Clark and Division

by Naomi Hirahara

  I had finished gathering some books on the American Revolutionary War when Tomi walked up to the reference counter. She was wearing a soft pink dress and hat, as if she was going to attend a garden party. I thought she looked gorgeous, but I didn’t bother to tell her so. As no one else was in the reading room, we were able to speak freely.

  “I’m going to be moving out of the Chicago area,” she announced. “I’m planning to meet my old neighbor from San Francisco in Detroit.”

  This was not the news that I expected. “Don’t leave,” I told her. “I need you here.”

  Tomi looked confused for a moment, and a crease appeared on her forehead. “If this is about Rose, forget about her. Nothing you do will bring her back.”

  “You can’t do this,” I said to Tomi. I knew that was a ridiculous thing to say as soon as I said it. Tomi was my closest link to Rose in Chicago. If she left, another piece of my sister would break away and dissolve into the ether.

  “I can get an office job instead of working in someone’s house.”

  That made no sense. Tomi could easily get an office job in Chicago, but it would mean that she’d be back in the city where Rose had been assaulted.

  Nancy walked into the reading room and I gestured for her to relieve me at the desk. At first she seemed annoyed but, absorbing the disturbed look on my face, she agreed to fill in.

  I walked with Tomi to the ladies’ room. As usual, it was empty, allowing us a bit of privacy.

  “When are you planning to leave?”

  “Later this month. I just bought my ticket.” Tomi unfastened the clip on her pocketbook and waved the ticket in front of my face to prove that she had made up her mind.

  “Let me see that.” I snatched it away from her delicate fingers.

  “Don’t you do anything with that!”

  What? Did she think that I would flush it down the toilet? She seized it back like it was her lifeline.

  I planted myself squarely in front of her, my hip pressed against one of the bathroom sinks. “If you’re going to leave anyway, at least go to the police and tell them what you witnessed. Do it for Rose’s sake.”

  “Nothing I say will help. I didn’t see his face.”

  “You heard his voice. You saw what he had done to Rose.”

  Tomi lowered her head, a pink silk flower visible on the headband of her hat. “Don’t you understand?” she said. “I can’t get his voice out of my head. As long as I’m here, he’ll be haunting me.”

  I was convinced that she wouldn’t escape that voice, no matter how far she traveled. “You’ll regret running away,” I said.

  She pursed her lips, considering my prediction. “No,” she said, “I will never regret leaving Chicago.”

  I couldn’t go straight home that evening. I walked a block up to one of the two local Japanese grocery stores where we bought tofu, shoyu, miso and our splendid rice, not to mention regular American foodstuffs like mayonnaise and spaghetti. I loved how neat and orderly the store was. Rows of soup cans stacked on one shelf; canned tomatoes on another.

  “Can I help you with anything, Aki?” The proprietor, Fred Toguri, had a full-length white apron hanging from his neck. I knew that it was almost closing time and I didn’t want to cause any inconvenience, especially since I was there to be distracted and not to buy any groceries.

  “Nope, but thank you,” I called out, scurrying to the exit.

  Fake-shopping in the pristine store would not erase my predicament. I had hung on to the hope that the truth would eventually be revealed, but now the two women who could testify to the crimes they experienced and witnessed were leaving Chicago. Art had told me that it was not my business. He was wrong.

  I stood in front of the Chicago Avenue police station; my body had brought me there before I had decided where I was going. My legs took me up the steps and then to the counter, where there was no line.

  “Sergeant Graves, please,” I said to the officer manning the desk. He was a younger man I had never seen before. After asking for my name, he got on the phone without giving me any grief.

  Within a few minutes, the trim figure of Sergeant Graves appeared in the hallway. He was one person of authority in Chicago who seemed both capable and compassionate. “Miss Ito. Are you here to give me the name of the witness?”

  My chest tightened. “I wanted to let you know that there’s been another rape.”

  The sergeant’s face softened. “When did this happen?”

  “This was on the South Side. She’s only a high-school student.”

  “The South Side is out of my jurisdiction.”

  “But you can still help.” My voice assumed a pleading tone. At this point, I didn’t have any more energy to mask my desperation.

  “Of course.” He took out a notebook. “What’s her name and address?”

  “Uh—” I hesitated. I didn’t know Betty and Elaine’s last name. Or their exact street address. And even if I did, I would be substantiating Marge’s accusation that we Ito sisters were spies. “I don’t know if they will cooperate with the police. And they may leave town.”

  Sergeant Graves flipped his notebook closed. “That’s quite unfortunate. But not unusual in cases like these. We can’t do anything based on hearsay or rumors.”

  “Yes, of course.” I felt so foolish. I was like the little boy who cried wolf. One day the wolf would arrive on my doorstep and there wouldn’t be anyone to help me.

  That Saturday, Art and I were to meet for lunch at the same diner near the candy company where I’d first met Roy back in May. Everything that had once seemed new and quaint was now routine. I pocketed the Milk Duds that were given to me at the door, ordered a cup of coffee, and without even looking at the menu, asked for the meatloaf.

