For those who had known Yōgu, it was hard to believe that such a change could occur. Those who had only heard of Yōgu thought the tales told were false exaggerations. Befu, who did not know Yōgu in the early years, scoffed at the stories. He only remembered that Yōgu had shot his pistol and ridden his horse into our wedding party. “Why did he do that?” Befu asked out loud, checking to see Yōgu’s response. “Disrupted everything. The horse sat in the cake.” He laughed. “Eh, Kantaro, was it because of Haru?”
Befu and Kantaro looked at Yōgu carefully. Befu suggested that maybe Yōgu only pretended to be dumb. Kantaro said, “Do you really think that Yōgu liked Haru? All that time he was at the Okumuras with a thing for Haru? I wonder.”
Yōgu stared past Befu, past Kantaro. There was no recognition. Befu sneered, but Kantaro smiled. I shook my head. All this foolish talk so many years later. Men had nothing better to do.
At first, Kimi or her oldest daughter, Akiko, had to dress and feed Yōgu. It seemed strange to see Yōgu sitting patiently at the table in front of his food as if he had forgotten what it was that he should be doing there. Yōgu had also become incontinent, so Kimi fashioned large diapers for Yōgu. The diapers bulged under his clothing. Kimi had to watch Yōgu constantly because he might wander into mischief or danger. One day I found Yōgu opening a hot oven full of baking cakes. Another day, we spent all afternoon trying to get him out of the top branches of an avocado tree. Then there was the time he chased Befu’s prize hens out of their pens and scattered them into the vegetables. Befu was furious. We didn’t know what to do, so we all treated Yōgu like another child, always scolding, always instructing. This was probably good for him. After a while, he could take his diapers off and feed himself. The world was a new and strange place. Some days I saw Kantaro staring at his old friend and wondering. Maybe Kantaro missed the old Yōgu too.
One day, Ichiro Terada said, “Haru, I’m going into Santa Cruz with the truck. What do you need?” I had a list: a sack of salt, several of flour, cakes of soap and thread. Ichiro took the list and said, “Why don’t you come with me and get these things?” I didn’t usually go to Santa Cruz, but Ichiro liked to take me. He thought I would like a change. Ichiro was nice that way. He said, “Let’s take Yōgu with us too. Then Kimi can have a rest.”
Ichiro stopped the truck in front of Abdala’s store. Yōgu sat quietly between us, staring out onto the street. We got out and went into the store to talk to the old Turk. Kantaro said the old Turk was really not Turkish; he was Lebanese. Abdala didn’t like it, but everyone called him “the old Turk” anyway. Abdala was grumbling about something. “Outsiders,” he muttered. “Come here just to make trouble. Sons of prostitutes. I don’t give no credit to outsiders. No credit. Sons of—” When he saw me, he closed his mouth. Well, I can understand that much Portuguese, but he spoke to Ichiro, “Ichiro, your people I can trust, but these outsiders never come back. I got a family to feed.”
While we were inside, Hachiro Yōgu got out of the truck and wandered away. He must have been attracted to the sounds of laughter in the bar at the corner. A small crowd of afternoon customers were drinking and playing cards at the sidewalk tables. A man who was passing through town was talking loudly, impressing everyone with his outsider’s news. He saw Yōgu wandering toward the bar and pointed. “Now look at that. You’ve got a Japanese coming down the street. These are the people you gotta contend with I say. They’re all spies for the Japanese Imperial Army. You ever wonder why the Japanese work so hard? Working day and night. It’s because the Emperor has ordered it. They’re all working like little ants, having lots of children, thinking they are going to take over this place. I heard you got a whole colony of these people nearby. What are you doing about it? You gonna let these people quietly take over everything?” By this time the man was yelling these words directly at Yōgu. But Yōgu only smiled stupidly and walked over to look around the bar. He examined the tables and the people with curiosity. “These people should all be put in jail. Rounded up!” the man continued. “How can all of you sit here in the same bar with this scum?” The man approached Yōgu, now sitting silently at a table. “What do you have to say about that, eh, Japão?” the man shouted. Yōgu looked through the man and said nothing.
