by Dean Hughes
“So how do you feel about that now?”
“What I really want is to curl up in a library somewhere and read every book on the shelves. I have so many things I want to think about. For one thing, I need to study the scriptures and try to put some things in perspective. There’s just too much that doesn’t make sense to me right now.”
“I’m moving the other way, Richard—trying to respond to life and not think about it quite so much. I want to feel the Spirit and not depend so much on my own perceptions.”
“Well . . . maybe we can meet halfway.”
Bobbi suddenly twisted and got onto her knees. And then she looked into Richard’s eyes, her face only inches away. “I’ll always love to read,” she said. “Let’s make a date. When the war is over, let’s read together. And talk about everything.”
He smiled, slowly and fully. “That does sound good. But it wouldn’t be a fair compromise. Maybe we could do a little of that touching you were talking about the other night.”
“Careful, buddy. I was talking about caring for the sick.”
“Hey, I’m just talking about holding hands while we read.”
She smiled and took hold of his hand. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Maybe we could even steal a little kiss between chapters.”
“That sounds better.” And then, without warning—even to herself—she was kissing him, clinging to his neck and pushing him backward onto the sand. And after the kisses, he lay next to her, holding her, and finally he whispered the words back to her. “It’s a date. When the war is over.”
It was a good day. They swam some more, and they talked and talked. But it was also a horrible day, with the dreadful reality becoming increasingly clear. It was the last day, and nothing was guaranteed after that. When Richard took her back to her quarters, late that night, they didn’t want to part, and so they sat on the lawn and talked most of the night. And kissed.
“Will you write to me?” Bobbi asked him, when it was almost morning and they were finally standing in front of the door to her quarters.
“Sure. But there’s no predicting when letters will come through. You might get several at once and then nothing for a while. Don’t let that worry you.”
“It will worry me.”
“Well . . . I know. That’s why—”
“No. It’s okay. I want to worry about you. Richard, I’ve never been so sad in my life. But I wouldn’t have missed this day for anything.”
“Day and night,” he said, smiling.
“I’ll write to you, too, but will you get the letters?”
“Eventually.”
“Can you tell me anything about where you’re going?”
“No.”
“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Very dangerous?”
“Possibly. It’s hard to say for sure.”
“Richard, can you tell me what you’re feeling for me? You still haven’t told me that—not exactly.”
He took her in his arms, there under the porch light. “Bobbi, I love you. I want you to be here—or back home—and I want to come home to you. I want you forever. But I shouldn’t even say that. If I don’t—”
“Richard, I love you, too. I’m going to wait for you. We’re going to be together. I don’t care if that makes it worse for both of us; it also makes it better.”
But she was crying now, and so was he. He kissed her again, and then he said, “I can’t tell you when I’m leaving, but it’s soon. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I know I won’t get off the ship between now and then. Or even be able to call. But I’ll write soon.”
“I will too.”
“But let’s not hurt each other with our letters. Let’s not talk about being apart. Let’s not even talk about the future. Let’s just keep each other going.”
They kissed one more time. And then he walked away, as he had the night before, taking those long strides. He did glance back once, and wave, but he didn’t return. Bobbi was sobbing, but she was so glad he had come back the night before.
Bobbi didn’t bother to go to bed. She went upstairs and showered, and then she watched the sun come up. When Afton woke up, she tried to tease Bobbi about being out all night. But Bobbi began to cry again, and she told Afton how much she was in love with Richard. Then they cried together.
The day was very long, and Bobbi seemed in a daze. She wanted more than anything to be called to the phone—just to hear his voice one more time. But he didn’t call, and she knew he couldn’t. When Bobbi got off work that evening, she had expected to go directly to bed, but she wasn’t sleepy after all, and she was so empty that she felt she had to get away from her quarters and do something—anything. And so she took the bus to Honolulu, and she walked to Ishi’s house.
“Oh, Bobbi,” Ishi said when she opened the door, “is something wrong?”
“No, no. Not at all. I was just in town, and I thought I’d stop by to say hello.” And then she began to cry.
Ishi took her inside, hugged her. “What is it?” she asked again.
“I’m in love,” Bobbi said, and she tried to laugh.
“Who doesn’t know that?” Sharon said. “Is Brother Hammond shipping out?”
“I can’t say. It’s a secret.”
“Yes. Just like your love is.”
“Oh, Ishi, what am I going to do?”
Ishi stepped away, had Bobbi sit down, and then sat next to her on the couch. “Well, for one thing, you can come to see me all you want. The kids would love that. And I need someone who understands what I’m going through. It looks like my husband is finally going into battle.”
“Do you know where?”
“No. But in his last letter, he said the army has finally agreed to let the Japanese boys fight. The government stuck them in Wisconsin for a long time.” She smiled. “Almost froze them to death. And now they’re in Mississippi. All they’ve done is train until they’re sick of it.”
“When do you think you’ll see him again?”
“Who knows? I doubt the army would send Japanese soldiers to the Pacific. He’s probably on his way to Africa. That’s what people here think.”