  Art was especially quiet during our meal and I immediately knew that something was wrong. Afterward, we drove out to Thirty-First Street Beach, like usual. But after he parked, Art didn’t hold me close to him. He even had a hard time looking at me. “Listen, Aki, I didn’t know how to tell you—”

  My heart pounded. He’s going to break it off, I thought. I didn’t know what had gone wrong, but something obviously had. Maybe he found out about my visit to the police station?

  “I can explain—” I said.

  “I got my draft papers.”

  I felt like I had fallen in a deep and dark well. I was completely blindsided by Art’s announcement and it took me a moment to regain my voice.

  “When do you have to go?”

  “I have basic training in two weeks in Camp Shelby.”

  I had been around enough Nisei men to know that the army gave more advance notice than that.

  “How long have you known?” Hot tears came to my eyes and I folded my arms tight to my chest.

  Art didn’t answer my question. “I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could without this hanging over our heads,” he explained.

  “I bet you did.” All those romantic evenings by the lake. He wanted to see how far he could get and then toodle-oo.

  “No, no, it’s not that.”

  I felt like a fool. Deceived, like Roy’s discarded girlfriends. I looked in my purse for a handkerchief or tissue to wipe my tears, but there was nothing.

  “No, Aki. I’m head over heels for you, don’t you know? I’m a goner.” He struggled with his pants pocket and brought out a small box. “I’m in love with you. I want to marry you.”

  Chapter 19

  I didn’t say yes or no.

  I sat there, my mouth wide open, staring at the engagement ring stuck in a white velvet insert in a blue ring box. As it was still late afternoon, the sunlight flickered through the truck windows, spreading a kaleidoscope of colors from the diamond. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Well, Aki, what do you think?”

  A part of me felt that we barely kne
w each other. That I didn’t think I was ready to get married. But on the other hand, I knew that I had never met anyone like Art Nakasone and if I didn’t say yes, I would lose him forever.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  His whole body relaxed and I heard a rush of air being released from his lungs. Had he doubted what my answer would be?

  I told him, though, I couldn’t run off and get married tomorrow at the county courthouse. “It wouldn’t be right,” I said, knowing full well that Nisei women were doing it all the time.

  I was able to convince him to keep our engagement a secret, which was a great relief. I still needed to wrap my own mind around it, never mind dealing with other people’s opinions. His parents, our friends, Nancy and Phillis, and especially my parents—they all would be over the moon. I didn’t want their predictable excitement to eclipse my own.

  I had to tell Pop and Mom that Art was drafted, of course—news that crushed my mother. “What a shame. Just when everything is going so well for you two.” Mom washed rice in a pot in the sink before cooking it. Pop, who sat at our table, didn’t seem that concerned. In fact, lately he seemed so disconnected from us that I could barely recognize him as the same father I knew in Tropico.

  I was happiest when I was by myself in the apartment, wearing the ring and admiring its sparkle. Art and I would be a married couple someday. We would build a future together and have children. I didn’t let my mind wander to the darkest possibility: that he might not return alive. That prospect was too unbearable to consider.

  Understanding that we were entering into a serious commitment and that our time together was limited, we stopped going to Nisei socials and dances. Why waste time listening to other people’s silly stories? We wanted to spend every moment together when I wasn’t working. We had more rendezvous in the truck late at night. One evening, with his trousers unzipped and my bra unfastened, we were interrupted by a police officer tapping the car window with the end of his billy club. Flushed by both lust and embarrassment, we immediately released each other, flinging ourselves into opposite ends of the truck’s cab. After pulling up his zipper, Art started the engine and drove me home.

  I made an appointment at the Beauty Box for the day before Art was going to leave. Later that evening we were going to stay in a hotel room on Wabash Avenue in the South Loop, and I wanted to look my best for our encounter. The last time Peggy had cut my hair in a simple bob for a Fourth of July picnic. This time I mentioned that I wanted a look like Lana Turner’s.

  “Ooooh, Lana.” The tall man wearing a dress had walked into the Beauty Box and bent down to study my face in the mirror on the wall. “I can see it, definitely.”

  “Georgina, I’ll get to you in a minute,” Peggy said. I was mystified by how casually they spoke to each other. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond and remained quiet in my shampoo smock.

  Georgina sat in the chair right next to me. “I’ve seen you all around Clark and Division. All those Nisei boys going gaga over you.”

  I was confused. Georgina had never acknowledged me before, and I certainly hadn’t had anyone—well, outside of Art—show any interest in me. I tried to compose a witty retort, but my tongue was tied up in knots. And I wasn’t quite sure whether to refer to Georgina as a “he” or a “she.” Peggy cleared it up by saying, “Don’t take her seriously, Aki.”

  “Aki? What a perfectly charming name. Does it have a special meaning?”

  I could hardly get the word out. “Autumn.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Autumn,” I said louder.

  “Autumn! And look, here we are in September. It’s your season.”

  “Stop teasing her,” Peggy said as she finished putting the last large roller in my hair. “She’s a good Nisei girl.”

  If only Peggy knew the truth.

  “Georgina is an entertainer up on Clark Street.”

  “I’m a dancer.” Georgina stretched out her long legs, which were meticulously shaven. “And Miss Peggy makes sure I’m pretty.”

