The Wild Impossibility

by Ossola, Cheryl A. ;

  Aimi, Mom, I love you. Dan, I love you.

  The whiteness dimmed, took on color, brilliant greens and rich earth hues. The ground held her, a tranquil bed of rocks and roots, a nest of trees, the quiet, the warmth, the quiet.

  I love you.

  Don’t lose it.

  I will never let go of you.

  Kira closed her eyes. I will never let go.

  She could sleep forever.

  

  “Kira, wake up. What happened?”

  Kira opened her eyes. She felt drained, as if she’d been walking for days without food or water. “What time is it? How long was I out of it?”

  “I don’t know, not long. I looked over and you were lying here, scared me out of a life or two.” Dustin helped her sit up.

  They had been here, Maddalena and Akira, loved each other here. This unforgiving earth beneath twisted trees, within sight of searchlights scanning the sky, it was a place of peace and joy. Akira hadn’t died here.

  “Was that a seizure?” Dustin said. “You have epilepsy?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. What happened?”

  “I don’t actually know.” It was the truth. She’d felt suspended in pure emotion, like she had in the motel room, except this time her emotions and Maddalena’s were threaded together. A loss of self and at the same time a perpetuation of it. It reminded her of being pregnant with Aimi in the early months, when her body’s swelling was more emotional than physical, when her skin bloomed and the ember inside her felt like immortality.

  “Tell me,” Dustin said.

  Dustin, who seemed to know things he couldn’t—he would believe her. She told him everything, and he listened without asking a single question, shadows of analysis or delight crossing his face.

  When she finished he said, “That is the coolest fucking thing I ever heard. I knew there was something different about you. But this is unreal.”

  “That’s a good word for it.” Of all the people in Owens Valley, Dustin had to be the only one who could have listened to her story and believed it.

  “This isn’t random, hell no. This is happening for a reason. Holy moly.” Dustin stood and held out a hand. “Your little detour paid off. Let’s go back to Foothill Road and head south like we planned. We’re on a roll!”

  In the truck, Kira opened the cigar box. “Look. Seven rocks, all alike. Why would Maddalena keep them?”

  “No idea,” Dustin said. He picked up the hair comb, scratched at it with a fingernail. Dark flecks fell onto his jeans. “Oh jeez.”

  “What?”

  “Your grandma was there when Akira got killed. Shotgun, right? Very messy.”

  Kira was still processing that when Dustin held the photo at arm’s length, squinting at her. “Yup, there’s a resemblance.”

  Kira began to cry. He saw it. Dustin, the guy who knew things he couldn’t, saw the connection. It wasn’t wishful thinking like Dan said—she was Akira’s granddaughter, and she wasn’t crazy. The fragments were real.

  Thirty-Seven

  August 22, 1945

  Akira found Annabelle at Bairs Creek. She jumped up when she saw him, said yes when he suggested a walk even though he’d avoided her for weeks. He was a damn coward for not owning up to her sooner, but now there was no point in hurting her with the truth. She was going home to Bainbridge Island in a couple of days, a forced separation. It was easier this way.

  They walked nowhere in particular, the silence heavy. A couple of blocks ahead, a family hauled suitcases to the street. “Look, that’ll be you soon,” Akira said. “You’ll get your life back.”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, sounding anything but happy.

  “I’ll miss you, but maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”

  Annabelle stopped. “What do you mean, maybe? Are you breaking up with me?”

  “It’s not like that, Annabelle. We’ll be hundreds of miles apart.”

  “That has nothing to do with it. You’re dumping me because of that girl.”

  “It’s not like we could see each other.”

  “Yes, we could.”

  Damn it, what did she want him to do, marry her on the spot? He froze at the thought. She probably did.

  “Annabelle, be reasonable. We’ll write, and maybe we can figure out a way to see each other. But you know how things are. You’re a pretty girl, and you’ll find a nice guy at home and before you know it you’ll forget about me.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you! I was in love with you; did you even know that?” Annabelle’s voice caught. “In love. I would have married you like that.” She snapped her fingers. “But now I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. You’re so selfish you wouldn’t recognize love if it slapped you in the face.”

