The Red Kimono

by Jan Morrill

  And it’s hot. Everywhere, it’s hot.

  Thinking about it doesn’t do any good anyway. I have no choice but to go where the stream takes me. Nagare no tabi.

  But Sachi? And my role in this family? Those questions are not so easy to put out of my mind.

  He closed the journal and rested his head against the window. The countryside they passed was a blur of desolation, mile after mile of nothing except tumbleweeds that skipped along, hopelessly trying to keep up with the train.

  Sachi yawned and stretched. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. “Are we still on this silly train?” she whined.

  Nobu fanned her. “Yes, we’re still on this silly train.”

  “But when are we going to get there?”

  “We’re a little more than halfway there. Two more days.”

  “Two days?” She kicked the seat in front of her.

  Mama turned around. “Sachi! Why are you kicking my seat?”

  “She just woke up,” Nobu said.

  Sachi glared at him. “Sorry, Mama. I forgot you were sitting there.”

  Mama shook her finger. “It is a good thing I am sitting here, or you would have kicked someone else. Now behave yourself!”

  Sachi flopped back against her seat. “I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?”

  “They should be passing out sandwiches for dinner in about an hour.”

  She moaned her high-pitched reply. “No fair!”

  Nobu rested his cheek against the warm glass and gazed out the window, choosing to face the misery outside over that of his sister.

  Minutes later, he turned to find Sachi still pouting, arms crossed defiantly. He rolled his eyes.

  It was going to be a long two days to Arkansas.

  Chapter 39

  Sachi

  Rohwer Relocation Center, Arkansas

  September 29, 1942

  A far away war

  Angry words pelt like bullets

  The battle brought home

  It seemed like forever that they’d been on that stupid train. Sachi’s body hurt, and she was bored, bored, bored. At first, she could get comfortable on the hard seat by changing positions, but after four days, every position hurt. And she was darned tired of sitting next to Nobu. Tired of sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Tired of using the stinky toilets on the train. Tired of seeing armed guards walk up and down the aisle, looking at her like she was doing something wrong. Her head pounded and smelly bodies pressed around her until she couldn’t breathe.

  She stretched and whined. “When will we get there?”

  Nobu huffed and rolled his eyes. “How many times do you have to ask?”

  “Children!” Mama glared over her shoulder.

  Nobu held a finger to his mouth. “See what you did? Now be quiet. It’s the fourth day. We’ll get there soon, so quit asking.”

  “Soon, soon, soon. That’s what you always say.”

  A loud squeal of metal against metal hurt her ears, and her body swayed forward. Brakes! She leaned over her brother to look out the small opening of the window.

  Nobu groaned and pushed her. “It’s too hot. Get off of me!”

  What a grouch. Good thing they’d finally arrived—he was really getting on her nerves.

  Farther down the track, she saw a sign above a tiny building that got bigger and bigger as the train moved closer. It didn’t look like much more than an old wood shack. And there were soldiers with guns lined up in front. McGehee, Arkansas.

  The clacking on the track clicked slower and slower. She held a hand over her eyes to shield the bright sun as she looked out the window to see what kind of place McGehee was. It didn’t look like any place she’d ever seen in California. A tiny little town. Not even a town, really, just a few small, shabby buildings on a two-lane gravel road. The old, dusty cars parked in front of the buildings looked like they hadn’t been driven in years. She even caught a glimpse of a horse pulling a cart, just before it turned a corner.

  As the train slowed, the breeze that came through the window—warm as it was—went stagnant. A buzz of activity swept through the hot and sticky air. Whispers rose to an excited hum. Feet shuffled on the floor. Suitcases banged and knocked as they were pulled from under seats, jerked off racks. Children cried.

  “We’re here!” Sachi said, jumping out of her seat. “Finally, we can get off this stupid train.” She grabbed the doll Kate had given her before she left California.

  Nobu pulled two suitcases from under the seat. Mama struggled with a big one from the rack above her.

