Silent Honor

by Danielle Steel

  They beat up those they felt were too cooperative with the administrators of the camp, and held noisy parades designed to impress everyone with how tough they were, and only served to increase the camp's tension. They particularly infuriated the loyals, because the behavior of the No-No Boys only helped to prove to the public that they all belonged in camps, and the newspapers seized on every occasion of disturbance in the camps to make all the internees look bad. And, as a result of the trouble they caused, the anger between the loyals and the No-No Boys constantly mounted, and it reached a fever pitch in September when nine thousand dissidents and “disloyals” from other camps were sent to Tule Lake. Because of the vast number shipped in, six thousand peaceful people had to move out to make room for them, and suddenly families who had survived Tanforan and then Tule Lake were asked to move again, and it caused untold grief as people were forced to leave friends, or even brothers and sisters. Some actually refused to leave, causing yet more problems in the camp, mainly due to their attitudes and overcrowding.

  The Tanakas were afraid that they would be asked to leave too, because none of them were high security, and Takeo and Reiko didn't know if their family could survive another upheaval. They were used to it here, they had made friends, they both had decent jobs in the school and the infirmary. They didn't want to be shipped out to yet another camp even if conditions might have been a little more pleasant than they were at Tule Lake with so many dissidents and troublemakers around them. And in the end, by sheer luck, they weren't sent anywhere. But countless others were, and their life was one of constant good-byes and sorrow.

  And once the new “disloyals” arrived, the camp's name was changed to Tule Lake Segregation Center. For purposes of containment and control, the government wanted all the high security risks in one place. The other internees in the camp had known it was coming, but it was even worse than they imagined. Now the camp had three thousand more people than it had been built for. There were well over eighty thousand in residence, and conditions grew noticeably worse. Everything was crowded and the lines for everything were longer than ever. There was never enough food or medicine. And inevitably, it meant more tension.

  It was hard for Hiroko to believe they'd been there a year by then. It was an anniversary no one wanted to celebrate, and there was still no end in sight, although the war news kept right on coming. Mussolini was deposed in July, and Italy unconditionally surrendered after Labor Day, but the Germans were still there, as was Peter. He was now fighting in Italy, where the Allies were moving slowly north up the boot of Italy, trying to drive the Germans back to their homeland. There was still fighting in the villages and small towns, it was clearly rough going.

  And in August, Admiral Yamamoto's plane was shot down by the Americans. He had masterminded Pearl Harbor, and it was a huge loss for the Japanese. They had printed it in the camp newspaper, and every-one had cheered when they read it. But even that didn't convince the camp authorities that they were real Americans and not Japanese sympathizers. The interned Japanese had few allies. So far, the only high-level officials who had officially told the President that they thought the internment camps were scandalous were Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes and Attorney General Francis Biddle. But in spite of that, no one had made a single official move to free them.

  The problems at Tule Lake only worsened as time went on: tempers were short, conditions were poor, and the disloyals did everything they could to agitate and exacerbate the problems.

  And in October, the strikes began in earnest. The No-No Boys did all they could to convince everyone not to go to their jobs, or do anything to cooperate with the administration. Many of the older internees didn't want to get involved, but eventually it became too dangerous to defy the No-No Boys, and within weeks, the camp was crippled.

  In November, the army finally took control of the entire camp at Tule Lake, and brought troops in to subdue them, and force them to go back to work. By then, five thousand people had demonstrated, and there were constant work strikes. A few of the administrators refused to allow their areas to come to a complete standstill, among them the Caucasian head of the infirmary. He refused to let his staff join the angry demonstrators. He needed them too badly, to care for the camp's sick and dying. But when the demonstrators became aware of his resistance, they stormed the infirmary and beat him until they almost killed him. His staff and co-workers, all of them Japanese, did all they could to protect him, and several of them were injured too in the process. It was an infamous incident, and martial law was finally declared in the camp on November thirteenth. There were no activities, no clubs, no dances, no kids hanging around anywhere. There was silence.

  There was a curfew, and there were soldiers everywhere, enforcing the rules, and arresting anyone who didn't comply, or even looked ominous or unruly. There was a general work strike, and many of the old people were afraid to go out. The disloyals, as they were still officially called, were far too numerous in the camp, and had certainly made more than their fair share of trouble. And the rest of the camp was furious at them. The loyals had signed their oaths, they had sent off their sons to the army and the navy and the air force. There were stars in almost every window, and many had already died in the service of their country. And these other young people who were so angry at being there, that they now refused to acknowledge loyalty to anyone, were making everyone's lives a living hell. And the loyals felt they had no right to.

  Their spirits reached an all-time low on Thanksgiving, when there was nothing to eat in the camp except baloney. And finally, the tides began to turn, as the loyals began to lose their tempers and physically threaten the No-No Boys. They'd had enough. The intimidation and the outrage and the violence had all gone too far, and for a time, the entire camp seemed to tremble on the brink of revolution.

