by Jan Morrill
Then, the butterfly—the beautiful, blue fairy—danced at the edge of her vision. She watched it land on the rocks she had stacked earlier.
“Maybe it will never go away, but Papa taught me how to take my mind off things that bother me.”
Jubie wiped her tears with her sleeve. “Yeah?”
“That stack of rocks I made? The one you were going to put the little stone on top of?”
“Uh-huh. What, it got some sorta magic or something?”
“Yes, you could say that, sort of like magic.” Sachi watched the butterfly move its wings up and down. “Remember when I told you to concentrate?”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t ’cause you was talking to me.”
“Right. Well, what Papa always used to tell me was to concentrate and put everything out of your mind. Don’t think about anything except balancing that next rock.”
Jubie snickered.
“Trust me. I’ve tried it. It works.” Sachi looked around. “Where is that rock you had?”
“Right here,” Jubie said, opening her hand.
“Come on. Try. Put it on my stack of rocks. Right where that butterfly is.”
The butterfly left its perch.
“Just remember. Put everything out of your head, so all you’re thinking about is balancing that one rock.”
Jubie dangled the stone over the five rocks.
Sachi held her breath. Wisps of hair tickled her face in the breeze, but she dared not move.
The stones clicked softly. Jubie let go … waited for a second … moved … her hand.
The rock stilled, stayed.
Jubie smiled. “Your papa was right. It worked.”
Chapter 43
Nobu
October 15, 1942
Something made Nobu shiver. Maybe it was because the streets were deserted, though he caught people peering from hidden places. He zipped his jacket and crossed his arms.
Gravel crackled and Nobu wondered what in the world was going to happen to them now. Headlights approached. An army jeep.
His pulse quickened. Who would ever think he’d be happy to see an army jeep?
It came to a quick stop beside the group of men. Dust swirled up around the headlights. An officer approached from the passenger side, and the soldier who had left them earlier in the day hunkered behind the wheel.
“This all of them, Private?” the officer asked.
“Yes, Captain McCutcheon, sir,” answered the private from the jeep.
Captain McCutcheon held a flashlight on the faces of the locals. “What do you gentlemen think you’re doing?”
The one in the orange ball cap answered. “Well, uh, we was—”
Howard elbowed his way toward the officer. “Sir,” he said, smiling, “we believe we got us some Japanese spies.” He waved the gun at the boys. “We was just keeping an eye on ’em ’til the sheriff gets here.”
The officer moved closer to Howard, got in his face. “These boys aren’t Japanese spies. They were on work detail from the internment camp.” He turned toward the jeep and scowled at the soldier. “Unfortunately, someone didn’t follow orders. But these boys haven’t done anything wrong.”
The captain herded the rescued hostages toward the jeep. “Get in, boys. We’re going home.”
As Nobu climbed in, the private whispered, “Sure sorry about the mess I got y’all into.”
“Hush up, Private!” the captain ordered. “And you can bet you and me are gonna have words when we get back to camp.”
The engine chugged to a start and exhaust surrounded them as the private backed up to turn around. The headlight beam shone thick in the dust, then crossed over the locals they were leaving behind in stunned silence.
The ride back to camp was quiet, a comfortable silence. Nobu closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat. What would he say to Mama? Strange, how returning to the camp he’d hated that morning, now felt like returning home. But he couldn’t help wondering if they had really just been rescued, or were they plundered treasure?
When the jeep pulled up to the front gate, the private left it idling.
“You boys go on to your barracks now,” the captain said. “I guess you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Nobu got out and looked up to see an armed guard in the tower. He shook his head. What difference did it make who held a gun on him, a bunch of stupid locals or a uniformed guard? He walked into camp, his path lit by headlight beams.
“Hey, wait up!” Kazu called.
Nobu slowed but didn’t stop.
“That was a close one, huh?” Kazu asked.
“Yeah. I should have never agreed to come help today.”
The jeep’s headlight beams flashed along the fence line as it backed up. Nobu turned to watch it drive away, but something caught his attention, something beside one of the fence posts. He walked toward it.
“Where are you going?” asked Kazu.
Nobu didn’t reply, too focused on what he saw. He moved closer, knelt. A stack of rocks. Like what Papa used to make. The very sight of it brought him unexpected comfort and peace, as he recalled what Papa used to say about stacking the rocks.
“What is it, Nobu?”
Kazu was a good friend, but sometimes he got on Nobu’s nerves—always in the way. “Just a stack of rocks. Why don’t you go home? I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”
“You sure? You okay?”
Nobu glared at his friend. “I’m fine! I just want to be alone for a while.”
Kazu threw his hands up. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint,” he mumbled and walked away.
Nobu studied the stack of stones and wondered who put it there. He was embarrassed to admit it—even to himself—but it was like a message from Papa. A way to calm him after the day he’d had.
Put everything out of your head, and focus only on balancing the rock on the others.
In his contests with Papa to see who could stack the tallest, he’d focused on calming his thoughts many times. Maybe it would work now.
He searched for a flat stone, smaller than the rest of the stack. The selection was sparse, and he paced in the dim light from the guard shack, looking for just the right one. There it was, just on the outside of the barbed wire. He stretched his arm to reach it. Grabbed it.