  A soldier walked to the front of the car. “Rohwer! Rohwer Relocation Center! When the train comes to a complete stop, get off and wait beside your car until you are given further instructions.”

  The man in the khaki uniform clutched his gun tight. No smile, either. Maybe he was ready to get off the train, too.

  Everyone piled into the aisle, shoving, pushing. It made her sad to see Japanese people acting that way. She realized she wasn’t the only one who thought it was a long ride.

  Grabbing Mama’s skirt, she felt her way down the steps of the car. She couldn’t wait to get outside to breathe fresh air, so tired of smelling stinky people.

  Sunlight at last. But no breath of fresh air. It was too hot, like standing over rice when Mama cooked it. No breeze. And what was that strange buzzing that filled the air? Zoooweee. Zoooweee. She heard it everywhere. Was it birds? Bugs? Whatever it was made it seem even hotter outside.

  Everybody pressed against the train car, its shade the only escape from the sun that beat down.

  She looked across a big field of cotton. There it was. Rohwer Relocation Center. Rows and rows of rectangular black buildings, lined up perfectly. Is that where they would live? It looked even uglier than Santa Anita, but some of it looked just the same. Barbed wire all around. Guard towers with soldiers who wore guns over their shoulders.

  There were a bunch of people from the town standing around staring at them, just like people in California had stared when they entered Santa Anita. Only these Arkansas people dressed different from Californians. Some wore overalls. Some were barefoot. But strangest of all? Colored people stood together in one cluster and whites stood together in another. But they all stared like they’d never seen Japanese people before.

  A large crowd of Japanese people stood behind the barbed wire, some searching, some smiling, some just staring. She’d never seen so many buildings, all lined up like black building blocks behind the Japanese people who waited. Couldn’t they have picked a different color? Not very pretty for a house. How many were there, anyway? She started counting.

  Before she’d counted the fourteenth barrack, an awful, loud squelch startled her. She covered her ears and looked around and found the same uniformed man that had given instructions on the train, holding some kind of horn in front of his mouth.

  “Attention,” he called through the horn. “Welcome to Rohwer Relocation Center. Wait by your train car until your number is called.” The horn squealed again and he walked to the front of the train.

  The sun was hot and the shady area where they waited by the train was shrinking and people pressed together more tightly. Sachi walked over to where Mama sat on her suitcase. “What do you think our new home will be like?”

  Mama fanned herself with her hat. “I have no idea, Sachi. We will have to wait and see.”

  She looked around. “Where’s Nobu?”

  “He said he was going to look for Kazu.”

  Nobu had Kazu here. She had nobody. She missed Sam all over again and opened a book he’d given her, even though she’d already read it a hundred times. Reading it didn’t help any. But she pretended to read it anyway, hiding behind it to watch the people that watched her.

  The Arkansans paced, impatient and restless, never taking their eyes off the Japanese internees. It reminded her of pictures she’d seen of lions stalking prey. She wondered what they would do if the soldiers weren’t standing between them. She did
n’t want to look at them. They scared her. Yet, she couldn’t seem to turn away.

  “Go on, get on outta here!” one old man dressed in overalls yelled. “We don’t want your kind ’round here.” She didn’t know what was uglier, the scowl on his face or the way he spoke.

  She pulled the book over her eyes. What had they done to make him so mad? Her heart pounded so hard her fingers throbbed as they held the book.

  She peeked again. Maybe that mean old man would go away.

  A movement caught her eye. By the tree near the gate. A colored girl was hiding behind it. She peeked around the trunk, then hid again. She looked a little older than Sachi. Why was she hiding? The girl stared right at her, but pulled behind the tree trunk every time Sachi looked at her.

  Slowly, she peered around her hiding place again. Her skin was even darker than the bark.

  Sachi lowered the book and put it on her lap.

  The colored girl smiled a funny, crooked smile, then waved hello.

  Chapter 40

  Terrence

  October 1, 1942

  “Hey, Harris.” Sometimes that weasel guard’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

  Terrence looked up from the history book on his lap. His stomach twisted when he saw the white boy slouched next to the guard.

