by Karin Tanabe
“Wait!” one of the American soldiers called to Emi when she was a few yards away. He brought her a bag, heavy with provisions, and told her they’d be looking for her again. “A Jap . . . a Japanese girl who speaks English and German. You should work for us,” he said, helping her steady the cloth bag on her thin arms.
I’ll never work for you, she thought, holding the food tight to her chest and thanking him.
* * *
Emi and her parents had spoken by phone in September, with the help of the Swiss delegation, and they had decided that it would be best for Emi to stay in Karuizawa until there was a home for her to come back to. They were living in a very small government-provided apartment that survived the bombing and fire. Because there wasn’t much of Tokyo left, they decided Emi would be happier with the Moris.
They promised to write, to call if they could, and Emi smiled at the prospect of letters. The small pieces of paper that had held her together for so many years—finally, they would be hers again.
She received a thick envelope from her father in November, when the leaves of Karuizawa turned to blazing colors. She supposed they had looked like that every year, but she didn’t notice such things in 1944. Now she could finally look up.
When she reached the lake, she sat on a rock, surprised to see the silver tail of a fish right below the surface of the clear water. How strange, she thought, to not have to dive in to get it. Jiro was getting much stronger with the help of the Americans and their food, no longer confined to his futon, and even Ayumi’s daughter had started school again, having missed an entire year. And somehow, Emi had become a person who enjoyed the countryside.
She pulled out the letter. She expected to see her father’s large handwriting, but instead, the letter was in English, and it wasn’t addressed to her, but to her father, Norio Kato.
Dear Mr. Kato,
I am holding my breath that this letter arrives to you safely as I have addressed it to the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs rather than your home address. In March, we heard about the terrible bombing of Tokyo, one of many it seems, and have prayed daily for your and your family’s safety. I am hoping that no news is good news and that you have all survived the war, as we have, thanks to your incredible kindness. For the rest of our lives, we will be so very thankful for your aid in helping us flee Vienna.
I know from Leo’s attempts to communicate with Emi that the mail system hasn’t been kind to them, but I’m hoping, now that the war is over, that our letters will reach each other.
Though we are ready to leave China, we will be remaining in Shanghai until we have passage on a boat to the United States. We don’t plan on staying forever—Leo is adamant about eventually returning to Austria—but for now, it is the safest option, we’ve been told.
Of all of us, I never would have thought that Leo would be the one to almost lose his life during these difficult times, but such was the case. In 1943, he engaged in a fight with a German officer and was hospitalized for a month. He still has limited lung capacity and has lost sight entirely in his right eye. I know that compared to other families, our loss is insignificant, but it was a very trying time for us.
A woman he had become acquainted with through his work in Shanghai, a German girl named Agatha Huber, nursed Leo back to health. Much to our surprise (and I think to his, too), they became romantically involved. They were married recently and are expecting a baby in November. I hope Emi will forgive Leo for not writing to tell her himself, but I think writing that letter would have broken him. I don’t doubt that he still very much loves your daughter, but he does love Agatha, too, and I believe they will be happy together.
The war turned the world upside down for Leo, but I know Emi’s guiding hand, as his first love, his best friend in Vienna, will always be with him. Please give her our best and send us your news when you are able to. I have enclosed the address of an establishment called Liwei’s. It is best to send letters there, as there is at least a chance over zero that we will receive them.
May God be with you,
Max Hartmann
Emi held the letter so tightly that she ripped the edge of the paper. Leo was alive. He was alive, but he had been severely injured. Emi thought of his beautiful green eyes and closed her own. She wanted to dwell on the pain he’d endured, about how he’d fought a German officer to the point of being hospitalized for a month. He, who was so skilled at letting the hate, the abuse, not affect him. But instead, all she could focus on was that Leo was marrying someone else, and having a baby with her that very month. She had lost Leo years ago, she knew that. But she never thought it would end this way, with him married, a father.
She folded the piece of paper, put it back in the envelope, and walked toward town. The letter from Leo that she’d been so desperate for, for so many years, had just put out the remaining lights of her childhood, extinguishing the Emi Kato that had existed before the war. Somehow, it was time for her to discover someone new.
* * *
By 1946, Emi had been to Tokyo and back, had seen the ash and debris that had once been her house, and had returned to Karuizawa to make herself as useful as she could be, without working for the Americans. They had approached her again, but she had agreed to volunteer in the medical clinic instead, returning to her white uniform, just as she had worn daily in Crystal City.