  As Peggy led me to one of her two domed hair dryers, the Nisei man who worked at the hotel registration desk entered the beauty shop wheeling a large box on a dolly.

  “Oh, Keizo, thank you for bringing that in. I’ve been waiting for this delivery,” Peggy said. She told Keizo to leave the box in the corner and as he lifted it from the dolly, the muscles in his forearms bulged.

  “Grrrr.” Georgina practically growled, apparently responding to Keizo’s fit build. He had a wide chest like a football player’s and curly hair—probably natural—that put my hair to shame. Keizo didn’t seem to appreciate Georgina’s attention and visibly scowled, delighting the dancer to no end.

  I enjoyed watching this interplay under the safety of the hair dryer. The hum of the fan insulated me. I liked feeling invisible at times, but before he left, Keizo gave me a second look. Perhaps I was on my way to looking like Lana Turner?

  When I walked to our meeting place outside of the Hotel Roosevelt, Art was already there and let out a low whistle. Not only was my hair newly styled but I had purchased a tight red dress from Goldblatt’s. The cost of the hotel room came out of my paycheck since Art didn’t have a job outside of his father’s business, but Art was the one who went in and gave the money to the hotel clerk. I sat in the lobby and when Art entered the elevator, I followed but stood on the other side. It was exciting to pretend that we were strangers. We exchanged sly looks behind the elevator operator, but I had a feeling that he knew exactly what was going on.

  Art unlocked the hotel room door and I quickly went in behind him. I didn’t have a chance to look around because he lifted me up in his arms and took me over to the bed. “Close the curtains,” I told Art, and as he darkened the room, I stripped down to my slip, carelessly throwing my new dress onto the ground. I wanted Art now. I wanted him inside of me and for us to be together like we had never been before.

  We had sex twice. The first time was awkward and somewhat painful, but the second time was slow and rhythmic. I felt that we were speaking without words. He had brought condoms and knew how to put them on, so he had obviously done it before. I didn’t want to ask for any details because he was leaving tomorrow, and I didn’t want our final conversation to be marked with any kind of conflict or misunderstanding.

  As we both lay on the bed naked, I put my head on his shoulder and he grasped my arm and then hand. “Hey, you’re wearing the ring,” he exclaimed. “When did you put that on?”

  “I put it on in the lobby,” I told him. “Because I was going to meet my husband.”

  I hated to have to go to the train station the next morning to say goodbye. There were too many farewells in my life and I was starting to feel superstitious. If I showed up for Art, would I be the albatross that he would carry overseas?

  “We’ll get married as soon as I’m on leave,” he whispered in my ear. “But you’ll write to me, right?” We embraced and kissed in front of Art’s parents, Lois and Aunt Eunice. His family was crying, as was I. After he got into his train car, I blew my nose in my handkerchief. Eunice was doing the same in hers, making a loud honk like a goose’s. Our eyes met and we laughed in spite of the sad situation. She linked arms with me as we walked away from the platform. “He’ll be okay,” she assured me. “Make sure you take care of that ring.”

  I stopped, amazed. Eunice knew about our engagement. I thought we had promised not to tell anyone else.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Eunice pressed her index finger to her closed lips. She then said, “Where do you think he got the ring?”

  The ring had been hers. Ren Nakasone had proposed to her with that ring thirty years ago. It was hard for me to imagine an Issei man marrying a hakujin woman in 1914. That was during World War I and Ren had been drafted, too, into the US Army even though he was a Japanese immigrant. He was supposed to gain American citizenship for his
military service, but because of some bureaucratic bungling, that promise hadn’t come through.

  “I’ll treasure it,” I told Eunice, and she ruffled my hair as we went our separate ways.

  When I arrived home, my mother had already completed her cleaning job at the barbershop. She now had three other customers, all conveniently located around Clark and Division, so she had purchased her own cleaning equipment—a bucket with wheels, mop, and broom. Sometimes when I walked in the neighborhood, I’d see her coming my way, her hair tied back in a kerchief and an apron over her dress. I’d feel so distressed that it had come to this—my proud mother, wife to a former produce market manager, had been reduced to being a house cleaner. Her acceptance of her new lot in life was as heroic as it could get. Years later, I would finally understand she had done it without complaint for the sake of our family. Today, however, I was only feeling annoyed by her inquiries.

  “Did he talk about marriage?” my mother asked in Japanese.

  “Mom, he’s getting ready to put his life on the line for our country. It’s not the time to talk about that.”

  Mom looked wounded by my harsh reaction. Feeling bad, I offered to make her some coffee and pancakes. Pancakes had the power to improve almost every situation, if only for a few hours.

  With Art gone and Tomi preparing to leave, I felt rootless again. Every time I seemed to regain footing, the ground below me moved. Both Nancy and Phillis were extra accommodating at work, bringing me treats from home like oranges and peanut drop cookies.

  I sent letters to Art every other day at first. I could pour my heart out in those letters, tell him how much I missed him. But since I had stopped going to dances, there wasn’t much else to report on my end. Several days had passed when Nancy cornered me before I left work.