by Vincent Yee
Her mother looked at the letter. It was indeed her husband’s handwriting. His name appeared in the upper left-hand corner with a strange address in North Dakota. Minami’s mother stared at it. It was the first communication from her husband in weeks. It was awful to deny a wife the whereabouts of her own husband. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to open it, fearing its contents. Minami sat to her mother’s left and saw her concerned expression. She gently lent a reassuring touch with her right hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Go on Mom, Dad would want you to open it.”
Mrs. Ito looked at her oldest daughter, and saw her husband’s strength in her eyes. She was young, vibrant and had just barely begun her life. But she was caught up in the whole mess simply because she was Japanese. Mrs. Ito nodded in agreement as she looked down merrily at the letter and began to open it. “Let’s see what your father has to say!” exclaimed Mrs. Ito as she glanced into the eyes of each of her children.
The letter itself was only one blue lined sheet of paper folded into thirds. Mrs. Ito started to read the letter aloud.
My dearest wife, my wonderful children,
It’s been so long since I’ve seen all of you. I don’t know if you’ve been told of my whereabouts. I can only wonder how scared you might be if no one has told you. First, let me just say that I’m ok. I’m in North Dakota right now along with many other men. We’re being treated well here. I can’t write much now, but I wanted to tell you how much I miss you all and that I hope we will be reunited soon as one family. Be strong and be there for each other until my return.
Your father
The Ito family fell into a silence when Mrs. Ito finished the letter. They didn’t know what to think. They didn’t know what to say until Mrs. Ito simply said, with a cautious smile, “He’s okay.” Minami smiled too and looked up at her mother and verbally echoed the same thought “He’s okay, he’s okay.” Then the rest of the family chimed in, “Dad’s okay!” and they all laughed as they hugged their mother. It seemed odd for them to revel in the knowledge of their father’s incarceration, but at least the weight of fearing the worst was lifted. Their father was okay.
The next bit of news was received with less enthusiasm. President Roosevelt had signed Executive Order 9066 on Feb 19, 1942, which ordered the detainment of all Japanese Americans into relocation centers. Minami’s family, like many others, only had a few painful days to decide what to take with them. While her mother and siblings were sorting through their own things, Minami stood in the middle of her room as two suitcases laid on top of her bed, half filled. Several piles of clothes and personal items, along with the family items she salvaged from the attic were still on the floor. There was no hope of it all fitting into the two suitcases. She had to make some tough decisions but gave into indignant frustration instead. Again, she felt like she had to make choices that she had no control over.
Minami brushed her hand through her hair and found to her surprise that it was tangled and knotted. She walked toward the mirror. She was a mess. Her mother always said she had a classic beauty to her. Her unusually large oval eyes stared back at her, but they didn’t convey her usual joyfulness. They were tired, and the last few arduous weeks of working at the local fishing cannery had taken their toll. Before, she would have taken the time to make herself up every morning, applying just enough makeup to accentuate her pretty features and no more. Otherwise, her father would immediately send her back to her room with his disapproval. She picked up her favorite brush and began to gently brush out the knots in her hair as her thoughts wandered.
She was excited about turning twenty-one. She wanted to possibly enter nursing school, but she was most excited about the possibility of dating. Her parents wanted her to find a responsible young Japanese man. She had worked through the knots on the right side of her hair as it fluttered downward. She was about to brush the other side when she stopped and slammed the brush down on the dresser along with her other hand. She hunched over the dresser and looked down at her makeup, everything from her lipstick, hairpins, perfume and the other little bottles any young woman would have.
She looked up and still saw the same tired eyes staring back at her but there was also anger. She tossed her hairbrush onto the dresser as it ricocheted off the mirror and settled on the dresser. “Whom am I going to impress now?” she thought. She was being taken away, and for how long she didn’t dare guess. Would her young life be taken from her while confined at a relocation center before it had even begun? How many years will be robbed from her? Why was the Japanese American community being so obedient to some order that was so wrong? But ultimately, she knew. They had no choice. To America, Japanese Americans were not Americans and if you’re not American, you deserved fewer rights than white Americans.
