The Red Kimono

by Jan Morrill

  He crumpled the letter and threw it across the room.

  “What’s up?” Ichiro asked.

  “My mother is returning to Japan and my father has decided to stay in Arkansas. My family will be separated, even after we leave camp.”

  “Your mother is wise to return to Japan—”

  “Hey! It’s not for the same reason you’re going. Her parents lived in Hiroshima. She hasn’t heard from them since the bombing.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the reason doesn’t matter. There will be nothing for us here. But, why is your father staying in Arkansas of all places?”

  Nobu’s leg started bouncing up and down—a bad habit he’d picked up from Ichiro. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “He doesn’t believe the hatred toward the Japanese has changed in California. And he doesn’t think he can get a job here.” Unable to sit still, Nobu had to get up. He paced around the table, stooped to pick up the letter, then read it to Ichiro.

  The owner of a cotton plantation near Little Rock has asked me to be his foreman. I have accepted his offer, Nobu. Sachi can attend school in Little Rock. I would like for you to come back and work with me. Perhaps when Taro returns, he will come, too. It has been far too long since you children have all been together.

  Ichiro slapped Nobu’s back. “Come to Japan with me then. Your mother would be happy to have you there.”

  The suggestion punched Nobu in the gut and the battle in his head began again. Japan? Maybe. What did he owe America, anyway? He was miserable and disappointed in his country. So why the reluctance to leave? He was born an American. It was all he knew. He was not Japanese, and knew so little of the country that attacked Pearl Harbor.

  Maybe he only wanted to stay because he was afraid. He could barely admit to himself that he might be such a chicken shit he’d stay in a country he hated. How could he admit it to Ichiro?

  So what about Arkansas? Papa? No. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to that place.

  He walked to the window and watched dust swirl in the wind. “I’m staying in California. I’ll start over here if I have to. There’s nothing for me in Arkansas or Japan.”

  “Fine. Have it your way. I’m leaving for drills,” Ichiro said, tying a hachimaki around his forehead. “You coming?”

  “You go ahead. I need to reply to my father. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Ichiro grabbed his jacket off the chair. “Right. See you later,” he said, then rushed out the door.

  For several minutes, Nobu sat in the empty apartment. He had to reply to Papa, but didn’t know what to say. He tore a sheet of paper from a notebook, wishing to empty his mind of thoughts that flooded it. There was so much he wanted to say, but he knew to temper his words.

  He stared at the white void for several minutes before beginning to write.

  November 10, 1945

  Dear Papa,

  I received your letter today. It still feels strange to hold something from you in my hand. Thinking you were dead for so long, sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake to find your return has all been a dream.

  What next? Chewing on his pencil, he wondered if he should let Papa know how unhappy he was to read the plans he’d written about. Should he show respect and accept it? That didn’t make sense if in the end, he planned to tell Papa he refused to join him there to become a farmer. He placed his pencil on the page again.

  Papa, it surprised me that you and Mama have made separate plans. I understand that you are torn, but it’s hard for me to believe Mama is returning to Japan and you have decided to stay in Arkansas. It never entered my mind that you, Mama, and Sachi would not return to California.

  Struggling with how to tell Papa about his plans to stay in California, he walked to the window again and stared outside. His No-No brothers approached from the far end of the barrack row, again marching in formation. Their shouting pulsed through him.

  Wah-shoi! Wah-shoi!

  He called himself koshinuke—coward. Why couldn’t he stand up to Papa for once?

  Slamming into the chair again, he let anger pump courage through his hand, to his pencil and onto paper.

  After I leave Tule Lake, I will stay in California. I had hoped to see you after my release, but there are only bad memories for me in Arkansas. I understand Mama wanting to return to Japan to find her parents, but I can’t understand your decision to remain in Arkansas rather than return to California to fight for the life we had before the war.

  Snatching the crumpled letter off the table, Nobu read Papa’s closing words.

