‘Lion’s Head comin’ up,’ called the driver. Ann thought she could spot a group of low buildings in the distance. She wondered if Wanda really wanted to see her. Oh, she had said yes in a letter. But there was a tightness in the language, a vague embarrassment. Ann recalled that spring morning last year when they had seen Wanda off to camp. Moira was right then, Wanda could be so private. Was she blundering into Wanda’s world now? Would she be just another burden?
‘You a teacher?’ he asked, swerving the bus left.
‘No,’ she said and opened the book on her lap. Why was she being so unfriendly? He was probably just bored and lonely. She was going to encounter a lot of her own loneliness on this trip.
‘You with the Authority then?’
‘Pardon me?’ She tried to perk up, searching his face in the rearview mirror. Fifty maybe, with greying straw hair and a tired face, except for electric blue eyes. ‘What’s “The Authority”?’
‘Oh.’ His voice fell. It was his turn at the rearview mirror and he scrutinized her before answering. ‘The War Relocation Authority,’ he said more loudly.
‘No,’ she repeated, staring at the barbed wire encircling a settlement of plain, makeshift quarters. High in his sentry box, about 2 yards from the gate, a soldier paced with a rifle.
Wanda and her sister Betty waved from the opposite side of the fence. Ann smiled and waved back. Wanda looked pretty much the same, though thinner. Betty was a completely different person, 3 inches taller, more of a young lady now, as Papa would say. What a place to grow up, Ann thought, then pushed the idea to the back of her mind.
The bus stopped abruptly, reminding Ann this was not a movie. She was meant to get off. The visit began here. Now. She climbed down to the desert.
‘Paying a social call?’ inquired the driver as he hauled out her bags from beneath the bus.
Ann made sure she had all her luggage. She faced him squarely and saw that he was both curious and hostile, but more of the former. ‘Visiting old friends,’ she said. He nodded, perhaps satisfied.
A guard helped her drag the cases inside the gate. Ann worried the bags might rip. They had a long way to go. And so did she, she reminded herself, focusing on her old friend, who approached shyly. They were both reserved women and Ann had a sudden longing for Teddy and Moira, who could start the hugging without self-consciousness. She closed her eyes and put her arms around Wanda, shocked at the bony embrace.
‘How are you?’
Wanda’s voice, Ann registered. Had the desert done something to her? She had felt disembodied all morning. ‘Fine, fine, and you?’ The voice sounded vacant and, remembering it was her own voice, she reached for Betty and drew her into a hug. ‘How is my young friend?’
‘Fine,’ the girl answered. ‘Welcome.’
Ann and Wanda regarded each other. They smiled — at the absurdity of being welcomed to prison, at the comfort of finding each other again — at what, they didn’t know — but it was good to be together.
Mrs Nakatani was pouring water into the tea pot when they arrived at the barracks. Wanda and Betty bustled Ann’s bags behind a partition, then set out cups and plates. Highly sensitive about intruding in this cramped space, Ann could not look at her friends. Instead, she walked over to the door and considered the grim camp. She watched two women walk by slowly, carrying heavy baskets of laundry. All the women seemed to be wearing slacks. A man was sawing wood near the flagpole. Her eyes shimmied up the pole, over the roofs, above the armed sentry, beyond the lift of distant hills and into the wide spring sky. An American flag hung limp in the still air.
‘Sit, sit.’ Mrs Nakatani seemed to remember her.
Ann was struck by how this last year had brought her together with people in sudden intimacies and strange constellations. Who would she meet in England? Would she wind up sleeping with strangers in the subways if the Germans started bombing London again?
‘Good heavens, yes, Annie.’ Wanda returned to the common room. ‘You must be exhausted after that journey. Sit down and let’s have some of Mama’s special tea.’