  But gradually, in December, things settled down and everyone's mood began to lighten. There were still a vast number of casualties in the infirmary, from fights and demonstrations. Tadashi and Hiroko and their co-workers were still shaken by the events of the night the infirmary had been stormed and the head of the hospital beaten by the No-No Boys. Tadashi had saved Hiroko and two other nurses from injury that night by shoving them into a closet and blocking the door. It was hours before he'd let them come out, and they had teased Tad about it afterward, but he wasn't going to let them get hurt. He'd have killed someone first, especially for Hiroko.

  In fact, he had come toe-to-toe with one of Sally's friends that night, a boy named Jiro, whom her entire family disapproved of.

  He was eighteen years old and a bright, good-looking boy from a respectable family, but since coming to the camps he had developed all the earmarks of a tough, unfeeling street kid. He had refused to sign the loyalty oath, although he was American born, and he was one of the most vocal of the young No-No's. He liked to march his battalion of No-No's in parade past Sally's house, and show off how tough they were, much to Takeo's horror and outrage. He had long since forbidden Sally to have anything to do with him, although the Tanakas knew and liked his parents. They had admitted that they could do nothing to control Jiro. But he and Sally had met through friends, and now and then they would sit and talk, and she was always impressed by how intelligent Jiro was, and how much sense he made when he wasn't marching, or shouting insults at one of the loyals, or fighting. He was a bright, witty boy but he behaved and looked like a juvenile delinquent.

  “He's smart, Mom, and maybe he's right,” she had said once to Reiko defiantly, and it had won her a rare slap from her mother.

  “Don't you ever let me hear you say that again!” Reiko had warned, trembling with fury. “Your brother is fighting for you, and for him. We're Americans! That boy, and the others like him, are all traitors.” There had been no ambiguity in what Reiko said to her, but Sally still saw him on the sly sometimes. She wasn't in love with him, but she liked him, and in some ways it excited her to defy her parents.

  He had taken part in the attack on the infirm
ary that night. Tadashi had seen him there, and he had approached Tad once and angrily called him an inn, and then as though in deference to the relationship he knew the Tanakas had with Tad, he ran away, and had been satisfied to overturn carts of instruments and bedpans. Hiroko saw him leave the building later on, and she had been incensed at his attitude and the destruction she saw him leave in his wake, but Sally had refused to listen to what Hiroko said when she told her younger cousin about it.

  “He doesn't do things like that, he's too intelligent,” Sally said, defending him, which only angered Hiroko further. Sally seemed to be growing more defiant by the hour, and her friends were more often than not the wrong kind now. It was something that worried all of them about her, particularly Reiko. She didn't know what to do with her—the camps were no place for a young girl, particularly Tule Lake, with so many young disloyals roaming around looking for trouble. The truly dangerous ones were in segregation of some kind, or even in prison, but there were many others whom the Tanakas did not like, and who hung around with the rest of the young people like Sally. And it was difficult not to be influenced by them, they were so persuasive in their complaints about how they had been ill-used and how America had betrayed them. And lately, Sally seemed far too willing to believe them.

  Reiko talked to Tak about it, but there was little they could do. There were so many problems there, of health, of safety, of disappointment, of supply, of fear about the future. The only thing one could do to survive was live in the here and now, and do the best one could. For many of the internees, concentration on their families, and their friends, and even their jobs was a godsend. Working at the infirmary kept Hiroko from thinking of Peter incessantly. Though he was often on her mind, her days and nights were filled with Toyo, and the people she was helping.

  She was working double shifts at the infirmary again long before Thanksgiving. And at nine months, Toyo was an adorable little terror and had just started walking.

  Tadashi often came to their room to play with him, and bring him little things he made, and he was always polite to all of them, and he had a special gentleness with the children. As a child, he had often been tormented at school because of his leg, particularly in Japan, and it had made him especially compassionate about other people's sorrows. He had a nice sense of humor too, and Hiroko often teased him about how silly they had all looked when he pushed them into the closet to save them.

  “I suppose I really should have locked it,” he said thoughtfully, tossing Toyo up in the air with ease. In spite of the polio, he was young and strong and healthy, and very good-looking, Reiko always added.

  “Never mind,” Hiroko said, insisting that they were only friends. She was totally faithful to Peter, and the memory of their Buddhist wedding. But Tak and Reiko thought that Tadashi was a nice young man, and not by any means a negligible prospect. He was kibei after all, he had been born in the States, and studied in Japan. He knew her culture, her language, they were of the same race, and they would be equal in the face of any prejudice that came their way later on. Mixed marriages were not only illegal in California, Tak pointed out to her when they were discussing it one day, but they were extremely difficult, and potentially very dangerous for the children.

  “Is that really what you think?” She had looked at her cousin sadly. “Is that what you think will happen to Toyo when his father comes back? That our love will be dangerous for him?” She looked shocked by what he was saying.