“How are we going to get through this, Ishi?”
“I don’t know. I wish I could do something, say something, that would help you, but I’m feeling all the same things you are.”
“It helps to have someone who understands.” Bobbi took a breath, tried to compose herself, and then said, “Where are the kids?”
“Out back. Playing in the yard.”
“Could I go out and see them?”
Ishi stood up. “Of course,” she said.
Bobbi wiped her hand across her eyes and then fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “Wait just a minute. I need to stop crying.”
“It’s okay. Children understand crying better than anyone.”
“I know, but . . .” Bobbi found her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I don’t want them to feel bad. It’s a happy time, really. He told me he loved me.” She forced herself to smile. And then she went outside, and she played with Lily and David. She forced herself into it with a kind of intensity that was supposed to drive all her other thoughts away. But all she could think was that she wanted the months and years to vanish, to have Richard home, and to have her own children—his children. She saw no irony at all in the idea that these dear children she loved so much—and for the moment, represented her own—were Japanese.
Chapter 19
A few days before Christmas of 1943 the same old rumor began to circulate that the men in Camp Cabanatuaan would receive packages from home. Wally tried not to think it possible. How many times had he heard it before? But this time men claimed to have seen the packages, to have unloaded them from trucks themselves.
There was always so little to look forward to, and the grinding work in the garden, out in the hot sun, was like an eternal punishment—some level of Dante’s Inferno. Gardening work was much better t
han the labor Wally had known in the Tayabas jungle, and he tried to remember that, but the sameness, the boredom, were hard to deal with when no end was in sight. The new motto this year, spread among the men, was “Mother’s Door in ’44,” but a year before the hope had been to be free in ’43. The fact was, no one knew how long the war would last.
A few days before Christmas the guards called the men together, and they announced that packages actually had come. They read off the names of a number of prisoners—twenty or so—and the men marched forward and received their gifts from home.
Each of the men looked exultant as they returned to the group with parcels in their arms, but everyone who received nothing, like Wally, had to struggle not to resent the ones who had been on the list.
But the guard said, “More tomorrow.”
No one knew what that meant. Why would the guards hand out some and not all of the packages? But then, why did the guards do anything they chose to do? There was never any predicting.
The next day, and again the day after that, the Japanese distributed boxes. And everyone who didn’t get one continued to wait and hope. It was cruel, and maybe that was the point. Wally could accept the idea that he hadn’t gotten anything, if he just knew, but the wait each day was excruciating.
The following day he received nothing again, and the division among the men was becoming obvious. Everyone who hadn’t received packages longed for the next day—anxious but afraid to hope—while the resentment built toward those who had gotten all the good things from home: food and clothing, personal care items, medicine. Wally was sure he would get a box of Ginger Snaps, if he got anything at all, and he lay awake at night imagining the taste.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, Wally heard his name called out. He was afraid for a moment that he had heard wrong, but several prisoners turned toward him and said, “That was you, Wally.”
And so he stood up and walked to the front, and a guard placed a good-sized box in his arms. But now he had to go through the same routine as the others. He had to open his package in front of a guard, and the guard had to inspect everything inside. Wally hated this intrusion. He wanted to take the package back to his barracks and open it alone, and then look at everything slowly and carefully, one item at a time.
But the guard rummaged through the box quickly, and Wally saw most of what was there. Then he closed up the box and took it back to his barracks. Chuck walked with him. He had received a package a couple of days before, but Art still hadn’t gotten one. The three had agreed to share what, if anything, they received. Now they were happy to have another package to work with.
“I got my Ginger Snaps,” Wally told him, and Chuck laughed, but then Wally sat on his bunk and took out the items one at a time. He had some towels and washcloths. He touched them to his face and loved the softness, but he caught the smell of home, and a rush of homesickness passed through him. He clung to the towels and kept sniffing, saw all sorts of images, thought of the bathroom at home and the nice tub, the hot water.
There were also several bars of Palmolive soap, and that was a glorious thing to sniff and hold in his hands. He would have to use the bars carefully and make them last as long as possible. The same with the toothpaste. And then he found a toothbrush, and he could hardly believe his joy. It was something he had gone without since the beginning. He also discovered a safety razor and a leather autostrop to sharpen blades—plus a dozen packages of blades. He thought immediately how many men would be able to get a good shave with these. It was a treasure.
Wally laughed when he looked at the undershorts his family had chosen to send. They were his old size—with a 32-inch waist. They would almost go around him twice now, but still, he could do a little stitching on them and make them work somehow.
He also found sacks of candy: pink wintergreen mints and lemon drops. He wanted to break the packages open immediately, but he told himself, “One a day. Make them last.”
On the bottom of the package was a large envelope. He hoped there was a letter inside. He opened it slowly and pulled out several pictures—but no letter. Apparently, letters had not been allowed. No one else had gotten them either.