  The kid rubbed his hand back and forth on his crew-cut blond head and glared at Terrence with icy blue eyes.

  What was going on? That guard for damn sure wasn’t gonna put no white boy in the same cell as a black kid.

  “This here’s Carter. Your new cell mate.” The guard sneered.

  What? Did he think he was being funny or something?

  A memory from a few years back flashed into his mind. When Momma accidentally splashed dishwater into a pan of hot cooking oil. That oil sizzled and spattered right out of the pan. Burned Momma pretty bad.

  Some things just didn’t mix.

  Terrence tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal and pretended to keep reading. But he felt Carter’s cold stare on him as he shuffled to the empty bunk above his.

  He closed his eyes. Tried to imagine slapping the stupid grin off the guard’s face. Tried to ignore Carter.

  He opened his eyes and focused on what he’d been reading before the guard thought he’d be funny.

  Fourscore and seven years …

  He struggled to pretend Carter wasn’t there. Mr. Blake was coming to test him on the Gettysburg Address that afternoon, and Terrence wanted to prove he’d studied.

  … a new nation, conceived in liberty …

  “Hey, boy. What’s your name?”

  There it was. Boy. A blow to the gut. Impossible to ignore. Now what?

  Carter pounded the wall. Bang. Bang. Bang. “You hear me? You know my name. Now what’s yours?”

  “Terrence,” he said, his gaze fixed on the Gettysburg Address.

  “Terrence?” Carter snickered. “What kinda sissy name is that?”

  His heart pumped an explosive brew through his body. The words in front of him blurred. Still, he tried to focus. Concentrate.

  … dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

  “Ter-rence, Ter-rence, Ter-rence,” Carter chanted.

  Shit. All men are created equal? No way this asshole was equal to anybody, especially Terrence. His head throbbed, and he was ready to explode. But he knew damn well it would only cause trouble.

  “Look, man. I got a test this afternoon. Leave me alone, will you?” He gritted his teeth. “How about we finish this conversation later?”

  “Oh, you a smart boy, huh? No wonder you got a name like Terrence. Terrence, the smart nigger. ’Sif that’s possible.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom. It wasn’t Carter hammering the wall this time. It was Terrence’s heart, banging in his neck and head, his fisted hands.

  Gotta ignore him. Shut him out.

  The mattress squeaked above him and Carter moaned. “You might think you’re a smart boy, but guess you ain’t smart enough to carry on no conversation with me. Okay. Later, then.” Finally, his gurgled breathing turned to a roaring snore.

  Snoring rumbled through the jail like rolling thunder, but it didn’t bother Terrence near like the piercing glares and bullet words that Carter had fired off moments before.

  The hours passed too fast, and queasy nerves rippled through Terrence when the guard came to his cell to tell him Blake was waiting. At least Carter the Creep had slept the rest of the morning, so Terrence had near memorized Lincoln’s address. Slapping his book shut, he gathered a few papers.

  “Best not mess up on your test, Smart Boy,” Carter said, yawning. “And don’t forget. We’re gonna get to know each other better when you get back. Right?”

  Great. Just what he needed to be reminded of. He sneered at Carter and followed the guard to the visitation room.

  The guard chuckled. “Sounds like you boys are gonna get along just fine.”

  When Terrence walked in, Mr. Blake was sitting between a neat stack of books and a pile of newspapers, hands folded on the table. Somehow, the perfection of the scene didn’t mesh with Blake’s wrinkled shirt and rumpled tie. A blank tablet and pencil had been placed across the table. All very proper.

  The guard shut the door, and the click of its lock echoed in the quiet room. A new set of nerves surged as Terrence feared losing everything he’d just studied.

  “Afternoon.” Blake hitched his pants up when he stood. “Ready for your first exam?”

  “Yessir, I guess so. Might’ve been more prepared though, if I hadn’t got a new cell mate this morning. Kind of hard to concentrate, if you know what I mean.”

