Art had pointed it out to me because he was more of a romantic than I was.

  “My parents are going to be moving to Chicago. I’ve found us an apartment on the South Side.”

  “That’s wonderful, Chiyo. You must be so happy.”

  Chiyo shrugged. “I’m sure I won’t be going out like this when they arrive.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be an adjustment.” I spoke in general terms of the struggles I had been having with my own parents.

  “You know, I regret that I never really told you everything that was happening with Rose.”

  Chiyo’s words shook me. They cut through the din of voices in the dance hall and workers wheeling wooden crates of pop to the concession stand. “Tell me now.” Another woman joined us in line and began examining her face in her compact mirror. “Tell me, Chiyo,” I said more urgently. I didn’t know when I would have another opportunity to speak to her alone.

  She lowered her voice. “I think that she went somewhere and got something done. Something that caused her a lot of pain.” Both of us knew what that something was.

  My heart literally hurt and I found it difficult to breathe.

  “In late April I had come home early from my job at the factory and there she was, in bed already. I thought that she had fainted, or even worse. I had never seen her face so pale.”

  The woman who had been in the bathroom emerged, but we let the woman waiting behind us go in.

  “What, Chiyo, what.” I couldn’t stand another second.

  “Her bed was soaked with blood.”

  I became slack-jawed, almost losing my footing. Would I collapse right there on the floor?

  “I told her that I was going to call an ambulance, but she said no. She said that she’d be okay. She had some medicine. She did ask for my help to wash the sheets.” Chiyo tightened her grip on her purse. “We never talked about it afterward. I may be from the inaka, but I can put two and two together.”

  When the next woman came out of the bathroom, I told Chiyo to go before me. After she closed the bathroom door, I bent down, my hands on my knees. My heart seemed to be pounding out of my chest and it was hard to catch my breath. Who had done this procedure on my sister? Had they known what they were doing?

  When I finally returned to the group, only Art seemed to notice that something was amiss. “You all right?” Art asked me, gently rubbing my back for a brief moment.

  “Fine,” I said, forcing a smile.

  Luckily, Ike was telling one of his stories and I could remain quiet and listen. I finally joined the laughter about a minute too late, when it wasn’t that funny anymore.

  After Chiyo’s revelation that Rose had suffered excessive bleeding from her abortion procedure, the nights were the worst. In the morning the blinding sun was out, forcing me to get up for either work or an excursion with Art. When I was home at night, my parents snoring in their beds, I’d lie down on my pillow and try to will myself to sleep, but sleep would not come. I’d hear the cockroaches skittering on the floor, the faucet dripping in our sink or the rats running through the space between our walls. I’d imagine Rose moaning in blood-soaked sheets, calling out for someone to help her.

  I was consumed with anger. It soaked through my skin and flowed through my body. I sometimes snapped at my parents for asking one too many questions about Art’s family. I was cross with Professor Rip Van Winkle for making too many requests for books he would never peruse.

  Only Art seemed to take the edge off of my worries. When we found ourselves alone in the truck, we would escape to the Thirty-First Street Beach and find a secluded place to park. He’d kiss my lips and then my neck. My blouse would end up pulled from my skirt and his hands would caress my breasts. I wanted to get lost in him. Anything to get my mind off of Rose.

  I should have told Art what I was going through, but I didn’t want my two worlds to mix. By keeping our relationship separate from Rose, I created a place that was pure and maybe could end happily ever after. But the weight of my torment pressed a
gainst that dividing line.

  One afternoon we had collapsed on the rattan love seat in the Nakasones’ screened porch after a long walk around Lake Michigan, when Mrs. Nakasone returned to the house with a towel wrapped around a casserole dish. She was still wearing an apron and wasn’t carrying a purse, so I guessed she had come from visiting the neighbors.

  Art sat up, his balled hands on his thighs. “They didn’t accept it again?”

  Mrs. Nakasone shook her head. Her usually jovial face was drawn. “It’s good to see you, dear.” She managed a faint smile my way, but the Nakasones, in general, weren’t good at hiding their true feelings. Balancing the casserole in her left hand, she pushed the front door open with the side of her right hip.

  “I’ll be right back.” Art followed after his mother while I straightened the wrinkles on my pedal pushers. What had happened?

  After quite some time, Art returned with two glasses of water. It was obvious that the breeziness of our lazy, relaxed day had ended. I accepted a glass from him. “Is something wrong?”

  “The casserole was for Elaine and Betty across the street. Betty hasn’t been well. But Elaine won’t accept any help from anyone. She’s pretty much demanded that my mother stop leaving food for them.”

  I grasped hold of my glass with two hands. “They should go to the police,” I said without thinking.

  “Why, how . . .” Art’s face turned a ghostly white. “How did you know?”

  “I’m not a dummy,” I said. I wasn’t going to reveal that Lois had confirmed my suspicions the first time I had visited.

  “Elaine’s not going to let Betty go through that. In some ways, I can’t blame them.” Art chugged down some water, an excess drop hanging from his lip. “They are thinking about moving on. I don’t think that’s a bad idea. A fresh start somewhere else.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I knew first-hand what it was like to make a new life. The ghosts of the past never completely left.

  August was blazing hot in Chicago—in fact, record highs according to the reports in the Chicago Daily Tribune. Even the short walk from the LaSalle apartments to the Newberry left my dress moist with perspiration. Going from that heat into the coolness of the library gave me the chills, and I thought that I was coming down with a cold.