In the days that followed there would be times I would return home and find Papa giving strangers a tour of the cleaners. They would talk in a huddle, so that I wasn’t able to listen to their conversations. Papa would be in a nasty mood after those visits by strangers.
Then a few weeks later, Papa was unusually quiet at dinner. He sat crosslegged as usual. He had bathed and was in his yukata. We were having my favorite, rice smothered in tripe cooked in tomato sauce.
Papa cleared his throat, then said very softly and slowly, “We are moving to Stockton to Grandpa and Grandma’s. The army says we can’t stay here, because we’re too close to the ocean. Stockton is okay. It also gives us the chance to be together as a family for whatever happens. Uncle Ray and his family are coming with us.” Uncle Ray was Papa’s younger brother, who had given Brian the bike. He and his wife were like second parents to Brian and me.
“Why do we have to leave? Can the army tell us what to do? I thought the FBI said we could stay. Isn’t the FBI the boss of the army?” The words poured out of Brian’s mouth in a torrent.
When Brian stopped to take a breath, I picked up. “We’re good Americans. The FBI said so. And we give away savings stamps, you were a Civilian Defense monitor, and I knit afghans. . . . What did we do wrong?”
Papa waited patiently until it became quiet. And then he continued. “We just have to follow orders and make the best of it. We have a lot to do as a family, so Friday will be your last day at Lawton.”
Oh, no. I have to face my class, I thought. It would be difficult explaining why we were being ordered to leave. We have to move away because we have Japanese ancestors, even if we’re Americans? We’re dangerous, even if the FBI said we’re not?
“Do we have to?” I asked.“How am I going to explain why we’re leaving?”
“All you have to do is say you’re moving to Stockton to be close to your grandparents.” Papa said. “It’s been announced in the news that anyone with Japanese ancestry has to leave San Francisco. Your teacher will know. Just tell them we’re being good Americans by following the army’s orders. You’ll feel better if you say goodbye to your friends.”
I went to Mrs. Bagley’s to tell her that we were leaving.
“That’s so unfair,” she said, as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry you have to go through all this.” She put her arms around me and held me for a long time. Then her face suddenly brightened, and she said, “I have a great idea! I’d like to give you and Brian each an autograph book.”
“What’s an autograph book?”
“It’s a book you have your friends write in.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You have your friends write messages to you in it. So you’ll have something to remember them by.”
“What a great idea!” I said.
She took me over to a shelf that held all sorts of books with blank pages. I selected a maroon one with a spiral wire binding and a larger one for Brian. Mrs. Bagley was the first one to sign mine:
Dearest Marie,
I shall always remember you for your cute smile and wiggly ways. A smart little girl who is most apt to succeed wherever she goes.
Love, Katherine Bagley
* * *
Brian and I took the books to school as she suggested. On Friday at sharing time I announced that the army had given us orders to leave San Francisco and we would be moving to Stockton to be with my grandparents. This would be my last day at Lawton, I told them. I asked everyone to write me a message in my autograph book.
“We’ll be leaving San Francisco next Thursday,” I said.
“When are you coming back?” Richard asked through tears. He was the first one to talk to me when I first arrived at Lawton. It was in December and he asked me to help him draw Christmas trees the way I did. I guess you could say he was my first Lawton friend.
“We’re actually moving, Richard. We’re selling the cleaners and moving.” I said. “Stockton will be our new home. The President wants us to leave San Francisco. But we‘ll be back when the war is over and when we return, we‘ll visit.” I said. I lied. I didn’t really think the war would ever be over. I didn’t think we’d ever be able to return, either. But it seemed like the right thing to say. I fought hard to keep from crying. I tried to think about something else. Jean had brought a large plate of chocolate chip cookies for my “going away” party. They were sitting on Miss O’Brien’s desk and caught my eye.
“When can we have the cookies?” I said turning to Miss O’Brien.
“Would you like to pass them out?”
