The Red Kimono

by Jan Morrill

  He’d have told Terrence how to handle Peachie. He’d had to deal with that kind of folk plenty of times in his life, even though he said things were a whole lot better in California than they were in Mississippi when him and Momma were growing up.

  Must’ve been pretty bad in Mississippi, if it was worse than in California.

  Terrence kept thinking about the Saturday when Daddy took him to a steak house to celebrate the team’s big win. He smelled smoked hickory as soon as he walked in, and his mouth watered just thinking about tasting a juicy piece of meat.

  They had waited at the hostess desk for a long time. Terrence figured maybe they were busy. Some of the white folks sitting at white-clothed tables began to stare and whisper. Made his stomach queasy, his neck hot. But Daddy stood straight and tall. Look like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  When the hostess finally approached them, Terrence noticed her red lipstick had smudged onto her teeth. She looked real nervous, fidgeting and twisting a pen in her hands.

  She stopped behind a podium that held a reservation book. “May I help you?”

  “Yes,” replied Daddy. “Table for two, please.”

  She tucked a white-blonde curl behind her ear and flipped a few pages of the book. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “No, sorry, ma’am. We sure don’t.” Daddy smiled and looked around. “But look like you got plenty a empty tables.”

  Her eyes shifted and she flipped pages back and forth. “Then, I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you.”

  “But … you got empty tables,” Daddy said, still polite.

  She rolled her eyes. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  The hostess picked up the reservation book and walked toward the kitchen, fast as her skinny high heels would carry her. She pushed through the double-swinging doors like a wide receiver headed to the goal post. The patrons’ stares followed until she disappeared, then darted back to Daddy and Terrence. The whispering got louder than the sound of silverware clanking against dishes.

  Something inside Terrence rumbled, and it wasn’t his stomach anymore. He wanted to yell at the unwanted audience, maybe even turn over a table or two, especially where those puckered-up old biddies with their flowered hats and uppity stares sat.

  What the hell are you looking at?

  He needed to get in their faces and change their snooty expressions, get them to show a little respect. Even if it was only ’cause they were afraid.

  How the hell could Daddy just stand there, looking so calm? Terrence was boiling inside. But somehow he knew he best settle down.

  “What’s going on, Daddy?”

  “Just be patient, son.”

  Finally, a tall, thin man in a black suit walked up to them. “Is there a problem?”

  “No sir, we just want a table for two.”

  The man huffed. “Follow me.”

  Daddy winked. “Let’s have us a steak, son.”

  They followed the man through the restaurant. As they walked by each table, backs stiffened and gazes turned away. Yeah, they were staring all right, even though they tried to look like they weren’t.

  They passed the biddy with daisies on her hat. Terrence fought the urge to get in her face, though he couldn’t resist having a little fun. “Fine piece of meat you got there, ma’am,” he said, winking. He didn’t think a white person could get whiter, but she sure did.

  Daddy tapped him on the shoulder and pushed him along.

  The skinny-man-in-the-black-suit led them to the back of the restaurant. There weren’t any windows and it was dark, except for candles on a few of the tables.

  “This’ll do just fine,” Daddy said. “I ’preciate it.”

  The jerk had purposely seated them away from the rest of the patrons.

  “I don’t get it, Daddy,” he said, placing the white cloth napkin on his lap. “Why do you put up with being treated like that?”

  Daddy opened his menu. “Like I told you before, they treating us like that only ’cause we a different color. They don’t know the first thing about who I am on the inside. So it’s got nothing to do with me. It’s they problem.” He moved the menu closer to the candlelight. “Don’t do no good to fight it no how. You know when I was a boy in Mississippi, some colored folks fought against it and it didn’t do no good. Matter fact, I know of a couple stories where they was beat or even killed. Ain’t worth it, son.”

  Sometimes Terrence didn’t understand his daddy’s logic. But he sure missed it anyway. He fluffed up his pillow and watched a spider in the corner above his cot. Back and forth it wove, building its web. What prey might drift into its lair?