  Mama is not happy with my decision to stay, and I suspect you will not be either, my son. But shikata ga nai. It cannot be helped. I will do what I must do.

  Nobu bit his lip and pounded his fist on the table. He grabbed the pencil and continued his letter.

  Papa, you may say shikata ga nai, but I believe everything in our lives can be helped. We can—we must—control our own destinies. Never again will I be carried by a stream that flows in a direction I do not choose to go. Instead, I will fight, swim upstream if I must. To hell with those in California who still hate us. Shikata ga nai? No. That is the coward’s way.

  Your son,

  Nobu

  Regret threatened to make him tear the letter to pieces. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so harsh. Papa was only doing what he believed to be best for his family.

  Wah-shoi! Wah-shoi! The No-No Boys of Tule Lake marched past his doorway.

  He scribbled Papa’s address on the envelope, then grabbed his coat, and ran out the door, ready to join the formation.

  Slamming the door behind him, he called, “Wait up! I’m coming.”

  Chapter 70

  Sachi

  November 14, 1945

  “Sachiko, come here, please,” Mama called from the living room.

  Sachi rolled her eyes. What now? She closed the book she’d been reading and tossed it on the bed. “I’m coming.” She huffed and threw aside the curtain that divided her room.

  Her mother sat at the table, staring at the o-juzu beads she held in her hands. Everything about her—sad eyes framed by dark circles, drooped shoulders—told Sachi this was not a conversation she wanted to have.

  “Yes?” Sachi replied and pulled out a chair.

  Mama looked up from her beads and stared at her for a moment, then brought the hand that held the o-juzu to touch Sachi’s cheek.

  Mama’s affection felt unfamiliar. Sachi had the urge to back away and to cry. She knew what Mama was going to say. She was going to tell Sachi about going to Japan. What if she insisted Sachi go with her? Fear surged as she thought of a thousand excuses not to go. How could she tell Mama she didn’t want to—wouldn’t go with her? She wanted to stay in Arkansas with Papa.

  But how could she not want to be with her own mother?

  “This is a very small apartment,” Mama said. “The only wall separating your room from this one is a thin curtain. So perhaps you already know what I am going to tell you.” She ran her hand over Sachi’s hair. “It may be difficult for you to hear this, Sachi-chan, but I think you are old enough to understand these things now.”

  Old enough? Words she had longed to hear. She smiled, and the tear she had fought fell down her cheek.

  Mama wiped it away. “Do you disagree?”

  “No, I want to know. I’m old enough to understand, whatever it is.” She felt a little afraid. But wondering about something was worse than knowing the truth.

  “Good.” Mama twisted the beads in her hands.

  The room was quiet. Sachi listened for sounds to fill the uncomfortable silence: wind rattling the window panes; muffled sounds from the family next door. She waited for Mama’s next words. She didn’t want to stare, afraid it might make Mama too nervous to continue, so she scanned the room for something else to look at. Papa’s slippers under the bed. His folded newspaper on the nightstand.

  “You never met my parents, your ojiisan and obaasan. You have only seen pictures and lett
ers from them. I am very sorry about that. Especially now.”

  Trying to settle the leg that refused to hold still, Sachi shifted and sat on it. “I’m sorry, Mama. I heard people talking about the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” She looked down at her lap, wanting so terribly to touch Mama’s hand, but not able to bring herself to do it. “I’m sorry you don’t know how they are.” She looked up and smiled. “But sometimes, no news is good news, right?”

  Mama smiled slightly, but her eyes watered. “Perhaps. But I think wondering is worse than knowing what really happened.”

  Sachi couldn’t believe it. Without hesitation, she touched her mother’s hand. “I just thought that very thing.”

  “Then, you will understand that I must return to Japan to find out.”

  Sachi cringed and sat back in her chair, waiting for the words she dreaded.

  Please don’t ask me to come with you.

