The Sun Gods

by Jay Rubin

  “Maybe she’s heard us talking,” he said at length.

  “‘Us’?” Mitsuko asked.

  “The Black Dragon Society. We’re a pretty fierce bunch,” he said with a soft chuckle.

  “Japanese racial purity and all that?” she asked.

  “You’ve heard? There has been a lot of tough talk about women who …”

  “… are married to white men?”

  “Yes.”

  Away from the barracks and the street lights, there was nothing to obscure the enormous, black canopy of the sky, and handfuls of the warm sand underfoot seemed to have been scattered, sparkling, far overhead.

  “I was disappointed to see you join a group of super-patriots. They bring back ugly memories of Japan,” Mitsuko said.

  “You were disappointed in me? Does it matter to you what I do? I thought, after that night last winter …”

  “I have always liked you, Frank, you know that. I … I wanted you to hold me.”

  “Then why did you run away?”

  “I was worried about Billy, first of all. And I am so much older than you. There would be no future for us.”

  “You’re not saying anything about your marriage.”

  “Who knows what is left of that? If my husband wanted me, he could have gotten me out of camp. Other women married to Caucasians have been released.”

  They were standing at the edge of the field, where a narrow stream gurgled in the night. They appeared to each other as little more than shadows.

  “I want you so badly,” Frank said.

  Wordlessly, she turned to him and raised her face to his in the darkness. Then her arms were around his neck, and he bent to kiss her. His lips tore into hers, and his strong arms pulled her against his powerful body, all but crushing the breath out of her.

  He took her hand and stepped down from the road into the field. In a moment, he was naked and spreading his clothing on the ground for her, and before she knew it, they were together, struggling desperately beneath the cold dome of stars.

  Afterward, they lay huddled together, Mitsuko’s skirt and shawl thrown over their clinging bodies.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like it,” Frank began somewhat hesitantly, “if I asked about your husband.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Not anymore.”

  “It amazes me that a man could let go of someone like you.”

  She laughed softly. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s very nice.”

  “If you were mine …” He held her more closely. “Why did you ever marry him?”

  She searched for an answer.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If it’s too painful …”

  “No,” she said. “I was just wondering myself. He was so kind at the beginning. He was not my first husband, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “My first husband was an officer in the Japanese Army. He treated me very badly. I came to America to forget, but I was still feeling hurt and lonely when I met Tom—Pastor Tom. I had never known a man like him before. He was gentle, and he had such faith in his work. I was swept up in his enthusiasm. And he was Billy’s father. I had lost a child in Japan, a boy, and it seemed as if Billy had been sent to me to take his place. I wonder if I would have married Tom if he had not had Billy. Yoshiko tried to warn me about that but I wouldn’t listen.”

  “You love your sister very much, don’t you?”

  “We were never that close at home. She is ten years older than I am. But we have been through a lot together these past few years.”

  “You don’t go to church together, though.”

  “It’s strange. When I was persecuted for my religion in Japan, I fought to keep it. I thought that America was a country that prayed to the one true God and I was so happy to become the wife of a man of God. Now it all seems so hollow.”

  “That’s perfect, then,” he said. “We’re members of the same religion.”

  “I thought you were an atheist,” she objected.

  “That’s what I mean,” he said with a laugh.

  “Oh no, Frank, I am not an atheist. I still believe in something. In life …”

  “Atheists believe in life,” he declared, pulling her close. “Atheists believe in love. Atheists believe in trust and nobility and honor and beauty. Only children should need the threat of punishment to behave themselves. I have no trouble telling good from evil. But I refuse to let God tamper with my life in any way. If all I had to do to pay homage to the supernatural was stick my finger in the air, I would refuse. Do you realize that whoever wrote the Bible’s story of creation thought the world was flat? I don’t have any use for a god who doesn’t know the actual shape of the world he supposedly created.”

  “I wish it weren’t so dark and I could see you more clearly now,” she said. “I remember how handsome you looked that day in the newspaper office when you were talking about Santa Claus.”

  He laughed and kissed her throat. “I meant what I said just now,” he whispered. “I do believe in love.”

  24

  THE VERY NEXT DAY after Mitsuko’s night in the field with Frank, a letter arrived from Tom as if there had been some malign telepathic communication. The envelope contained a form written in legalistic jargon, but the letter itself left no doubt as to its meaning. He had filed for divorce, and unless she chose to contest it, it would become final as of September 1. On that date, he intended to come for his son. He wanted her to prepare Billy for his departure and leave him with the project director. He did not wish to see her. He was prepared now to “set up a new household,” he said, and he did not want her to stand in his way.

  “Are you going to contest it?” Yoshiko asked when they were alone in the barrack.

  “It’s hopeless,” Mitsuko replied. “No American judge would ever see it my way. I’m going to lose Billy. That’s all. A legal battle would only hurt him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mit-chan. I wish I could do something.”

  “No one can do anything. I’ve got two months left.”

  Mitsuko met Frank that night at the east end of the barrack, away from Yoshiko’s eyes. She told him the news as they walked out to the field.

  “I know how much you love that boy,” he said. “I’ve got a real soft spot for him, too. But maybe it’s for the best. It had to happen sooner or later.”

