The Little Exile

by Jeanette Arakawa

  The same velvet was used to trim the collar and two rows of dark brown buttons. I pulled off the light, thin, blue coat Mama had made me and handed it to her. I then removed the heavy wool beige off the hanger and carefully put one arm, then the other, through the slippery satin sleeves. I flipped the hood up over my head, although I wasn’t sure if it was allowed. As I adjusted the hood and pulled it tight around my face, the velvet lining felt like a soft kitten against my cheek.

  Someone once told me that I resembled the Japanese emperor’s daughter. I imagined that she would wear a coat like this. As I looked in the mirror my long black hair blended into the dark chestnut of the velvet hood and framed my pale round face. The princess line of the coat flowed gracefully below my waist into ever so gentle broad ripples. My knees peeked just below the hem. I was pleased with what I saw. Perfect. There stands a princess, I thought.

  “I don’t have to try on any more coats. This is the one I want.”

  “Are you sure? What about this navy one? I think darker would be better.” Mama said. “Stains are harder to remove from light colors.” Mama liked practical, comfortable clothes. You could tell by the way she dressed. She sewed most of her plain, straight-line dresses herself, which she wore with comfortable lace-up shoes with cuban heels. She had pretty dresses that Papa bought her, but they just hung in the closet. Her long hair was rolled up along her neck around a “rat.” Makeup for special occasions was a hint of lipstick applied with her pinky and a puff of powder on her nose to remove the shine.

  Papa, on the other hand, was known as a “dandy.” That’s what I heard people call him. He sported a well-trimmed mustache and always wore a three-piece suit and hat, perfectly matched. Dressing down for him was removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. At the beach, that meant also removing his shoes and socks and rolling up his pants. He never wore zippered jackets or uncreased pants, because he didn’t own any. At night he wore a cotton yukata, which was a Japanese nightgown. When he was in his yukata, he sat cross-legged on chairs. He never did that in his suits.

  * * *

  “I want this beige one.” I insisted.

  “I think it looks great on her,” said Brian.

  “I don’t know. . . . What do you think, Papa?” Mama asked.

  “I like it, too. Let her have it. We’re in the dry cleaning business. Remember? If she gets it dirty, we can clean it.”

  “Okay . . . ,” Mama said reluctantly, “but you have to be very careful when you wear it. I hate to see light clothes covered with spots. Sometimes they don’t come out.”

  “Thank you! I promise to be careful!”

  It was the most beautiful coat in the whole world and it was mine! Then my mother returned to the rack and began flipping through the coats. What is she doing, I wondered. I thought we had decided.

  “Here,” she said. “Put this one on.” She handed me an identical coat in a size 10 as she took my perfect size 6 from me. Although I had just turned nine, I was very short for my age. My mother was confusing my age with my size. But I did what she said and pulled the large heavy coat over my shoulder and slipped my arms through the openings. My hands disappeared in the sleeves that hung down to the tips of my fingers. The hem skimmed the top edge of my socks. I looked back in the mirror. From princess to clown.

  “Don’t worry. I can shorten it.” Mama assured me as she knelt down at my feet to fold the hem up. “About four inches, I think. You can get more wear from it this way.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Let’s Remember Pearl Harbor”

  SAMMY KAYE

  Two days later, on Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, we were at home at our cleaners. Brian was reading White Fang at the kitchen table. Papa was changing the cover to the pressing machine. And I watched as Mama shortened my new coat. Finally. She didn’t have time on Saturday, because that was a workday. She had me put the coat on and I twirled like a ballerina in slow motion, as she placed a trail of pins above the hem at the level of my knees. After I took it off, she unraveled the old hem and ironed a fold along the line she created with tailor’s chalk to make a new six-inch hem. She was basting it with long stitches when the phone rang out front.

  “Who could be calling on Sunday morning?” said Papa as he walked through the archway into the customer area.

