by Jan Morrill
So much in life we take for granted. Then, it’s gone.
He tossed the journal into the canvas bag, then piled his other scattered belongings on top, and zipped it up. Taking a last look around his room—the blank walls, the bed he’d made neatly for Sachi, the curtain that had been his barrier from the outside world—he decided home was a relative place. He had hated his little curtained corner when they first arrived. But now that he faced the uncertainty of the camp in California, he felt like he was being ripped from home all over again.
Chapter 55
Terrence
March 15, 1943
“Showers!” A guard called from the front of the corridor.
Terrence rubbed his forehead and scribbled out his umpteenth attempt at solving an algebra problem.
Carter waited at the cell door, scratching his belly. “You coming?”
“Nah. You go on. I need to get this homework done before Mr. Blake comes this afternoon.”
“You mean I’m gonna have to smell your stink until tomorrow?”
Terrence grinned and shook his head. “You preaching to the choir, man. I don’t think there’s enough soap in this whole prison to wash away your white boy smell.”
The guard unlocked the cell door and Carter joined the procession of inmates headed to the showers. “See ya,” he said before the door slammed shut.
Terrence noticed the clean clothes Carter left on his bunk. “Hey, wait!” he called, but Carter was too far down the corridor.
He remembered how Momma always joked about having to remind him of something he’d forgotten. His homework, sack lunch, wallet. “Where’s your mind at, son?” she’d ask. “Don’t know what you gonna do without me one of these days.”
His algebra book lay open in front of him, calling to him like a nag. He gazed at the eight circled problems and groaned. Homework! He studied the problem over again.
Think!
Pencil to paper, he jotted figures on scratch paper, determined to solve the problem. Xs. Ys. As. Bs. His paper was full of a jumble of letters and numbers that looked like a foreign language. Why’d he have to take algebra anyways? Lawyers didn’t need to know algebra. Even Mr. Blake had told him he was afraid he wouldn’t be much help with that fancy math. So why’d he have to study it?
“You’ll need to know it to get into college,” Mr. Blake had said.
College. Would he ever really go to college? It was hard to imagine such a thing from inside a jail cell.
“Fight!” The call swelled as it ripped down the corridor from the shower.
Several guards ran by, guns drawn. Their shrill whistles echoed everywhere.
Hoots and taunts came from the direction of the showers, and those that had stayed behind watched from their cells like caged animals he’d seen in the zoo. Their eyes wide with frenzied excitement, they screamed and chanted.
Terrence’s heart beat wild, too. He stared at the clothes on Carter’s bed. All that screaming, the guards rushing to the showers … he pushed chilling thoughts out of his head.
The noises from the inmates went back and forth between murmurs and shouts. First they’d listen for what was going on, then they’d whoop it up. The fight was like gasoline on an ember, and the fire was burning out of control.
A new wave of guards rushed in, the rapid clap of their boots on the floor like machine gun fire. They pounded their clubs on the bars with one hand, held guns in the other, as they tried to outshout the raucous inmates.
“Quiet!”
“Shut up—get over there in that corner!”
They didn’t have to tell Terrence twice. He didn’t want any trouble. Only thing he cared about was what was going on with Carter. Something ate at his gut and told him Peachie had started something. Shit! He should have gone to the showers, too.
He felt helpless and sat quiet on his bunk. But his mind went rabid with visions of Peachie and his gang beating on Carter. There had to be something he could do. He felt like he was going to puke.
He’d gotten to like Carter, but thinking about what was going on made him realize it was more than that. Carter had ignored Peachie’s harassment. He must’ve started to figure it wasn’t right to judge a man by the color of his skin.
And how did he thank Carter? By letting him go to the showers by himself.
The guards lined up at the center, looking ready for action. At the slightest goad of any inmate, a guard rushed the cell door to shut him up. Soon, the corridor quieted. Twenty minutes later, the noise from the brawl in the shower quieted too.
But it did nothing to quiet Terrence’s mind—that wouldn’t happen until Carter showed up again. Pounding his forehead with clenched fists, he cursed himself for thinking homework was more important. He made a dozen deals with God, if only Carter would come back to the cell okay.
Several inmates paraded by his cell, wrapped in towels and clutching their clothes. Water dripped off their bodies, leaving a trail behind. Surrounded by armed guards, some snickered at Terrence as they shuffled by. And he felt sick all over again.
More than an hour passed. Terrence couldn’t wait any longer. He flagged one of the guards.
One guard approached, his hand clutching the club at his side. “What is it?”
“Where’s Carter? Looks like everyone else is back in his cell.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business? When the warden thinks you need to know, you’ll know.”
Dumb shit asshole.
But he knew to keep his mouth shut, even with the hate he felt for the fucking-idiot guard, the fear he felt for Carter. It all boiled up inside and shot at the guard in an angry glare.
The guard banged his club on the bars. “Get back!”
Terrence backed away from the door. Desperation pounded inside. He had to get out. Had to know where Carter was. Had to figure out a way to settle down, before he did something he’d regret. But what? What could he do?
Maybe seeing Mr. Blake would help. Maybe he could even find out what was going on. He checked the clock.
