Reunion

by Jacqueline Pearce

  “Quick!” Mitsu said as she held open the door. We darted through into the steamy warmth of the bathhouse.

  The room was small with a large square wooden bath in the center and benches next to the walls. The bath was heated by a wood fire outside under the room. We took off our clothes and placed them on one of the benches. I laid my bracelet carefully on top of my clothes. We washed and rinsed off using wooden basins that had been set out, then stepped up to the big tub. Mitsu climbed in first, then I lowered myself slowly into the hot steaming water. I sighed happily as the water rose up to my neck. The bath wasn’t big enough for swimming, but we splashed and paddled from one corner to another. Soon the water was swirling around like a whirlpool with the two of us caught in the current.

  Afterwards, I walked home, fingering the round smooth shape of the beads on my bracelet. My feet echoed hollowly on the boardwalk as I passed the dark houses. Muffled voices and sounds drifted out. Above the rooftops and the few tall trees that still stood around the village, the sky was a deep purple pricked by tiny points of light. In the distance, the mill hummed and clanked reassuringly. It was hard to believe that, somewhere out there, people were fighting a war.

  Chapter Seven

  In Trouble

  The next day was Saturday. I woke up and saw that Pritam was still asleep in the bed beside me. The house was quiet. My dad would have been up and gone to work hours ago, but where were Mata and Nanjo? I dressed quietly and went out to the kitchen. From the porch at the back of the house came the churning sound of the wringer washing machine and the voices of my mother and little brother. His babyish voice was high and demanding, while my mom’s answer was as deep and rhythmic as the washer.

  On the kitchen table was a plate of leftover rotis and a loaf of store bread. I cut myself a slice of bread and spread on a thick layer of blackberry jam, remembering the day at the end of the summer when Mitsu and I and some of the other girls had gone berry picking. We’d hitched a ride on the locomotive engine that took the loggers into the forest each day. The locie, as we called it, dropped us off up in the forest outside of camp. We’d picked berries all day, laughing and talking so that the time sped by. That evening, we’d returned home tired, juice-stained and with lard pails full of the small wild blackberries and even some blueberries.

  “Oh, good. You’re up,” my mom said, coming into the kitchen. Nanjo was wiggling in her arms.

  “Down, down, down,” he cried, reaching for the floor.

  “You can watch Nanjo while I hang the clothes on the line,” my mom told me as she set Nanjo on the floor.

  When she went back out to the porch, Nanjo began to cry, reaching his chubby arms after her.

  Sticking the last piece of bread in my mouth, I went to the cupboard, pulled out a big steel pot and a wooden spoon and placed the pot upside down on the floor between Nanjo’s legs.

  “Watch this, Nanjo,” I said, smiling at him and banging the spoon on the pot a few times. He stopped crying at once, grabbed hold of the spoon and began to beat the pot himself.

  I sliced myself another piece of bread and spread it with jam, thinking about when Mitsu had found the first blueberry bush. She’d smiled her mischievous smile and thrown the berries up, one at a time, catching them in her mouth as they fell.

  I held up my arm and admired the bracelet Mitsu had given me. When I twisted my hand, the beads plunked against each other like berries falling into a pail. What could I give to Mitsu in return? Perhaps my yellow silk chewnee that Mitsu had admired. No, the scarf was new, and my mom would be angry if I gave it away. Maybe I could pick some spring wildflowers. The trilliums and tiger lilies would be out now. I could walk out along the railroad tracks.

  “Jasminder!”

  I looked up. My mother stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her face dark.

  “Where is Nanjo?” she demanded. “Didn’t I ask you to watch him?”

  “He’s right — ” I pointed to the floor, then stopped. Nanjo was nowhere in sight.

  “I don’t know,” I finished. “He was right there a minute ago.”

  “Well, find him now!” my mother ordered, her voice rising.

  I jumped up, and we began searching in cupboards and under chairs.

  “How can you be so thoughtless?” my mother scolded me as we searched. “You can’t even watch your own little brother right under your nose.”