  Mama covered her face with her hands. When she finally placed them on her lap, her eyes were red. She spoke quickly. “I have missed my mother and father for so many years, Sachi-chan. I love your papa. He has been a good husband and a good father. But as a very young woman, I was not ready to leave Japan. I have tried to adjust to America all of these years, but it is not my home.” She put her hand in her pocket and pulled a photograph out. “I carry this with me always,” she said, holding it for Sachi to see.

  Sachi couldn’t believe the girl she saw standing between two adults. “Is that you with your parents? You look just like me.”

  “Yes. When this photograph was taken, I was sixteen—only four years older than you are—and already promised to your papa in marriage.”

  She tried to imagine Mama and Papa choosing who she would marry. She didn’t know what to say, except to ask, “How did you feel about that?”

  “In the years of my courtship with Papa, I kept hoping my parents would change their minds. When the time came to meet your father, I did not want to move to America. To leave all of my friends. To leave Inaba-san—” Mama stopped abruptly and covered her mouth. She rose from her chair and hurried to the window.

  “Who was Inaba-san?”

  “Nothing. Nobody. I am only trying to explain to you that I had a life in Japan. I did not want to leave.”

  Sachi stared at the picture. Obaasan reminded her of Mama. Watching her mother as she stared out the window, Sachi wondered if she would look like her someday.

  Mama spoke again, her voice trembling. “I am sorry I forced you to learn Japanese. To learn to play the o-koto. To dance Japanese dances.” She wiped tears from her face before turning to Sachi. “Can you understand that it was my way of holding on to Japan?”

  Sachi remembered all the times she didn’t want to practice, how she thought her mother was mean for making her do it. How angry she felt all those times she wanted to do something else instead. But, she had to admit—at least it was better than her parents telling her who she had to marry.

  Mama returned to the chair and clutched its back. Sachi could hardly stand the imploring look in her eyes, and she searched her heart for words of comfort, words other than, “I will go with you.”

  The fear of what would come from Mama’s mouth bound Sachi’s heart. She wobbled back and forth on the uneven legs of the chair.

  “When we thought Papa died, I missed my home even more. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to be with my parents, to run away from all of the hatred Americans hold toward the Japanese. Every night, I dreamed of going home.”

  All those nights her mother lay weeping, was it for Papa? Or, was it for Japan, perhaps even someone named … Inaba-san? Queasiness rolled in her stomach.

  Mama sat again. “Then, when they put us in these camps where we were forced to live like prisoners behind barbed wire, I longed for Japan even more. I could not talk to anybody about it. I was too afraid of being called a traitor. Yet, I felt angry. Why should missing my home make me disloyal to America?” She stared at Sachi, as if waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes, I’m homesick, too. But then, I tell myself home is wherever my family is.” Her heart stopped. So stupid to say that! She’d given Mama the perfect opening to ask her to come to Japan.

  Mama straightened with a deep breath.

  Sachi felt sick. Her throat tightened, prepared to give Mama an answer she wouldn’t want to hear. Thoughts of losing Papa again—of leaving Jubie—spun in her head.

  The o-juzu beads clicked faster as Mama moved them through her fingers. “Sachi-chan.”

  Why wouldn’t Mama look at her? Sachi’s heart pounded harder. Would Mama force her to go to Japan? Where was Papa? She needed his help.

  Mama stopped twisting her beads, then whispered, “I am so sorry … I must leave you behind.”

  Feeling the look of relief on her face, Sachi was happy Mama wouldn’t look at her. She forced a solemn face, not wanting to let her mother see her relief.

  “I have already spoken to Papa about it, and of course, he wants you to stay with him. Do you understand that I cannot take you with me? Do you see that I have no idea what the conditions in Japan will be like?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “But most of all, Sachi-chan, I know that taking you from America would be as hard for you as it was for me to leave Japan. This is your home. You are an American.”

  Joy. Sadness. Love. Pride. Longing. How could all of these feelings be mixed up together? She felt she might explode with the fullness of it. No longer afraid, she leaped up to hug Mama.