Only one more hour. You can handle that.
Still, he had to figure out what to do with himself. Couldn’t do homework. No way would he be able to concentrate. He climbed into his bunk and stared at Carter’s bunk above him. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Calm down. Another breath. Be patient. Only an hour. He inhaled again.
He imagined the sound of water. Fishing with Daddy. Sun felt warm on his back. Sometimes a breeze would whoosh by to cool him, and leaves would fall into the river and swirl around the red and white bobber. Terrence wasn’t sure what he liked more: the easy quiet between him and Daddy, or the talking they’d do when it was just the two of them.
“Nothing like getting away from all them women,” Daddy would say, chuckling. “Spending some time with my boy.”
Sometimes he’d get bored after a while, sitting there watching the bobber do nothing and he’d complain. “Daddy, there’s no fish here today. Let’s go do something else.”
Daddy would cast his line again. “Patience, Son. Nothing good ever comes too quick.”
He’d huff a little, knowing there wasn’t no way Daddy was gonna let him leave before they caught a fish. Then, all of a sudden that lazy bobber would plunge underwater, and Terrence would get all excited.
“Jerk it! Jerk your pole,” Daddy would yell.
Then, Terrence would reel the line in, faster and faster, until there it was—a perch at the end of the line. No, there wasn’t anything like holding up that fish for Daddy to see, especially if Daddy hadn’t caught one yet.
Daddy would smile real big. “See? What’d I tell you? Patience. You gotta be patient.”
He had the best smile.
A guard called from outside the cell. “Hey, you!”
The bellow ripped Terrence away from the fishing hole, away from Daddy, back to real life. He sat up and looked at the guard. “Yeah?”
“Your lawyer was just here to see you. Too bad all visitations were cancelled
for the day. The skirmish in the showers and all. Told him to come back tomorrow.”
Terrence slammed his head on the pillow and tried to bring Daddy back. Waited for his words to fill his head.
Patience, Son.
I’m trying, Daddy. I’m trying real hard.
Chapter 56
Sachi
April 20, 1943
A big, black hole. That’s what life felt like with Nobu gone. It was almost as bad as when Papa died. Sachi never thought much about having her brother around. He was just there. Though there were days she might not see him from the time she got up in the morning until time for her to go to bed at night, she knew he was there.
Now he was gone. Not there for her to talk to anymore. Not there to bother. Not there to spy on. All she had to look forward to were his letters, and they didn’t come very often. Even when they did, someone had blacked out so much of what he wrote and it was hard to figure out what he was trying to tell them. Why would they do that? Mama called it censoring and said it was the government trying to keep things a secret.
Who were these people who decided what should be kept secret between a brother and sister?
Huddled in the corner of her bed, she examined the little curtained room that used to be Nobu’s. She’d added some of her own touches. Two dolls sat on the nightstand—the one Mama and Papa had given her for Christmas and the one Kate had given her when they left California. A picture she’d drawn of her house in Berkeley hung over her bed. Now the room was hers.
With her own room, she didn’t have to sleep with Mama anymore. And it didn’t come a minute too soon, because Mama was even grouchier now. She didn’t know why, but her mother had always had more patience with Nobu. She never realized before that he’d been like a buffer. Whenever he was around, Mama was on her best behavior. Now, with him gone, Mama had no reason to put on a happy face. Instead, her face always looked like she was sucking on a lemon.
So Sachi spent as much time as possible away from the barracks. Mama didn’t even ask where she’d been anymore. That was good, she supposed. At least now she didn’t have to make up lies to hide being with Jubie. But sometimes she felt lonely and missed how her family had once been.
She opened her nightstand drawer and took out a notebook. Maybe writing to Nobu would make her miss him less.
April 20, 1943
Dear Nobu,
How are things at Tule Lake? I guess by now, you have settled in to your new apartment. I’ve been adding my own touches to your old room—
She ripped the page out, wadded it up, and threw it on the floor. That wasn’t what she wanted to say at all. She already knew he’d settled in, as best as he could, anyway. And she knew he wasn’t happy at Tule Lake. She could tell that from his letter, even with the blacked-out parts. What she really wanted to tell him was how much she missed him, about how miserable it was to be alone with Mama. She wanted to tell him about Yuki and Private Collins, about how they still talked to each other all the time, though they tried to keep it a secret. She often wondered if they might even get married someday, with that lovey-dovey look in their eyes when they stared at each other. But she couldn’t say any of that to Nobu, didn’t want to make him sadder.
So what was she supposed to write? Something—anything—but a silly letter that pretended everything was okay. Maybe she’d write about Jubie.
April 20, 1943
Dear Nobu,
Yesterday Jubie and I played by the creek. It was still very cold, but we decided we were ready for springtime, even if springtime wasn’t ready for us. We started building a dam and thought maybe we could make a little swimming hole for when the weather gets hot and sticky like it did last summer. When we moved one big rock, a couple of weird-looking lobster-like creatures skittered away. Jubie called them crawdads. She said you could eat them, and that she’d ask her Auntie Bess to cook up a pot. But first, she said we’d have to catch enough of them. I don’t know. They looked a little creepy. How am I supposed to help catch them if I don’t want to touch them? And eating them? Yuck.