This created a great deal of amusement among the other people in the bar. “The Japanese are inscrutable. You won’t get a word out of this one!” they laughed.
This angered the man further. “You bastard! Son of a yellow bitch!”
Yōgu blinked and spat on the ground. To the man, this must have been the ultimate offense; he grabbed Yōgu by the shirt. This man was a large strong fellow, but at another time, I am sure that Yōgu would have killed him on the spot. Sadly, Yōgu did nothing to defend himself. The people in the bar, eager for some excitement, did not come to Yōgu’s rescue. Instead they passed bets around while the man pummeled Yōgu with his fists, throwing him onto the dirt road and kicking him again and again.
Ichiro saw the commotion in the street as he loaded the truck. From inside the store, I heard him yell something. The old Turk looked up from his books and muttered, “Trouble out there. Better go see.” Suddenly I remembered Yōgu. I ran out, the old Turk huffing behind. There he was curled up in the middle of the street, writhing in pain. A circle of hysterical drunken men caroused around his beating. Ichiro threw himself into the center, trying to pull the attacker away. The man looked crazy. He threw his big fist into Ichiro’s eye, and poor Ichiro fell backward into the crowd. Still, Ichiro was brave and pulled himself up, staggering blindly around. I saw the big brute coming at him again and yelled, “Ichiro! Watch out!” Suddenly, the man seemed to fall on his face. Someone pounced from the crowd and pinned the raging man to the ground.
A shot was sent into the air, and the crowd quickly dispersed. Abdala had sent for the Baiano’s deputies.
I tried to push my way into the crowd to get to Yōgu. He was folded in a sorry heap on the ground. I wanted to cry. Someone was picking Yōgu up from the ground, lifting him onto his strong young shoulders. Ichiro staggered forward to thank him. Then I recognized the sound of a familiar voice.
“Oh, Emiru,” Kantaro’s younger brother Saburo said, smiling in that old sarcastic manner of his. “What’s this mess you’ve gotten yourself into?”
CHAPTER 10:
Kachigumi
Yōgu’s beating in town caused a big commotion in Esperança. Although it was forbidden, everyone gathered at New World Ranch to protest. My father came to personally calm everyone down. “This is an isolated incident by an outsider. The Baiano has run the man out of town.” But everyone had heard about incidents much worse in other parts where Japanese homes had been looted and people beaten up and thrown into jail for no reason at all. There was that story about the man and his son shot to death by police. Everyone was afraid that these things would soon happen in Esperança as well. Some people thought that everyone should move into our place for protection, and people like Befu thought we should secretly train the men for defensive action.
My father was now in his sixties. My mother and I knew how hard he had worked over the last twenty years for Esperança. He was not just the director of the co-op; people came to him for advice about everything, about their lives and their beliefs. They sometimes also came to pray as well. My father was not a very talkative man, but when he talked, people listened. This time we heard him speak in his usual slow and deliberate manner, pausing to think carefully. He pleaded to the part of all of us that must be reasonable and Christian. These were difficult times for everyone, but these difficulties would not be resolved by panic or fear or hatred. Forsaking the ideals we had brought with us to settle this land would be the destruction of Esperança.
For the first time, my father was challenged; people grumbled unhappily about this being more of the same talk. People privately scoffed that Okumura could trust a man like the Baiano, and many people were angry that he had allowed the Baiano to participate in the cooperative. Some
people even said that he let the Baiano infiltrate our business. They said that they did not know when the Baiano might be taking over everything in Esperança; Okumura must be involved in something devious. Somehow people forgot that the war had forced this situation on us and that the Baiano had taken advantage of it. My mother and I saw my father stripped of his leadership and forced to run messages between the Baiano and the colonists of Esperança. It was an unfortunate situation, and we felt embarrassed to see my father fumbling helplessly for respect.