She straightened up. With firm determination, she picked up each cosmetic item on her dresser, one by one, and tossed it into the trash. Each item hit the metal trash can with its own tone and it only encouraged her to pick up the pace until finally, the only thing left on the dresser was her hair brush. She grasped the handle and was about to toss it, when she paused. Unlike the other items that could be replaced, the hairbrush was a gift from her mother. It was a pretty hairbrush, with a silver handle inlaid with a waterfall scene. She brought the brush to her chest with both hands and held it there for a moment before turning around and tossing it into one of the suitcases. She went back to choose which items to bring with her and which to abandon.
Her mother came into the room and looked haggard. She had little sleep over the past few days. It was tougher for Minami’s mother since she had to make the important decisions that related to the family’s affairs. Her father was usually the decision-maker. She looked at the remaining piles in Minami’s room and scolded Minami for not packing faster. Only forty-eight hours remained to finish packing and in an effort to raise money, Minami’s mother decided to sell the things that they could not take with them. Minami assured her that she would be done and her mother sighed at her response. She asked Minami if she had anything to sell. Minami turned her head from side to side and said she hadn’t decided. Again her mother scolded her and left the room in exasperation.
Later that day, Minami, along with her siblings, brought down all the items to be sold. Among the clothing and furniture were some Japanese heirlooms that were missed by the FBI agents. Of particular interest was an ornate Japanese bowl and tea set.
Minami’s mother knew that the buyers would try to take advantage of their plight. Many offered ridiculously low prices. Only with a nod of approval from their mother, would Minami agree to sell an item at the price offered. But everyone eyed the bowl and tea set. It was a bowl and tea set that her mother had collected over the years, one for each member of the family, and she would not sell it without a fight. Soon, Minami noticed that her mother was saying “no” to every price offered for the tea set, even when the price was pretty decent. But she realized what her mother was doing. Her mother no longer had any intent on selling the bowl and tea set. It represented their family dignity and she refused all offers, denying unscrupulous buyers what they lusted after.
Toward the end of the evening, Minami had carried in the few items that did not sell. She walked into the quiet house, illuminated by the few wall lights, since they had sold their floor lamps. She dropped most of the clothing onto the living room floor and then noticed that there was a warm reddish glow flickering on the fringes of the back door in the kitchen. Minami went to investigate.
Her mother was sitting on the steps of the back door, watching a fire. Minami pushed aside the screen door and the creaking of the wood made her mother turn around.
She eked out a smile, “Minami.”
Minami sat beside her mother, “What are you doing, Mom?”
“Oh I’m just enjoying the fire. I figured for the things we couldn’t sell, no one should have them. So a little fire seemed appropriate.”
Minami nodded and sat silently next to her mother, watching the fire come to life
. It was a struggling fire and her mother would every now and then feed it an item or two to keep it alive, as if to tame it, to keep the small fiery beast under her control. Minami looked at her mother and watched the fire glisten in her eyes. She seemed neither sad nor happy, but there was a sense of calm about her. Her hair was tied back, and the light of the fire highlighted the few gray streaks that ran through her hair. Her skin was still beautifully soft and shiny. A couple of wrinkles here and there and a slightly sagging chin was all that time had to cast onto her mother. Minami placed her left arm around her mother and pulled her gently into her. Her mother reciprocated and drew comfort from her daughter’s hug. But she ultimately missed her husband’s embrace when they were alone–the way she would feel secure in his arms as he gave her a warm hug.
Minami suddenly had an idea, got up and told her mother that she would be right back as the screen door slammed against the doorframe. She gathered up the clothing from the living room and called for her siblings. She walked back to her mother, plopped the clothes in front of her and sat down next to her. She smiled at her mother, riffled through the clothing and picked out an orange shirt that belonged to her mother.
