by Vincent Yee
There was moment of hesitation from Aiko, “Yes?”
“Go to sleep, leave it alone. It’s best.”
Aiko wasn’t sure how to respond and simply replied with, “Good night Dad.” She heard her father hang up the phone as it went eerily silent. Aiko looked at her phone for a moment before putting it down on the coffee table. She stared off into the direction of the kitchen, her eyes glazed over as they reflected the dim light from the living room light fixture. She was at a loss with the realization as her eyes swept the room. Everything was quiet, even the furniture seemed to be quietly sleeping. It was close to 2 A.M.
Aiko refocused and brought her eyes back to Joey’s drawing. It was the innocent drawing that made her so curious, that revealed the family dishonor. In the dim light, it made the drawing almost more real, putting the scene into a world of darkness as men desperately fought one another. It was a reality that she could not imagine herself in, but it was a reality for many people sixty years before her time. Her eyes rested on the body of her grandfather. His chest splattered with crayon crimson red. Aiko closed her eyes and gently massaged them with her fingers. Then she recalled that Joey had said his grandfather had lost his best friend in the war.
If her grandfather, the accused deserter, were Joey’s grandfather’s best friend, would he really take the time to tell his grandchild about it? Dishonor was a very serious issue in Japanese American culture. If someone did something dishonorable, it would shame the family, and friends would also distance themselves. So why would Joey’s grandfather still refer to her grandfather as his best friend?
She arched her head back as her hair swayed backwards and closed her eyes again. She then brought her gaze back onto the drawing and decided that there was more to the drawing. She would talk to Joey on Monday morning, she thought. But first, she would do the one thing her father would not approve of. She would call her grandmother. Her grandmother may not know the truth, since she wasn’t in the war, but at least Aiko might get a hint of what kind of man her grandfather was. With that, she gently placed the drawing above the photo album. She let out a sigh and headed off to her bedroom.
The next morning, Aiko woke up and headed to her favorite café. With her mocha latte simmering beside her, along with her barely-touched Danish, she surfed the Web for everything she could find on the Japanese American army regiment her grandfather was part of, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team.
The initial search yielded limited results, reinforcing the fact that the Japanese American experience was a mere footnote in American history. Aiko was disappointed, but she began to diligently click on each link.
One of the sites had a mere picture of a soldier standing outside an army barrack. It was a family web site, created by another grandchild to remember his grandfather. It was Aiko’s first real picture of someone who served in the 442nd. Did he know her grandfather? She wondered. The third web site yielded more information, chronologically detailing the entire contribution of Japanese American men in World War II. Her eyes widened as she began her first self-education of her grandfather’s past.
The plight of the Japanese Americans started on December 7, 1941 with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Through Executive Order 9066, signed by then-President Roosevelt, 120,000 Japanese Americans on the west coast, of which 80,000 were American born, were corralled and relocated to ten internment camps, euphemistically called relocation centers. She was surprised to learn that another group of Japanese American soldiers had actually preceded the 442nd. It was the 100th battalion. It consisted of Japanese American men from Hawaii, many of whom were already part of the Hawaiian National Guard. The 442nd was formed thereafter from volunteers primarily from the internment camps. Patriotism was on full display when men volunteered to serve a government that also interned them and their families.
Aiko took a few more bites from her Danish and a couple of more sips from her mocha latte before continuing. The 100th battalion entered the European Theater first, just when the 442nd entered basic training. The 100th was eventually merged into the 442nd when they arrived in Europe. The 442nd proved itself as it fought and won battles that the white regiments could not win. But what pleased Aiko were the following numbers: twenty-two Congressional Medals of Honor, fifty-two Distinguished Service Crosses, 560 Silver Stars, 4,000 Bronze stars and the most astonishing number, 9,486 Purple Hearts. The 442nd, a regiment whose patriotism was doubted, proved to everyone that its heart was truly American and became the most decorated army regiment during World War II.