  Mama held her, and Sachi breathed in the scent of cedar in her mother’s clothes, tasted salt in the tears still on her cheek. Mama pulled her closer—so close Sachi could hear the rapid flutter of Mama’s heart begin to calm.

  Then Sachi felt it, too. Gaman. Endurance. Resolve. No matter what the future held, everything was going to be okay.

  Chapter 71

  Sachi

  November 19, 1945

  A porcelain mask

  Once broken, but now removed

  My true face revealed

  Sachi found it strange, even upsetting. Why did she hesitate to get on the bus that would take her and Papa to Little Rock? It wasn’t like they were being taken to a place unknown, like when they left California. This time, they would not be imprisoned behind barbed wire or made to live in tar paper barracks. Papa had shown her pictures of where they would live on the plantation where he had found work. It was so much nicer than the tiny spaces she’d lived in for the last four years. And she’d finally have her own bedroom again.

  No more barbed wire fences. No more guards with guns. No more having to sign out when she left camp. They were free. Why then, didn’t she feel happy?

  She stood by the gate, watching the men, women, and children of the camp file out, carrying suitcases and boxes. Some would be boarding the train that waited down the road. Soon, Mama would be one of the passengers on that train. She would take the long ride back to California, but it would be only the first part of her journey. Next, she would take a ship back to Japan.

  She felt sad, imagining Mama alone as she searched for her parents. And even with the frustration she felt toward Mama at times, it was hard for Sachi to imagine life without her.

  A bus engine started up and rumbled. Only a few Japanese would board the buses, to be taken to places not so far away, yet a world away.

  Strange that there were more tears than smiles.

  A cold wind blew. It howled through the rows of barracks, like the last breath of a camp that had once been alive with Japanese. A hat tumbled back inside the gate. A man turned and paused, as if deciding to chase it, but instead, walked to the train.

  Mama and Papa faced each other and whispered quietly. Sachi couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could read every little sentiment their eyes expressed to each other.

  I am sorry to be leaving you. Please take care of yourself. Take care of our children.

  I will miss you.

  You will stay
in my heart.

  She wanted to be near Mama, too, and her throat tightened. What would it be like not to see her every day? Remembering how Mama had changed when Papa wasn’t around, she wondered if Papa might change without Mama.

  Shaking off the thoughts that made her sad, she walked to the fence post where she had been stacking rocks the day she’d first talked to Jubie. It seemed like another life. A life when Papa was dead. A life when she thought she had to look the same as everyone else to fit it. A life before she knew a Japanese girl and a colored girl could be sisters.

  Then, she smiled. No matter what happened in the weeks and months to come, her new life was a better life.

  Where was Jubie, anyway? She promised to be there before the buses left, so Sachi wasn’t too worried. Still, a tiny fear nagged at her. What if something held Jubie up and kept them from saying goodbye?

  Stones that had fallen lay scattered around the fence. She knelt to gather several and began to stack them again.

  Breathe.

  But what if Jubie doesn’t come in time?

  She stacked another.

  Stay calm.

  Then another.

  “Hi, Sach,” Jubie whispered.

  Her hushed greeting made Sachi’s stomach tickle. It wasn’t like Jubie to be quiet. But she pushed her sadness away and smiled. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

  “I had to get something.” Jubie held up a paper sack with a bow tied around it. “This is for you.”

  Sachi’s eyes widened with excitement as Jubie gave her the bag. But within seconds, her excitement faded. She had nothing for Jubie.

  “Go on! Open it!”

  But I don’t have anything for you. The words tried to barge through Sachi’s lips, but she held them back, struggling to think of something to give to her sister. “Thanks, Jubie,” she said and removed the bow, then opened the bag.

  Tears burned in Sachi’s eyes as she smiled and pulled Mrs. Franklin’s red poofy skirt from the bag.