Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet (13 page)

Henry burst through his front door, fifteen minutes earlier than the time he normally came home from school. He didn't care, and his parents didn't seem to mind. He needed to talk to someone. Needed to tell his parents what was going on. They'd know what to do, wouldn't they? Shouldn't they? Henry needed to do something. But what?

What could he do? He was only twelve.

"Mom, I need to tell you something!" he yelled, trying to catch his breath.

"Henry, we were hoping you'd be home soon! We have guests for tea." He heard his mother in the kitchen, speaking in Cantonese.

She came out, speaking broken English, shushing him, urging him to their modest living room. "Come, you come."

Henry found himself indulging in a terrible fantasy. Keiko had run away; she was here, safe. Maybe her entire family had fled, just before the FBI broke down their door, leaving them to find an empty house--the window open, curtains blowing in the wind.

He'd never met them but could picture them clearly, running down the alley, leaving the FBI agents flat-footed and confused.

He walked around to the sitting area and felt his stomach drop, as if hitting the floor, rolling under the couch, lost somewhere.

"You must be Henry. We've been waiting for you." An older Caucasian man in a fine tan suit sat across from Henry's father. Sitting next to the man was Chaz.

"Sit. Sit." Henry's father motioned, speaking Chinglish.

"Henry, I'm Charles Preston. I'm a building developer. I think you know Junior here--we call him Chaz, in our house anyway. You can call him whatever you want."

Henry had a few choice names. In two languages even. He waved at Chaz, who smiled so sweetly Henry noticed his dimples for the first time.

Still, he didn't understand what was going on--in his own home no less. "What ..."

What are
you
doing here? He thought it, but the words were stuck somewhere in his throat as he realized why his father had worn his suit--the one he always wore to important meetings--that morning.

"Your father and I were trying to discuss a business matter, and he indicated you'd be a perfect translator. He says you're learning English over at Rainier Elementary."

"Hi, Henry." Chaz winked, then turned to his father. "Henry's one of the smartest kids in class. He can translate
anything. Japanese too
, I bet." Those last words came out like mumbled ice cubes as Chaz once again beamed at Henry. Henry could tell Chaz didn't like being there any more than he did, but he was content playing cat and mouse with Henry while innocently seated at Mr. Preston's elbow.

"Henry, Mr. Preston owns several apartment buildings around here. He's interested in developing some property on Maynard Avenue, in Japantown," Henry's father explained in Cantonese. "Since I'm a Chong Wa board member, he needs my support, and the support of the Chinese community in the International District. He needs our support for the approval of the city council." He said it in a way--his tone, his eyes, his mannerisms--that made Henry realize this was a very big deal. Very serious, but also very enthusiastic. His father didn't get excited about too many things. Victories in China over the invading Japanese army, which were few, and Henry's
scholarshipping
at Rainier were the only things he'd ever talked about with such electric enthusiasm. Until now anyway.

Henry sat on the footstool between them, feeling small and insignificant. Caught between a rock and another rock, two towering pieces of adult-shaped granite.

"What do I need to do?" he asked in English, then in Cantonese.

"Just translate what each of us is saying, the best you can," Mr. Preston said.

Henry's father nodded, trying to follow the English words Chaz's father spoke slowly.

Henry rubbed grit and soot from the corners of his eyes, wondering about Keiko and her family. He thought about those three Japanese couples lying facedown on the dirty floor of the Black Elks Club in their evening finery. Being hauled out and jailed somewhere. He stared back at Mr. Preston, a man trying to buy land out from under families who were now burning their most precious possessions to keep from being called traitors or spies.

For the first time Henry realized where he was, standing on one side of an unseen line between himself and his father, and everything else he'd known. He couldn't recall when he'd crossed it and couldn't see an easy way back.

He looked at Mr. Preston and Chaz, then at his father, and nodded. Go ahead, I'll translate. I'll do my
best
, he thought.

"Henry, can you tell your father that I'm trying to buy the vacant lot behind the Nichibei publishing company? If we can force the Japanese newspaper out of business, will he approve us to buy that land as well?"

Henry listened intently. Then he turned to his father, speaking in Cantonese. "He wants to buy the land behind the Japanese newspaper and the building too."

His father evidently knew this area well, answering, "That property is owned by the Shitame family, but the head of the family was arrested weeks ago. Make an offer to the bank, and they will sell it out from under them." The words came out slowly, presumably so Henry wouldn't miss a thing in translation.

Henry was shocked at what he was hearing. He looked around for his mother. She was nowhere to be seen--probably downstairs doing laundry, or making tea for the guests. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at Mr. Preston and in all seriousness said,

"My father won't approve of the sale. It was once a Japanese cemetery and it's very bad luck to build there. That's why the lot is empty." Henry pictured a dive-bomber, augering toward its target, loaded with ordnance.

Mr. Preston laughed. "He's kidding, right? Ask him if he's joking."

Henry could hardly believe that for the first time in months he was actually talking to his father--and telling him lies.
But necessary ones
, Henry thought. He looked over at Chaz, who just stared at the ceiling, seemingly out of boredom.

Henry's father was hanging on his every Cantonese word. "Mr. Preston says he wants to turn the building into a jazz club. That kind of music is very popular, and there's a lot of money to be made." Henry pictured his imaginary bomber releasing its payload, the bombs raining down ...
screeeeeeeeeeeee ...

His father looked more offended than confused. Bull's-eye. The bombs exploded on impact. The International District needed many things, his father argued, but more nightclubs and more drunken sailors were evidently not very high on Henry's father's agenda for progressive community development, even if they displaced some of the Japanese in Nihonmachi.