Taking a deep breath, he let his hand hover over the top rock and put all thoughts out of his head, except balance. Balance.
He steadied his hand.
Lowered it.
Felt the stone touch the stack.
Let go.
Carefully, carefully, pulled his hand away.
“Hey! You there!” Someone called and flashed a light beam in Nobu’s eyes.
He jerked his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light, and brushed against the stack. The stones tumbled to the ground.
“I asked you a question. What are you doing there?”
Nobu stared at the scattered rocks, speechless. His heart pounded as he tried to find an answer the hakujin army guard would understand. Finding peace by stacking rocks? No Caucasian army guard—no Caucasian—could ever understand.
“You gonna answer me?”
“I … I … I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.” He had the urge to put his hands in the air. “I was just trying to spend some time by myself before going home to my family.”
“What’s that in your hand?” The guard motioned with his gun.
“It’s a rock,” Nobu said, tossing it on the ground.
Just a stupid rock.
“Well, it’s past curfew, so you’d better get home now.” The guard waved his flashlight in the direction of the barracks.
Bowing his head slightly, Nobu walked in the direction of his apartment.
When he entered the tiny room, Mama rose from a chair in the dimly lit corner. “Nobu! Where have you been?” She twisted at a dishtowel in her hand.
Sachi looked up from the book she was reading, her eyes, too, wide with worry.
�
�Sorry I’m late, Mama.” He felt bad that Mama and Sachi had been so worried but was not in the mood to face their questions either.
Mama’s voice shrilled. “Sorry you’re late? You’ve been gone all day with no word. You said you’d be home by dinner.” She slapped the table where a plate of food waited. “Now it’s ice cold. Sachi and I have been all over this camp asking about you. So do not tell me you are sorry you are late.” She clutched the towel as she walked toward him, her angry, watery eyes glaring. “I told you not to go out. Abunai, abunai!”
“I know Mama. Dangerous! You don’t have to tell me again.” He struggled to hold his temper.
“Where have you been? What were you doing?”
Should he tell her the truth? How much should he say? Would she worry more or less if he told her everything? He sat on Sachi’s bed and ran his hands through his hair. “Mama, just give me a minute. Please?”
Sachi sat up and touched his shoulder. “Don’t be mad. We were worried about you,” she whispered.
He smiled. Feeling the burn of tears, he covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.
Mama wasn’t going to give up. “Well? Nobu?”
He stared at the lamp in the corner, waiting for the right words to come. “There was a misunderstanding while we were out clearing brush.”
“A misunderstanding? What do you mean, misunderstanding?”
“The guard that took us out there left us. It felt great to be trusted, to be free, Mama. But then, some local hunters came up to us. They thought we were …”—he took a deep breath—“Japanese spies.”
“Japanese spies?” Mama began to cry. “Oh, abunai. I told you, abunai! What did they do? Did they hurt you?”
“No. We’re all fine.”
“How did you get home?”
“A captain from the camp came and got us. Brought us back to camp. I guess that private who was supposed to guard us is in trouble tonight.”
“And I guess you won’t be going outside of camp anymore, right?” Mama wore her I-told-you-so face.
Of course he would go outside the camp again, given the opportunity. But he wasn’t going to argue with Mama about it tonight. He headed to his curtained corner. “Nagare no tabi, Mama. We cannot control our destiny.”
His corner of the small room gave him comfort and escape. It was tiny, barely enough for his cot, but it was his. No Mama, no Sachi. No guards, no locals. He stuck his hand under the mattress and felt around until he touched the smooth binding of his journal.
He opened it on his lap and began to write.
October 15, 1942
Today I was taken for a Japanese spy. Me, an American. I’ve never even been to Japan. But I look like one of them. Hell, I’m reminded of that every day. But being taken prisoner at gunpoint? It was a hard slap of reality.
But I did feel freedom for a time today, when the guard who took us outside of camp for work detail left us alone. What a huge feeling freedom was, not to be watched because of what we look like. I didn’t care that we were put there to work—didn’t even care that the work would help the same people who took us from our homes. We were free.
Until the hunters found us. We were the treasure their egos searched for—Japanese spies! Paratroopers, they called us. Booty for them to bring into town to show off.
I’ve never been so scared in my life. Sure, the guards around this place have guns, but they don’t point them at us. These men pointed, cocked, even shoved them at us, and I think they believed if they shot one of us, they’d be heroes all the more.
It all made me wonder about fear and hate. Does America fear us because they hate us, or do they hate us because they fear us?
Chapter 44
Terrence
November 1, 1942
Mr. Blake’s question kept coming back to haunt Terrence. Yeah, the Japs killed his father, and he never thought he could hate like he’d hated that day he found out. Still, if he’d known that man he beat up—killed—in the park that day was Nobu’s father, would he still have hated him?
No.
So maybe Blake was right. It was a lot harder to hate someone when you knew something about them. Had something in common.
You could say he’d tried to get to know something about Carter, sort of. They were hardly friendly to each other, but somehow in the last month, they’d settled in on their territories in the cramped cell and pretty much kept to themselves. Didn’t hurt none that they both disliked the guards enough that neither would give the weasels something to hoot and holler over.