“No wonder this didn’t sell Mom. It’s so ugly!” said Minami.
Her mother stared back at her daughter and then looked at the shirt and smiled, “How dare you? That’s a perfectly good shirt,” she said sarcastically.
Minami looked at her mother with almost a sinister look and tossed the shirt into the fire that swallowed it whole and fed on it.
Her mother picked through the clothing and found a white shirt that belonged to Minami. “This shirt, made you look fat!” she said with a smile. Minami laughed. This shirt, too, was sent into the hungry jaws of the fire.
Soon, Miho, Yuka, and Yoshi joined them and found the humor in the act and together the family fed the fire and made good fun of one another. The fire roared and raged like a little animal being fed throughout the night. The family took the opportunity to burn most of their father’s fish-scented clothing, but Minami’s mother sacrificed only those pieces he wouldn’t object to losing. She was anticipating his return and didn’t want to lose hope.
The last of the clothes were fed into the fire as red ashes ascended into the night sky. Yoshi ran after a few stray burning embers that landed on the ground and stomped out their glow, leaving only black smothered ash on the ground.
Miho played with Yoshi, pointing out the stray red embers that he had missed. Yuka sat behind her mother and Minami with her knees drawn up close to her chest as her chin rested on the top of her knees. She silently watched the fiery beast dance. There was a solemn silence in the air except for the crackling of the fire, the pattering of Yoshi’s feet on the pavement and his giggles.
A scraping noise caught everyone’s attention as they watched their mother drag the bowl and tea set to the front of her. Mrs. Ito unlatched the wooden lacquered box and revealed the six beautiful bowls and teacups, each one a bit different as she had selected each bowl and teacup to reflect the distinct personality of each member of the family. She picked up her bowl and looked at it as her eyes were reflected in the black lacquered glaze.
Minami placed her hand on her mother’s hand that was holding the bowl. She turned her head and looked into her daughter’s eyes. “It’s okay Mom, we don’t need to throw these into the fire. We’ll each take our own set with us.”
Mrs. Ito returned her look into the dark glaze of the bowl. When the bowls and teacups came together, they represented the family itself. They’d used it for family celebrations like birthdays, holidays or when their father hauled in a large catch. But they represented something that was Japanese, and thus hated by many. Yet these same people still wanted it if the price was low enough.
But that day, she refused to sell out her Japanese heritage or family. They were heavy, yet delicate. They would be difficult to travel with and probably would not survive the trip.
She looked soulfully at Minami. “Thank you, but these bowls and teacups, they represent our heritage and family honor. Today we didn’t sell that honor. Ultimately what’s Japanese is within us, not simply in a bowl.” She paused and took in a deep breath and continued. “If we take these bowls, they will be separated. Some may break and may not return home safely. They should share the same fate together so that they should never ever have to be asked to consider their own worth.”
Minami was struck by her mother’s deep thoughts, how the bowls represented their Japanese heritage but ultimately, how each bowl represented each one of them. The bowls withstood the battle together but they needed to be sacrificed together to preserve their own sense of honor.
Minami’s mother reached down and handed out each bowl and teacup that belonged to each of her children. When they each had their bowl and teacup, she gathered her family around the fire. As much as Minami may have wanted to preserve the bowl set, she followed her mother’s lead. It was her mother’s time of conviction, a way for her to hold back something from the community that had cast undue suspicion on her and her family, had taken her husband away and forced her to make decisions she didn’t want to make. Yes, they would not get the ornate bowl set. She would deny them and she would make sure of it.