She still thought of Leo often. He hadn’t waited for “what might have been” but had just forged on with his life instead. She didn’t know if she was angry with him or angry at herself, but she knew that she needed that anger to diminish and that keeping busy helped.
When she was in America, she had gone on. She had found Christian. But now, even he, lost somewhere in the world, felt very long ago.
So instead of love, memories, or the past to keep her company, Emi threw herself into her present. Japan didn’t need scared girls playing the piano or stealing food anymore; it needed to be pieced back together. So that’s what Emi did, everything she’d been taught in Texas, by the underpaid doctors, coming back to her in time.
“I told you this town is better when there’s no war,” said Claire one evening when she was picking up Emi after work. “It’s starting to feel like it used to,” she said. “You should think about staying, even after your parents’ house is rebuilt. You’re what, twenty-four now? Maybe it’s time you didn’t share a roof with Kato-san. Or the Moris,” she added.
“You may have a point,” said Emi, linking her arm with Claire’s.
When they got to the Mampei Hotel, which had slowly become a regular hotel again, instead of a makeshift group embassy, Ayumi was waiting out front. She waved excitedly to them both, a piece of paper in her hand.
“There is an American soldier looking for you,” she said to Emi.
“An American soldier?” said Emi with a frown. “I’ve said so many times already that I have no interest working for them.”
“I don’t think it’s one of them,” said Ayumi, who was finally, like all the women, wearing something other than monpe. “This one, I haven’t seen him here before.” She put the letter she was holding in Emi’s hand and said, “He gave me this to give to you. I insisted that I knew you, that I would get it to you.”
Emi looked down at the letter. It had been sent by her father, but addressed to her in Crystal City.
“What was his name?” she said, her heart sprinting ahead of her tongue. “Ayumi,” she said grabbing her arm. “Did he tell you?”
“Christian Lange,” Ayumi said smiling, as Emi’s expression changed to elation. “Does that mean something to you?”
“To say the least,” said Emi, not able to hold back her tears.
“If he means that much to you,” said Ayumi, “then I might as well tell you that he said he’d wait for you—for the next year if he had to. I don’t know where he went exactly, but I suggested he head to Hatsue Saga’s tea shop. Now that they have tea again.”
Emi dried her face and ran off, stopping halfway to
the ginza when she realized that she hadn’t even read the letter. It had certainly never reached her in Crystal City. She turned the envelope around to remove the paper and noticed that something had been written on the back of the envelope in English:
You sounded very much in love in your last letter, Emiko-chan. And I will never be the one to criticize you falling for an American. I am, after all, the one who brought you there. Despite the geography of Japan, the world is not an island.
Since you asked in your last letter, I’m still doing just fine, though the house is silent without you. It misses you very much, just like I do. I will write more soon, but I just wanted you to know that even the architecture is longing to see you.
She pulled out the actual letter, sure that she had never uttered a word about Christian to her father, and saw that it was much shorter. All it said was:
I’m still doing just fine, though the house is silent without you. It misses you very much, just like I do. I will write more soon, but I just wanted you to know that even the architecture is longing to see you.
Emi didn’t understand the discrepancy in translation, but she sensed that somehow, it had gotten Christian to Karuizawa. And looking at the return address, which was her father’s office, Norio Kato had now lent a hand.
She closed her eyes, clutching the letter tightly, completely overwhelmed by the fact that Christian was here. She had desperately wanted to see him alive, to see him two years older. Had his face changed? Had he been injured? How had he escaped Germany?
When Emi reached the ginza, she began to run in her nurse’s uniform, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She walked into Hatsue Saga’s tea shop, hoping he would be there, but it was almost empty. She was afraid that if she kept moving, she would miss him completely, so she took a seat at the window. She ordered a cup of tea and took her hair down so it looked the way it had in Crystal City.
After her tea was drained to just the torn leaves, a food delivery truck, which had been partially blocking her view since she sat down, drove off. She put her cup on the table and stared out the window, her body and face moving toward the cold glass.
There stood Christian Lange. Still arrestingly handsome, and alive.
He was standing across the road in an American military uniform, watching a group of older Japanese women sitting on the stairs of Evgeni’s shop, talking and laughing, as if the memories of war were already far behind them. Christian took a few steps forward, as if he intended to approach them, but stopped when he was still several feet back and kept observing them instead.
