by Jan Morrill
Mr. Blake continued to peer over his glasses, his bushy eyebrows arched. “Everything okay?”
“Yessir. Just anxious to know how I did.” He turned the newspaper page, and tried to keep reading. But curiosity and anxiety caused the words on the page to jiggle around so that he couldn’t catch them. Couldn’t get what they were trying to tell him.
Blake put his pen on the table. “Very good.”
Terrence’s heart beat like it’d been jump-started by those two words. He watched, waited for Blake to say more.
Very good.
He remembered being in first grade, running across the front yard, waving his report card in his hand. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” he’d called. “Miss Woods gave me two ‘excellents.’”
His father had come through the screen door, smiling big and proud. Made him feel all warm inside seeing his father smile at him like that.
The screen door slammed, and Daddy disappeared.
Mr. Blake took off his glasses and clutched them before scooting the test across the table. “Fine answers, Terrence. I can tell you studied.” He smiled, big and proud.
“Did the best I could.” Terrence felt silly, sitting there smiling, but heck, he couldn’t help it.
Blake cleared his throat. “Okay. On to the next assignment. Read the next three chapters. I’ll test you on those in two weeks. Day after tomorrow, let’s see how well you’re doing with algebra. Any questions?
“No sir. I’ve been working on the algebra problems, too. Might need a little help later on. We’ll see.”
Mr. Blake’s gaze penetrated. “We still have a few minutes,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Anything you want to talk about?”
A few minutes. There was a lot he wanted to talk about. Like why was Blake so interested in him and his education? What’d he care about civil rights? And what should he do about Carter the Creep? Too many questions. And they were all backing up behind a wobbly wall that wasn’t gonna hold much longer. But a few minutes? No way he could talk about it in just a few minutes.
Blake’s fingers kept drumming. “I can see there are a lot of questions swimming around in that mind of yours. Come on. Pick one. If we don’t finish today, we can take it up next time.”
Yeah, right. Pick one. Which one? Terrence wanted answers to all of them. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and swore the second hand moved faster than usual. “Better hurry,” it told him. “Time’s a flying.”
“Carter the Creep.” The words escaped before Terrence realized what he’d said. But that was the one he figured he’d better talk about first, having to face the kid again in a few minutes and all.
“Carter the Creep?” Mr. Blake asked, half smiling.
“I mean, Carter. My new cell mate. He’s gonna give me trouble. I can tell already. Why’d they even put a white boy in my cell?” He shot a quick glance at Blake and shifted his stare to the clock again. Probably shouldn’t have said “white boy” in front of Mr. Blake. “Sorry. Anyways, I just know they did it to stir up trouble. Matter fact, the guard even said he wanted to ‘mix things up a bit.’”
“So what kind of trouble’s he giving you?”
“All kinds. Making fun of my name. Calling me a smart boy—” Should he say it, tell Mr. Blake how bad it really was? That second hand was moving even faster now. “A smart nigger. Said I was ‘Terrence, the smart nigger,’ just ’cause I was studying for a test. Now how I supposed to study with talk like that going on ’round me?”
“Now how am I supposed to study,” Mr. Blake corrected.
Terrence rolled his eyes.
Mr. Blake’s moustache twitched with a sudden smile. “Sorry. Your momma asked me to watch the way you talk while you’re here in prison. Said she worked too hard raising you to talk right to let it all go down the drain here.”
“I know, I know,” he replied. Momma. How was it she could pester him even when she wasn’t around?
“Anyway, back to how you’re supposed to study with this Carter around. Maybe you should get to know him.”
“Huh? Why would I want to get to know that jerk? How I supposed to do that?” He took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Find some common ground between the two of you. What kind of sports does he like? What’s his favorite food? You know, that kind of thing. Just because you’re black and he’s white, doesn’t mean you don’t have anything in common.”
What the hell was he talking about? Common ground. He didn’t have nothing in common with that white boy. Except the damn jail cell they shared.