They all conspired to pass the following days as if Ann were a cousin visiting country relatives. The tea parties were particularly festive. Aside from a few wry comments about ‘The Authority’, their time was spent catching up with gossip from Stockton Street and dealing with the daily routines of Lion’s Head. Ann met Howard’s fiancée, Carolyn Sasaki, and the three girls talked excitedly about next month’s wedding. Wanda apologized for the cramped conditions, for Ann’s bed being separated by a thin curtain from the common room where she slept with her mother and Betty. Ann, in turn, apologized for evicting Howard to the Watanabes’ place in the next barracks. Soon she understood how much the Nakatanis were protecting her, embarrassed by what her people had done to them and nervous about her presence.
The second night, as Ann tried to fall asleep, she was trailed by the number 99899 which the Nakatanis had put on everything of value, the family number, the code by which the government identified them. All over again, she saw how thin Wanda had become and heard her friend’s protests that she would eat when she had grown used to the food and the climate. But you’ve been here for months, Ann had retorted. Wanda had replied that there were more serious worries, like Mama. Now Ann could hear Mrs Nakatani coughing in the dark — a deep, hollow cough that she associated with people who were being eaten alive by tuberculosis. In between the spells of coughing, Ann recalled old radio broadcasts. Roosevelt and MacArthur predicting American victories. Walter Lippman demanding the internment of the dangerous Japanese. Gabriel Heater making his ‘good news’ reports. Jack Benny cheering up Papa.
The evening before Ann left, Wanda took her to the far side of camp to watch the sunset.
‘You’ll like this, being an old romantic.’ Wanda smiled. She watched doubt play over Ann’s mouth. ‘Don’t you think you’re idealistic? I mean of the four of us, you’ve always had the greatest ambitions.’
Ann kicked a stone down the dirt road. ‘What about Moira? Wanting to be Jean Harlow is a lot more romantic than learning Latin.’
‘But what’s she doing now? Making ships — wearing a hard hat and overalls to work every day.’
‘The war detours people,’ Ann said sharply. Then, looking around the barracks, ‘Oh, I’m sorry …’
‘Forget it. Listen, you’re going off to Europe to help kids. What’s that if not romantic?’
‘Desperate, perhaps. And according to Papa, selfish. Maybe reckless, stupid.’ Ann was distracted now by a dramatic mountain range in the distance — 10 miles, 50 miles — she had lost all sense of perspective. Ann had always pictured deserts as voluptuous, white, sandy places. But here the desert was pocked with bleak shrubs and tufts of grass and malevolent cactus. Here the desert spelled emptiness.
‘Here we are.’ With her walking stick, Wanda pointed to a bench fashioned from two logs.
Ann nodded approvingly and sat down. What a relief to be alone with Wanda for a few minutes, away from the rest of the people in camp. It was such a schizophrenic experience — being isolated in this wasteland, packed together with people so closely that you almost lost track of your own smell.
Everything was impromptu here, from the furniture to the entertainment. Wanda had told her about the hobby show and the sumo wrestling and the talent evenings and how eager people were for these diversions from the grim reality of this ‘temporary refuge’. Ann couldn’t believe the government was still using language like that. She wondered how ‘temporary’ it was. For even after the war, how many people could return to their former lives? Already there was talk about their farms disappearing. What would happen to Wanda’s family?
‘Beautiful,’ Wanda sighed. ‘I love that mountain.’
For a moment Ann was lost again in the view. Then her eyes caught the barbed wire. She could see nothing beyond the rusty coils and the tiny, mean spikes. She ima
gined the spikes piercing the blue sky, with blood dribbling at their feet.
‘We call it “Central Park West”. Roy made the bench. We come here as often as we can.’
‘I can see why.’ Ann was back on the mountain range now, inconsolably saddened by the closing sky.
‘They’ve joined up, you know.’
‘Who?’ Ann didn’t want to talk. But they must. This would be their last private time for God knew how many years. She moved down the mountain, across the desert, through the barbed wire. She heard a sudden rustle. ‘What’s that?’
‘Lizard. She’s been watching us for 10 minutes,’ said Wanda. ‘Don’t worry.’ She touched Ann’s wrist. ‘The rattlers don’t usually come into camp.’
Ann, who hadn’t thought about rattlers since her sixth grade science class, regarded Wanda with new respect. ‘Who’s joining what?’