  “Hello?” I could hear him answer with a slight edge to his voice. Then, “What?” I could hear him shouting. “No! . . .”

  Brian ran in from the kitchen. “What’s Papa shouting about?”

  “Are you sure? Maybe it’s one of those radio tricks! Like Orson Welles and that Mars invasion thing.” Papa continued loudly. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you back.”

  Papa came running toward us, his large eyes wide and wild. It frightened me. What could anyone have said to cause such a reaction in Papa?

  “That was Uncle Ray on the phone. I have to turn on the radio!” Papa said as he ran toward the bedroom. Brian was already there. He had turned the radio on and was waiting for the thirteen tubes to warm up.

  “Which station, Papa?” asked Brian.

  “Any station!” He pushed Brian aside and turned the dial until the hum turned into words. “. . . So, for those of you just tuning in, Japan has attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. U.S. battleships anchored there have been hit . . . thousands of sailors have been killed!” He tried different stations and the news was the same. Papa crumpled into a heap on the bedroom sofa, eyes closed.

  “All that killing and destruction . . .” Papa said as he slowly leaned forward. He put his head between his hands, covered his ears, and stared at the floor, “Why did they do that? Why? Why?” Then he sat up. “That means war!”

  “What’s happening, Papa?” asked Brian.

  “Japan has done a terrible thing. They bombed American battleships. This means war.”

  “War between us and Japan?” I asked.

  “War between us and Japan . . .” Papa echoed. “That’s right . . . war between us and Japan.”

  “Where is Pearl Harbor? I’m scared. Are they going to bomb us, too?” I asked. I ran to Mama who had sat down in the large green armchair. I flung myself into her protective arms.

  “Pearl Harbor is a long way from here. I don’t think planes can fly this far. So I don’t think we have to worry about that for the moment. We have other problems,” Papa said.

  “What do you mean ‘other problems’?” Brian asked.

  “This could mean trouble for us. . . .” Papa said. No one said anything. The shrill ring of the phone broke the silence again. Papa got up once more. This time it was Uncle Kazuo who lived in “Japanese Town.”

  “It’s very frightening out there,” Papa said when he returned. “Uncle Kazuo says people are throwing eggs and tomatoes at stores and people on the street. We’re definitely not going over there for dinner tonight. He says it’s too dangerous. Everyone’s staying inside.”

  My grown-up cousin, Brent, called later to say that he had been stopped at the Bay Bridge toll plaza on his way back from Marysville with his new bride. He had to prove that his home was in San Francisco before they would let him pass. He also said the FBI had picked up a Buddhist minister.

  “That was probably Rev. Nakamura, our Japanese-school teacher,” said Brian. No one knew where they were taking him. Not even his family.

  Police Captain Ireland, Jean’s father, also called to see if we were all right. Papa said he sounded relieved that no one had bothered us. He left his number in case we needed help. Jean’s mother also offered to drive us to school the next day.

  By evening, a knot had developed in my stomach that grew into a rock that rubbed against my stomach wall and left me with an upset stomach and no room for food. Mama was worried because I was not eating.

  “You must eat or you’ll get sick!” she scolded as she held a spoonful of rice to my mouth. I turned my head.

  I had never told my parents about the kids who followed me home from school when we first moved here to the Sunset. Now with a
ll that was happening to people in Japanese Town, I felt afraid about what might happen when I returned to school. That night I slept fitfully as I dreamt about dodging bombs that looked like huge pearls exploding as they dropped on my new coat.

  The following day, Papa said, “I think it’ll be all right for us to open the store, today. No one has bothered us. I think it’ll be all right. You both should go to school, too.” Brian and I didn’t say anything. Papa didn’t really want to discuss this anyway. It was an order.

  “Mrs. Ireland will be here soon to pick you up. I want you to be ready when she gets here,” Papa said. Then, suddenly, his shoulders rose and the muscles in his jaw became tight. It was a signal that he was about to say something very important. He made certain that we were looking at him as he said very slowly, “I want you both to know that Mama and I are very angry with Japan for their sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. Mama and I hate Japan! Isn’t that right, Mama?”

