by Jan Morrill
Mr. and Mrs. Uchida stared at the ground.
Sachi’s stomach hurt. What had just happened?
Sam shrugged his shoulders at Sachi.
Nobu stepped in. Resting an arm on Sachi’s shoulder, he offered his hand in greeting to Mr. and Mrs. Uchida. “I’m Sachi’s brother, Nobu. It’s nice to meet you.”
Mr. Uchida shook his hand. “Hello, Nobu. Have you met our son, Ken? He’s about your age.”
“Not yet, but Sam told us about him.”
Mr. Uchida nodded toward the showers. “He said he’d join us for breakfast after his shower.”
“I had thought about doing that myself.” Nobu tugged Sachi’s ponytail. “Not this morning, though. But I do look forward to meeting him.”
Only when Nobu nudged her did Sachi realize the line had finally started to move. She tried to shake a bad feeling that gnawed at her, but it was as stubborn to shoo away as the stinging horseflies that lingered around the race track.
Something very strange had just happened between Mama and the Uchidas. And the light, skipping feeling she felt earlier had turned to a heavy pit in her stomach.
After Mama’s unfriendly greeting, Sachi wasn’t sure if Sam would meet her at their secret hiding place. Still, she leaned against the school building, hidden in the shade of the storage shed, and waited. Surely he wouldn’t hold her mother’s behavior against her. After all, they’d played together almost every day since meeting weeks before, and now Sachi considered Sam her best friend. And she was pretty sure he had a crush on her.
She’d never had a Japanese best friend before, and hadn’t realized how much she missed it. She knew she was different from all her Caucasian friends, but in the past, had told herself to ignore the feeling. Now here was Sam, the same as Sachi—a Japanese American—not quite Japanese, not quite American. Always treated just a little bit different by Caucasian friends. And then there were the kids at school who teased about her looks, her name, her parents.
She had to admit, fitting in was something she liked about being at Santa Anita. She bit her lip, hating that she could like anything about being locked in a place away from their home. Nobu walked around with a scowl on his face all the time. Even worse, the camp made Mama quiet and sad every day.
But for once, I belong.
Her stomach twitched. Then, glancing around the shed, she giggled to herself. Of course nobody heard her thoughts. For the first time in her life, she didn’t hunker as she walked through a crowd, afraid of what others thought when she passed by. Here, there were no girls with blond or brown or red hair for her to envy. And at Santa Anita, it was okay that her name was Sachi Kimura and not Sally Smith.
Sachi left the shade of the secret hiding place and ambled away, certain that Sam wasn’t coming. Anger boiled inside. It was all Mama’s fault. Now what was there to do? Where would she go? The last place she wanted to be was back with her mother, where she’d probably blow up at her. That hadn’t happened since they still lived in Berkeley, where Mama would send her to her room. Here, she had no room of her own, so what would Mama do?
She walked up and down the rows of stalls. What did the other families do behind those doors? What were the homes they left like? These were the same old questions she always wondered, and she was bored with them.
There wasn’t much else to do but to go back to her stall.
She walked into the apartment, where Mama lay on the bed flipping through the pages of a magazine. How would she avoid talking to her?
“Where’s Nobu?” Sachi hoped the question wouldn’t lead to any discussion of what had happened earlier. Besides, maybe she’d go find her brother instead of being stuck in that room with Mama.
Mama laid the magazine on her stomach. “I have no idea. I cannot keep up with you children. He just said he was going out.”
Sachi sat on the bed and stared at the single painting they brought from home, cherry blossoms in Tokyo. It had seemed so full of springtime when it hung on the wall in the living room. But in this dark room, it only served as a reminder of what was outside of the camp and it made the room even drearier.
“Why so quiet, Sachi-chan?”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know.”
Mama sat up and put her hand on Sachi’s shoulder.
She pulled away so swiftly, the magazine fell to the floor.
“Sachiko!”