But in the cautious few words they did exchange, he’d learned a few things. He knew Carter graduated from high school. That was more than Terrence could say. And Carter grew up without a daddy. Not Terrence. Didn’t have that in common neither. Terrence’s daddy had always been around.
Though Carter didn’t mention it, the week before Terrence had learned Carter had a sister when a guard announced his mother and sister were waiting in the visiting area. A sister. Now there was something they had in common.
But when Terrence asked about the visit, Carter ignored him. Walked straight to the toilet, undid his pants, and pissed. Only when he zipped his pants back up, did he mumble, “That ain’t none of your business.”
So they’d gone another week, talking to each other only when they had to. Sure, it was better than the day Carter first arrived and said all those hateful things. But Terrence still had a knot in his stomach from the tense quiet. The kind when you know there’s things that gotta be said. But those things don’t get said—just keep building up behind a wall of silence that gets taller and thicker. You know one day it’s gonna explode from everything built up, but still nobody says a word. And more bricks keep getting added.
It wasn’t helping that they’d been in lockdown since two troublemakers fought in the yard. When other inmates got in on the action, the guards ran waving their clubs to break it up. Terrence and Carter just stood and watched, but everybody suffered for the brawl. Lockdown. No yard time. They even had to eat their meals in the cell.
So if he couldn’t figure out a way to talk to Carter, there’d be no one to talk to. That made the silence even worse.
Damn. He’d been staring at the same old algebra problem on that page for over an hour. Couldn’t make sense of it. His mind was too full of wondering when that brick wall was gonna come tumbling down and what it was gonna take to set it off.
It was time. Time to see if Mr. Blake was right about finding common ground. Way past time.
He scribbled out the hundredth math calculation he’d attempted then blurted, “I got two sisters.” He inhaled deep to slow his pounding heart. Okay, that’s a start. Now keep going. “Patty. She’s eleven going on sixteen.”
“Hey, man,” Carter said, “what do I care about your dumbass colored family?”
Terrence’s fist clenched. Stay calm. He scooted his chair out and put his feet on the table. Let out a long, slow breath. “Then, there’s my little Missy, she’s three. She loves to sit on my lap and listen to stories.”
“Man, are you deaf?”
Terrence fought to keep his voice steady. “What about your sister? What’s she like?” He wove the pencil through his trembling fingers.
“I told you, my family ain’t none of your business.” Carter flipped over on his bunk and faced the wall. “Now leave me alone.”
Time to push harder. “Guess your white-ass family ain’t worth talking about then.”
Carter bolted up. If his eyes could’ve shot bullets, Terence would be on the floor bleeding.
He fought the urge to up the aggression—shoot back. He grinned and forced a laugh as he folded his arms. “Aw, come on man. I’m just kidding around with you. Don’t be telling me you like this silent treatment we been giving each other no more than me.”
Carter turned his angry eyes toward the pillow he clutched.
Rocking his chair back and forth on its back legs, Terrence continued. “What’s it gonna hurt to tel
l me about your sister? I told you about mine.” Don’t stare at him. No eye contact. He watched the pencil weaving through his fingers. Come on, man. Talk to me.
Carter threw his pillow.
It hit Terrence and he lost his balance. He and his chair fell to the floor.
Carter burst into laughter. Laughed so hard he fell back on his bunk, holding his belly. “Sorry, man. I couldn’t resist,” he said, wiping tears from his cheeks.
Terrence picked up the chair and sat again, holding the pillow in his lap. “Yeah, that’s okay, ’cause now I got me two pillows.”
Carter sat up, alarm on his face. “Gimme back my—”
Terrence laughed. “Gotcha!” He threw the pillow back at Carter.
The sound of silverware clanking against dishes rattled toward the cell. “Supper time,” called the guard. “You boys are lucky. Tonight, round 2 of Lucille’s Meat Loaf Surprise.”
“Great,” said Terrence. “Round 1 was bad enough.” He figured Lucille’s Meat Loaf Surprise was a mixture of all the leftovers scraped from everyone’s plate the night before.
Carter jumped from his bunk and pulled out the other chair. “Hey, smarty-pants, you gonna clear off your mess so we can eat?”
That was about the most civil thing Carter had said. Least he didn’t call him a smart-ass nigger this time.
“Why you in such a hurry for Lucille’s Meat Loaf Surprise?” Terrence shoved papers in his books and stacked them on the floor. “You like it or something?”
“No way, man. But lunch was so awful I’m about to starve to death.”
One guard carried in a tray with two plates and dropped it on the table. Another blocked the doorway. “Enjoy, boys.”
Terrence stared at the lump of dried, brown mystery meat and the shriveled peas with cubes of orange carrots next to it. He poked his fork in the yellowish glop of mashed potatoes and it stood straight up on its own. What he wouldn’t give for one of Momma’s home-cooked meals. He’d never complain about having to eat her turnip greens again. Least they were fresh and hot.
Carter stared at his plate. “Don’t even know what bite to take first.” He tore at the meat with his fork. “I’d give just about anything for some of Ma’s cooking.”