  “New cell mate, huh? What’s he like?”

  “Rather not talk about it now, if you don’t mind. I got all this information in my head, and I best let some of it out, else it’s gonna disappear. Can I just take the test?”

  “Sure. Have a seat.” Blake opened a notebook. “I’ve got a list of questions I’m going to read to you. You write down as much as you know about each. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I guess so.” Terrence panicked, as bits and pieces of information he’d read over the last few days began to leak from his mind, like sugar pouring from a sack a rat chewed up.

  Blake tapped his pencil on the table. “Hey. Just do the best you can.”

  Terrence took a deep breath. “Yessir. Guess I’m ready.”

  “Okay. First question. Why did Abraham Lincoln write the Gettysburg Address?”

  Terrence put his pencil on the blank sheet of paper and waited for the words to come. His mind started to fill up with things Carter said. Flooded his brain so fast, it pushed everything he’d learned to some faraway place he couldn’t reach. What was he going to say to Carter when the test was over, when it was “time to get to know each other better?” Carter damn sure didn’t have any interest in getting to know a black kid. So what was the deal?

  He stared at the point of lead pressed on the blank paper. It hadn’t moved. What happened to all that stuff he’d learned about Abraham Lincoln?

  Stop it! Forget about that jerk.

  “Terrence?”

  Mr. Blake’s voice ripped him away from thoughts of Carter. He looked up.

  “You need me to repeat the question?”

  “No … uh, yes. That might help,” Terrence replied.

  Mr. Blake repeated the question slowly.

  At last his brain overflowed with facts he’d learned, until his hand couldn’t keep up with thoughts that demanded to be put on paper.

  … these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom …

  After several minutes, he dropped his pencil and shook out the cramp in his hand.

  “Okay,” he said. “Ready for the next one.”

  An hour later, Terrence had finished answering the five questions Mr. Blake had asked. Heaviness left his shoulders. He felt good about how he’d done.

  Mr. Blake took the pad of paper and flipped
the pages, looking over Terrence’s answers. “You want to wait here while I grade it?”

  “How long will it take? I only have another thirty minutes.”

  “Maybe twenty. Depends on the quality of your answers.” Blake winked. “In the meantime, I brought these newspapers for you to read. Circled a couple of articles you might be interested in.”

  Terrence read the circled headlines: Atlanta Constitution, October 7, 1941, “Jury Charged with Defense of Civil Rights”; Chicago Daily Tribune, March 3, 1942, “Lawyers Urged to Stand Guard on Civil Rights”; St. Louis Post-Dispatch, August 14, 1942, “Thousands Gather to Demand End to Discrimination in Factories.”

  “As you can see,” Blake said, wiping glasses that never seemed to be clean, “there’s a lot going on in the big world out there. People trying to right some of the wrongs being done.” He returned his glasses to his nose and turned his attention to Terrence’s test. “You know they could use the help of people like you.”

  There he was planting seeds again. Only this time, maybe the planting season was right. Terrence was hungry to learn. Hungry to get hold of anything he could read about how folks on the outside were working to change things. Right some wrongs, as Mr. Blake had said.

  But he still wanted to know why Blake cared about his education. And he for sure didn’t get why Blake was interested in civil rights, being a white man and all. He browsed the article in the Chicago Daily Tribune. Jury charged with defense of civil rights? Maybe Mr. Blake knew some of the lawyers who were “standing guard” for civil rights. Was that where all this was leading? Planting seeds. Maybe Blake wanted him to become one of those kind of lawyers. Heck. Could he really be a lawyer one day?

  “Mr. Blake, why are you …”

  Blake stopped grading the test and looked across the table at Terrence. “Why what?”

  But time was almost up and Terrence decided he wanted to know how he scored more than he wanted answers to his questions. At least for now. The questions would have to wait. “Uh, sorry. It ain’t … I mean, it isn’t … anything. Do you know how I did yet?”