  She was trembling, her hands balled up like she might hit him. He wished she would.

  “I’m sorry, I mean it. You’ve got to believe that.” Akira tried to take her hand but she backed away. “You’ve meant a whole lot to me, you know that? We had some good times.”

  “Good times? Is that what we had? Oh, what a fool I was to fall for you! Hiroki and Jackie were right; I should have dumped you months ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I wish you knew how much. I never wanted to hurt you. And I won’t forget you.”

  She looked at him coldly and stalked off, and he stood there feeling about as sick as anyone could when he’d wronged a girl. If he could, he’d go back in time, figure out a way to say goodbye without breaking her heart. What a mess. Instead of being happy that the war was over, he felt terrible about hurting Annabelle. The price he paid for loving Maddalena. And soon enough, he’d hurt his parents too.

  He headed home. After more than three years in one small room with his parents, he was about to put distance between himself and them, more than he’d ever imagined. But as long as they were at Manzanar, they were a family. He was a decent son; he would help them through the weeks ahead. At least he could give them that.

  

  No need to worry, Maddalena told herself. Her time of the month had come and gone without a drop of blood, but the bleeding could start any day, any minute. And if it didn’t—that was a terrifying thought, but not nearly as terrifying as what would happen if her parents found out. Her mother knew that Maddalena’s cycle was like clockwork, and she’d notice if there were no sanitary cloths hanging on the clothesline behind the outhouse. Maddalena would have to fake it, stain the cloths with wine or animal blood. Another lie. She was tired of lying, avoiding the truth. Once she and Akira were together, there would be no more lies, only love, and telling each other everything.

  Not tonight, though. She would meet Akira tonight and say nothing about the baby. A lie of omission, and necessity, even though it would seem wrong to make love when Akira didn’t know what her body held. Still, she had to do it. He would be leaving soon, and if he knew she was pregnant he would worry, maybe even refuse to go. She couldn’t let him do that. He needed to leave Manzanar behind and help his parents. He would learn the truth soon enough. They had time. Besides, it was bad luck to talk about a pregnancy too soon.

  She rode to Manzanar to signal Akira, then stabled Scout and went into the cattle barn to see if one of the cows had a scrape or cut. She didn’t need much blood, just enough to dab onto one of her cloths. The barn was empty except for a few cows and calves not sent to pasture. Not a cut or scrape in sight.

  Maddalena sat on the edge of a water trough and watched the calves nuzzle their mothers. Poor little things would be sold before long. Would the mothers mourn? They seemed so devoted. And they knew what to do with their babies, while she didn’t know the first thing. She would have to learn, and Akira would too. They’d make a good home for the baby. They would be happy, a family.

  But honestly, she didn�
�t know any of that. All she knew was that she was pregnant. For now, no one could know, not even Regina. There was plenty of time. What was inside her wasn’t a baby yet, only a speck of new life. She would wear loose clothes and eat more, so that if anyone noticed her body changing they’d think she was getting fat.

  She could fool anyone but her mother.

  Maddalena put her head on her knees and let the tears come. How could anyone be so happy and so sad at the same time? And frightened. She and Akira had the future ahead of them, a future together. That was all she hoped for, all she should think about. They would leave Owens Valley together, raise their child together, with love. Sitting on the train to San Francisco, they would plan and dream. The train would rock back and forth, back and forth, and so would they, their bodies touching. They would fall asleep listening to the chug of the train engine, the singing of the rails. A lullaby.

  “Crying in a cow barn—that’s a new one.” Marco stood in the doorway. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry those darling calves are going to die. Mmm, mmm, mmm, veal parmigiana.” He rubbed his belly.

  “Oh, shut up,” Maddalena said, rising to leave. Marco blocked her path. “Let me by.”

  “What have you got to cry about, anyway?”

  “None of your business.”