  If he tried real hard, maybe he could keep memories of Daddy long enough to get to sleep. Maybe he could even convince himself this was all a bad dream, and he’d wake up in the morning to find Daddy in the kitchen at home, smooching up behind Momma while she tried to cook breakfast.

  But every night, as he waited for sleep to take him away from the four walls of the cell, inmates shouting ugly words instead of goodnight shattered the flimsy hold he had on his make-believe world. The return to reality was cold and hard, filled with emptiness so big it sucked the breath out of him. Then, he’d lie awake and stare again at the marks on the wall, wondering if there’d be room for the 730 lines he’d mark before waking from his nightmare and leaving for good.

  Yeah, one day he’d be free. But dream or no dream, he’d never again wake to find Daddy at home.

  “Hey, Harris.” Waking to the guard’s raspy voice was even worse than the sharp clang of the cursed alarm clock next to his bed at home. “You got a visitor. Says he’s your attorney.”

  What time was it, anyway? And why was Mr. Blake coming to see him now? He smoothed his hair and waited by the door for the guard to lock handcuffs on his wrists.

  In the visitors’ room, Blake sat behind a stack of books on the table. When Terrence walked in, he looked up over his reading glasses. “Morning,” he said, standing to greet him.

  Terrence looked up at the clock on the opposite wall. Seven thirty. “Mr. Blake, what are you doing here? Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Just fine. I wanted to stop by before going to the office this morning. How are you doing?”

  “I get bored. Nothing to do but stare at the walls. Other than that, guess I’m as good as can be expected.”

  “You guess?”

  “Yessir. It’s just … I’m getting some harassing … but I’m dealing—” He stopped himself and held his breath.

  Blake removed his glasses. “Who’s harassing you?”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. And don’t tell Momma.”

  “I can speak to the warden, you know.”

  “I said don’t worry about it. Please.”

  Blake stared him down for several seconds. “You’ll tell me if it gets too bad?”

  “Yeah. Just don’t say anything to Momma. I’ve given her enough to worry about as it is.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from Blake. “What are all those books for?”

  Blake took one from the top of the pile, a worn edition of America Past and Present: History of a People and Nation, and pushed it toward Terrence.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It’ll give you something to do. You said you’re bored, right? Read it. Study it.”

  “Ah, come on, Mr. Blake. I don’t wanna read a dumb history book. That’s one good thing about being in this place. No school and no Momma to hassle me about getting an education. Besides. History’s boring, too.”

  Blake sat back and folded his arms over his big belly. “It’s good your Momma hassled you about getting educated. You made good grades in school before all this happened. She’s right. You don’t see it now but those grades—your education—it’s your ticket away from where your life is headed.”

  Terrence slouched in his chair and rolled his eyes. “You right about one thing, Mr. Blake. I sure don’t see it now.”


  “You will. One day you’ll look back on all this. And when you do, you can either be proud, or you can have regrets. Know what I mean?”

  Terrence shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You can either get yourself educated while you’re in here, or you can sit around and be bored. But then, that’d be a big waste of a lot of good time. You know, there’s a good chance you can still go to college. Get a degree. Make something of yourself. Make a difference in this world.”

  Terrence opened the book and turned the pages, not really looking at any of them.

  “I’ll work with you, if you study. Prove yourself, and I’ll send you to college.”

  What the …? He stopped flipping pages, frozen between disbelief and mistrust. Send me to college? Why in the world would Blake do that? For a black kid he doesn’t even know? A kid convicted of manslaughter? What did this guy want anyway?

  Terrence slammed the book shut. “Why, Mr. Blake? Why would you do this for me?”