  It became Mitsuko’s new habit to “take a walk” each night. She was less ashamed of her clandestine behavior than afraid of hurting Yoshiko.

  “I’ve got my own news,” Frank told her on the night of July 24. “They just announced that the Tule Lake camp in California is being converted from a relocation center to a segregation center for ‘disloyals’—No-No Boys like me.”

  Mitsuko inhaled sharply. First Billy, now Frank.

  “Come with me,” he implored as they lay together beneath the open sky. “They’ll be moving us in September or October. Billy will be gone by then, and we can be together all the time.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” And perhaps he was right: perhaps she deserved to have this eager, young lover after all she had been through. Lying in his arms, she could forget the pain, the cruelty. Even the impending loss of Billy could be blotted out for those few moments when their bodies melted perfectly together.

  “It is easy,” he said. “Just say yes.”

  The hours she spent with Billy were more precious now than ever, but they foretold the emptiness that was to come. She would look at the little bitterbrush toys and figurines she had carved for him and wonder if Tom would be heartless enough to destroy them all when he repossessed his son. Now she was carving a small mirror housing to take with her as a memento of the months she spent with Billy under the scorching desert sun. The hard, desert-tempered grain of the bitterbrush yielded to her knives and chisels a round, dark sun whose edges streamed with fire. She hollowed out the other side to accept a round mirror the size of a silver dollar.

  “Put in a goose,” said Billy,
who lay beside her on the hard plank floor, chin propped on hands, watching her shape the wood.

  “Where? Right here in the middle of the sun?”

  “Yeah! Make his wings stretch out.”

  True, the circular disk would be very plain without some ornamentation. She liked its round simplicity, but she liked the idea of superimposing on it the soaring bird of freedom even more.

  When the mirror was nearing completion a few days later, the shining glass ready for insertion, Billy surprised her by asking if she would give it to him.

  “Oh, Billy, I made this for myself. Whenever I look at the goose, I’m going to think of you.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “But you can just look at me to think of me,” he said.

  Perhaps she should do as he asked. Perhaps Tom would let him keep what she had made for him.

  “All right,” she said at length. “I’ll make two—one for you and one for me.”

  “Oh, goody!” He clapped his hands.

  She saw her own reflection in the glass and wondered if Billy could sense the storm of emotions that had left her looking so much older.

  But she was not alone. The upheavals of the past few months were taking their physical toll on all the Minidoka residents. Goro’s vitality was visibly dwindling. Hardest hit were those Isseis who were having their grown children snatched away from them by the Army or lured away to the cities of the East. The hospital wards were filled to overflowing, and Mitsuko worked later each day. The hospital’s substantial architecture provided the camp’s best relief from the summer sun, but when the windows had to be closed during sand storms, this could also trap foul smells inside.

  Her late departures from work brought Mitsuko out of doors when the sun was down and the cool evening breezes had begun to move across the sand. One evening she took the short cut past the warehouses and through the open area by the bend in the canal. She could see the gleam of the dark water reflecting the sky’s last glow, and if the breeze was rather less than she had hoped for, at least the gentle gurgling of the canal seemed to have a cooling effect.

  Just beyond the bend, in the broad stretch between Block 32 and the bank of the canal, Mitsuko saw some bushes or boulders arranged in a semi-circle on the ground. She had never noticed them before, but she kept walking. Suddenly one of the shapes moved. It was a man, and now she could make out a light-colored band up around the forehead. He must be one of Frank’s Black Dragon cohorts—perhaps even Frank himself.

  “Who’s that?” an unfamiliar voice growled across the few yards remaining between Mitsuko and the man. She drew to a halt. The other men stood up.

  “I’m taking a short-cut. I live in Block 39. I’m on my way home.”

  “Like hell,” said the voice. “You’ve been listening to us. Tell me your name.”

  “I am sure you don’t know me. I’m Mitsuko Morton.”

  “Morton? The white man’s whore. Now I know you’ve been spying on us.”

  The other men began to grumble threateningly.

  “You’re spying for the administration. The whole white bunch of them are probably screwing you.”

  Mitsuko strained to see through the darkness, hoping that Frank was there. She wanted to cry out his name, but was afraid the men might turn on him.

  The man took a step in her direction and the others began to move.

  “Keep away from me!” she shouted in a shrill voice she barely recognized as her own.

  “I’ve got just what you need,” said the man, “right here between my legs.”

  “All right, Charlie, that’s enough. Let her go.”

  It was Frank’s voice, she was sure.

  “Let her go? Shit, I haven’t even got her skirt up yet.”

  “You heard me, Charlie, stop it.”

  Mitsuko whirled and began to run back toward the bend in the canal, but rough hands caught her around the neck and waist.

  “Let me go!” she screamed, but she felt herself being lifted off the desert floor and slammed onto the sand. A sharp pain pierced her side. Hands were pulling and tearing at her, ripping her clothes. They panted and snorted all around her, their hot breath searing her face, the smell of sweat and saliva filling her nostrils.

  “Frank, help!”