There was no place to escape in the small, dark room. Mama stood too close, gave no space. Sachi felt it coming—in her rapid heartbeat, her quickening breath, her desire to scream—her anger was ready to erupt.
She glared at her mother. “Why did you treat Sam and his family like that? You were nice at first, and I was happy that you finally got to meet them.” Her eyes began to burn with tears. She turned from Mama so she wouldn’t see, but couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. “Then something happened, I don’t know what it was, but you became rude. I wanted you to be friends, like Sam and me.” She couldn’t control her tears. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Mama.” She ran to Nobu’s room and pulled the curtain shut.
Mama had better not follow. She needed to be alone. Besides, she wasn’t so sure she was ready to hear Mama’s reason for her behavior. Somehow, she had a feeling learning why might be one of those awful times when there’d be no going back to before. Maybe not knowing was better, so why did she bring it up anyway? And now, Mama had seen her cry.
But it was quiet now. So quiet she could hear muffled conversations from next door. Maybe they heard her blow up. It would serve Mama right. Maybe she’d even lose face at the thought a neighbor overheard their argument.
Looking around Nobu’s room, she wondered. What secret things did he keep? She didn’t often have the chance to snoop around when he wasn’t there. Well, it wasn’t really snooping, just curiosity. She wouldn’t bother anything, and if she put it back the way she’d found it, he’d never know. So what would be the harm?
Her heart pounded hard as she wondered where to look first, and a merry wave of mischievousness swept over her, a welcome distraction from her anger. She pinched the corner of his pillow and lifted it quietly, gently. Nothing there. She tiptoed to the corner of his room, where his tennis shoes rested on top of an assortment of books. Boring books and smelly shoes that she didn’t want to touch. Surely there was something more interesting somewhere.
She returned to the bed and plopped onto the mattress. Didn’t all older brothers have something snoop-worthy for their little sisters to find? Ah, under the mattress! She knelt on the floor and lifted it. Hay dust escaped and made her nose tickle, threatening a sneeze. She closed her eyes and pinched her nose hard. If a sneeze escaped, Mama would come into the room, and her spell of naughtiness would be broken.
There it was. The most valuable find of all—Nobu’s journal. Oh, to read his thoughts. It couldn’t be so bad, he was her brother, after all. She felt very naughty, but very excited and knew to make a mental note of the journal’s position before slowly, silently pulling it from under the mattress. She held it and ran her fingers along its binding as she battled the angel and devil inside. The angel: How would you feel if Nobu read your private thoughts? Thoughts about your crush on Sam? About how cute you think he is? The devil: But Nobu is so quiet sometimes. Wouldn’t it be good for you to know what he is thinking?
Yes. It would be good.
She gently opened it, holding it close to her chest so Mama wouldn’t hear the binding crack.
“Sachiko, come in here, please.”
The sound of Mama’s voice startled Sachi and she almost dropped the journal. Did Mama know what she was doing? She took a deep breath.
“Okay, Mama,” she replied, though she still didn’t want to talk to her mother. She closed the journal and returned it to its hiding place. Before she rose to her feet, she checked it one more time, shifted it the littlest bit to make sure Nobu wouldn’t be able to tell. As she opened the curtain to return to Mama, she felt a curiosity b
igger and hungrier than it had been before she’d entered Nobu’s room only moments before. She’d have to find another chance to read that journal.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, Mama?”
“I want to try to explain what happened this morning. Sit down, please.”
She sat on the bed. By the look on Mama’s face, she wasn’t going to like the conversation.
“Sachi, have you ever heard the word eta before?”
“No, what does it mean?”
“Eta means social outcast. In Japan, any occupation that has to do with death—undertakers, leather workers, butchers …” Mama looked away from Sachi.
“Butchers? What are you saying, Mama?” Sachi’s voice rose with each word she spoke.
Mama continued, still not looking at Sachi. “ … they were considered ungodly. Unclean. Outcast.”
“So are you saying Sam’s father is eta? Outcast?”
