The Red Kimono

by Jan Morrill

  She pleaded. “It’ll be fun, Mama. Besides, how many kids get to see their own parents’ wedding? Please?”

  Mama had clucked her tongue and shook her head at them. “Oh, all right. What can I say to two against one?”

  Sachi stood and clapped her hands. “Yippee!”

  She added the finishing touches to the bride’s gown on her card. On the inside, she wrote, “Happy Wedding to the best parents ever.”

  Mama was shuffling around in a corner of the room.

  “What are you doing?” Sachi asked.

  “I thought I would wear my red kimono for the ceremony. The very one I wore when Papa and I married”—she turned and smiled at Sachi—“the first time.”

  The red kimono?

  An image of Jubie dancing in Mama’s red kimono flashed and her heart began to race.

  Calm down. Mama will never know.

  She stared at the card, afraid to watch her mother pull the kimono from the box.

  Mama gasped. “Oh, no!”

  Papa looked up from his book. “What is it?”

  Sachi squeezed her eyes shut.

  “My kimono,” Mama cried. “It has water spots on it.”

  “What?” Papa rose from his chair and walked to the corner. He looked up at the ceiling. “Perhaps we have a leak.”

  The rain! Sachi remembered it was raining the day Jubie had worn the kimono. But they were inside for the dance. Then she remembered she’d held her satchel over her head as she ran home in the rain—the satchel that held Mama’s kimono.

  Please, let there be a leak in the roof.

  “No, I do not see a leak,” Papa said.

  Her stomach sank and she wished she could sneak out without them noticing.

  Mama pointed at the box. “It could not be a leak. There are no watermarks on the outside of the box.”

  They both looked at Sachi.

  She wanted to smile—do anything to act normal, not guilty. But she was frozen.

  Papa spoke first. “Sachi-chan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know anything about this?”

  “No. How should I know how it got water spots?”

  Mama lunged toward her. “Sachiko! I can tell when you are lying to me! This was my wedding kimono. What did you do?”

  She started to cry and hid the card she’d drawn under the table. She didn’t know the red kimono she had “borrowed” was Mama’s wedding kimono. “I didn’t know, Mama.”

  “So, you do know what happened?” Papa asked.

  Oops. “No. But I didn’t know it was Mama’s wedding kimono.”

  Mama began to cry and looked at Papa. “You see! You see what I have had to put up with while you have been gone? She is lying. I know she is lying. I have not taken it out of its box since we moved from California. She must know what happened to it.” She glared at Sachi. “How could you?” she cried, then ran out the door.

  Papa stared at Sachi and waited for her to speak.

  “Papa, I don’t—”

  “Sachiko!” he interrupted. “I have never known you to tell me a lie. Are you lying now?”

  There was no way she could continue to get away with it. “Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what, your lie or ruining Mama’s kimono?”

  “Both.”

  “How did this happen, and why would you lie to us?”

  She’d never seen such anger in his eyes.

  How could she possibly explain everything so that he would understand? There was no way. No way. All she could do was blurt everything out.

  “Papa, I have a friend. Her name is Jubie. Mama told me I couldn’t play with her anymore, because she’s … she’s colored and we thought a colored boy killed you. The day we met, I found out her father was killed, too. All because he was a Negro. Don’t you see, Papa? That meant we both lost our fathers because of the color of their skin.” She put her head on the table and started to cry again.

  Papa pulled out a chair and sat.

  She lifted her head and continued. As she spoke, anger began to grow inside her. “I couldn’t believe Mama said I couldn’t play with Jubie anymore. I thought she was just as hateful as the people who put us in these camps, just because we looked like the Japanese who attacked Pearl Harbor. How could she think they were wrong, but tell me I couldn’t play with Jubie? Did she think that was okay?” She took a deep breath and waited for Papa to speak.

  But he only stared at her.

  “Well, Papa? What do you say to that? Isn’t it true that Mama should not have judged Jubie for the color of her skin?”