  The look of pleasure on Marco’s face made her sick; suddenly everything made her sick. A whiff of manure, familiar as rain, and her stomach turned. She made it to the outhouse before she threw up, as quietly as possible in case Marco had followed her.

  She wanted to sleep for hours in a cool bed in a safe place, Akira beside her. There was so little time left.

  Thirty-Eight

  April 12–13, 2011

  Heading south, Dustin cruised along Foothill Road, detouring now and then on one of the dirt tracks that webbed the desert. “Shit,” he said, swerving away from a pothole. “This is like driving through a minefield.”

  “Everything out here blends into everything else,” Kira said. “I feel like I’m going blind.”

  When they were halfway to Lone Pine, she pointed toward a clump of small trees and woody shrubs about a hundred yards off the road. “Over there. See that bright spot in the green? I bet that’s metal. Let’s go look.”

  Dustin got them as close as possible, then they set off on foot. When they rounded the trees to the west, there it was—a small shed, no more than seven feet high and about that many square, with windowless walls of corrugated rust and a hole where a door should be. The roof sagged, pierced by sunlight.

  “This is it,” Kira said, and stopped. She couldn’t say why she knew, only that she did. Her body seemed light, fragile, free of pain. She glanced south. What were those kids thinking? Maddalena’s home wasn’t far off, probably half an hour’s walk. They had to have known they’d be seen, betrayed, caught. But of course they were young, in love, invincible. Willing to risk their lives for love.

  She turned to Dustin. “I’m afraid.”

  “Go on,” Dustin said. “Go inside. You have to. And I’m right here.”

  She stepped inside the shed, into a tiny inferno where a crazy-edged trapezoid of sunlight illuminated the wooden floor. A wooden floor. She stood for a moment, her body sparking, then knelt and flattened her palms against the knotted wood. Then she curled on her side and closed her eyes.

  This was it.

  Her grandparents had lain here together, had made love here, made plans, told each other secrets. Just like in the orchard, except Akira had died here. This wooden floor might hold his blood, now dried to dust. Tears ran down her face and neck and she made no move to wipe them. Let them run into the wood, find Akira’s blood, regenerate it, mix her cells with his.

  Her mind skittered, snatching at memories, the fragments, trying to knit together what she knew. Her great-grandfather, a murderer. Her grandmother, forced to marry someone she didn’t love. She’d hidden the truth from her child all those years, waited patiently, painfully, to write the letter that would tell Rosa the truth about her family. What had happened to the letter? Surely someone had found the envelope with Rosa’s name on it. Did it end up in Joe Brivio’s hands instead of Rosa’s? Had he destroyed it? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Rosa died without knowing the truth.

  But Kira knew. She curled tighter, convulsed in tears, remembering her mother’s death, the bizarre heat that had melded Rosa’s hand to hers. Rosa had held Maddalena’s memories without knowing it, had been tormented by them. And she’d passed them on to Kira.

  The shed grew hotter, the sun brighter. Kira’s breathing slowed, her mind subdued. Her grandmother had loved here, had seen her love, her life, destroyed here. She’d risked everything for the boy she loved, would have died with him. But she chose to live for the sake of her child. Kira asked herself if she could say that about Dan, about the children she’d failed to bear. Would she risk everything for him, endure an existence she hated for the sake of her child? Dan was home, waiting for her, hoping for her. He believed in the kind of love that blurred boundaries, offered that love to her, would have offered it to Aimi or to any other child.

  Dan and Maddalena, separated by time and bloodlines, believed in the same thing. They loved fearlessly, defiantly. And Kira couldn’t. She cried again. Finally, exhausted, she wiped her eyes and went outside, where Dustin sat with a forearm draped over one knee, gazing at the mountains like a man who wouldn’t mind sitting there forever. Kira sat next to him, and together they watched the sun tip the Sierra with crimson and rust. A hawk traversed the horizon, dodging the flames.