“Yes. And Sam said he wants to be a butcher like his father.”
“Then what are you telling me?” Sachi asked the question, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“You should not associate with them, or you will lose face.” Mama stared squarely into Sachi’s eyes. “You will bring dishonor to our family.”
Sachi stood, crossed her arms and leaned toward her mother. “I will bring dishonor to my family by playing with Sam?”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s right. It’s tradition, Sachi-chan.”
Sachi would explode if she stayed. She ran for the outside, but before leaving, turned to speak again. “I don’t care about tradition! I don’t care about losing face or family honor! All I know is Sam is the best friend I’ve ever had.” She ran from the stall, a place she hated even more than before.
How could Mama judge a man—his whole family—by his occupation? She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her blouse.
Her own mother was no better than those who’d made Sachi cry when they called her a Jap.
Chapter 29
Nobu
June 19, 1942
Nobu sat in the shade of the administration building, trying to escape the sun, trying to hide from too many people. He tossed pebbles at a fence post, unable to quit thinking about the graduation ceremony he’d missed at Berkeley High School.
He pulled his journal from his shirt and began to write.
June 19, 1942
I should have graduated with the Berkeley High School Class of 1942 last week and keep imagining what it would have been like to be there. The parade of my classmates in their crimson and gold gowns while the band played “Pomp and Circumstance.” Watching our proud parents gawk as they searched the procession for their graduate. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, Papa wouldn’t have been there anyway. But it was stolen away from me! Only a month and a half to go, and they sent me here. I missed the parties, the celebration. The prom! I missed talking about where we’d go to college.
Sure. They put together a small ceremony for all the graduating seniors at Santa Anita, but hell, what the fuck did that mean to any of us? We’d been here less than two months. Few of us even knew each other.
So now I’m a high school graduate. I should be getting ready for UC-Berkeley. And I would be if I weren’t in this godforsaken assembly center, this prison!
Will I ever go to college now? And if not, what about my future? What kind of shit job can I hope to get without a college degree? Hell, even with a college education, I’m a Jap. With the way things are today, who’s going to hire a Jap? Guess it doesn’t matter if I have an education anyway.
He tucked his journal inside his shirt. Now what? Boredom swelled with every breath he took. There was nothing to do in this place. He picked up a large rock and felt its coolness against his palm, until his jittery restlessness erupted and he threw it at the fence that locked him inside the miserable camp. Missed.
He hung his head between his knees until the shade wandered away and left the sun to beat on his neck.
The rumble of a bus engine signaled more Japanese being delivered. He watched, though it was nothing new. Buses arrived every day with new evacuees. Only difference was that in recent weeks, rather than leaving right away, they waited to be loaded with Japanese families being transferred to a more permanent relocation center. His family’s time could come at anytime. Then he could be bored someplace else.
He watched lost-looking souls shuffle off the bus and recognized the look in their eyes, a search for answers to questions that pounded in their heads from the start of their journey: Where are they taking us? When will we return? What have we done to deserve this?
A few were close to his age. He tried to interpret the looks in their eyes. Not so resigned but anger raged in some of their stares, anger he knew. They didn’t belong in this place. Didn’t do anything to deserve being treated this way. They were American citizens.
The sun’s reflection burned his eyes. He stood and dusted off. Time to get back to pick Sachi up for lunch. But a familiar face caught his eye. He moved closer and held his hand to block the sun’s glare.
Kazu?
He yelled. “Kazu?”
The kid looked up and around, searching for who had called his name.
For the first time since arriving at Santa Anita, happiness burst inside and he waved with all his might. “Kazu! Over here!” The words caught in his throat and the urge to cry surprised him. He swallowed hard.
Kazu’s eyes widened. “Nobu? Is that you?”
He ran over to Kazu and took a suitcase from him. “Oh my God. I don’t believe it. How are you? How is your mother?” He had a thousand questions, a thousand things he wanted to say.
Kazu nodded toward the bus. “Mother is here, too. Over there.”