  His face hardly moved as he spoke. “You still have not told me what happened to the kimono.”

  Didn’t he hear what she said?

  “Sachiko? The kimono?”

  “Well, the day I borrowed it, Jubie and I were having a dance with her ma and Auntie Bess. I’d been teaching Jubie Japanese dances, and she had taught me the jitterbug. I didn’t see the harm in borrowing the kimono for Jubie. I was very careful and thought Mama would never find out. But it was raining that day, and it must have soaked through the satchel that held it. I’m sorry, Papa. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at Jubie. It’s my fault, not hers. That’s why I lied. I was afraid both you and Mama would tell me I couldn’t play with her anymore. But she’s my sister, Papa.”

  “What?”

  “Oh. I forgot that part. That day Jubie danced in Mama’s kimono. We became blood sisters. We decided Mama’s kimono was magic, because that’s the only way a Negro girl and a Japanese girl could become sisters.”

  A smile appeared for a tiny moment on Papa’s face, then he grew stern and folded his arms. “Sachiko, Sachiko. First, it is never okay to lie. Second, you should not have borrowed your mother’s kimono. Just because she would never find out does not make it okay. You were wrong on two accounts, and we must figure out how you can make it up to Mama.”

  Somehow, she knew there was a third thing he wanted to say, but he was quiet.

  He unfolded his arms, leaned toward her and smiled again. “Third, I must tell you I am proud that you did not judge Jubie by the color of her skin. You are right. She no more had anything to do with my ‘death’ than we had anything to do with the bombing of Pearl Harbor.”

  Sachi stood up and exclaimed, “That’s exactly what I thought, Papa!”

  “But—”

  Sachi interrupted. “I know, I know. Mama’s kimono. But what can I do to let her know I’m sorry?” she asked.

  “Shikata ga nai, Sachi-chan. Shikata ga nai.”

  Chapter 66

  Nobu

  August 8, 1945

  August 8, 1945

  This camp is an angry place. My brothers—those I march with—are full of rage. Many talk of going to Japan. Some are defiant, even to the armed guards. They find themselves in lockup as a result. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes—American soldiers throwing American citizens in the stockade. Their crime? Showing their frustration for the way they’ve been treated—for being relocated and relocated and relocated for no reason, except that they look like the enemy.

  Sure, I’m angry, too. About being forced to leave our homes, being relocated. About the loyalty questionnaire, the way we were treated for our honesty. About the years lost with Papa. How could so much time pass, thinking he was dead? Yet, he was alive. In another camp.

  I know where to draw the line about showing that anger. I’ll keep it inside, at least for now. Anything to keep from being imprisoned within a prison.

  Ichiro burst through the door, gasping. “Have you heard?” He bent over his knees, panting and shaking his head.

  Nobu looked up from his journal. Alarmed at Ichiro’s terror, he leaped out of the chair. “Heard what?”

  His friend darted around the room like a caged animal. “They bombed Japan! The fucking Americans dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima!”

  A burst of nausea churned in Nobu, yet somewhere deep inside he refused to bel
ieve it. “No way. What are you talking about?”

  “It’s true. I heard it on the radio when I was walking by the guard tower just now.” Ichiro pulled at his hair. “They said the city has been destroyed. Destroyed!” His voice cracked. “Shit, Nobu. Do you know how many people that would be? Thousands and thousands.”

  Nobu fell into the chair again and buried his face in his hands. What kind of a bomb could destroy a city, kill that many people?

  He listened to Ichiro hiss and knew it was his way of holding back tears. But others in the camp did not suffer in silence. The surrounding barracks began to fill with a morbid chorus of moans and cries.

  Women screamed.

  “No! My mother was there!”

  “My sister!”

  “Not my parents!”

  What about his grandparents? Obaasan and Ojiisan lived in Hiroshima. He’d only met them once, when he was just a little boy. He didn’t know them well, but they were his grandparents. Mama’s mother and father. Did Mama know about it yet?