  “I want you to go,” Kira said. “I’m staying here. My phone is in the motel room—please get it and call Dan for me. Dan Kaneko. The password is 2464. He’ll be worried, so tell him I’m okay and that I love him and I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  She expected an argument, but Dustin nodded. “I’ve got a blanket in the truck,” he said. “I’ll come by in the morning, bring you some food and water.” She protested and he cut her off. “Yes or no? You say no and I don’t call Dan.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good choice.” Dustin went to the truck, came back with the blanket, a hooded sweatshirt, his thermos, her backpack. “Be safe,” he said, hugging her.

  He started to leave and Kira pulled him back, kissed him quickly. “Thank you.”

  Inside the shed, Kira spread the blanket on the floor. There was a reason she’d come to Owens Valley, to this tiny shelter in the desert. There was more to come. She would wait.

  

  She woke hours later, consumed by darkness, and moistened her parched lips and throat with cold coffee from Dustin’s thermos. Pulling the blanket tighter, she dozed again, a half sleep dotted with images, random and overlapping—the attic stairs, Maddalena in her wedding dress, the high wail of a baby, Maddalena kneeling before the cabinet, a milk-soaked blouse, hay and horse sweat, shifting muscles beneath her legs. Moonlight through tree branches. The sweep of searchlights. Men’s voices in the darkness. A flooding fear that emptied her mind.

  She surfaced again, the shed’s wrinkled metal walls shuddering. Groping for the doorway, she stepped outside and the wind caught her. Kira trembled, shielding her eyes from the spit of sand. Then moonlight stepped from behind the clouds, revealing the desert in silvery shades of charcoal. Small tornados of sand and dust spun past the shed, a black-on-blacker silhouette, then clouds swallowed the moon again and everything disappeared.

  They had lain there helpless, heard the men coming, the terrifying tread of boots on rocky soil. Even with warning they could have done nothing. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Their shelter was a trap.

  They were so young.

  Kira held a hand in front of her face, saw blackness dark as old blood. The wind again, pummeling her, and her body surged with energy, a rushing sensation. Maddalena running into the street, the sweep of the headlights. Blood, secrets, gri
ef. The love child Akira never saw. Arms out to her sides, Kira inched around, one small circle, then another, another. She opened her mouth, let sand coat her tongue, crunched it like glass between her teeth. The desert rose around her, sandblasting her face, her ears, her neck. She welcomed it. Let it whip and scour her; she could do nothing to stop it. The desert had its rules, its private violence. It had brought Akira there, given him to Maddalena, sheltered the two of them, betrayed them to the men with guns.

  Kira shook her head and almost fell. Why did it matter? It was so long ago, lost to everyone but her. None of it mattered. She kept turning, dizzy now, each step a vertical correction. No, everything mattered. Maddalena, Rosa, Kira, Aimi, a shared history, a bloodline. An inevitable transmission of self, a revelation of truth. Kira understood—if she had died without knowing the truth, and if Aimi had lived, she would have passed the dreams on to her daughter, leaving her to discover what must be known. It had been there all along, her family’s terrible truth. Her mother had carried it with her, dormant because she failed to understand. But Kira knew. She understood. She was meant to pass what had happened here down to her children.

  Not Aimi. Kira cried out, the loss lacerating. She doubled over and fell backward, the rocky earth biting into her hands, her skull, her back. Crying in dry, gasping breaths, she pressed her arms and legs into the desert floor, willed it to hold her, absorb her. It had swallowed the remains of Manzanar; let it consume her too. She belonged here, the desert part of her now, alive in her spit and blood and cells. Lifting her raw palms to her mouth, she tasted blood and dirt. Akira’s blood, here in this soil, and now hers. This bloodstained earth, tying generations together. The wind leaped up, found her on the ground, slapped her. Shivering, she cried for Maddalena, for everything her grandmother had wanted, everything she’d lost. For her mother, for what she never knew.

  Rosa never knew. And so Maddalena gave her memories to her granddaughter, made her live them, burdened her with the past. No, enlightened her. A gift.