‘Howard and Roy. The army.’
Ann’s jaw dropped.
‘Well, this is yet another opportunity for “the Japs” to prove their allegiance. Send their boys off to fight the Germans and the Italians.’
‘While you stay behind,’ she pointed to the spikes, ‘barbed wire!’ Ann watched Wanda’s cold, set face. No wonder the girl was harder than when she left San Francisco. Suddenly Ann felt another sliver of Wanda’s resentment. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Of course Wanda would never say this.
‘Yes, while they keep the rest of us safely locked up.’ Wanda twisted her walking stick into the dirt. She had lied about the rattlers. Someone was struck just two weeks before. She always carried a large stick when she came to the edge of camp.
Ann slept in a pub near the docks her first night in England. She had intended to go straight to London and write Moira an aerogram from Piccadilly Circus. But by the time she passed through customs, the sky was dark. So she followed the purser’s suggestion and found her way to the Opera Box, a small pub on the edge of town.
The public bar was noisy, crowded and thick with smoke. Thirty seconds passed before she understood she was the only woman in the room and that most of the flushed, stubble-jawed men were staring at her. An old man seated alone with his newspaper rose to take her elbow. ‘This way, luv, the ladies’ saloon is this way.’
‘Ah, old John’s got himself a girl.’
‘Hey, Johnny boy, where are you two going?’
‘Hang about John.’
‘Don’t mind ’em, Miss,’ the old man said, picking up two of her cases. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Oh, don’t please,’ she said, trying to pull back her bags.
‘A Yank.’ He was surprised and then glanced over to the silhouette of the new ship in port. ‘Brave of you to join the party. Mind if I ask why?’
‘I’ve come to work with Jewish refugee children,’ she said and stopped at the blind lowering over his blue eyes.
‘Here you go, Miss.’ His tone was more formal now — or was he perhaps just straining over the din? This bar was as noisy as the other, but the pitch of voices was higher since it was filled with women.
‘Got a customer for you, Mae, from America!’ He patted Ann’s shoulder. ‘Best of luck, now.’
Mae, a broad, competent woman, directed her to a bedroom downstairs in the rear. Despite noise from both saloons, she fell asleep within minutes. Her weary, seasick body was in England; her uneasy dreams visited Papa and Wanda and Moira and Teddy. How was the garden on Stockton Street? Would the beans be up yet? Fragments of conversation with Mama came and went, for even in her sleep Ann found it hard to let her thoughts rest on Mama. Back in the kitchen, arguing with Papa about the trip, about going to business school, about … when the bell sounded. A raid! She sat up. They had told her there was a shelter 500 yards to the rear. The bell again. Bell, not siren.
‘Mornin’, Miss.’ A hardy woman’s voice came through the door. ‘You up and about now?’
‘Yes,’ Ann called, sounding to herself like a six year old.
‘You did ask for an early call, Miss?’
‘Yes, yes, thank you.’ She was more awake now, but still scared. Everything seemed strange and she was filled with wariness about rockets and rattlers.
‘Breakfast in the saloon bar, soon’s you’re up for it.’
‘I’ll be right there.’ Finally she recognized the voice of the big woman who had greeted her so warmly last night.
‘No hurry, luv, take your time.’
But she was in a hurry, to shake this panic, to get to London and to start being useful after all these wasted weeks of travel. Besides, she thought she felt a little hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the second day of the voyage. After that she had only been able to ingest rubber cheese and stale crackers and seltzer water. From the looseness of her skirts, she guessed she had lost 5 pounds. Ann thought about her bony hug from Wanda and her last visit with Mama, wasting away in the hospital.
Seated in the corner of the pub, Ann regarded an egg floating in fat, a shrivelled lump of black pudding and fried bread. She tried to mask her disappointment.
‘Best we can offer. With the rations and all, this was a bit of a fuss,’ said Mae.
‘Looks good.’ Ann stared at the plate, speculating where to begin. What had she got herself into? Why wasn’t she home on Stockton Street? What lay ahead of her among these English people with their strange accents and pale skin? She thought of Daniel and Mama and Wanda and cut off a corner of the bread.