His blond hair was short, and he had an Army cap and a heavy black wool overcoat on, but he still looked like Christian Lange from Crystal City, the boy from the orchard. Emi savored watching him, knowing that in a few seconds, her life would transform again, this time into something much better. She would know why he was in an American military uniform, not a German one, and how he had gotten from Crystal City, Texas, to Karuizawa, Japan.
She stood, put her hand against the glass window, leaving a smudge, and thought of what she had said to him in Crystal City. “Please come and find me.” Somehow, the world had aligned itself just right—if only for a fleeting moment—and he had.
Maybe they would talk all afternoon and then part ways forever. Perhaps they would see one another each day that he was in Japan. Or maybe, years from now, they would still be seeing each other, in very different circumstances. Happier circumstances.
The future. Their future, together or apart, it existed. They’d survived when the world had tried so hard to keep them from living. Now, tomorrow, the days ahead; they were wonderful things to dream about. She ran her hands over her hair, took his letter from her pocket, and stepped out the door, a silver bell clanging auspiciously against the glass as she called his name.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
An enormous thank you to my editor, Sarah Cantin, whose patience and gift with the red pen shaped this book. I’m so lucky to have her and her dazzling brain on my side. Also at Atria, a huge thank you to president and publisher Judith Curr, Tory Lowy, Haley Weaver, Tom Pitoniak, Donna Cheng, and Mark LaFlaur.
Bridget Matzie, my brilliant agent, knew early on that this book idea was a perfect fit for me. Bridget, thank you for constantly being two steps ahead and always championing the right idea.
Elizabeth Ward served as my first-draft editor, and her polishing prowess was critical to getting this book from very rough to ready for print.
Many thanks to my PR gurus Gilda Squire, Simone Cooper, and Rockelle Henderson.
I am forever indebted to Kari-Lynn Rockefeller, who read each draft and quelled my numerous panic attacks with her mastery of research.
Sarah Hager championed this story every step of the way. Sarah, you are always on the right side of history and the world is lucky to have you in it.
My parents and brother continue to support me through love, food, and sage advice, while my ever-patient husband, Craig Fischer, gives me life with his unwavering love and encouragement.
I could not have written about Karuizawa, Japan, in an authentic way without the help and generosity of our family friend Jean Mayer. Jean lived in Japan with her parents, Dr. Paul S. Mayer and Frances Mayer, and gave me access to a wonderful memoir written by her mother. The book beautifully chronicled the missionary family’s years in Japan, including their life in Karuizawa, and their repatriation trip back to the United States during the war.
Tom Haar, my father’s schoolmate at St. Joseph College in Yokohama, was also kind enough to share details about his fascinating life. Tom spent his war years in Karuizawa with his parents, Irene and Francis (like Tom, a celebrated photographer), and their accounts of the food shortages that crippled the town were essential to my research. Just before the Nazis arrived, his Hungarian parents fled Paris and emigrated to Japan. Their brave and unique experience was a tremendous inspiration.
My research was aided immensely by the following books: The Train to Crystal City by Jan Jarboe Russell, Somehow, We’ll Survive by George Sidline, Undue Process by Arnold Krammer, Shanghai Refuge by Ernest G. Heppner, An Uncommon Journey by Deborah Strobin and Ilie Wacs, and Bridge to the Sun by Gwen Terasaki. The musical Allegiance, the brainchild of actor and activist George Takei, helped spark the idea for the book and I’m grateful for all George does to remind Americans of the injustices of internment.
Lastly, I’d like to thank those who are no longer with us, but whose shared memories over several decades made The Diplomat’s Daughter come alive: Yeiichi “Kelly” Kuwayama, who served as a highly decorated medic in the 442nd Infantry Regiment and whom Senator Daniel Inouye credited for saving his life, and Mr. Kuwayama’s ever-elegant wife, Fumiko, who was a victim of internment. Also, Walter Minao Nishimura, grandfather to my dear friend Keisha Nishimura and father to Francis Nishimura, who was interned at Minidoka Relocation Center in Jerome, Idaho, and also served honorably in the 442nd. Let us hope that those difficult times in our history are never repeated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KARIN TANABE is the author of The Gilded Years, The Price of Inheritance, and The List. She is a former reporter for Politico, and her writing has also appeared in the Miami Herald, Chicago Tribune, Newsday, and the Washington Post. A graduate of Vassar College, Karin lives in Washington, DC. To learn more, visit KarinTanabe.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Karin Tanabe
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