  “Let’s go,” Ichiro said.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t care. Anywhere. But I can’t sit around here.” Ichiro grabbed his hachimaki off of his bedpost and tied it around his head. Hatred glowed in his eyes. “I’m going out to find the guys.”

  “I want to finish an entry here. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Ichiro sneered and waved him off. “Suit yourself.”

  Nobu reviewed what he’d written. Sure, I’m angry, too. Then, let new questions spill onto the page. Questions that fueled his fury.

  All those people, dead. Maybe even Obaasan and Ojiisan. What were they doing when it happened? Working in the garden? Having a cup of tea together? Poor Mama, having to wonder every day about where Taro is and what he is doing. Now, she must also wonder if her parents are alive or dead.

  All these years I’ve wondered what kind of government could throw its own citizens behind barbed wire out of fear. Now, I wonder what kind of government would use such a weapon to destroy hundreds of thousands of innocent lives?

  Chapter 67

  Sachi

  August 9, 1945

  A giant bomb dropped

  In a land far away, yet

  Close enough to hurt.

  Of course, Sachi knew what a bomb was. But Papa said the one that fell on Hiroshima was an atomic bomb. She had never heard that word before—atomic. He wouldn’t tell her much, but she knew something very bad had happened. If only he understood; wondering was much worse than knowing.

  So many things told Sachi this was something too terrible to talk about—at least to children. But she wasn’t a child! She was almost twelve. When would they trust her to understand grown-up things?

  She would never forget what happened the day before, when she returned to camp from Jubie’s house. As soon as she walked through the gate, she heard women crying inside the barracks. Men were walking up and down the barracks’ rows with strange, sad looks on their faces. Sometimes they stopped and whispered in small groups; other times, they shuffled along in a daze.

  That day, she’d walked into their dark apartment and found Mama and Papa sitting across from each other at the table. The only light in the room came from a candle flickering between them. Incense burned next to it. She noticed Papa wore the very same grim expression he had worn the day he heard about Japan attacking Pearl Harbor.

  Mama’s o-juzu beads made clicking noises as she tousled them in her hands. Her eyes red and puffy, she shook her head and whimpered. “Okaasan. Otosan.” Mama. Papa.

  “What’s wrong?” Sachi asked.

  Papa took her hand and walked with her to her room behind the curtain. They sat on the bed. “Sachi, something terrible has happened. But, do not be afraid. We will be fine,” he said, patting her leg.

  “What, Papa? What happened?”

  “It appears the United States dropped a bomb on Hiroshima.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, confused. “But don’t they drop bombs all the time in a war?”

  “This was a bomb that does even more damage. An atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, where your obaasan and ojiisan live.”

  Sachi gasped. No wonder Mama was so sad.

  “Many people had family in Hiroshima. If it is true, it will be a very long time before we know who might have been hurt there.”

  She had heard the others talking. Papa was protecting her. It wasn’t only injuries that worried everyone. Though they always whispered when children were around, she heard the whispers about a city the size of San Francisco being completely destroyed. They said that hundreds of thousands might have died.

  She imagined San Francisco completely destroyed and suddenly understood the horror of the atomic bomb.

  The whispers turned to talk of Japan’s surrender. She didn’t know a lot about war, but if the United States was at war with Japan, wouldn’t surrender be a good thing? Then why were the women crying? And why did some of the men look so angry?

  If the war was over, wouldn’t everyone get to go home, at last?

  That night, she tossed and turned, trying to block out the sound of Mama’s crying. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Mama to have her parents living so far away and not know if they were hurt or okay. Dead or alive. She stared at the ceiling, wishing there was something she could say to make her mother feel better, to make her stop crying.

  The night turned even darker when Mama said the most dreadful thing of all. “Michio-san, I must return to Japan.”

  Chapter 68

  Sachi

  November 2, 1945

  Sachi pulled the pillow over her head and shut her eyes. Why did Mama and Papa have to argue all the time? That day Papa arrived from Jerome—the day she learned he was alive—she thought nothing in the world would ever be wrong again.

