Neither one of us shed a tear. My mother said nothing about the gun. We remained quiet in different rooms, listening to the splashing of water in the bathroom as my father made himself clean.
I didn’t leave the apartment until late afternoon the next day. My parents both had called in sick and stayed in bed, exhausted from the trauma of the day before. My mother had chipped away at our extra block of ice to create a cold compress for Pop’s sore shoulder. At around four, I rode on a bus that took me directly to the county morgue, where Pop and I had gone when we first had arrived in Chicago.
It was almost official closing time and most of the clerical workers were preparing to leave for the day.
The coroner was sitting at his desk, the stacks of manila folders standing even higher around him like inebriated sentries. I knocked on the frame of the open doorway. He looked up, his blue eyes still as arresting as I remembered from months ago.
“Oh, Miss Ito.” He spoke as if he had been expecting me to appear in his office.
“Did you leave a revised coroner’s report at our door this week?” I stood in the middle of the doorway, my hands on my hips.
The coroner readjusted his reading glasses. “I had one of our staff members hand deliver it.”
“There’s nothing about the abortion in there.”
“I didn’t think that you wanted it. That’s what the police officer told me. He had been hounding me for a while to remove it and finally when he visited me a few days ago, I reconsidered and amended it.”
Why would the police be concerned about such a detail?
“What police officer?”
“Sergeant Graves of the East Chicago Avenue precinct. He told me he was making the request on your family’s behalf.”
It was rush hour when I took the bus from the morgue to Clark and Division. I didn’t have a place to sit, and stood elbow to elbow with some secretaries. It had been weeks since I had seen Sergeant Graves with his clean-cut haircut and faint freckles dotting his skin. He had expressed empathy for our plight as Japanese American resettlers. He had stopped Officer Trionfo from verbally attacking me. He always seemed open to listen to my plight. But why was he now interfering and removing all mention of Rose’s abortion? Why had he lied to the coroner and said that he was doing it on our behalf? It didn’t seem like an accident that this had occurred about the time the abortion clinic was being raided.
My parents were in bed when I arrived home. They must have awakened to eat supper because there was a fresh sandwich left on the table. And a piece of mail addressed to me from Mississippi.
I took the letter, the sandwich and a chair out to the hallway. I liked sitting there the best because I could look out the window and see the skyline. It was already dark, but at least the tops of other apartments were visible, the illuminated windows and silhouettes of moving bodies, providing evidence that life existed outside of our building.
I ate half of the sandwich before putting the plate down on the floor and wiping my fingers clean. I carefully opened the envelope, imagining Art’s tongue licking the seal. Art was more expressive in his writing than in person, and I could see why he was training to be a journalist.
Dear Darling,
I haven’t heard from you in a few days, so I am dropping you a quick line to see how you are doing.
Mississippi is finally more comfortable. The temperatures are in the seventies now, so not that different than Chicago.
A new man took the bed next to me. His last name is Funabashi, but he looks as white as he can be. His mother is Irish and I told him about Aunt Eunice. He’s from New Jersey. His brother was in the army before the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and the higher-ups didn’t know what to do with him until the 100th Battalion formed with the Nisei in Hawaii.
Since we both weren’t in camp or from Hawaii, we are both outsiders. Some of the other Nisei don’t know quite how to take us, but we like it that way.
On the bed on the other side is a Nisei who spent most of his life in Okinawa. Get this—he was drafted into the Japanese army while he was on a boat back to America. He was drafted by two enemy countries! He doesn’t speak English all that well, but we somehow can understand each other. He has a big, blocky body. I’m sure he’ll end up holding the Browning. (That’s a machine gun.)
It’s strange to think that we are all segregated together, as if we shouldn’t be with the white men. We are as different from each other as we are the same. Anyway, I shouldn’t go too far with this because I don’t want to be censored.
Please write when you get a chance. I want to know what you’ve been up to.
Love you madly.
Yours truly,
Art
I refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope. I was storing each of Art’s letters in an old cigar box that Pop had brought home from Aloha. Beside them was the locket holding the sand from our first real date, and the returned bail money. I knew that I had to get my engagement ring back as soon as possible. The pawnshop wouldn’t release my ring without my consent, but there wasn’t much I really trusted about the businesses in the red-light district of Clark Street.
I walked up Clark Street, this time hoping to run into Georgina and her friends. I wasn’t scared of Georgina anymore, especially now that I knew her name.
It was probably too early for the dancers to be out on the street, because all I saw were hakujin gamblers scurrying to get a bite to eat before another night of card-playing.
The pawnshop was still open, its show window filled with watches and jewelry displayed on black felt-covered stands. I cringed as I looked for my engagement ring. Thankfully, it wasn’t among these baubles for sale. My ring should be safely stored behind the counter.
As I entered the narrow shop, a bell rang from the top of a door. The pawnbroker, chewing on his supper, entered from the back room.
“I want my ring back.” I opened up my purse, plucked my claim ticket from an interior pocket, and brought out the envelope full of bail money and Roy’s twenty dollars to cover the interest.
The broker looked surprised, as if this didn’t happen very often.