  “I only looked away for a minute,” I protested. My mother made it sound like I hadn’t been watching him at all. But I was sure I hadn’t been distracted that long. I opened a tall cupboard and caught a wooden broom handle as it fell toward me. The metal bathtub crouched on the cupboard floor, but no little boy peered up at me. Where could he be?

  “Good morning!” Pritam’s cheerful voice broke through the growing panic in the kitchen. She stood in the doorway holding a smiling, dimpled Nanjo.

  “Nanjo!” my mother and I cried out.

  “He crawled right into my room,” Pritam told us. “Isn’t he a good boy?”

  My mom hurried over to take Nanjo in her arms.

  “So, you can crawl now,” she cooed, her face pressed up to his. Pritam leaned over to tickle under Nanjo’s chin. He giggled.

  “What a little man you are,” Pritam told him.

  My mom and sister both acted as if Nanjo had just done the most wonderful thing. I sighed. At least they seemed to have forgotten about me.

  A soft knock on the kitchen door interrupted my thoughts. Mitsu’s face peered around the corner. I smiled. Now I’d have an excuse to get away.

  “Good morning,” Mitsu said in a small polite voice. She held a square tin toward my mother.

  “I thought your family might like some rice balls,” Mitsu explained. “I helped make them this morning.” My mother beamed.

  “How nice!” she said, taking the tin from Mitsu. She turned to me and whispered, “You see how she helps her mother.”

  I groaned inside. Mitsu’s timing was not good.

  My mom placed the tin on the kitchen table, and she and Pritam opened the lid to admire the balls of sticky rice inside.

  Mitsu moved closer to me.

  “Do you want to go to the store with me?” she whispered. “My mom gave me a dime to buy a loaf of bread. That leaves one cent left over for candy.”

  “That sounds great!” I whispered back.

  “You are not going anywhere!” my mother announced, turning her attention back to me. “Not until you help me make pakoras to bring to Mitsu’s family.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it.

  “I guess I’ll see you later,” I told Mitsu.

  “Sorry,” Mitsu whispered as she slipped out the door.

  Chapter Eight

  The Bowl

  “That Mitsu is such a nice girl,” my mother said as I passed her balls of dough mixed with vegetables to place into the pot of hot oil waiting on the stove.

  I wiped my sweaty forehead with my sleeve and tried to blow the loose hair away from my eyes. Why did Mitsu have to bring over rice balls today of all days? My mother thought Mitsu was so perfect. I was tempted to tell her that it was Mitsu who’d played the shoe trick the summer before at the Jor Malla. The Jor Malla was a festival that Mr. Mayo, the sawmill owner, put on every July. It had games and food, and people came from all around. It always started with readings from the Sikh holy book. When the Sikh people were in the temple with their shoes left out on the porch, Mitsu and Tom had snuck up and mixed up all the shoes. I’d thought it was pretty funny watching everyone try to find the right shoes afterward, but my mother had not.

  Finally, three bowls on the kitchen table were filled with golden brown pakoras. I took a pakora in my fingers and blew on it. Then, I popped it into my mouth and savored the spicy mix of potatoes, peas and crispy dough.

  “Take this one over to Mitsu’s house,” my mother directed. She pushed a large brown crockery bowl full of steaming pakoras across the table toward me and placed a cloth over it.
r />   “And don’t break the bowl!” she added.

  I left the house, grumbling to myself. Of course I wasn’t going to break the bowl. I wasn’t that clumsy. My mom didn’t seem to care about my feelings any more at all.

  At the first corner, I paused to adjust my grip. The bowl was feeling heavier, and my arms were aching. Muffled laughter and footsteps sounded on the boardwalk ahead. I looked up, but couldn’t see anyone. It must be some kids playing around the corner, I thought.

  What was Mitsu doing right now? I wondered. Had she gone to play with kids at the school field or at someone else’s house? I couldn’t hear the sound of any kids, but I did hear something. I stopped and listened for a moment. What had I heard? A dog or a cat maybe — under the boardwalk? I walked on again.

  Suddenly, one of my ankles caught on something. My foot stopped, but the rest of my body kept going. As I fell forward, the heavy bowl slipped from my fingers and seemed to fly for a moment in slow motion.

