After the Bloom

by Leslie Shimotakahara

  “Sorry again about yesterday.”

  The herbal, lemongrassy smell of his shampoo. The humidity of his skin. It irritated her that she couldn’t help noticing these things. “It’s fine. It’s nice that your students want to hang out and chat.”

  A pothole of silence. Slight heave of the chest, as though he were summoning himself. But whatever he planned to say, he chickened out.

  “Do you, by any chance, live with someone, Mark?” The words burst from her lips.

  “I do, actually.” Cheeks aflame.

  “Okay …? I thought I heard a woman in the background.”

  A tight, sheepish smile.

  “Lemme guess. You’re married, but you and your wife have a little arrangement. You just kinda do your own thing, from time to time. You don’t believe in being possessive of each other. Possessiveness’s part of the whole evil, capitalist ethos.” These academic types were all a bunch of new lefties of convenience.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Relax, Mark.” She tried to smile, like she didn’t much care. “It was just one night. No biggie. I wasn’t expecting to wear your letter sweater or anything.”

  “Maybe you’d look cute in my letter sweater?”

  Now he was truly being a prick. “You’re married.”

  “I’m not married.”

  “But you’re with someone.”

  “Not really. It’s hard to explain. Tess and I started out as old friends, nothing more or less. We went to high school together.” He massaged the crook of his neck. “Then when I moved back to Toronto and needed a place to stay, she asked if I’d like to be roommates. At some point, things got messy.”

  “I see.” Late one night, watching a TV movie together. Telling each other about their shit days. One too many beers or maybe something stronger. Before you know it, there’s kissing, groping. Waking up the next morning in the other person’s bed, surrounded by crumpled condom wrappers. Rita could fill in the blanks.

  Besides, was it any different than what had happened between them?

  He blushed, as if he could sense what she was thinking. “But I don’t want you to think that you and I …”

  “That what?” The old blasé indifference had returned with a vengeance. “Really, Mark. You don’t have to explain anything.”

  “It’s not like that. Tess is moving out. Soon. We ended it, like, over four months ago — bad idea in the first place. It’s just that it hasn’t been easy for her to find a new place. She got laid off a few weeks ago, and I just haven’t had the heart to, well, you know, make a friend homeless.” His hands shoved in his back pockets again, as though he were trying to stabilize himself.

  So her first instincts had been right? He was the do-gooder type, seeking out damaged, neurotic women, wounded birds he wanted to save. Hardly a comforting thought. Was he toying with her? Trying to find some creative leeway around the fact that he lived with his girlfriend?

  “Maybe we should, I don’t know….” He splayed his hands.

  “Just be friends?”

  He appeared taken aback.

  An image of this Tess woman popped into Rita’s head: blond curls, beautiful in a high-strung, fragile way. Nastassja Kinski in Polanski’s Tess. She had an intuition that Tess might have her own ideas about their relationship being kaput. “For now, anyway.”

  “Until I’ve got my shit together, you mean.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, my shit’s not together either. Mom vanished off the face of the earth! I’m not exactly prime relationship material right now.”

  Right now or ever.

  A small, pinched look. Maybe he was laughing at her. Maybe he liked that she’d said “relationship material.” She felt unsteady, exposed.

  “Fine, I’m here to help. As a friend, for now, if that’s what you prefer.” He gestured at the escalator, suddenly all businesslike. “Shall we?”

  It took a moment to recall what he was talking about. Right. Research. The whole point of their visit. Her brain had turned to mush.

  The escalator slowly ascended past a tall glass display case full of ancient books and other treasures. Mark began telling her all about the library’s special collections — diaries and letters of famous writers and intellectuals, most of whom Rita had never heard of. He, on the other hand, said their names with an awe usually reserved for rock stars. So it wasn’t only a nerdy laugh he had.

  They passed an empty cafeteria on the second floor and circled around to the next escalator.

  “This place is pretty dead in the summer,” he said.

  “I don’t mind deadness.”

  “Like we’re at a museum, the only two people left in the building after closing.”

  “I bet a lot of kids dream about that. Hiding in a broom closet and having all the dinosaur bones to themselves. Kristen would be into that.”

  “Kristen?”

  Well, what was the big deal? He’d probably seen her toys around the apartment anyway. “My daughter. She’s six. She loves the ROM.”

  “You’ll have to introduce us. Chatting kids up about dinosaur bones is right up my alley.”

  Now he was definitely getting ahead of himself. She never introduced Kristen to any of her sleepover guests. Which pretty much limited her love life to one- or two-night stands while Kristen was away with Cal.

  “So where is your daughter? Doesn’t she live with you?”

  “At her dad’s in Vancouver for the rest of the month. Thank God. I don’t know how I’d have explained Granny going AWOL.”

  They’d reached the fourth floor. A sign for the Periodicals Reading Room greeted them. Mark looked so calm and relaxed, his conscience now cleansed, thanks to the fact she’d forced him to come clean with her. So he got to have his cake and eat it, too? She felt very close to saying, “You know what? Let’s just not do this.” And taking the elevator down.