The conversation went significantly downhill from there.

Mr. Preston grew angry, accusing Henry's father of indulging in Japanese

superstition. Henry's father accused Mr. Preston of indulging too often in the spirits that he intended to sell at his proposed jazz club.

After more mixed translation on Henry's part, they ended their bilingual discussion, agreeing to disagree, each warily eyeing the other.

But they still argued, bypassing Henry altogether, hardly understanding a word each other was saying. Chaz stared at Henry, not even blinking. He opened his coat and showed Henry the button he'd stolen from him. Neither parent noticed, but Henry saw.

Chaz flashed him a bucktoothed grin, then closed his coat again and smiled angelically as his father said, "We're done talking about this. I can see coming here was the wrong thing to do. You people will never be able to handle real business anyway."

Henry's mother walked in with a fresh pot of her best chrysanthemum tea, just in time to see Chaz and Mr. Preston stand up and storm out, looking like gamblers who'd lost their last sawbuck on a round of pitch and toss.

Henry took a cup of tea and graciously thanked his mother--in English. She didn't understand the words, of course, but seemed to appreciate the tone.

After finishing his tea, Henry excused himself to his room. It was early, but he felt weary. He lay down, closing his eyes, and thought about Mr. Preston, the adult version of Chaz, greedily carving up Japantown, and his own father, so eager to help with these important
business
matters. Henry half-expected to feel happy about disrupting their plans, but all he felt was exhausted relief, and guilt. He'd never disobeyed his father so blatantly. But he had to. He had seen the fires in Nihonmachi and people burning their prized possessions--ashen remainders of who they had been, who they still were.

Boarded-up storefronts with American flags in the windows. He didn't know much about business, but he knew times were tough and getting worse. He needed to find Keiko, needed to see her. As darkness fell, he pictured her in some family photograph, a portrait on fire, curling, burning, and turning to ash.

Hello, Hello

(1942)

When Henry finally opened his eyes again, he saw nothing but darkness.

What time is it? What day? How long have I been asleep?
His thoughts raced as he rubbed his eyes and blinked, doing his best to wake up. A sliver of moonlight peeked between the blackout curtains on his bedroom window.

Something had woken him. What was it? A sound? Then he heard it again, a ringing in the kitchen.

He stretched, reorienting once again to time and place, then rolled his feet to the cold wooden floor, sitting up. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Henry could make out the silhouette of a serving tray in his room. His mother had thoughtfully left him dinner.

She'd even put the vase with her starfire lily on the tray for simple decoration.

There it was again--the unmistakable sound of their telephone ringing. Henry still wasn't quite used to its loud, jarring bell. Fewer than half of the homes in Seattle had telephones, and even fewer had them in Chinatown. His father had insisted on having one installed when the United States had declared war on the Axis powers. He was a block warden, and his responsibilities included staying in touch, with whom exactly Henry didn't know.

The phone rang again, clanging like a windup alarm clock.

Henry started to yawn but froze partway as he thought about Chaz.
He now knows
where I live.
He could be outside waiting for me right now. Waiting for me to come wandering out unawares, taking out the trash or bringing in the laundry. Then he'd pounce, getting even, without teachers and playground monitors to get in the way.

He peered through the heavy, musty curtains, but the street, two stories below, looked cold and empty, damp from a recent rainstorm.

In the kitchen, he could hear his mother answering,
"Wei, wei?"
Hello, hello.

Henry opened his door, padding down the hallway toward the bathroom. His mother was mumbling something on the phone about not speaking English. She waved at Henry, pointing to the phone. The call was for him. Sort of

"Hello?" he asked. Henry was used to handling all the wrong numbers. They were usually in English, or calls from census takers polling the Asian community. Strange women, asking Henry how old he was and if he was the man of the house.

"Henry, I need your help." It was Keiko. She sounded calm but direct.

He hesitated, not having expected Keiko's soft voice. He started speaking in whispered tones, then remembered his parents didn't speak English anyway. "Are you okay? You weren't at school. Is your family okay?"

"Can you meet me at the park, the park we met at last time?"

She was being vague. Deliberately vague. Henry could talk freely, but obviously she couldn't. He thought about the operators who often listened in and understood.

"When? Now? Tonight?"

"Can you meet me in an hour?"

An hour? Henry's mind raced. It's already after dark. What'll I tell my parents?

Finally he agreed. "One hour, I'll try my best." I'll find a way.

"Thank you, good-bye." She paused for a moment. Just as Henry thought she might say something, she hung up.

A sharp, chirpy female voice cut in on the line. "The other party has disconnected, would you like for me to assist you in another call?"

Henry hung up immediately, as if he'd been caught stealing.

His mother was standing there when he turned around. She had a look Henry couldn't distinguish between curiosity and concern. "What? You have a
girlfriend
, maybe?" she asked.

Henry shrugged and spoke in English. "I don't know?" And truth be told, he didn't. If his mother thought it was odd that the little girl calling her son didn't speak Chinese, she didn't say anything. Maybe she thought all parents were forcing their children to
speak their American.
Who knew? Maybe they all were.

Henry thought about how he'd get to Kobe Park, after hours, after blackout. He was glad he'd slept earlier. It was shaping up to be a very long night.

Henry waited most of the hour in his room. It had been almost nine o'clock when Keiko called. His parents had settled into bed around nine-thirty not because they were particularly tired but because going to bed early was the prudent thing to do. Saving electricity for the war effort was like a sacrament to Henry's father.