  “Not your love,” he said unhappily, “but the attitudes of those around you. Those attitudes have put us here. Look at this. Look at where you are. The people who believe these things, that we are different, that we are disloyal, that we are dangerous, will stop at nothing. And one day they will hurt your son, as they have hurt you. He won't be exempt, it won't end with us. You'll be better off with a man of your own kind, Hiroko, one who accepts you as you are, and even Toyo.” She was horrified at what he was saying, not only the sorrow and sense of prejudice that seemed to have defeated him, but the fact that he didn't seem to think she should wait for Peter. Tadashi was there. Why not marry him? The only problem was that, although they were friends, she didn't love him. She didn't want anyone except Peter.

  Tadashi had asked her casually, several times, about what plans she had for “afterward,” and what was going to happen to her and Toyo. She knew what he meant, and she was always guarded about what she said. She didn't discuss her plans with anyone, but she let him know nonetheless that as far as she was concerned, she was “taken.”

  She had talked to him about going back to Japan after Yuji died, to help her parents. But it was almost impossible to get back now, and she knew it was safer for her and Toyo in America. She knew she should stay in the States, and go back after the war was over, and all she could do was hope that her parents would be all right in the meantime.

  The anniversary of Pearl Harbor came and went again with a somber mood, but at least no violence or problems. And when Christmas came that year, despite martial law, the authorities tried to encourage a more peaceful atmosphere. The curfew on special nights ended to allow them to have dances, and meetings of the friendship clubs. It was extraordinary how many positive groups there were in camp, all made up of people trying to overcome the grief and the fears and the problems. They were determined to make the best of a bad situation, and much of the time they succeeded.

  There was even a Kabuki play Hiroko and Tami went to, and a Bunraku puppet show Tadashi took her to with Toyo. Hiroko and Tad played together in the symphony, and they went caroling, and despite all her efforts, she couldn't get Sally to join them.

  “No. What do I care about Christmas?” Sally had spat at her, lying on her bed when Hiroko had asked her to go with her and Tadashi. “And why are you taking him anyway? If he's so crazy about you, why don't you get married?”

  “I don't think that's any of your business,” Hiroko said coldly. She was tired of her. Sally was rude to everyone. She fought with Tami all the time now, and argued with her mother till it drove them all to distraction. And no matter what Hiroko said, it set her off. The only human being she was ever civil to, and even loving, was Takeo, her father. She still idolized him, and Tak adored her.

  “Just leave her,” Reiko said, so Hiroko took Tami with her, and they had a lovely time singing “Silent Night” and “The First Noel,” and all their favorite songs in the cold, crisp air of the mountains. Although Tule Lake was hot and dusty in the summer, it was freezing in the winter.

  And in spite of where they were, and the inescapable restrictions, it was a lovely night, and afterward Tadashi came in to chat with them. Sally was sitting in a chair, sulking for a while. She watched him talking to her parents and Hiroko, and slipped quietly into their bedroom, but no one seemed to notice. He and Hiroko were too busy laughing about the dance the whole group from the infirmary had gone to the other night. The band had played “Don't Fence Me In,” and even the soldiers who had monitored the dance didn't seem to get it. They had played a lot of other songs too, like “Harvest Moon,” and “String of Pearls,” and “In the Mood,” and many of the Glenn Miller arrangements.

  Tadashi had only danced with her once, it was hard for him with his leg, but she had danced with her Uncle Tak, and one of the doctors she worked with. There weren't a lot of eligible young men left in camp, at least not nice ones, but she didn't care. She didn't want anyone except Peter, and anyone who knew her was aware that she was interested in being friends, but not dating.

  She walked outside with Tad when he left that night, and they sat on the steps in the freezing cold for a minute, just talking about Christmas, and Santa Claus, and the things they had loved when they were kids. Tad had cut down a small Christmas tree for them, and they had made the decorations, but it wasn't quite the same as a “real” one, a big tree, with store-bought decorations.

  “One day,” Tadashi said with a warm smile, getting ready to leave her. “We'll have it all back again one day,” he said, looking a
s though he believed it.

  But in spite of Toyo's fascination with everything as he lurched everywhere, their Christmas was quieter this year. She hadn't seen her family for almost three years, her brother was dead, and now Ken was gone, and she hadn't heard from Peter since late November. Not hearing from him always frightened her, because she didn't know what it meant, if he was on the move, or injured, or worse. She knew that if something happened to him, it would take a long time for the news to reach her. He had put Tak on his list of people to be notified, but still he could have been dead for a month or two, before she knew it.

  “Good night,” Tadashi said, looking at her, as plumes of frost from their breath hung above their heads. “Merry Christmas,” he said. Christmas Eve was the next day, and they would both be working. “See you tomorrow.”

  And when they met in the infirmary the following night, he handed her a tiny package. It was a small locket that he had carved out of wood for her, with her initials in it, on a gold chain his mother had saved from somewhere.

  “Tad, it's beautiful,” she said, handing him the scarf she had knitted him, wrapped in a small piece of red paper. He opened it and put it on immediately with a broad grin, and told her that he loved it. It was red and it looked well on him, and he pretended not to notice the mistakes she'd made. “I didn't win any prizes at the knitting club,” she apologized and thanked him again for the locket. And then they both hurried away to work, and for the rest of the night they were busy.