  “Noooooo!” I cried, reaching after it.

  I brought my hands down just in time to stop myself from landing flat on my face. The bowl crashed down in front of me, landing on its side with a terrible cracking sound. The cloth flew off into the muddy road, followed by most of the pakoras.

  Stunned, I sat up and stared at the bowl and the pakoras lying in the mud. This couldn’t be happening! It couldn’t. What was I going to say to my mother? I covered my face with my hands and was about to give in to tears, when I heard something.

  I looked back at the spot where my foot had caught. Nothing. Something was odd, though, a shadow of movement between the boards. Then, muffled laughter erupted from right under the boardwalk and two boys rolled out and fumbled to their feet.

  “I told you I’d get you, Jasminder Mohan!” Peter said, pointing at me and laughing.

  “You . . . you grabbed my foot!” I stammered. I stood up, feeling my face fill with anger. The boys took a step backward. I clenched my fists and stepped toward them. They took another step away.

  “What are you going to do, Jas?” Peter taunted.

  I moved toward Peter, but he and the other boy turned and ran down the boardwalk. “You can’t get us! You can’t get us!” they chanted.

  I ran a few steps after them, then stopped. I was never going to catch them now. And what if I did? I closed my fists tighter, digging my fingernails into my palms, and turned back to the cracked bowl, still lying on its side.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” It was Mitsu. She walked up to me, her eyes taking in the retreating boys and the fallen bowl.

  “What happened?” she asked again.

  I turned on her.

  “This is all your fault!” I said, pointing an accusing finger at her.

  Mitsu took a step back. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the one who pushed Peter! You’re the one who brought the rice balls!”

  “But I didn’t mean . . .” Mitsu began.

  “You think you’re so perfect,” I went on. My anger tumbled out like water over river rapids, churning and twisting out of control.

  “Jas, stop it,” Mitsu said. “I’ll help you pick things up. It’ll be okay.”

  Mitsu bent down to begin gathering up the scattered pakoras.

  Tears stung the back of my eyes. I pushed her away.

  “I don’t need your help!” I said sharply.

  Mitsu stood up and placed her hands on her hips.

  “You’re supposed to be my friend, Jas,” she said matter-of-factly, but there was hurt in her voice. “If you’re not going to act like one, I want my bracelet back.”

  “Fine!” I said. With one sudden movement, I tore the bracelet off my wrist. Too late, I remembered the clasp. The bracelet caught for a moment on the width of my hand. Then it gave. The red beads flew from the broken string, bouncing with tiny plops over the boardwalk and off into the mud.

  Mitsu burst into tears, turned and ran.

  “Mitsu!” I called. The shock of my own action had stopped the flow of anger with a sudden, sickening bump.

  “I’m sorry!” I called after her. But Mitsu was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Enemies

  The next day was terrible. My mother was as angry about the broken bowl as I’d feared. She called me “clumsy” and “careless” and worse.

  My father said he could glue the bowl. But what about my friendship with Mitsu?

  On Monday, I walked by Mitsu’s house on the way to school, but Mitsu had already left. I could see her and Tom up ahead and considered running to catch up, but what would I say to them? How could I explain? Would Mitsu even listen to me?

  The whole day at school, Mitsu and I did not speak to each other. Whenever I looked over at her and our eyes met, she looked away.

  At recess a rumor spread through the school that Mounties had driven into Paldi. A boy had seen their police car from the school window. The other kids speculated eagerly about what the Mounties’ visit had been about, but I didn’t care. I looked across the school field where Mitsu was talking with a group of girls. Was she telling them how rotten I had been? Was she already looking for a new best friend?

  After school, I lagged behind the others. I couldn’t face Mitsu. My feet dragged along the boardwalk. When I turned the first corner, I could see kids gathering in front of a house. Someone had a ball, so I guessed a game of anti-anti-eye-over was about to begin. By the time I walked up to the house, the kids had divided into two teams.

  “Hey Jas!” someone called. “You can be on our side.”