The pictures, though, were wonderful. One was of the family, taken two years before, when everyone but Wally had still been home. Wally studied the faces, tried to get them back in his mind. It had been so hard at times to keep the images clear. But he wasn’t prepared for the pain the pictures caused him. He found school pictures of LaRue and Beverly, and one of Gene in a marine uniform. The girls were so pretty, so grown up, and Gene looked confident and mature, but Wally hated to think of him going off to war. It seemed impossible that he could be old enough. There was also a picture of Alex in an army uniform and Bobbi in navy dress whites. It all told a story, one that said the family was broken apart this Christmas.
Wally studied the pictures carefully, and he learned what he could. In the background, in the snapshot of Bobbi, were beautiful, exotic flowers, and Wally had to think she was in Hawaii or on some other island. Gene’s picture had been taken outside a newly built barracks, and Wally had to believe it was at a boot camp somewhere in the states. Alex was wearing his pant legs tucked inside high boots, which was not the usual thing to do, and he was wearing a silver insignia—maybe wings—on his chest. He had to be in some sort of special service unit.
But everyone was in the service—all but the little girls, who weren’t little girls anymore—and Wally had to wonder what would happen to all of them in the next few years. He went back to the group picture, with everyone together, and he liked thinking about them that way. He hadn’t been home since the summer of 1940, when he was not quite nineteen. Three and a half years had gone by since then, and he was twenty-two. He had missed three Christmases; tomorrow would make four.
Wally didn’t realize he was crying until Chuck said, “Hey, Wally, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Wally said, and then he showed the pictures to Chuck. Chuck knew President and Sister Thomas and was somewhat acquainted with Alex and Bobbi. He studied the pictures with Wally, and they talked about the changes that must be taking place at home.
Finally, Wally opened the Ginger Snaps, and he and Chuck each ate two, for Christmas Eve. “We’ll open one of the packages of candy on Christmas morning,” Wally told Chuck.
“I’ve got some stuff to eat, too. You and I and Art and Don will have us a little feast.”
“We’ve also got to give some of this stuff to the guys who didn’t get anything.”
“I know. I’ve thought about that. That’s what we’ll do for Christmas.”
Chuck had to head back to his own barracks. When he was gone, Wally went through his box again, one item at a time. Then he lay on his bunk, with the towel against his face. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the smell of home.
***
Bobbi and Afton went to Ishi’s house for Christmas. They took presents to the kids—two books and a toy each—and they ate Japanese food. “I wanted to cook a turkey for you girls,” Ishi told them, “but I couldn’t get one.”
“Shrimp is better than turkey any day,” Bobbi said.
But Afton seemed to be struggling more than Bobbi. She always had a harder time trying new foods, and she’d seemed a little depressed the past few days. Bobbi assumed she was homesick.
After dinner, Lily and David, who had gotten up early, both fell asleep. Bobbi and Afton and Ishi sat down together in the living room. “Did you hear anything from Richard this week?” Ishi asked.
Bobbi had been trying not to think about that. “I got three letters, all on the same day,” she said, “but he didn’t say where he was or what was happening. There was even a section in one letter that had been razored out by the censor. Maybe he hinted too much about what was going on.”
Ishi laughed. “How would you like to write a love letter to your girl and know that some other officer on your ship was going to read it?”
“They weren’t love letters,”
Bobbi said, although she could feel herself blushing. “They were just—you know—mostly to say hello and tell me he’s okay. But I was glad to hear something.”
“Were the letters written quite a while ago?” Ishi asked. “That’s how mine always are.”
Bobbi thought she heard some uneasiness in Ishi’s voice. She was sitting rather primly, straight up, as she always did, so differently from most Hawaiians, even most Japanese Hawaiians, who were rather quick to open up to others. The neatness of this little house, the Japanese watercolors on the wall—so much of what Bobbi felt here—said that Ishi had stayed close to her heritage. And yet her husband had gone off to fight for what he and Ishi were—Americans.
“All three of those letters were written before Thanksgiving,” Bobbi said. “Things could have changed by now.”
“At least he’s not landing on beaches. I think the navy is safer than the marines—or the infantry, where Daniel is.”
“What have you heard from Daniel lately?”
“Old news. His regiment got shipped to North Africa. That was in the paper. But in his last letter, he didn’t even tell me that. Maybe they wouldn’t let him. Right now, from what I’m hearing, the ‘one-puka-puka’—do you know what that is?”
Afton had been sitting back listening, but she was curious enough to say, “No. What?”
“Daniel’s in the 100th Regiment. In Pidgin English, people say ‘puka’ for ‘zero’ when they give a telephone number. It really means ‘hole.’ So ‘one-puka-puka’ is one hundred. But anyway, the newspaper says the 100th is still not in the fight. But that’s all Daniel wants. Every letter I get, he says he wants to get to the front lines.”
“Why, Ishi?” Bobbi asked.
“Our boys want to prove themselves. Daniel was in ROTC at the University of Hawaii, and then he was an officer in the Reserves. When Japan attacked us, he was called up, like all our boys, and they were ready to fight. Then, all of a sudden, the government took their guns away and made them feel like they were traitors—just because they were of Japanese descent.”