She leaned back into her seat with her fingertips idled on the keyboard and relaxed for a moment. A rush of pride ran through Aiko. She couldn’t explain it, but she was proud and was experiencing the beginnings of an overdue appreciation of the sacrifices of a generation of Japanese Americans before her.
Aiko had perused about seven sites and with each one, she learned more. She had already jotted down four pages of brief notes when she finished her coffee. She looked out the window, and it was an ordinary Saturday afternoon. People were going about their errands, and couples walked amorously hand in hand along the quiet street. It was the American way of life, and it took brave individuals many decades ago to fight for it so that her generation could appreciate it. Her eyes turned to her laptop screen and with curiosity, typed in another search term: Purple Heart. There were more than 9,000 Purple Hearts awarded to Japanese American soldiers alone, and she wanted to learn more about the specific act that would make a soldier deserving of the Purple Heart. Her search answered her question. The Purple Heart was a combat decoration, awarded to any soldier who was wounded or killed in battle at the hands of the enemy.
For a moment, the stark realization hit Aiko. Her grandfather would not have received the Purple Heart if he were a deserter. An invisible heavy weight suddenly fell onto Aiko. Her fingers stiffened. But she remembered Joey’s drawing that depicted her grandfather shot, and she could only assume that the wound was from the enemy. She was confused. Which version of her grandfather’s past was true? Was he a deserter, or was he fatally shot as depicted in the drawing?
Her mind wandered back to the conversation that she had with her father the night before. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with her grandmother. Would her father have called her grandmother to warn her ahead of time? Would she not want to talk about Grandpa if she indeed knew that he was a deserter? Then again, did she even know that her own son knew? If that was the truth, would her grandmother think it would be wiser to keep it a secret than to let it pass down to the next generation?
Aiko ate the last bite of her Danish and sipped the dregs of her cold mocha latte. She frowned at the bitter taste of it and put it aside. The day was over. She wanted to rush home and talk to her grandmother. She closed her laptop and proceeded to gather her things. The day was a bit cooler, with the sun beginning to set. There were still streaks of the sun raking over the city horizon, as it faded into a reddish and purplish sunset against a bluish sky that was being slowly engulfed in darkness.
The new knowledge that Aiko gathered about her grandparents’ generation was overwhelming. She tried to digest each bit of it. But at the same time, a heavy emotion lingered over each thought and that was disappointment. Disappointment that her generation didn’t know much about the unjust plight of Japanese Americans during World War II, and she was certain that there was more that she didn’t know.
Soon enough, she was back in her apartment. She took a moment to hang up her coats from the previous night, which were lying on the hallway chair. She slipped out of her shoes and walked over to the coffee table, propped up her bag against it, and placed her cell phone on top. She made her way into the kitchen to prepare tea.
After she poured the boiling water into her teacup, she walked back to the sofa and took a small sip before placing it on a coaster. She sat on the sofa as she pondered what she would say to her grandmother. How would she bring up the topic? Minutes passed until finally, she straightened herself up. With a re
signed sigh, she picked up the cell phone and swiped through the contact list for her grandmother’s number. Without any further hesitation, she clicked on the number and brought the phone to her ear. The phone rang once, then a second time. Maybe her grandmother was out? Should she leave a message if she wasn’t in? But on the third ring, she heard the familiar voice of her grandmother.
F O U R
“Hello?” asked Aiko’s grandmother. Her voice was more deliberate in her olden days but it was still clear.
“Hi Grandma, it’s Aiko!” Aiko said excitedly with a hint of nervousness.
“Aiko! How are you? Are you keeping warm?”
“Yes Grandma, I am.” The small talk had already exhausted itself and Aiko started to grasp for words not knowing how to broach the topic of her grandfather.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you Aiko, not since your college days.”
“I know,” Aiko’s tone hinted with some guilt. “I’ll see you when I come home. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing,” added Aiko as she bit her lip.
“I hope so. Seeing you over the holidays just isn’t enough for this old woman.”
“You’re not old, Grandma, you still have a lot of energy in you!”