  Didn’t Mama feel the same way? She was always angry or crying, especially after she decided to return to Japan.

  Poor Papa. Only a few months after returning, everyone is mad at him.

  Mama cried. “But I do not want you and Sachi to stay in Arkansas!”

  Pulling the pillow tighter around her ears, Sachi curled into a ball under the covers and wished her stomachache would go away.

  Papa spoke softly. “Sumiko-san, listen to me. There is nothing left for us to return to in California. Besides, since you have decided you must return to Japan, what does it matter to you if we stay here or return to California?”

  “When I return to Japan …” Mama’s voice broke, “ … if I find that my mother and father did not survive the bombing, I will come back to America. But I do not want to come back to Arkansas.” She blew her nose.

  Sachi wasn’t sure what she hated more, the sound of Mama crying, or knowing poor Papa was only trying to do what he thought best.

  “Sumiko. Do you understand we are still hated in California? I refuse to expose my family to that. Perhaps in a few years, when things have settled—”

  Mama whined. “A few years?”

  “Please, Sumiko. You will wake Sachiko.”

  The apartment quieted, except for Mama’s occasional sniffling. Sachi threw back the covers and tiptoed to the curtain that separated her corner from Mama and Papa. She peeked through it into the splinter of light.

  Her parents sat on the bed and stared at the floor, their faces droopy and sad.

  “I have found a job,” Papa said. “A few families have decided to stay and work on a plantation near Little Rock.”

  Mama’s back straightened. Her eyes widened. “You are going to be farmer? But you’re a banker. What do you know of farming?”

  Even Sachi had a hard time picturing her father as a farmer. All her life he’d worked in a bank. She didn’t like the thought of him working in the hot sun all day.

  Papa raised his voice. “What do you think I did while I was at Jerome? Bank? No. I farmed. Plowed the ground. Planted seeds. Harvested crops.” He glared at Mama. “What kind of job do you think I could get in California
right now?”

  She stared at him with a look in her eyes Sachi knew too well. Defeat. She’d felt it herself, when Nobu left for Tule Lake and told her she couldn’t come with him.

  “So there is nothing more to be said? Then, I am going to bed.” Mama lay down and turned to face the wall.

  Papa wiped his eyes. Running his hand through his hair, he shuffled toward Sachi’s curtain.

  Panic shot through her and she jumped back into bed and pulled the covers up, pretending to be asleep. But her heart beat so hard and loud she was sure Papa would hear it.

  When he drew the curtain, light cast over her eyelids. The warmth of Papa’s hand hovered before he touched her hair and brushed it out of her face. Her heart pounded even harder as she wondered if she should open her eyes.

  No. What would she say?

  “Sweet dreams, Sachi-chan,” he whispered, then pulled the curtain shut and turned off the light.

  In the big, dark silence, she closed her eyes. Tears burned.

  Sweet dreams? How could they be?

  Chapter 69

  Nobu

  November 10, 1945

  “Here’s your mail,” Ichiro said, tossing a letter onto the table in front of Nobu.

  As soon as Nobu saw it was from Papa, he tore it open. A year and a half since Papa had shown up alive in Rohwer, and still, he couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen Papa yet, though he wondered about him constantly. What did he look like? Had he changed in all the years since Nobu had seen him? Would Papa think Nobu had changed?

  He unfolded the letter and devoured the words like a man so hungry he hardly takes time to taste the food placed in front of him.

  Staying in Arkansas. He had to read it again. Staying in Arkansas. Surely that’s not what Papa meant.

  Worse, was reading what Papa said next. Mama is returning to Japan. How could that be? Why? And how could Papa let her do that?

  I cannot stop her. She still has not heard from her parents and says she must return to Japan to find out what happened. I am torn. I do not want to let Mama go alone, yet I cannot go with her. I must stay for you, Sachi, and Taro. You are Americans. I cannot expect you to go to Japan.