People around here eat some strange foods, Nobu. Of course, Jubie probably thinks what we eat is strange, too.
I told her once that sometimes we eat our rice with seaweed wrapped around it. She crinkled her nose and asked what seaweed was. I had to remind myself that she’s never even seen the ocean, so she’s probably never heard of seaweed. When I explained that it was like thick, long blades of grass that grow in the ocean, she crinkled her nose even more, then stuck out her tongue! That’s okay, because that’s how I felt about eating crawdads.
Anyway, we got a good start building the dam before our hands started to freeze. At least we blocked the water enough so that it began filling up our future swimming hole. Maybe you’ll be back by summer and you can come swimming with us.
In case you’re worried about Mama finding out that I’m still hanging around with Jubie, don’t be. She doesn’t even ask where I’ve been anymore.
Sachi put her pen down and shook out her hand. It was always hard to decide how to close her letters to Nobu. She wanted to tell him about the black hole and about how much she missed him. But she didn’t want to make him homesick. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to think she didn’t miss him either. Sometimes, she missed him so much it hurt. But as he boarded the train for California, he hugged her and told her to be a “big girl.” He was only trying to make her feel better, but she’d felt a little insulted when he said that. After all, she was almost eleven now, hardly a little girl.
That settled it. She’d be the “big girl” he told her to be and wouldn’t let Nobu know how much she missed him. Not quite, anyway.
Mama and I miss you, but we’re doing fine. It’s always nice to get your letters, Nobu. So please write us as soon as you can.
Love from your sister,
Sachi
She folded the letter and stuffed it in an envelope. There was a certain excitement she felt when mailing a letter to her brother. As she walked out the door to mail it, she began to calculate in her mind. It would take about a week to get to Nobu. And she’d give him a week to write back, though she wished he’d write sooner. Another week for his letter to reach her at Rohwer. Three weeks.
That was forever.
Chapter 57
Terrence
May 2, 1943
Outcast. Nothing felt lonelier. ’Course the whites shunned Terrence, just like they always had. Every chance, Peachie gave him the evil eye and that stupid smirk, like he knew he was rubbing salt in the gash left from missing Carter. Then, there was the waiting. Waiting and wondering when Peachie would strike at him.
Worse than the whites shunning him was the blacks that didn’t want anything to do with him either.
“Go on. Get outta here,” they’d say, whenever Terrence tried to sit with them in the cafeteria.
“Yeah. You ain’t nothing but a dark-skinned white boy.”
He did pretty good ignoring all that. But then they’d snicker and say something like, “Sure is too bad about your boy, Carter.”
It was all Terrence could do to get away before the hurt inside erupted so hot he knew he’d do something that’d get him in trouble.
Hell. What’d all those jerks expect? A white and a black thrown together in a cell. They all must’ve hoped Terrence and Carter would let the same hate that pits one color against another in that godforsaken place explode within the four walls of their tiny cell. Must’ve been a big disappointment, all right. Sure, it took a while for the two of them to tiptoe around their hate, but somehow they’d figured it all out. Even got to be friends.
But Carter was gone. Terrence never could get anyone to tell him exactly what happened. He could tell the guards got a kick out of teasing him with pieces of information about that day in the shower. But they never let on about the whole story.
Maybe it was best he didn’t know everything. Might not be able to control his anger if he did. Didn’t matter anyhow. Carter was gone
, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
Outcast.
The only person he could talk to about it was Mr. Blake. He sure didn’t want to worry Momma with his talk about what it was like to be an outsider on the inside of a prison. She worried enough about him already. But with Mr. Blake, even if there was nothing he could do about it, at least he listened. By the time his weekly visits rolled around, Terrence had plenty he needed to get off his chest.
It helped some when Mr. Blake would tell him he was doing real good on his studies. The best news came when he told Terrence maybe he could even get out early, with his good behavior and the way he was doing with his studies. He tried not to get his hopes up, but it was awful hard not to.
He ran his fingers over the 384 marks on the wall. Even if he didn’t get released early, he’d passed the halfway point—346 days to go. Every time the thought of leaving early popped into his head, he’d push it back, and wouldn’t allow himself to get his hopes up. April 12, 1944. That was the release date he’d keep waiting for. If he got out sooner, it’d just be icing on the cake.
He ought to be reading his social studies chapters, but in the lazy hours after lunch, he always got sleepy. Maybe he’d just close his eyes for a little bit.
There he was, on the side of that creek, fishing with Daddy again. The sky was blue, with wisps of clouds drifting by. After a while, those clouds turned to dark, monster billows and the water that had calmly trickled by began to rush.
“Beautiful day, ain’t it, son?” Daddy asked, smiling.
“Well, it was, but it’s looking a little stormy now,” Terrence replied. “Think we should go in?”
“What you talking about, boy? Them skies are blue as I ever seen ’em.”
Terrence looked up, confused. The sky was black.
Daddy grinned and watched his bobber. “Pickens are kinda slim today, ain’t they?”