“Terrence?”
He felt kind of sick to his stomach and now his heart was beating a whole lot faster than that second hand was moving. He shouldn’t have brought it up. Better calm down. Didn’t want to make Mr. Blake mad, else he wouldn’t come back to help him with them … those … algebra problems he didn’t want to admit he needed help with.
“Appreciate the advice, Mr. Blake. I just don’t see as we’re gonna have anything in common though.”
“Trust me, Terrence. Try to find something you two have in common.”
“I don’t know what much good it’ll do.” He heard the jingle of the guard’s keys and scooted his chair out. He rose and shuffled to the door. “Guess it’s time to go.”
“Think about it this way,” Mr. Blake said, quietly. “When you beat up Mr. Kimura …”
You mean killed Mr. Kimura. The unspoken words were still like a punch in the gut that knocked the breath clean out of him. He stared at the floor.
Blake loosened his tie. “ … you saw him as a faceless Japanese. It was easier that way, wasn’t it?”
Terrence turned to the door. Wasn’t nothing he could say.
“Terrence,” Blake said, walking toward him, “as much as you hated the Japanese at that moment, would you have done it if you’d known him? If you’d known the two of you had Nobu in common? Your friend? His son?”
Chapter 41
Nobu
October 15, 1942
Drab. The word kept returning to Nobu’s mind. Everywhere he looked. Drab. Black tar paper on the outside of the barracks. Scant brown leaves, shriveled and clinging to tall, bare trees. Gray sky. Brown mud everywhere.
He hopped over puddles and walked around gloppy patches of sludge, an oozy mix of clay and fallen leaves. Funny the things he missed about home, like leaves skipping and clicking along the sidewalk. Now he cringed at the squishing sound from puddles too big to avoid. And when he missed, the way the mud felt and sounded was like the ground would swallow him up. Though he tugged his pant legs up, mud splashed, freckling the blue denim.
He arrived at the mess hall and scanned the room for Kazu. He studied the plates on the table, trying to figure out what was for lunch. It didn’t matter. At this point, he’d eat anything.
Kazu waved over the mass of people sitting in rows of tables. Nobu waved back from the food line. A worker plopped a spoonful of meat and gravy onto his plate that didn’t look too different from the stuff he’d tried to avoid walking through earlier. Plop. Runny mashed potatoes. What he wouldn’t give for some steamed rice.
“Over here,” Kazu called. “I saved a place for you.”
He took a seat across from his friend. “How is it?”
Kazu chewed and swallowed hard. “Not bad. Not good either. But I’ve got something that might make it better.”
Nobu tore at a piece of meat with his spoon. “When in the hell are they going to get us some forks to eat with?” He picked up the meat with his fingers and took a bite. “So what will make this better?”
Kazu pushed his plate away. “Look behind you. In the corner to your left.”
Nobu turned to look. “What. I don’t see anything.”
“Over there. See the third girl at the end table?”
Nobu’s eyes widened with surprise. “Yuki? When did she get here?”
“Don’t know. I saw her just before you came in. You walked right past her. She smiled at y
ou.”
Nobu lost his appetite and dropped his spoon. “I have to talk to her.”
Kazu hissed and shook his head. “Too late, man,” he said, nodding again toward Yuki.
“Why’s that?” Nobu turned to look at her again. His stomach sank when he watched her walk out of the mess hall, escorted by a couple of guys who looked like roosters strutting for attention. He slumped in his chair.
Kazu slapped the table. “Hey, I heard they’re looking for some guys to help clear an area of shrubs and trees—outside the camp.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So you want to help? We’re supposed to meet at the front gate at one. I’m going.”
“Why would I want to help them?”
“Come on. It’ll give you a chance to get out of here for an afternoon. Forget about Yuki. Maybe we can see a little of the town.”
Nobu stared across the table. The last thing he wanted was to do anything that would help the same people who put him in that camp. But to get out for a while? Get his mind off things? Yuki? Maybe it would be worth it. “I don’t know,” he said.