  Chapter 31

  Nobu

  September 20, 1942

  Nobu gripped the bat and studied Kazu’s face as he wound up for the pitch. His eyes always gave away how the ball would leave his hands. A twitch of his right eye, he’d throw a curve ball. Left eye, you could expect a fastball. Nobu had learned to interpret his friend’s facial expressions over the years, and though they shared many secrets, this one he kept to himself.

  There it was. A tiny blink of his right eye, just before Kazu threw the pitch. Nobu swung and made contact with the ball, then tossed the bat behind him. It clunked and bounced on the ground as he tore away, headed for first base. Long, hard strides. He glanced to the outfield, where the ball whizzed past Kazu on the pitcher’s mound. An outfielder grabbed it and threw it to the infield.

  Run! Run!

  Nobu touched first base, ran past it.

  Safe!

  God, he loved baseball. Anticipating the pitch. Running for base. Seeing the girls at the edge of the field jump up and down, giggling, and clapping their hands. Especially the girl in the dark green skirt. Moments like those, he could just about forget he was surrounded by barbed wire.

  But as his heartbeat settled, he watched his teammate at bat.

  “Strike one.”

  The cry of a hawk drew his gaze up to where it circled in the sky, far above the barbed wire, beyond the boundaries of Santa Anita.

  “Strike two!”

  Nobu mumbled. “Come on, man. Open your eyes and hit the ball!”

  “Strike three! You’re out.”

  Damn! Nobu kicked dirt up and headed infield. He watched Kazu and his teammates run to the bench, arms waving in victory. Five to four. So close this time!

  He flipped Kazu’s hat off. “Good game.”

  Kazu grabbed his hat from the dusty ground and slapped it against his jeans. “Better luck next time.”

  “Hey,” Nobu said, flagging Kazu in closer.

  “What?”

  He grabbed Kazu’s jacket and pulled him even closer. “See that girl over there? The one in the green skirt?”

  “Yeah, what about her?”

  “I saw her cheering when I made the run to first base. You know her?”

  Kazu flashed a sly grin and shoved Nobu. “Got a crush on her? Yeah. I know her. What’s it to you?”

  “Just give me her name.”

  “Yuki. Her name is Yuki Kobayashi.”

  “Thanks.” Nobu grabbed his duffle. “Gotta go.”

  “Hey, you want to meet her?”

  “Another time. I have to get Sachi and Mama for dinner.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  Nobu waved as he left the ball field. “Yeah. Same time, same place.”

  It was great having Kazu at Santa Anita. Having a friend to talk to made the days tolerable. A friend to do things with—things that would take his mind off his anger. A friend who understood what it was like not to have a father around.

  And maybe now he might strike something up with Yuki. Yuki. He liked that name. It suited her, cute and perky. All he had to do was figure out a way to talk to her.

  Hot wind whipped through the rows of stalls, stirring up dirt that stung his skin and settled like grit in his eyes. He held his hand over his face to shield from the blowing dust and bright sun.

  The flowers Sachi had planted in front of their apartment caught his attention. The red petunias had been so bright, but now in the heat, they’d begun to fade and wilt. He’d water them for her after dinner.

  When he walked inside, he rubbed the grit out of his eyes and tried to adjust to the darkness in the room. A blurry silhouette sat on the bed.

  He blinked to focus. “Hi, Mama. Are you and Sachi about ready to go to dinner?”

  She replied softly, “Sachi is still out playing.”

  He sat next to her. “Everything okay?”

  “Read this,” she said and gave him a sheet of paper she held.

  He carried it to the lamp in the corner and read out loud. “Notice to family number 13754 …” He hesitated to continue reading and glanced at his mother.

  “Go on,” she said.

  He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled. “Effective September 25, 1942, members of your immediate family are to report to the administration building for relocation to Rohwer, Arkansas.” Resting his head against the wall, he began to bang against the wood planks. That meant leaving his friends. Kazu. His ball team. Yuki. “You mean we have to move again? Why can’t they let us stay here?”