That day, Kantaro made a speech which moved many people to tears. Some people who had only wondered about moving to New World made their decision to join on this day. For Kantaro, this day was perhaps a turning point. Everyone, I think, remembers this speech. I listened to Kantaro, and I knew his energy. It was a powerful speech. He began with the hardships of our journey to Esperança and the sacrifice of my parents and the early families. He recalled the pride of our baseball days and how we worked and planted on virgin land. He reminded everyone that my father Okumura had sacrificed his life for Esperança. He said that he did not say these things just because Okumura was his father-in-law; he said them because they were the truth. He reminded everyone that it was Takeo Okumura who placed a little of the precious soil of Esperança in each of our hands, blessing the land and our arrival. The memory of these simple beginnings touched a soft spot in people’s hearts. How could they forget?
But then Kantaro continued to talk about other things, about our purpose in the war and the promise of Esperança. He said, “At New World Ranch, we have been quietly but industriously bringing together people for the great work ahead of us. We are experimenting in new technology and making new discoveries in the farming of poultry. New World Ranch is a progressive place, the farming of the future. The war has not stopped anything. That Yōgu has been beaten only demonstrates our need for stronger resolve. We cannot depend on the Baiano or anyone else for protection. We cannot call attention to ourselves, but we must be patient. When the time comes, we will be ready. The combined production of so many people of resolve is indeed formidable. Everywhere, people will have to recognize the dawning of a new day, a new era.” That was Kantaro’s speech. I remember that it made me feel both happy and sad—happy and proud for Kantaro, but sad for my father who had lost his place.
Kantaro said that when we came to this land, we were blessed with the freedom to create our own lives. This was a blessing from God, not to be squandered on small visions of the future. Kantaro said most immigrants thought only about returning to Japan, about their day-to-day survival. While they were busy thinking of the past, their lives passed them by. When I think about it, my life has passed me by as it has any other immigrant, living day to day—cooking, washing, feeding, sewing, planting, weeding. I have tried to think like Kantaro that I have been a part of something special, but every day, people want to eat at the same hour. Children need their diapers changed. Old people must take their medicine. The dirt comes in with muddy feet.
There was a long time when I could not sleep at night. I would lay in bed and stare into the dark. Every night it was the same—Kantaro snoring, me staring into the dark. One night I thought about it. I am a part of Kantaro’s dream; that is why he sleeps and I cannot. I got up and went into my garden. I worked there in the moonlight all night. I picked the snails off the leaves; I followed the ants and put poison in their hole. The next night, I slept all night. I never had this problem again, but I can never sleep very long. I always get up at dawn.
Saburo came back. It had been maybe ten years since he went away to Palma. He was over thirty now, and he was much heavier. It was that Latvian food. His broad shoulders had filled out, and now he looked more like Kantaro. He still had his old habit of wearing a cap. The one person who was truly happy to see Saburo was Ichiro Terada. They were always such good friends in childhood. Kantaro tried to show that he was happy to see Saburo, but he worried that Saburo had not changed. Maybe Saburo still could not get along with Kantaro.
One day after he arrived, I went to Saburo’s room with a basket of his clothing. All the shutters were closed; I didn’t think he would be there. With the slight light from the doorway, I could see a big mound humped up on the bed and covered by a heavy blanket. I could hear some noises and voices under that blanket, so I put the basket down quietly and left. I thought it was strange that Saburo’s room was always closed up, always dark and stuffy. Some days I went in to sweep it out and left the shutters open, but he always came back and closed them up tightly. Then one day, I saw Ichiro go into the room. He didn’t come out again. Although it was winter, it was an unusually hot day. What could they be doing together in a hot dark room in the middle of the day?
Finally, one day I went in with my basket and saw the same big covered mound on the bed. I turned to leave, but then I heard a funny scratching sound and muffled voices coming from under the blanket.
“What’s that she’s speaking?” whispered a voice.
“Spanish,” whispered another. “Weather’s cold in Buenos Aires.” There were more scratching sounds and a strange whistling noise.
“What’s that?”
“English.”
“How do you know?”
“Quiet . . . The Americans have taken Iwo Jima.”
“Iwo Jima?”
“I heard it this morning in French, out of Cambodia. Japan is losing the war.”
“Losing? What do you mean?” I blurted out despite myself.
Someone grumbled under the blanket, “Nuisance.” Then Saburo peeked out. “Haru, what are you doing here? Go away!” He hissed with bad humor.
“What are you doing under there?”
“Taking a nap!”
“At this hour? Who’s that with you?”