  I hesitated. Then I saw Mitsu among the group that was moving toward the back of the house. Would I get a chance to talk to her if she played, or would she ignore me?

  “Hurry up!” the other kids called.

  I waved and jogged over to join them.

  “Anti-anti-eye-over!” the boy with the ball called as he flung the ball up over the roof of the house.

  The other kids on my team spread out, waiting for the team behind the house to catch the ball and begin running to the front with it. Suddenly, they were coming. Kids were appearing along both sides of the house. I looked from one to another, searching for a sign of the ball. But every one of the returning kids was pretending to hold it. Mitsu ran toward me. Her arms were clutched over her chest as if she was hiding something. Normally, I would have tried to grab her before she could get by, but Mitsu glared at me as if to say, “Don’t you dare touch me!” I stood frozen, and she streaked past.

  “We made it!” someone called out. The other team cheered, and my side groaned.

  “Who had the ball?” I asked a girl.

  “Mitsu,” the girl said.

  My team hurried to the back of the house, but I didn’t feel like running. Usually, anti-eye-over was fun, but today my heart wasn’t in the game. As I reached the corner of the house, I saw Mitsu’s brother, Tom, coming along the boardwalk.

  “Mitsu!” he called. “Mom and Dad want you to come home.”

  “But it’s not suppertime yet,” she objected.

  “This is serious,” he said. “They want to talk to us.”

  “What about?”

  Tom glanced around at the rest of us. Finally, he said, “The Mounties came to our house today. They said all the Japanese people have to leave.”

  “What do you mean?” Mitsu asked, frowning. The other kids around her had stopped to listen.

  “It’s true,” someone else said. “They put signs up on all the Japanese houses.”

  “It’s because Canada and Japan are at war,” Tom explained. “The government thinks we might be spies or something.”

  “Spies?” someone said. Another kid laughed.

  “That’s crazy!” said Mitsu.

  “The Mounties took Dad’s camera, our radio and all our maps,” Tom went on. “The government thinks we could use them to send information to Japan.”

  “But why would we do that?” Mitsu said. “We’re Canadian, not Japanese.”

  Tom shr
ugged. His face was red, and his eyes looked shiny, as if he might cry. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Just come!” he said, tugging at her sleeve.

  Mitsu let herself be pulled away. She looked as if she thought this was another one of Tom’s jokes. I stared after them.

  “Hey!” someone called from the back of the house. “What’s going on? Are you going to throw the ball or not?”

  A face peered around the corner.

  “What’s taking you so long, Jas? Aren’t you playing?”

  I watched Mitsu and Tom disappear around the corner along the boardwalk.

  “No,” I said, turning back to the game. “I think I better go home.”

  Chapter Ten

  Gone!

  At supper that night, I told my parents what I’d heard.

  “Don’t worry,” my dad said. “Mr. Mayo will speak to the Mounties. He’ll tell them that everyone here can be trusted. No one will be taken away.”

  At the words “taken away”, a heavy feeling crept into my stomach, but my dad’s words were reassuring.

  Of course the Japanese people in Paldi were not dangerous. The Mounties would see that. Mitsu’s mother was born in Canada. Her father had been here since he was a boy. Mitsu and Tom were born here. They were just as Canadian as anyone else.

  The next morning I was up early. I got dressed, packed my school bag, wrapped a roti around some cold vegetables to eat on the way, and rushed out of the house. I couldn’t wait any longer to apologize to Mitsu. I had to do it this morning. Then everything could get back to normal.

  I hurried along the boardwalk. The thud of my feet on the wood planks echoed dully back at me. When I reached Mitsu’s house, I slowed down. A white paper was tacked to the front door. The spring breeze lifted it slightly as I walked up to it. Notice of evacuation, it said.

  I knocked on the door. Would Mitsu listen to me? I waited, but no one answered. I knocked again. A door opened across the street, and I turned to see the mother of one of the kids at school looking at me.

  “They’re gone,” the woman said. “Buses came at six o’clock this morning to take them away.” The woman shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe her own words. “They’re all gone,” she said again.