“May I do it now?”
She nodded with a smile. I placed a cookie on each napkin where a graham cracker would ordinarily go, next to our midmorning milk snack. It would be the last time I had mid-morning snack at Lawton.
CHAPTER 7
“Good Night My Love”
SHIRLEY TEMPLE
“Right now, we have to decide what we will be able to take in the car. Remember there are four of us,” Papa said. “It’ll be whatever is left after Uncle Robert from Stockton picks up all large items such as our beds, bedding, table, and chairs with his pickup.” He never mentioned Brian’s bike or my Betsy Wetsy.
Brian and I looked at each other and we knew what that meant. Our big stuff had to stay. We would each have to give up our favorite things. For me, it would be my “Betsy Wetsy doll set.” Betsy wet when you gave it a bottle. She had eyes that rolled open when she sat up and arms and legs that twisted and turned. Betsy, diapers, bottles, and complete wardrobe all fit in a suitcase and matching buggy. For Brian it would be his bike.
It was not surprising that we would have to give up our favorite toys. Nothing surprised me anymore. Papa always said, “We just have to do the best we can.” This was one of those situations.
“Who’re you going to give your Betsy Wetsy set to?” Brian asked.
“Jean is my best friend, but she already has more dolls than she can use. And she doesn’t play with them. They just sit on a shelf.”
“What about Alice? It seems like she’s always at the cleaners lately.”
“Yeah. She really likes Betsy. Actually I think she likes my doll more than she likes me. I think that’s the only reason she comes over,” I laughed. Alice was a couple of years younger than me. She was also the youngest of six and didn’t have too many things she could call her own. She was cute and wore her hair in one long French braid that began at her freckled forehead and extended down just below her neck. She spoke with a slight Southern accent. That was because her family lived in Oklahoma before moving to San Francisco.
“In that case you know that if you give it to her, she’ll take good care of it,” Brian said. “I’d give it to Alice.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s important. She’ll take good care of it. What about you, Brian? Who gets your bike?”
“Jimmy.” Brian said without hesitation. Blond, handsome Jimmy stood a head taller than Brian and was his best friend ever since we moved here. They met when Jimmy stood up for Brian after he first started at Lawton. Whenever kids tried to pick fights with Brian, Jimmy was there for him. They were in the same sixth-grade class and played baseball and football together. And Brian spent a lot of time at Jimmy’s house.
The first time I met him he pointed to his stomach and said, “Marie! Hit me as hard as you can!” So I hit his stomach. It was as hard as a rock. “Come on. You can hit harder than that! Harder! “
“I can’t hit you harder than that. I’ll hurt my hand.”
Jimmy laughed and flexed his muscles. Brian told me he was the strongest boy in their class. Maybe the whole school. I was going to miss Jimmy.
* * *
“Marie, I want to take you for one last ride on my bike. Get your coat,” Brian said. He had me sit “side-saddle” on the crossbar between the seat and the handlebars. I held onto a bar that ran across the handlebars that flared out like wings.
“I’m going to take you to my secret place. I
never took you before, because it’s on the other side of the hill.” Secret place? Brian had a secret and he was trusting me with it. I felt like I was becoming more than just a kid sister, but a true friend.
Brian headed down Lawton and turned right on 25th Avenue. It was flat for about half the block, then suddenly got very steep. He pumped as hard as he could on the flat, then began to tack as the street steepened. He struggled to keep the bike balanced and moving as he pedaled first to the left and then to the right.
“I may not . . . make it . . . to . . . the top,” he said breathlessly. “You may . . . have . . . to get off . . . and walk.” The bike swayed as he tried to keep it balanced as we slowed down. “Don’t . . . hold onto . . . the bar so tight! . . . I can’t . . . steer! Just . . . try to balance yourself!”
He kept moving the handlebar back and forth and leaned on me as he pedaled standing up. Suddenly, we were on the flat. “Hooray! We made it!” I screamed.