“Thank you, Aiko, I just hope this old body of mine can stand a few more years and hopefully you can make me a happy great-grandmother. Remember now, Japanese name.”
Aiko blushed and smiled. Her grandmother was getting old, and Aiko and her siblings were her only grandchildren. As the matriarch of the Satoh family, it was her incessant reminder that everyone down the Satoh line be given a Japanese first name to honor their Japanese heritage. Her grandmother also had a beautiful Japanese name, Minami.
Minami Satoh was a woman with a strong will that wove itself into her quiet demeanor. Though her hair had turned platinum, it was still shiny and strong. For what she lacked in height, she made up for it in presence. Though she took a little more time to ponder things, she could still orate a story and be the center of attention. After the war and finding herself in the predicament of being a single mother, she devoted herself to being a dutiful mother to her son, Ichiro, Aiko’s father.
“Grandma?” asked Aiko.
“Is everything okay? Oh I hope it isn’t anything with your father!”
Aiko suddenly asked herself why everyone in her family would always think something was wrong with someone in the family. She quickly interjected reassuringly, “Oh no, nothing like that, Grandma.”
Her grandmother was quickly reassured and finally added, “Good, for a moment there, you had me worried. It is not often that you would call me unless it was my birthday or something. Why did you call, Aiko?"
There was a pause on the phone. “I wanted to ask you about… Grandpa,” replied Aiko as her voice trailed away.
It had been a while since anyone had ever directly asked about her late husband. Not a day goes by that Minami didn’t think about her husband, Hiroshi, who would have been the patriarch of the Satoh line. She was the only person left alive who knew him personally and intimately, aside from her own younger siblings.
“Grandpa… What exactly do you want to know?” asked Minami.
Another pause came and went and with her curiosity leading the charge, Aiko blurted out, “Everything, before I lose the chance.”
Her granddaughter was insightful, Minami thought. “Before I lose the chance,” said her granddaughter and Minami knew what this meant. For decades, Minami moved on with her life, accepting the fate that had been dealt to her after World War II. She struggled and persevered for most of her life. Now in her senior years, she spent much of her time alone. Though she may have wanted some things to be different, at least her life was simple. She still had a small circle of friends, most of whom also spent their early lives in the internment camps. Like herself, they were all widows. It was an unspoken morbid truth that their circle would eventually grow smaller.
So for each other, they solemnly and quietly shared as much as possible in their last few years. They often live in their own quiet solitude, feeling lonely and neglected and not wanting to be a bother to their own families. They knew that their children had their own lives. But more often than not, a phone call, an invitation to a family event gave them immeasurable enjoyment. These were going to be their last years and they were trying to enjoy them as best they could.
Minami accepted her solitude. She had always been more or less alone. She didn’t remarry as she had only one true love, Hiroshi. Her granddaughter’s unexpected mention of him brought back the image of him. His smile flashed across her mind, which brought a moment of happiness to her. She only remembered him being young, since he never had the chance to grow old with her. She wondered how he would look as an older man and found that she couldn’t. His handsome young self is how she remembered him.
Her granddaughter caught her on a good day. Minami had just prepared a cup of tea to enjoy while catching up on a few magazines. With the phone still held to her ear and the cup of tea in the other hand, she walked into her living room and eased herself down onto the sofa. She never had the chance to tell her grandchildren about their grandfather. Yet her granddaughter had just hinted, “before I lose the chance,” but the reality was, before Minami lost the chance as well.
“Well Aiko,” started Minami as she brought the teacup up. “Where should I begin? I’ll start with my younger days right before I met your grandfather,” she said as the steam from the tea rose up.
* * *
The curious sea breeze seeped in through the slightly opened window. Its ethereal presence wandered about the room aimlessly as it wasn’t used to the confines of the structure it had just entered. It was used to being free, but it was curious that day. But now it was confused, carrying an essence of the salty ocean water from where it was born. It glided about and around the room until it saw the young woman. She was asleep, nestled into her bed and lying on her side. It circled about her, stalking almost, until finally it swooped in under her nostrils at the exact time she inhaled. The delicate skin of its presence tore instantly releasing its salty essence as it disappeared into her nose, dissipating into nothingness.