‘Take milk in your tea, luv?’
‘Coff …’ Ann began, quickly recognizing that the only pot in the room contained tea. ‘Yes, please, with milk, thank you very much.’
By the time Mae returned with the milk, Ann managed an experimental nibble of egg and had finished the bread.
The Englishwoman poured the stewed tea. ‘That’s it. Eat up, luv. You’ll need your strength.’
Chapter Sixteen
Fall 1943, San Francisco
ALLIES LAND IN NAPLES
ITALIANS DECLARE WAR ON GERMANY
JAPANESE DECLARE FILIPINO INDEPENDENCE
CHIANG KAI-SHEK, ROOSEVELT AND CHURCHILL MEET IN CAIRO
MOIRA FELT the house was getting larger and larger, swollen, yet cramped. She watched Teddy writing another letter to Wanda or Ann. It would be to Wanda because Teddy had mailed a letter with airmail stripes yesterday. Teddy was completely absorbed, her fair brows knitted tightly as she chewed her pen. Moira considered that, although her friend was slow with words, she persisted. Persistence was one of her talents.
‘Less than two weeks after the Allies entered Naples,’ Moira listened to the radio half-heartedly, ‘Italy has declared war on the Nazis.’
Moira tried to concentrate, to find security in the deep, authoritative voice, but she was levitated by ghosts. Wanda and Ann had left their traces throughout the house, particularly in the living room and dining room. Alternately, Moira wanted to remove the traces — like the tablecloth Ann’s mother had embroidered and the clock Wanda had presented to the girls the day she moved in — or she wanted to meditate on these relics. Yes, she should do something constructive like writing letters rather than wallow in her loneliness and grief. It wasn’t as if they were dead. She hadn’t lost anyone in this war, not her father who was too old to fight; not Randy, who was safe, knock wood, in the Pacific. Wanda and Ann wouldn’t be in danger. Well, Ann should be careful, but by now the only German business in Britain was reconnaissance flights to check out military installations. It looked as if the war were approaching a new stage with the Allies growing more aggressive. Still, she wasn’t counting on anything.
Teddy glanced from the letter and caught Moira’s expression. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, just missing people.’
‘Me too.’
Moira smiled. Teddy would never admonish her, never say, get off your duff and do something. Sometimes she wished Teddy were a littl
e more critical. After years of her own exhortative mother, Moira never thought that she would ask anyone for criticism, but occasionally Teddy was too accommodating.
Teddy returned to her writing and Moira considered how quiet the house had been since their friends left. She knew she should get out more — do another USO show or volunteer at Oak Knoll Hospital. Her excuse was the shipyard. She thought of how exhausted she had been coming home yesterday. She sat in the back seat with her hard hat over her face to block out the sounds of the other people in her carpool who were so cheerful that it was Saturday. She felt more than fatigue; she was horribly depressed. Teddy was busy with her family and the extra war bonds work and the evenings with Dawn and Sandra. At the very least Moira knew she should be checking for new room-mate possibilities at the yard. Mr Minelli had told them to forget Wanda’s rent; he was so ashamed of the internment, saving her room was the least he could do. But now without Ann’s monthly cheque, it was hard on him. Mr Minelli expected a replacement soon. Moira knew this task was up to her — and why not, Teddy did a lot of other things for the house. She switched off the radio. She promised herself not to disturb Teddy’s serenity.
‘You writing to Wanda?’ Moira asked suddenly.
‘Yes.’ Teddy emerged with reluctance.
‘Well, how’s she doing?’
Teddy looked at her curiously. ‘You read her letter to me over supper last night.’
‘Sorry. I guess I’ve been kind of distracted about work. Do you think I should try to get transferred from the plate shop? There are other jobs I can do with welding experience. At first I liked it there because it was easy to cut and mark the plates and assemble them. But an outdoor job would probably be healthier. After a while, the smoke and squeal of the machines gets to you. Sometimes it’s hard to hear properly until after supper.’
All Good Women Page 20