Kazu stood and said, “Well, I’m going. If you decide to go, I’ll see you at the front gate at one.”
Nobu shrugged. “Maybe I’ll be there. Maybe not.”
“Okay. See you whenever.”
Why in the world would Kazu want to help after they arrested his father as a Japanese spy and sent him to another camp? Now what was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to help out, but what else was there to do in this dreary place? Sit around and mope?
He left the mess hall and again attempted to dodge the mine field of never-ending mud.
Mine field? He thought of Taro enlisting to fight in the war. He’d probably face real mine fields.
So stop whining about the mud.
That did it. He made up his mind. The least he could do was help out at home. So he would meet Kazu to clear shrubs.
He sat on the stoop outside his apartment and untied his laces. Muddy shoes might be okay in the mess hall, but no way would his mother allow them in her house.
“Hi, Mama. You didn’t miss much for lunch.”
“I wasn’t hungry anyway.” She swept the floor in such a trance she didn’t bother to look at him.
“I still don’t know what kind of meat I ate. Where’s Sachi?”
“She told me she was going exploring after lunch. Didn’t you see her at the mess hall?”
“No. But it was crowded. If she was there, I didn’t see her.” He pulled his jacket off the hook on the wall. “Kazu told me they’re looking for volunteers to clear some land outside the camp. If you don’t need me for anything, I guess I’ll go help. Maybe I’ll get to see some of the town.”
She looked at him, eyes wide. “Are you sure, Nobu?”
After plenty of thinking about it, he was sure, until she asked that unexpected question. “I guess. Why?”
She resumed sweeping. “It’s nothing.”
“Mama?”
“Nobu, we have been isolated in these camps for so long, I do not think it is safe outside. Abunai! Abunai!”
Dangerous.
She said the words over and over as she swept the broom back and forth.
That was it. Mama’s words confirmed his decision. No way did he ever want to become so accustomed to being in camp that he no longer felt safe on the outside. Even if it did mean helping them out.
He put his arm around her. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen. There will be a group of us out there. I’ll be back by dinnertime.”
He shut the door quietly, leaving Mama in the dim room, still sweeping a floor that didn’t need to be swept. A spitting wind slapped him. He pulled his jacket collar over his ears.
“I knew you’d come,” Kazu said, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah. Like you said, it’s a chance to get out of this place for a while.”
“This way, guys,” called a young soldier as he walked toward the front gate. He pointed to a truck outside the camp. “Hop in back. We’ll be going just a few miles out.”
Nobu climbed into the truck behind Kazu, followed by four other boys. The engine sputtered and spit, and released a pop so loud that one kid lost his balance and fell out of the truck bed. Laughter and wisecracks filled the air, along with a dirty cloud of fumes that hovered, then drifted over the boys. The kid dusted himself off and climbed back in.
The engine revved. The truck jerked, and they were on their way.
Nobu figured the soldier driving the truck aimed for every damn pothole. The boys bounced up and down, and grabbed for anything to hold on to. Every rutty jolt brought mud splashing up to splatter anyone who couldn’t dodge it.
“How much longer?” one kid asked, wiping mud off his face with his jacket.
“Who knows,” Nobu replied. He cursed himself for agreeing to come.
Kazu, ever the peacemaker, spoke. “He said it would only be a few—”
The brakes slammed. The boys jerked forward and fell over each other like bowling pins.
“—miles,” Kazu continued. “Guess we’re here.”
“Who taught him to drive, anyway?” Nobu asked.
The soldier hopped out of the truck. “Everybody out! And grab a tool, too.” He lit a cigarette while the boys climbed out.
Cold, thick mud oozed into Nobu’s shoes, soaked into his socks. His feet had been chilled already, but now they were numb. He lifted a foot, heavy with mud.
“Okay, men,” the soldier yelled, “see that big oak over there?”
They nodded.