Minami stirred from her sleep as the smell of the fresh salty ocean tickled her nostrils. She turned over and her closed eyes met the starting rays of the rising sun of that Sunday morning. Instinctively, she placed the back of her hand over her eyes to ward off the offending rays. She stayed that way as her mind started to float to consciousness from an abyss of mental nothingness. She turned onto her back and raised both of her arms with clenched fists into the air as she arched her body to wake up every part of herself in one valiant effort. Her body fell back into the warmth of her bed, her arms plopped along her sides and she relaxed. The smell of breakfast had already started to seep in through the room and she knew her mother would be calling for her soon. Rather than wait for that to happen, she grasped the side of the blanket and lifted it off of herself so that she could finally and reluctantly leave the warmth of her bed.
Minami quickly slipped her feet into her slippers, which were always turned outward from the bed. The slippers snugly enveloped her feet. She rose up and passed her dresser where the mirror’s sides were dotted with awards in all shapes and sizes. She exited into the hallway and into the bathroom on the right.
Her five-year-old brother Yoshi came stumbling down the hallway rubbing his sleepy eyes and tried the doorknob of the bathroom. It was locked. He knocked on the door with the flat of his palm and then turned around and leaned his back against the door when it suddenly opened. He was caught off guard as he struggled to reach for something to hold onto where there was none and he fell backwards. Minami quickly knelt down and caught him.
“Yoshi!” she said playfully.
Yoshi regained his balance as his sister propped him up. He turned to meet his sister’s smile and giggled as both his little feet pattered excitedly on the floor. His hair was thick and cut as if a rice bowl was placed
over his head. Minami then raised herself up and playfully ruffled Yoshi’s hair as he gave off a few more giggles.
“Hurry up now, I’m sure Mom has breakfast waiting for us.”
“Okay!” exclaimed Yoshi, as he shut the bathroom door behind him.
Minami walked away from the door and stepped back into her room. She stood in front of the mirror to look at herself. She was a slender young woman who had classic but pretty features. She had milk-chocolate-colored eyes with beautiful eyelashes and higher-than-normal cheekbones. Her straight hair had a distinct sheen to it and hung past her shoulders. She picked up her brush and began brushing her hair, one side first, then the other. She played with her bangs a bit and placed the brush back onto her dresser. Looking into the mirror one more time, she gently bit her lip and then walked out of her room. At the top of the stairs, she yelled in the direction of another closed door. “Miho, Yuka! Time to wake up for breakfast.”
Minami heard a couple of sleepy grunts from the room and knew her two sisters would be up soon as she descended down the stairs.
“Hi Mom,” Minami said as she walked into the kitchen. Her mother was busily working at the stove finalizing breakfast. On the table were several traditional Japanese dishes that her mother was still fond of making. Minami’s mother was an energetic woman. Her hair was tied back into a bun and bore some streaks of gray, which she disliked. Her mother turned around, looked up and muttered curtly, “Hurry and eat before it gets cold.”
Minami knew all too well what her mother’s curt attitude meant. She was mad at her father, again. Minami hesitated and instead of sitting down, stepped over to the sink and picked out bowls and chopsticks to set on the table. Her mother ignored her and went back to work on placing a fish on a plate. Her mother looked over and abruptly said, “We only need five bowls. Your father isn’t eating with us.”
Her mother’s sharp tone slashed through the morning air and made Minami pause for a moment. She placed back one pair of chopsticks and recounted the bowls to make sure she only had five. With quiet deliberation, Minami set the table and every now and then, looked up at her mother whose back was turned to her. She could hear the sounds of her two younger sisters getting up as the creaking floorboards from above gave away their presence. Yoshi would be done soon and make his way down into the kitchen at any moment.