  Mama nodded.

  Why are you telling us this, I wanted to ask. Of course, you hate Japan. Who doesn’t? Instead I said, “I think it’s better if I don’t wear my new coat today. Is that O.K.? I don’t want anyone to be jealous of it. I don’t want to do anything that would make people notice me.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Papa said, “Hurry and change. Mrs. Ireland should be here any moment.”

  I was so relieved that she drove us that morning. Jean and I didn’t talk very much. It was hard to know what to say. She just held my hand tight in hers. I knew then that she was the best friend a person could ever have. She was my best friend forever, I thought.

  She stayed close to me as we entered the school grounds. I was relieved that the bell rang shortly after our arrival and we didn’t have to spend any time on the playground.

  We started the morning as usual with the Pledge of Allegiance. I probably recited it louder than anyone else in the class. I thought Papa would have wanted me to. This was followed by sharing time.

  Kay was the first to raise his hand.

  “Miss O’Brien! Miss O’Brien!” he shouted. He was a runt of a kid. He was about my height. Very short. And had a large head with hair that grew out of it in straight lines.

  He stretched his short body as tall as he could as he waved his hand wildly. He brushed his stiff red hair out of his eyes and started to bob up and down in his seat. Miss O’Brien finally called on him.

  “My Dad and I went to Japtown last night,” he said, barely able to get the words out as he panted like an excited dog. “You should have seen all the cars with people throwing tomatoes at those Japs and Jap stores, and they were all running around . . . they deserved it! Bombing Pearl Harbor and everything . . . it was really exciting being there!”

  I sat frozen in my seat. Here I was in the same room and he was talking about “Japs.” I wanted to hide. Then I thought, he must not notice me. Actually, I didn’t think I’d ever talked to him. I knew who he was. He was one of the popular kids. But he probably didn’t even know I was in the class. Or maybe he thinks I’m different from those other “Japs” in Japanese Town. Whatever, it’s best to stay away from him. I sat very quietly hoping he wouldn’t turn my way. I didn’t hear what Miss O’Brien or anyone else said after that. All I heard were my thoughts.

  When I returned home from school that day, our Gilfillan radio was gone.

  “Where’s our radio?” I asked Papa.

  “Captain Ireland called to say that the police had received orders to collect our radios, cameras, binoculars, and things like that. So we took it with the rest of the things to his station.”

  “And what are they going to do with it? When will we get it back?”

  “He said he would take care of it for us. I feel it’s in safe hands with him, rather than a stranger. We’re so fortunate to have him as a friend.”

  “That’s true. I guess we are lucky to be able to turn it over to someone we can trust.”

  * * *

  Jean and I remained best of friends, but gradually, I saw less and less of her after school. She started taking French lessons, since Japanese school was discontinued.

  A few weeks later at school, a student monitor brought a note to Miss O’Brien during class. She looked at it, stood up, and came over to me, while he waited. It was just before recess and I had flipped the top of my desk open to put my things away. She leaned over to bring her face close to mine. We both had our heads behind the lid to my desk.

  “Marie, the principal would like to speak to you,” she whispered as she cupped her hand as if she were telling me a secret.

  “Would you please go with Robert? And take your coat.” Since our class was in a portable, and it was cold outside, Miss O’Brien was concerned that I might get chilled, I thought.

  When we arrived at the principal’s office, I was surprised to see that Brian was sitting in a chair next to her desk.

  She looked up when I entered. Miss Baker was a short, chubby woman with black hair parted in the middle and plastered in uniform waves on her very round head. She had a softer look on her face than at our first meeting.

  “Marie, please take a seat next to Brian,” she said without looking at me. She fingered the papers on her desk for a moment. Then while continuing to fix her eyes on the paper before her, she said, “The reason I’ve asked you to my office is I received a call from your father, and he wants you to go home immediately. He didn’t give a reason, but he did say that he and your mother are not sick or injured. You have my permission to leave.”