  But they were here, so what the hell. What did she have to lose?

  They entered a spacious room with high ceilings. Jaundiced light pooled on tables occupied only by a homeless man bent over a newspaper. A wall of windows displayed an impressive view of the skyline rising into the grey, clotted sky, above the shingled rooftops and turrets in the neighbourhood below.

  “Refresh my memory,” Mark whispered. “What is it we’re supposed to be researching again?”

  “The Matanzas Riot.”

  “Right.” He wended his way around bookshelves, checking call numbers.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “If you want to find out what happened, the fastest way is to check newspaper coverage at the time. So we’re looking for … yeah, here it is. Comprehensive Guide to Periodical Literature.”

  Multiple volumes, thick as phone books, dusty and bound in cracked green leather, stared down at them. Mark pulled down the one that covered 1941–1943, according to its gold lettered spine, and lugged it to a table near the window. A sharp, mildewy odour filled the air as he opened the yellowed pages. The columns of type were so tiny you almost needed a magnifying glass.

  “All articles that were published in newspapers and magazines between 1941 and 1943 have been listed alphabetically under topic headings,” he explained. “Looking up ‘Matanzas,’ it says to see ‘Japanese in the United States.’” He flipped back. “Okay, so here it is.”

  He was pointing at an entry that read, if she leaned forward and squinted:

  JAPANESE in the United States

  Aliens, but good for the economy; shortages in agriculture and business. il Business Week p 42 F 28 `42

  American with oriental eyes; responses to the issue of internment. H. Ashikawa. il CS Mon Je 22 `42

  Are internees to become pawns? K. Greene. il NY Times p4+ Ja 15 `42

  Business in internment camps. il Business Week p 22–23+ Jl 25 `42

  C
oncentration camps homegrown in America. K. Nakamura. New Repub 110:742–3 Je 7 `42

  Democracy for Japanese-Americans? R. Smith. Christian Cent 56:624–5 D 16 `42

  Educational pioneering at camps in California. L.R. Fairhurst. Sch R 36:65 Ap `43

  Evacuating citizens of the United States. M. Duval. Nation 162:652 My 16 `42

  Helping Japanese evacuees. J. Burrows. Christian Cent 64:562 Ap 8 `42

  The list continued for the rest of the page. Some titles implied sympathy for the internees while others suggested indifference or support of martial law. But none of that political, ideological crap mattered. When she’d reached the end of the entry, she went back to the beginning and tried to discern from the all too vague titles which article might hold the key to understanding her mother’s life.

  “I don’t know where to start. Are all these articles available?”

  “Not all, but they’ll have a lot of them in the microfilm collection downstairs.” Mark had moved closer to read over her shoulder. “At the end of the main entry, there are also entries on the separate camps.”

  She followed his gaze:

  Matanzas camp

  Coast Japs interned in the mountains; Matanzas, Calif. il Life 13:16–20 D 20 `43

  Crisis at Matanzas. Newsweek 23: 58+ D 24 `43

  Seeing the name of the camp in print gave her body a jolt. The place suddenly seemed real, too real.

  “I guess we’ll try these?” She jotted down the information on a scrap of paper.

  They made their way down to the third floor. A black kid with a massive afro and cherub-cute face sat behind the desk in the media office; he went to find the reels while Mark led her to a viewing booth along the wall. A primitive-looking TV monitor perched beside a contraption with many knobs and spools.

  “You’re okay with the set-up, Dr. Edo?”

  “I got it covered, Corey.”

  Corey gave Rita a long, curious once-over. High-school and university kids were no different, it seemed, always taking a prurient interest in their teachers’ personal lives.

  It didn’t take long for Mark to attach the first reel to the machine. He flicked on the monitor, which illuminated a smudge of newsprint, and adjusted the focus. The guy had nimble fingers. She pushed the tawdry thought aside.

  He hit fast-forward and issues of Newsweek flew by, a whir of headlines. As they approached the reel’s midpoint, he stopped to turn the reel manually while they checked for dates. He kept going: ads for artificial Christmas trees and Hellmann’s mayo and Spam went by. At last, December 24, 1943, came up.

  Beneath the headline was an inky photograph: crude, dark buildings had been photographed from a distance through a swirl of barbed wire along the camp’s perimeter.

  Nineteen

  Even in his sleep, Frank looked troubled. Lily shook him. The healed eye fluttered open while the other one twitched, like an insect on the verge of dying.

  She explained about the crowd of angry protesters headed to the hospital.

  “What do they want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But she did know. They both knew.

  “You’ve got to help me. I’m not ready to die!” He bolted up.

  She’d found a shawl to drape over his head and knot under his chin. It was the best they could do for a disguise at short notice.

  “Where are we going, Lily?”

  The main ward on the ground floor was too crowded. The closet in the corner would be large enough, but she’d never manage to get him in without people noticing. It was far too obvious anyway. The second floor — the room at the back, used for storage — had more possibilities.

  “Follow me. I have an idea.”