“What do you mean, ‘we made it’? I did all the work!” Brian screamed back.
“Okay. . . . Hooray! You did it! . . . Is that better?”
“Much.”
Then he pedaled easily to a shopping center I had never known existed. There were shops for blocks in either direction. It was not one-street shopping like Lawton.
“Okay. Now listen carefully. Stay close to me. I don’t want you getting lost. Also, we stay away from the cleaners, the stationery store, and the dress shop. Don’t look into those stores even if they shout at us. Okay?”
“This sounds scary. I think I want to go home,” I said.
“Nothing to be frightened of. They’re harmless, Marie. They shout at me all the time. Mr. Roberts says they’re just ignorant cowards.” Mr. Roberts was Jimmy’s father. Brian stood silently for a moment. “I’ve got it! I know which stores to go to and totally avoid the bad ones. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Our first stop was the soda fountain.
“Hi, Brian. The usual for you? Is this your sister? What’ll you have, little sister?” The soda jerk was a friendly man with a bulbous nose and smiling eyes. He was wearing a thin white “overseas” cap and a white jacket, which strained to cover his round belly. The cap could have been larger, too. It was perched precariously on top of his balding head. Each time he leaned over, I was sure it was going to fall into the ice cream. He handed us each our cones and said, “I’m glad Brian finally brought you in, little sister. I hope I see you again soon.”
“Thank you, I hope so, too,” I turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see the tears filling my eyes.
We took our ice cream cones outside and walked around, looking in the windows of some of the shops on the street. We spent most of the time watching the model train in the show window of the toy store. It chugged along a track that coursed through tiny mountain tunnels and towns.
“Wouldn’t you just love to go for a train ride someday?” I asked Brian.
“Yeah. I’d like to ride in the caboose,” said Brian.
“The caboose? I like the Pullman. It seems like fun sleeping on a train.”
Then we went into the drug store to look at comic books.
“Lick your fingers, then wipe them on your dress so they’re not sticky.” he whispered.
“I am not going to wipe my fingers on my dress!”
“Okay, okay. Then, here, wipe them on my pants.” he whispered again. “And turn the pages carefully. You have to be careful how you handle these comics, because kids don’t like to buy comics that look used,” Brian said, “not to mention how the owner feels about it.”
“I know! You don’t have to tell me everything!”
“We’re each going to buy one. So try to find just one you like.”
We sat on the floor checking the ware. Like “Simple Simon.” It took a long time to decide on one. There were so many I liked. “Nancy,” “Tillie the Toiler,” “Mutt and Jeff.” And then there was“Green Hornet” and “Flash.” I looked up every so often expecting the owner to chase us out, but he never did.
“Okay. I think we’d better get going. Hurry up and choose one. I’m getting the “Dick Tracy.”
I really wanted to buy “Nancy,” but I knew Brian wouldn’t read it. Then at the last minute, I spotted a “Captain Marvel.” I liked the story of Billy Batson and how he became Captain Marvel with all the virtues of Solomon and the Greek gods.
“I want Captain Marvel,” I said.
“Good choice! I like Captain Marvel, too.”
The trip home was much easier. We were able to coast most of the way.
The next day, Jimmy came over to pick up Brian’s bike.
“Here’s some polish for the chrome on the fenders and spokes, Jimmy,” said Brian. “It can rust if you don’t take care of them. And this polish is for the gray painted parts. It’ll keep it from chipping. “
“I promise I’ll take good care of it. I won’t let it rust or get crummy looking. I’ll take care of it until you come back.”
“It’s yours now, Jimmy. Take it and go,” Brian said and walked to the back of the cleaners.
When Alice came over to play on Friday, I asked her if she wanted my Betsy Wetsy doll set with the buggy.
“Why would you give it to me? It’s your favorite doll.”
“I’m moving away and I can’t take Betsy with me.”
“I have to go ask my mother,” she said and ran home.