The soldier pointed in the opposite direction. “And see that creek over there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“From that oak, to where this road curves, to that creek. That’s the area you need to get cleared. Y’all should have all the tools you need. I’m taking the truck back to camp. Someone will be back to pick you up before dark. Questions?”
The boys shook their heads and mumbled, “No, sir.”
Was he really leaving them alone, unguarded? Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. It had been months since Nobu had been anywhere that he wasn’t being watched.
“Now y’all get to work,” the soldier said, before climbing into the truck.
Nobu watched the truck disappear in front of the puff of exhaust it left behind.
The boys stared at each other in a gaping silence.
Finally, Nobu spoke. “Really?”
One by one, cautious grins replaced nervous stares. Then, one kid’s chuckle seemed to give notice to the rest of the group that it was okay, and uncorked laughter burst from the others.
Kazu slapped Nobu on the back. “Can you believe it? He left us alone?”
The kid who had fallen out of the truck asked, “Aren’t they afraid we’ll run off?”
“Yeah, right,” Nobu replied. “Where would we go? We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, USA. And besides, in these parts, we stick out like sore thumbs.” He walked away from the group. “Guess we’d better get started. I’ll work over there.”
He plunged his shovel into the dirt near a scraggy-looking bush. The ground was harder than the soft mud suggested, and the unexpected force of dense earth shuddered through his arms. Maybe he’d hit a root. He jerked the shovel and lifted a heavy mound of mud and hard soil; he scooped it to the side and leaned against the handle, looking around. Damn. Must be hundreds of these old shrubs. Thoughts of Yuki walking out of the mess hall with those two guys came to mind, and he jammed the shovel back into the hard mud.
At the oak tree boundary, two of the boys moved back and forth against a trunk with a cross-cut saw. Nobu looked around at the forest of trees and huffed. One thing was for sure—this wasn’t something they were going to get done in one afternoon.
An odd energy vibrated inside him as he fought to remove the shrub. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be free, unwatched. No, this work was not what he wanted to be doing, especially since it was helping them out. But it
was almost worth it, to feel this way again.
Several yards away, Kazu wrestled with another shrub.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Nobu called.
Kazu gave a thumbs-up, barely breaking the rhythm of his pickax.
“Well, what do we have here?” The gravelly voice was accompanied by the squish-squash of approaching footsteps.
Nobu’s sudden rapid heartbeat signaled danger. That voice didn’t belong to any of the internees. That was a local. He could tell by the accent. Nobu’s hands clutched the shovel handle as he recalled a night when he was a child. He’d had a bad dream. Didn’t remember what it was about. But a strange noise in his room had wakened him, and he’d listened, trying to figure out what it was. Should he open his eyes to see it? Or keep them closed; pretend he didn’t hear it? Maybe it would go away then.
But this was a real nightmare. And when he finally turned, he saw four men with shotguns. He shut his eyes and opened them again. This bad dream wasn’t going away.
The man with the gravelly voice faced Nobu, while his three buddies held their guns in the direction of the other boys.
“What you boys doing here?” A cigarette butt dangled from the corner of his mouth.
“We’re from the camp down that way. We were ordered to clear this area,” Nobu replied. He took a quick glance around at the other boys. All were aware of the locals now. Some stood with their hands in the air.
“That right?” The man laughed. “Hear that boys? They been ordered to clear this land.”
The men chuckled. The one wearing overalls hacked and spit.
The man with the gravelly voice, apparently the leader, spoke again. “Well, I don’t believe you. They wouldn’t go and leave a bunch of Japs unguarded.” He scratched his head. “Boys, I think we got us some escapees.”
“Even better,” said a man who wore a bright orange ball cap, “maybe we got us some Jap paratrooper spies!”
The man in overalls hacked again. “Yeah, spies!”
What were these men thinking? Spies? Paratroopers? What did they think the boys were doing in the middle of that field with picks, shovels and saws? Preparing to attack?