  The hall was empty. Everyone had gathered at the windows to peer out at the advancing crowd. Lily and Frank scurried to the back stairs and darted up.

  “Over here.” She grabbed his hand. People were so riveted by the spectacle they didn’t notice the two people sneaking by.

  The backroom was dark and musty. Boxes of supplies had been piled up, along with a good deal of old medical equipment that hospitals in the region had donated. Much of it, according to the doctor, didn’t even work.

  She guided Frank around the bulky pieces to the wall. She pointed at a small door that barely reached her waist. It was a strange little closet; when she’d first discovered it, she’d thought it would be perfect for a child playing hide-and-seek.

  “Crouch down and crawl in. I’ll bring you a pillow and blanket.”

  Bewilderment shot through his face. Yet he did as he was told. After he’d settled, she closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. One by one, she lugged large boxes over to create a barricade that hid the door completely.

  “Are you all right in there?”

  “Just get me out of here alive, Lily.”

  Looking out the window, she gasped. The crowd had gathered right outside: a jumble of upturned faces and waving fists. Some clasped signs; others wielded stones. How many people were out there? They seemed to stretch back forever until they faded into the landscape itself.

  “Banzai!” people shouted over and over while the old-timers sang patriotic Japanese military songs.

  The young men at the front ventured closer. Someone hurled a rock that hit the main door with a crash, followed by a flinty shower. She backed away from the window but couldn’t resist peering out a second later. Was Kaz out there on the front line, flinging stones? She scanned the crowd, unable to find him anywhere; everyone blurred into the sea of angry, anonymous faces.

  The doctor rushed in. “Christ, they’re going to charge the door at any minute — we have to stop them! Lily, round up the other staff and tell them to meet us at the front door. On your way, lock the back.”

  “But there are only a handful of nurses on duty. We’re not going to be able to keep all these people out!”

  “We have to try. Howells will send in military assistance soon.”

  “Military assistance? Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  “I don’t have time to debate this with you — just go!”

  She rushed downstairs, too terrified to be upset by his tone. “Yasuko, where’s Kimi? Grab her and whoever else is on duty, and meet me at the front door. Doctor’s orders!”

  The girl remained paralyzed.

  “Now!”

  Sweeping the wild locks from her forehead, Yasuko sprang to life.

  Lily ran through the hospital and grabbed the few other nurses she recognized.

  The doctor was waiting near the main door. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply, trying to rescue a moment of clarity.

  On the other side, the crowd chanted, “Hand over Frank Isaka! Kill all traitors!”

  The shouting was accompanied by a deep rumble that seemed to come from all directions. It was as though some giant beast were breathing all around her — infiltrating her lungs, spreading up over her skull, filling her with a manic, caged-in feeling. Rustling, murmurs, marauding voices, screams, whoops of angry glee…. Internal and external worlds blended together in this living, breathing, shuddering animal that was, at once, everywhere and nowhere.

  The doctor opened his eyes as she approached. “I have to go out there and address them,” he said.

  “But if you unlock the door, they’ll storm in!”

  “Lock or no lock, a few men could break down this door easily. No, our only hope is for me to go out there and try to reason with them.”

  As he pulled the door open, sunlight spanked across her vision. Everyone blended together in the mass face of this creature that reflected only the dazzling sun.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The doctor stepped outside. “You ask me to turn over Frank Isaka, but the fact of the matter is he isn’t here. His injuries were so severe he had to be sent to the hospital in town!”
>
  Jeers and hisses rose all around.

  “You liar! You inu!” A cigarette arced through the air and sizzled at his feet.

  “We know Frank’s in there, safe and sound!”

  He held up his hands, in a sign of defeat or an indication the crowd should settle down, Lily didn’t know which. “If you don’t believe me, I’m willing to let a couple men inside to search the hospital. But I can guarantee you won’t find Frank.”

  What made the doctor so confident? What if they discovered Frank and killed him on the spot?

  Amid more boos and hisses, someone stepped forward.

  Kaz. She caught her breath, unable to believe it was actually him. He’d pushed his way to the front, followed by Akira.

  His innocence was what struck her at that moment. His arms were crossed and she couldn’t help but notice their graceful curves, two hills dipping into a valley. While he looked at his father, something in Kaz’s eyes, shiny as melted ice, made her think he could see the future: a land of beautiful simplicity, of strawberry farms dotted with rice-picker hats, of pretty girls licking ice cream cones, eager to jump forth to have their pictures taken. A world where things always came out right for him. Not because he was the doctor’s son — he didn’t realize how much slack people cut him on account of that fact — but simply because he considered it his God-given right.

  How she wanted to protect him. Bury his face against her neck, like he’d regressed to being a little boy. And maybe he’d start crying, as she was crying now, and his tears would soak through her dress and everything would be washed clean.

  But he didn’t even seem aware of her presence, his gaze fixed on his father. “If you’re lying, we’re all storming in. You understand, Dad?”

  Dad. The word seemed to cut into him. As the doctor turned away, his jaw slackened.

  While Kaz rushed past, she grabbed his arm.

  “Lily, what are you doing here?”