A few minutes later she was back with her mother, Mrs. Prince, a tall, heavyset woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun. She was dressed in a flowered cotton housedress and navy sweater with stretched sleeves. Mama came out from the back when she heard the bell.
“What’s going on? Why’re you giving away your Betsy Wetsy doll set, Marie?” Mrs. Prince asked. Then she turned to Mama,
“Did you know she was doing this?”
“We’re moving away and we don’t have room for big things like Brian’s bike and my Betsy Wetsy doll set,” I said.
“Well, surely you have enough for your doll. Why don’t you take it and leave the rest, if you have to?”
“Brian had to give up his entire bicycle. It wouldn’t be fair to Brian. Besides, I’m getting too old for dolls.”
“We’re only taking what we can fit in the car, and the suitcase and buggy would take up too much space. We plan to do a lot of traveling,” Mama said.
“Where’re you going that you’re doing all this traveling?”
“We’re going to Stockton first to join my parents. We may have to leave California.”
“Leave California? Why?”
“That’s the rumor.
No one said anything. Suddenly, Alice’s mother sobbed, “I’m so sorry,” and grabbed Mama locking her in an embrace. It was the first time I had ever seen another woman hugging Mama. Her arms stuck straight out. Then she slowly returned the hug. Still sobbing, Mrs. Prince came over to me and buried me in her ample bosom.
When I was able to breathe again, I said, “I’ll pack Betsy and all her things in the suitcase for you. Come back later, okay, Alice?”
“Okay. And Marie. I am so happy you chose me. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. I’ll treasure Betsy forever.”
We had to give the business away, too. That’s what Papa said. “One hundred dollars is all we can get for it.” And that’s what they sold it for. The business, the equipment, most of our furniture, our new refrigerator. . . .
When the World’s Fair came to Treasure Island in 1939, Papa bought me a Japanese costume. It was a box filled with a silk undergarment that looked like a kimono and a beautifully patterned lined silk kimono with gold flecks. A collection of brocade, tie-dyed puckered silk, sash, and cord, filled the remainder of the box. It was fifty dollars. Fifty dollars for a Japanese costume, one hundred dollars for a business.
* * *
It was Thursday, March 26, 1942, a few days before people of Japanese ancestry were no longer permitted to travel. Our moving day. Daylight had just begun to
seep through the skylight above my bed.
“Marie! It’s time to get up. We have a lot to do.”
I pulled my heavy quilt over my head and slid deep under it, like a turtle pulling into its shell. I didn’t want to get up. I wanted to stay in bed forever.
“Marie! Get up! You’re the last one! Even Brian is up!”
I bolted up and pulled the covers from its moorings and flung them off the bed.
A muffled shout came from below. “What’re you doing, Marie? You could have hurt me!”
“Why didn’t you get out of the way?”
“This is no time for fighting! Hurry up and get dressed,” Mama said. “You need to eat breakfast, so I can clean up the kitchen and get things packed.”
I wish she would quit shouting, I thought. It wasn’t like her. And it just made things more difficult.
“We don’t have time for your tears, Marie. We’ve got things to do. Uncle Robert is already here with his pickup and the Lees will be here at eight o’clock.” The Lees were the new owners of the cleaners.
I pulled on my dress and ran outside. It was a typical San Francisco morning. Thick fog tumbled down Lawton from the ocean moistening everything in its way. Foghorns hummed and groaned in the distance. I stood for a moment to feel the cold, damp mist touch my face and listened to the chorus in the strait. We were moving to hot Stockton. This may be the last time I’ll ever see fog, I thought.
“Marie, what are you doing out there like that? You’ll catch cold. Come inside and get your things together! Don’t make me keep shouting at you!”
Despite my efforts to delay the inevitable, we reached a point where we were packing our car. A huge assortment of things covered with canvas was piled high on the bed of Uncle Robert’s pickup as it stood ready to lead us to our new home.
The Little Exile Page 7