Mrs. Ito tossed her bowl at the fire, knowing full well that it would not melt. The fire represented the hungry jaws of the unscrupulous buyers, the U.S government, the white neighbors whom she thought were her friends, and the white townspeople that taunted and assaulted her. The bowl shattered, and though the fire tried to devour it, it couldn’t. It was denied the sustenance that was being thrown to it. It tried again with the teacup, but failed again. Then Yoshi gleefully threw his bowl and teacup at the fire, then Yuka and then Miho. Minami hesitated. Out of all the children, she had the most memories with the bowl set and remembered each event. She rubbed the side of her bowl with her thumb until her mother looked at her and said with a smile, “Go on Minami, it’s just a bowl.”
Minami smiled and along with the quiet goading of her siblings, “Minami, Minami, Minami!” she tossed her bowl, and then the teacup, into the fire and watched with delight as they shattered upon impact. She felt satisfied, as if some albatross had been lifted off of her. Her mother bent down, picked up the last bowl and teacup and straightened herself up as she sighed. Standing in the middle of her children, she looked at each one of them and simply said, “This one belonged your father.” Her children looked up and she tossed the bowl and teacup at the fire that raged once more before it whimpered hungrily, its strength slowly ebbing away. The fire coiled back in on itself and tried to preserve its remaining strength as it slowly burned itself away into the ashes.
The next day, the family lugged their suitcases down into the hallway. Their assigned pick-up center was the local elementary school. Their neighbor, Mrs. Yasuda, offered to pick them up in her station wagon. Mrs. Ito had already sold the family car since she wasn’t a good driver as Mr. Ito did most of the driving in the family. Minami wore a pair of jeans and a sweater, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had packed her two suitcases along with a backpack full of personal items. Yuka was with Yoshi outside, playing catch. Miho was milling about in the barren living room.
The backdoor slammed and Minami saw her mother walking in wearing a serious expression. “Your father’s friend Joe–well maybe not his friend after I tell him what he offered for the boat,” she said in an agitated voice. “We had agreed on a fair price a few days ago, but he said he needed a little more time to raise the cash. So when I went to collect the money, he gave me a few hundred dollars less than what we agreed on. He didn’t say a word as if I was supposed to just take it, knowing that we were leaving today. So I just glared at him and looked at the boat and threatened to sink it.”
“No you didn’t,” said a surprised Minami.
“Oh yes I did! That’s your father’s pride and joy, and I know he wouldn’t want me to undersell it. So I simply gave back the money and jumped into the b
oat. I said was going to ram the boat into the jetty since I’m such a bad driver, which he knows since I almost ran him over a few years ago. I was confident I could do it. I guess that’s when he took me seriously so he pleaded with me to stop and I’m glad he did–I don’t know how to start the boat.”
Minami laughed and her mother continued, “So the ungrateful man pulled out from his pocket the rest of the money and handed it to me. He apologized and offered to help me out of the boat. But I just took the money and walked away from him.”
Minami was so amused that she let out another laugh. Her mother laughed with her and then she went back to check the kitchen drawers and cupboards to see if anything was neglected. Her mother’s slender frame glided along the kitchen counter checking every nook and cranny that she knew so well. She was wearing a dress whose hem was below her knees. She walked more casually those days. Being a fisherman’s wife, she didn’t need to carry the poise that she had when she was a younger woman and before she bore four children. But she had an inner strength that carried through especially in the last few months. Father would be so proud of her, Minami thought.
A honk came from the front of the house and both Minami and her mother looked in the direction of the front door. Miho yelled out, “They’re here!”
Mrs. Yasuda stepped out of the brown station wagon and greeted Mrs. Ito. Her youngest son, who was not taken away, was driving. Her husband and oldest son had suffered the same fate as Minami’s father and were also imprisoned in North Dakota. They had run the local Japanese newspaper, which was high on the FBI’s list of suspicious activities.
Mrs. Yasuda’s son Kenji stepped out of the car in a plaid shirt and jeans. He was a skinny kid with spiked hair and slightly crooked teeth. He was in the same grade as Miho. He watched Minami walk toward the car and yelled out, “Looking good Minami, if you were a few years younger, I’d ask you out.”