  Suddenly everything grew still. For a moment, the only sound was that of labored breathing. Then she heard someone yell, “Traitor! Kill the bastard!” Some fireworks exploded, and something hard slammed into her head.

  Mitsuko woke in a white glare, her body stiff with pain. She felt as if she were up in the air, then she realized she was in one of the high, pipe-frame beds in which the Isseis lay when she was tending them. She could barely open her eyes.

  “Thank God,” she heard Yoshiko saying. “She’s waking up.”

  Mitsuko groaned.

  “Mit-chan, I thought they had killed you!”

  The bed was jostled slightly, and she heard Yoshiko’s muffled sobbing.

  “What about Frank?” Mitsuko asked. “Is he all right?”

  “Doctor Neher is with him now in Wing 7,” said Goro, who stood by her bed looking gray and haggard.

  “Wing 7?” she gasped. “That’s surgery.”

  “He has some internal hemorrhaging,” Goro said.

  “He saved my life. Please find out how he is doing.”

  Goro limped away. Yoshiko sighed and turned to her sister.

  “Oh, Mit-chan … out there … Is that where you and Frank … ?”

  “You knew? And you did not try to stop me?”

  “I knew that God would understand. You have had to endure such loneliness.”

  Mitsuko reached for her sister’s hand, and for a long time they did not speak.

  “What happened?” Mitsuko asked at length.

  “They beat you,” said Yoshiko. “They almost … “

  “I know,” she said. “I mean, what happened at the end? Did the fireworks frighten them off?”

  “Fireworks? There were no fireworks. The guards heard the noise and started shooting. They could have killed you. I think they must have hit someone. There was blood in the sand.”

  “Don’t they know who did it?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “No, but if anything happens to Frank …”

  Huffing from the walk, Goro came back with the news that Frank’s bleeding had stopped but that Doctor Neher was not ready to commit to a prognosis. “The Sanos were there, too, but they wouldn’t talk to me,” he added, shaking his head.

  Mitsuko had suffered a cracked rib and other scrapes and bruises, but she was well enough to leave her bed the next day. Frank, meanwhile, had come through the surgery and was resting in Wing 10. Mitsuko felt as if her back and sides would crumble if she moved too much, but she tiptoed down the corridor and entered the long ward.

  Beside one bed far down on the left she could see Mrs. Sano’s familiar black-and-gray frizz, but when Mitsuko approached the bed, Frank’s mother stood as if to block her view and demanded that she leave immediately.

  “It’s all right, Mom,” groaned Frank from behind this resolute guard. “Let her by.” His voice sounded strained, as if it were being forced out through a constricted tube.

  Mrs. Sano stood aside, stroking back her wild strands and fixing Mitsuko with an angry stare. Frank waved her away, but she went no farther than the end of the ward, out of his line of vision.

  Instead of his hachimaki, Frank now had a bandage wrapped around his head, and his right eye was a swollen purple fruit. Against the white bandages, the sharp curve of his nose stood out prominently.

  “Frank, I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s not your fault. What was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch them tear you apart?”

  Mitsuko was discharged from the hospital the following morning, and after a day’s rest, she was ready to go back to work. Yoshiko pleaded with her not to push herself. “You look so pale and thin, Mit-chan. Mama would be angry at me if she knew how badly I’ve been taking care of you
.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. Frank was in the hospital, and she wanted to be near him. In contrast to the old Isseis, who recovered from their ills slowly if at all, Frank made rapid progress. “Come to Tule Lake with me,” he pressed her.

  “I’m afraid, Frank. The Black Dragons will be there. All the Black Dragons from all the other camps will be there. We would live in constant fear.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” he insisted, “We’ll be together. Isn’t that the most important thing?”

  “I’m not sure it is,” she said with brutal honesty.

  “Not sure? I love you, Mitsuko. I want to marry you. You have to come with me.”

  “I don’t know, Frank. Let me think.”

  Mitsuko did not tell Frank that there had been an announcement: today, August 10, the Spanish envoy, Captain Martín, would be visiting Minidoka again in the evening. Although no details had been given out, Mitsuko felt certain that tonight she would be asked to make her final decision for or against repatriation.

  Yoshiko pleaded with her not to go, but after dinner, she headed once again for Dining Hall 23. The tables and chairs were arranged as they had been in January, but the size of the crowd had dwindled to perhaps half. There was a different State Department representative at the head table with Captain Martín. Project Director Stafford introduced him as Ralph Blake, and Blake in turn introduced Captain Martín.

  As before, the Spanish officer opened his remarks with a greeting from the Imperial Diet, which had passed a resolution of sympathy for those Japanese nationals incarcerated in enemy countries. But this time, there was nothing preliminary or tentative about his mission. The Gripsholm would be sailing from New York on September 1, he said, and tonight he needed to have the names of all those in camp who wanted to be on it. Departure from Minidoka would be on August 29 via the train station at Shoshone.

  Mitsuko could hardly breathe when she heard these immovable dates. She had only nineteen days—less than three weeks—before Billy would be torn from her life. Yes, it was coming one way or another, but to have it confirmed by this somber Spanish captain was more than she could bear. And yet, what choice did she have? Tom was coming on September 1, backed by all the power of his country’s government.