“And your father?” Nobu asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Pop is still at a camp in New Mexico. Still don’t know when we’ll see him again. We get letters every once in a while, but so much of it is blacked out, we don’t really know what’s going on. Hey, don’t bring it up in front of my mother, okay?”
“Hello, Mrs. Sasaki,” Nobu said when she approached.
Mrs. Sasaki studied his face for a moment before she spoke. “Nobu? Oh, my! How are you? How is your family?”
“My mother and Sachi are fine, but we haven’t heard from Taro since we’ve been here.”
“Ah,” she said. “Perhaps no news is good news, neh?”
“Keep moving. Keep moving,” called a young guard, swinging his arms forward. “Proceed to the administration building for further instructions.”
“You’ll get directions to your new living quarters there,” said Nobu. “Don’t expect much. I’ll warn you now. They’re not much more than swept-out horse stalls.”
Mrs. Sasaki clutched her bags tighter and looked up at her son.
The urge to soften his words struck Nobu in the gut. “A little bit of mother’s touch adds a lot though.” He could kick himself.
Kazu took one of his mother’s suitcases. “Guess we better keep moving.”
“We’re in Row 3, the fourth stall on the right. When you’re finished, come by and I’ll treat you to lunch at the mess hall.” Nobu flashed a sly smile at his friend.
“Okay, we’ll see you in a bit.”
He jogged back to his apartment to tell Sachi and Mama the good news, still not believing it. Kazu. Here. Maybe now they could start a baseball team. And he’d have someone to talk to. Someone who understood his anger.
He found Mama sweeping the dirt floor. Sachi was reading a book on the bed.
“Great news,” he announced.
“What is it, Nobu? You have not smiled like that since we arrived.”
“You’ll never believe who just got off the bus. Take a guess.”
“I have no idea. Just tell me.”
Sachi leaped up and began to recite a list of names. “Uh, let’s see, was it Mr. Sato from the grocery store? No? How about Mrs. Thompson? That would be so nice if it was Mrs. Thompson. Then I
could take my dance lessons again.”
“No, no, and no,” he said. “Okay. You’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. It was Kazu. Kazu and his mother.”
“How nice for you to have a friend here now,” Mama said. Her voice softened. “But I suppose I should not wish being here on anyone.”
“Thanks, Mama.” He went to his bed and drew the curtain, the door to his “room.” The mattress hay crackled as he laid his journal beside him and began to write. For the first time since Sachi had given him the journal, he recorded good news.
Chapter 30
Terrence
July 14, 1942
Terrence traced the line he’d marked on the wall that morning. One line. One day. He knew without counting how many had passed so far; thought about it every hour of every day. Ninety-two since the judge sentenced him, drawn on the dingy wall next to his cot. How the hell was he going to make it another 638 days?
He stared at the ceiling, recalling the morning the judge had handed down the sentence that put him in prison for two years. Dozens of restless spectators watched and waited for him to punish the nigger. He guessed most figured a colored boy was a lower life form than a Jap. Or, maybe they were just hungry for whatever scrap was dangled in front of them.
Manslaughter. Mr. Blake said he was lucky to get off with two years plus probation, but he couldn’t help the anger that ripped at his gut every time he lay down on that cot and counted the lines on the wall.
The place was a hellhole. That scuffle in the shower hadn’t been the last time Peachie harassed Terrence. Matter of fact, things had gotten worse. And the deadbeat guards didn’t do anything to stop it. Peachie had friends, too. He rubbed the scars on his arm left by Peachie’s fingernails.
He thought about Daddy. Here in the cell, sometimes he could almost pretend his father was still alive in the world outside, doing what he always did. Just waiting for Terrence to get out so he could help with the chores. He pictured Daddy in the driveway, fixing Patty’s bike. Pushing Missy on the swing in the backyard. He smiled, remembering the way Daddy used to sneak up behind Momma while she was doing the dishes after supper. But the best memories were those of Daddy cheering at his ball games.