After the exchange was made, I strutted home with the ring on my finger, thinking about Art the entire time. I owed him a letter and wondered what I should share with him. Could he accept me for who I really was?
Chapter 26
Art must have also written to his family to ask them to check on me, because in a couple of days, I received a phone call from Lois.
“We want to have you over for Sunday supper,” she told me. I could hear the twittering of the parakeet in the background. “It’s nothing special, only tuna casserole.”
Since we didn’t have an oven, tuna casserole sounded heavenly.
When I arrived, it was like coming home to my extended family, not because I really knew them—this was only my third time coming to their house, after all—but because they were all happy to see me. I didn’t have to prove how pretty or brilliant I was. Aki Ito herself was good enough for them. That’s why I debated whether to reveal my recent activities to them. I wanted to remain in their good graces, but their impression of me was based on falsehoods. I was so tired of the fact that much of our existence had been erased. Our house in Tropico. Pop’s job. Our daily lives revolving around the produce market and the Japanese community in Southern California. If I was going to continue in this world, I had to hold on to pieces of reality, no matter how disturbing they might be.
I was seated at the head of the table, while Mr. Nakasone sat across from me on the side closer to the kitchen. Mrs. Nakasone, wearing the same flowered apron as before, was on her husband’s left while Eunice sat between us. Lois, her long hair styled in two braids, was on my left. We spoke about Art’s weight loss and the Nisei he was meeting through basic training. Nothing, however, about when he would be deployed into the combat zone. None of us dar
ed to state it out loud.
“We had some excitement in the neighborhood,” Aunt Eunice said, changing the subject. The skin all around her eyes was papery thin, like folded tissue paper. Her hair was a frizzled gray and tied back in a bun. “They arrested the Nisei stick-up man.”
I took a quick gulp of water, causing some to drip down the sides of my mouth. I quickly dabbed my face with a napkin.
Mrs. Nakasone shifted in her chair as if she hoped that this turn in the conversation would soon be over.
“He was coming out of a liquor store on South Parkway. I think that the police had been following him. They nabbed him right after he purchased a pack of Camels.”
“How would you know, Auntie?” Lois asked.
“I have friends in high places. The criminal’s name is Manjiro or something like that.”
I felt my throat close and feared that my heart would stop right there at the Nakasones’ dinner table. If Manju was indeed arrested for the robbery, wouldn’t someone remember that a Nisei woman fitting my description had recently gone into Blossom to talk to him?
“Haven’t seen anything in the newspaper,” Mr. Nakasone commented in Japanese, casting doubt on Eunice’s story.
“Maybe the police have bigger fish to fry.” Aunt Eunice had an answer for everything.
News of the arrest made my stomach turn. I tried to continue eating, but all I ended up doing was moving my casserole from one side of the plate to another. I couldn’t keep quiet one minute more. “I want you to know that I’m not who you think I am.”
The whole Nakasone clan stopped eating and stared at me.
“I’m not a nice girl. And Art doesn’t even know.”
Aunt Eunice’s milky eyes intently followed mine as I spoke.
“I held a gun on a Nisei man. A man I’m pretty sure attacked my sister when she was alive. I think that he might have been the one who hurt Betty, too. I was ready to kill him.”
I felt that the air had temporarily left the room.
“But I didn’t. I’m ashamed that I didn’t. And I’m ashamed that I confronted him like that. I didn’t know what else to do. The police weren’t going to do a thing.”
“What happened to him?” Mrs. Nakasone said.
“He ran off. I checked where he worked, the Mark Twain Hotel and Booth’s Ice. He’s called in sick.”
“Maybe he won’t come back,” Lois said hopefully. That was wishful thinking. But if he wasn’t in Chicago, he was somewhere else, ready to break into some other woman’s apartment.
“I hope that he doesn’t try to retaliate in some way,” Mrs. Nakasone said.
“I don’t think he will. My father made sure of that.” I didn’t get into the gruesome details.
I knew that they were all curious about the gun. I didn’t know how to explain it, so I decided to say nothing unless asked.
“I’m glad that our Art is dating a fighter,” Mrs. Nakasone declared.
Mr. Nakasone returned to eating and grunted.
We sat in silence eating the last bit of casserole. The noodles stuck in my throat and I could barely swallow. Was this the end of my association with the Nakasone family?
Mrs. Nakasone and Lois started to remove the dirty plates and I got up to join them, but Aunt Eunice held on to my wrist. “You stay,” she commanded. Her grip was strong, especially for an older woman, and I dared not disobey. Mr. Nakasone, meanwhile, retreated to his kingdom of Japanese foodstuffs in the other room.
“Art doesn’t know any of this?”
I shook my head.
“He has no idea how tormented you are about your sister’s death.”
I winced. It was almost painful to hear those words spoken out loud, but it was true.
“You know Ren and I had no children, don’t you?”
I couldn’t respond either way because I had never really thought about it.
“Art and Lois are like my children, too. I know them like the back of my hand.” Aunt Eunice’s breath smelled fishy from the tuna casserole. “I know something about marriage, too. When you have no children, you get to know your spouse, because there is nobody else. We had a hard time of it. Ren’s parents back in Japan didn’t approve. My parents didn’t approve. So we were on our own. We had to learn to talk to each other. Even though Ren’s English was terrible.”
