Caged Eagles (30 page)
I pulled the knife out of my pants and then removed it from the sheath. I sank it into the first rope.
The line was waterlogged and soft, and the blade cut quickly into the fiber. I sawed it back and forth until the line snapped in two, one end falling into the water.
I worked my way along the side of the boat, stopping at a second line. It was tied with a badly made knot, and given time I could have easily untied it. Instead I cut the line with a sweep of the knife.
I looked over at Mr. Nakayama's boat. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like it was starting to list to one side.
Could it be taking on water that quickly?
“Come, Tadashi,” my father said quietly.
I went to his side. “What do we do now?”
“There is nothing more to be done. We have to get back to shore.”
“Shouldn't we wait here to make sure it goes down?”
He shook his head. “They will sink, but it will take time. More time than we have.”
I looked again at my watch. He was right.
“And I need to leave,” he said quietly. “I ⦠I don't wish to be here when ⦔ He let the sentence trail off.
In the dim light his face betrayed no emotions.
He looked like he was simply studying what was happening.
My father turned to me. “It will soon be gone ⦠and we need now to be gone as well so that we are free to start ⦠again.”
Dear Jed,
I am writing to you from Alberta. We are living on a sugar beet farm. Things are hard but they are going as well as can be expected. I am still not sure what I can write and what I shouldn't. I know we have been through a lot, not just the past few weeks here, but over the last few months. Maybe things are finally going to start to get a little better. The family that owns the farm seem like good enough people. We live in a little house on their property. The work is hard and we work long hours, but the food is good.
Just before we left Hastings, my grandmother died. It was hard for everybody. In the end, after everything is settled, I'll be coming back up to Sikima. That was where she wanted her ashes scattered. She said it was her home. I wish it was still my home, but I don't like to think about that too much. Who knows? So much has happened that I don't know what might or might not be possible someday.
My grandmother always said, âshikata-ga-nai'. It means it can't be helped. I don't know if any of this could have been helped. I know that sometimes I get very sad, and other times very angry. It doesn't change anything, or even make me feel any better. It's just the way I feel and I can't help that either.
What I do know is that I'm grateful for the few things that didn't change. Thank you for the things you did for me and my family. It means a lot, not just to me but to my whole family. I'm also grateful that my family is still together. This may not be where we want to be, but at least we're in the wrong place together. And someday ⦠who knows ⦠They can take away a lot of things, but they can't take away my hopes and dreams for the future.
Your friend always,
Tadashi
I found this a very difficult novel to write. I've written historical fiction before. And in writing this type of novel, you're both guided and constrained by the realities of what actually happened. While this helps in giving direction to the storyline, it also keeps an author from exploring other interesting or intriguing options because they aren't realistic possibilities. While a certain amount of license is allowed â after all, it is fiction â it isn't permissible to change or misrepresent major facts of history.
In Caged Eagles
, however, I did take some liberties. For example, I decided to have a death and cremation scene set within the confines of Hastings Park. The historical record indicates that there were no deaths during the use of the park, and it is unlikely, even if there were, that a cremation would have taken place.
A further complication came from the fact that I was writing from the perspective of a person whose cultural heritage I do not share. Though in other novels I have written from the perspective of characters who were part Native Canadian or female, somehow this was different. When I first contemplated writing this story, I spoke to a number of Canadians of Japanese descent. Some were very encouraging of my efforts, while others thought I had no right to write this book, not only because I wasn't of Japanese descent, but also because I didn't experience life in the camps first-hand. For them it wasn't just cultural, but experiential.
In the end, the opinion that mattered to me most was that of a woman of Japanese descent who not only was interned, but whose literary skills I greatly admire. She basically said, yes, you can do it, but you better do it well. Starting out to write any book is pretty scary, but this was downright frightening. After much thought I decided to go ahead with this project. I knew I would risk some upset and resentment.
I hope that people will at least read
Caged Eagles
before making a judgment. Rather than seeking to stir up animosity, I am trying to help a new generation of Canadians, of all backgrounds, understand a neglected and sad time in our history. As well, I see this story as being more than just about Canadians of Japanese descent. It is a story about Canada and is relevant to Canadians of all backgrounds. I hope that by understanding what happened we'll all be more willing to stand against any future injustices.
Lastly, I think this book was most difficult because I felt a sense of helplessness. I knew from the first word that there could be no happy ending, or sense of redemption, or saving grace that would make everything better. I was writing about an injustice, certainly one of the greatest injustices perpetrated on citizens of this country over the past hundred years. And while I was free to document it, I wasn't free to change it. At times I had to stop writing because I found myself in tears. Other times I turned away before the tears came. In the end, I wasn't able to save Tadashi or his family. I wasn't free to change anything, only to watch and document it. I'd like to believe that, as a country and a culture, we're beyond such blatant acts of racism, discrimination and injustice ⦠but I read the newspapers ⦠I watch television and listen to the radio ⦠and sometimes I just don't know.
Eric Walters