  Mama shook her head. “We knew this was temporary and that we would have to leave within a few months. We have watched families board the buses every day.” She lowered her head into her hands. “But Arkansas?”

  Nobu crumpled the notice and threw it on the floor before going to his mother. He struggled to draw strength. Touching her shoulder, he whispered. “It’s okay, Mama. At least we’ll be together. We did okay here. We’ll do okay in Arkansas. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  “I am not hungry. Perhaps later. Please find Sachi and go without me.”

  “I’ll bring something back. You okay?”

  “I am fine. Go on now.”

  It was a relief to leave that room, to leave Mama. He wasn’t sure how long he could be in control.

  He stepped outside and fought the urge to slam the door. Anger surged inside and he tore away, running fast and hard as if racing to beat something ready to erupt—a scream he didn’t want Mama to hear.

  Then it escaped, one long cry of frustration that echoed through the camp. Residents in nearby stalls peeked through doors but quickly shut them again when Nobu slowed and shot an angry glare. He darted off, not sure where to go. He didn’t want to face Sachi, couldn’t be strong for her, too.

  The baseball field. He could be alone there.

  He dropped into the dugout and caught his breath. Inside, he wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t allow it. Boys cried. Men didn’t. He wiped his face on his shirt sleeve before taking his journal out of his jeans pocket.

  September 20, 1942

  We’ve just learned we are to be moved to another “camp”—no, a prison—in Arkansas. We’ve been given five days to pack our things. To say our goodbyes.

  I’m mad. Again. And I’m tired of feeling like this all the time. It’s a monster that’s eating me up inside. But I can’t help it. Today, after reading the notice, I felt it gnawing in my stomach. The more I tried to hide it, especially from Mama, the madder I became.

  What feeds the monster now? Is it that once again, we are not in control of our own lives? That we’re being moved to yet another place? And we could be moved again after that? Or, is it that I had just become accustomed to this place? Is it that with Kazu here, it had almost begun to feel like home, and now home, once again, is taken away from us? And what about Yuki? Finally, I see a girl I can’t wait to get to know. But what’s the use now?

  Hell! Words. These are only words, and they don’t come close to describing what I feel inside
.

  Here. Here is my anger!

  He plunged his pen over and over onto the page before scribbling a long, black line through what he had written. Not enough! He stabbed the entry with exclamation marks.

  A rock hit the bench next to the dugout and bounced off.

  Someone screamed, “Goddammit!”

  Nobu peered out of the dugout and saw Kazu at the edge of the field, throwing rocks like fast balls at the bench.

  “Hey, hold on!” Nobu yelled, rushing out. “You trying to hit me or something?”

  Kazu turned away and Nobu saw him breathe deeply.

  “Hey,” Nobu said. “What’s wrong?”

  Kazu glared at him. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. We’re being sent to goddamn Arkansas in five days.”

  Chapter 32

  Sachi

  September 20, 1942

  Sachi knew Sam had to be around somewhere. But where? There were only so many places to hide, but she’d already searched most of those. Behind the shower house? Under the school room stoop? Where was he?

  She kicked up dust as she searched their favorite hiding spots, careful not to get too close to her own family’s apartment. After all, she didn’t want to get caught playing with Sam after Mama told her not to. It was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. Can’t play with Sam because his father is a butcher? So silly. Sachi had decided to ignore it. And so far, she’d managed to keep their friendship as secret as her crush on Sam.

  It was almost dinnertime. Maybe he was hiding at the cafeteria building. He liked to go there and sneak a piece of dessert when nobody was looking. She skipped over and searched the line that had begun to form outside. Not there, either.

  Okay. Now hide-and-seek was getting boring, and the hot sun wasn’t helping any.

  “Sam!” she yelled. “I give up. Come out, come out, wherever you are.” She looked around. No Sam, but she did see Nobu and Kazu walking toward her. This wasn’t good. If Sam came out, she’d be caught and Nobu would tell on her.