I stifled a laugh out of respect of her solemn tone.
“Marriage is very, very difficult, Aki. I don’t know how it is for your parents. I don’t know what they have taught you.”
Mom never said anything to me about those kinds of relationships. I only got the message that divorce was scandalous, based on my mother and her Issei friends’ reactions when a Japanese couple’s marriage dissolved.
“My mother had an arranged marriage,” I explained. “I don’t think she really understands how it works in America.” From the kitchen sounded the clatter of dishes and cups being washed.
“Well, then, you are going to have to lead the way. If you really love Art—and I’m assuming you do—you have to tell him what is going on in that head of yours.”
I looked down at my hands in my lap. I never considered saying how I felt about things. How could I, when I always seemed to be grasping in the darkness to understand where I stood?
“I’ll give Art back your ring,” I said softly.
Aunt Eunice tightened her grip around my wrist. “This is what I’m talking about. Don’t make rash decisions. Open up your heart. Open your mouth. Write him a letter.” She then released me and called out to Mrs. Nakasone in the kitchen. “I thought we were having apple crumble for dessert.”
We did have the crumble, along with some coffee. After making my confession, I felt much lighter and even held Polly, the white poodle, in my lap while Lois stroked the cat, Crockett. Duke sat right next to me, waiting for a scrap of food to drop onto the ground. Would life someday feel this carefree all the time? It seemed surreal and out of reach, but I was thankful to enter this world from time to time, to remind me of what could be.
The sun had gone down, so it was time for me to leave. As I moved toward the door, the whole family congregated around me to say goodbye.
“Hai.” Mr. Nakasone handed me a package of dried squid. “For your fatha.”
Mrs. Nakasone gave me a hug. “It’ll be all right. You and your family have been through so much. Don’t try to solve all your problems on your own. You can talk to us. Really, you can.”
Lois walked me out to the screened porch with Duke and Polly following her. Crockett emerged doing figure eights in between Lois’s legs.
“Do you really think the same man hurt Betty across the street?”
“I’m not sure,” I told her. “He could have.”
“They moved to the farm that the candy man opened up.”
I remembered that Roy had mentioned that his employer had a potato farm in an area called Marengo near the Wisconsin border. I hoped that Betty would find peace there, but I also knew that you couldn’t run from tragedy, no matter how hard you tried.
I walked out of the Nakasone house feeling liberated. I hadn’t realized how my secrets related to finding Rose’s killer had been weighing me down. Art’s family seemed so empathetic, but I didn’t know how Art would take it. He probably would feel guilty that he was hundreds of miles away. He wouldn’t be able to save the day.
Down the street, the brownstone with the small front yard beckoned me. I walked down to gaze at the yard, which was full of weeds and dandelions. The entryway was neat and swept clean of dirt and leaves. I unlatched the low metal gate and approached the door. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she and her family kicked me out.
I pressed the doorbell once; I heard its piercing ring. No one answered immediately and I took that as my sign to leave. As I turned, I heard the door open. “Hello.” It was a black woman about my mot
her’s age. She wore oval glasses and had a slight overbite like Phillis had.
“Hello, I’m Aki Ito. I used to work with Phillis at the Newberry.”
“Oh, yes, you’re the Nisei girl. I’m Phillis’s mother.”
I was surprised to hear Mrs. Davis use the term Nisei instead of Japanese.
“Is Phillis here? I was visiting the Nakasones up the street and thought I’d stop by.”
“Come in, dear.” Mrs. Davis led me into an elegant living room with a thick maroon carpet and ornate furniture that made me think of the Elizabethan times. There was a big cross on the wall, in addition to a portrait of a young black man in uniform, who I assumed was Phillis’s brother.
She had me sit on one of the chairs, which made me feel like a queen on her throne, and called Phillis to come to the sitting room.
“Aki.” Phillis descended a staircase made of dark wood. As usual, I couldn’t tell if she was happy to see me or not.
“Would you girls like something to drink?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine. I had supper at the Nakasone house,” I said.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone.” Mrs. Davis excused herself and went up the stairs.
Phillis assumed a seat on the couch, which had the same lion’s paw feet as the chair. Her hair was back in victory rolls, except now she had many instead of two.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
“You’re probably surprised that I’m here.” The room had a strong perfumy smell that was starting to overwhelm my senses.
“I am.” Phillis wasn’t the type to wrap anything in shiny paper. It would be best if I was straightforward.
I clutched the wooden armrests. “I miss you and Nancy. I don’t have many friends.” I only had one, Hisako, and I wasn’t sure where she was.
Sitting erect on the couch, Phillis continued to look at me without much reaction. It was always difficult to determine how she was feeling. “We’ve missed you, too,” she said in a mechanical fashion, as if she were typing the words. “Come back to work. Nancy talks about you all the time. She told her family all about what happened to your sister and, well, everyone understands why you wanted to go see that doctor.”
Clark and Division Page 24