Saburo laughed, “Haru, you are still the same, aren’t you. Why do you want to get into other people’s business all the time?”
The voice still under the blanket said, “Let her see it, Sabu. Haru can be trusted.”
“Haru, you can be trusted not to talk?” Saburo broke out into laughter.
“What do you mean?” I said, trying to look angry, but I liked Saburo. “What is it you are hiding from me. You’d better show me, or I will tell everyone about finding you in the dark with—”
“Ichiro?” Saburo sneered.
Ichiro popped his sweaty head out, and Saburo pushed the blanket away. I saw the thing that made the strange noises: a shortwave radio. No Japanese could have one during the war. They thought we would spy with it. Saburo hid it under his bed and used the blanket to muffle the sounds. “I built it at Palma,” said Saburo. “Gustavo helped me. We had to listen to it in secret; if the wrong people found out, I’d have to give it up.” Saburo paused. “There are even people here in this place who would destroy this radio if they knew I know the truth about the war. Do you understand, Haru?”
I nodded. “What do you think I am?” I looked at Saburo. “How do you understand what’s on the radio anyway?”
“Sabu understands English and French,” Ichiro said.
“Everyone at Palma speaks several languages,” said Saburo. “Besides Latvian, they speak Russian and German. Some speak French and English, and others Scandinavian languages, Italian, and Spanish. I was teaching several people to speak Japanese, and in return, I got some lessons. And Spanish isn’t so different from Portuguese. I can’t understand everything, but I know enough to follow the war. I haven’t gone anywhere, but through that box,” Saburo pointed, “the world has come to me.”
I felt a strange happiness for Saburo. I had never heard him speak with such enthusiasm. Kantaro once said that Saburo did not have enthusiasm for anything, that he did not have passion or love. Even Jiro had passion and love, he said. How could a man live without these feelings? Kantaro did not know about Saburo’s happiness. I felt sad about this, but I had promised not to tell anyone about the radio. I could not tell Kantaro.
Later, we all heard that Saburo discovered that Japan ha
d lost the war. One day, Saburo flung away the heavy blankets that hushed those strange foreign voices. All during the war, the radio was Saburo’s constant companion. In this way, I think, he traveled great distances. On that day, sweat must have covered his face while he listened to his radio under the warm blankets. The air would be cold outside. He had heard the Emperor talking in his strange language to the people. The war was over. Outside, we all heard the thunder of fireworks, lighting the sky over Santa Cruz, but only Saburo knew what the celebration was all about.
No one really knows why it was, but it was at that moment when the war ended that it began for the Japanese in Brazil. It seems impossible that so many of us could believe that the war did not end, that Japan was still fighting, that Japan was winning the war, or that Japan won the war. I have heard that there are still Japanese here who insist that Japan won the war. There is that man Fujii who wouldn’t let his daughter marry into a family who did not believe the same. Kantaro said that maybe it is because Fujii feels it is about his honor. Fujii cannot declare such a defeat openly. It would be an act of betrayal, a loss of heart. It might seem impossible that someone could continue to stubbornly believe a falsehood, so it must be a question of honor. But then, some others have traveled to Japan. They say that Japan has a bullet train that travels two hundred miles an hour. They make cameras, cars, televisions. No one is hungry in Japan; they are rich and comfortable. How could such a country have been defeated?
Kantaro said that our New World Ranch was neutral, but outside our farm, people became divided, divided between those who believed that Japan was still fighting or had won the war and those who accepted the defeat. Those who believed in victory were called kachigumi and those who believed in defeat were called makegumi. Among the kachigumi, there was a very secret society of men who called themselves the Shindo Renmei. The Shindo Renmei formed death squads and sent out threatening messages to people who were said to be makegumi. We heard that bombs had exploded from packages left for unsuspecting victims. A few people were gunned down in their homes. Men whose lives were threatened sent their families away and slept at night behind barred doors with pistols beneath their pillows. No matter what people believed, everyone remained quiet, fearing to say anything in public. No one felt they could trust anyone. Who might be listening? Who might misinterpret what you said? Suddenly the violence and bloodshed of a war we had not known was at our very doorsteps.
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