  “What about my books and homework?” asked Brian.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. You really need to go home right now,” Miss Baker said, as she walked us out the door.

  “I wonder what’s going on?” said Brian as we headed home.

  “Brian, do you think it has anything to do with the war?”

  “Like what? Miss Baker said that Papa had called. That means he’s still around. Nobody’s taken him away. I overheard Papa saying that men were just snatched off the street by the FBI. They didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to their families or anything. So we know that didn’t happen to him.”

  “That’s true,” I said. Then it occurred to me that they could have taken Mama!

  “Do you think they took Mama? Miss Baker didn’t say anything about Mama!”

  “Calm down, Marie. Remember? Miss Baker said that Papa AND Mama were okay. Anyhow, I don’t think they would take women or children.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they think only men do bad things? And women and children don’t? I don’t know. Anyway, I haven’t heard of any women being taken away by the FBI.”

  When we reached the cleaners there was a “CLOSED” sign on the door.

  “Great!” Said Brian. “How’re we supposed to get in?” He jiggled the door to confirm it was locked. To our surprise, it opened with ease. The bell rang in the back when we stepped on the mat. Mama came running out to greet us. I was so happy to see her that I burst into tears. We stood there a moment while she held me.

  Brian pulled us apart and asked, “What’s going on, Mama? Is Papa okay? Why did we get called out of school?”

  “Are these your children?” a deep unfamiliar voice shouted from the back.

  “Yes.”

  “Bring them back here, please.” Two strangers were sitting on the sofa in the work area. As we approached they stood up, stretching to the ceiling like two towers. One man was well dressed with smiling eyes and dark, shiny hair, while the other had tousled light brown hair and looked like he slept in his clothes. Papa was sitting in the armchair next to the sofa. He was staring at the floor.

  “You must be Brian and Marie. I don’t want you to be afraid,” said the handsome man. He paused for a moment. “We’re from the FBI.”

  “Are you here to take my father away like you took Rev. Nakamura? You can’t take my father!” Brian blurted as he moved toward the stranger.

  “Brian!” Papa shouted
, as he leaped out of his chair and placed himself between Brian and the FBI agent. “You don’t talk that way to him! Apologize! I’m sorry, Mr. Scott.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Mitsui. Calm down, Brian. Nobody’s taking your father away.” Then he continued. “Brian. And Marie. I’m Mr. Scott and this is Mr. Allen.” He shook our hands. “Our boss at the FBI asked us to stay with you and your family for a while. That means that your parents will not be able to leave the store without one of us. And I’m sorry, but you children won’t be able to go to outside or see your friends.

  “I guess that means we can’t go to school,” I said.

  “I guess not,” said Brian with a smile.

  I wasn’t sure staying home from school was such a great thing. I wouldn’t be able to see Jean. What would we do, if we didn’t go to school, I wondered. It wasn’t like a weekend or a school holiday, where we were free to play outside and be with our friends.

  “Why can’t we go to school? Why can’t we go out to play? What did we do wrong?” I asked.

  Mr. Scott took hold of the sharp creases on his pants and hiked them up as he lowered his tall frame to my level. He looked at me with his smiling hazel eyes and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “That’s what we’re here to find out. But don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be all right,” he said. “Mr. Allen and I will be staying here day and night. We’ll take turns sleeping on the sofa out here. Most of the time we’ll be here together, but at least one of us will be here all the time.”

  And that’s what they did. They slept in their clothes on the sofa, but didn’t eat with us. They took turns going out to eat and sleep. After Mr. Scott spent the night, he left in the morning and returned with fresh clothes. His shirt was neat and his suit, pressed. Mr. Allen, on the other hand, wore the same shirt and suit the whole time he was with us. While one slept, the other stood watch.

  And they each had their own way of going about the business of investigating.