Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet (14 page)

After briefly listening and hearing no sign of his parents, Henry opened his window and crept down the fire escape. The ladder reached only halfway to the ground but near enough to a closed dumpster for recycled tires. Henry removed his shoes and leapt for the dumpster, which made a muffled clanging as his stocking feet landed on the heavy metal lid. Getting up again would be a bit of a scramble but doable, he thought, putting his shoes back on.

As he walked along the damp sidewalks, his breath came out in a swirling mist, adding to the fog rolling in off the water. He tried to stay in the shadows, despite the fear that crept into his mind and curdled his stomach. Henry had never been out this late by himself Though with the crowds of people that bustled up and down the avenues, he hardly felt alone.

All the way down South King, the street was awash in the stain of neon signs that defied the blackout restrictions. Signs for bars and nightclubs reflected greens and reds in each puddle he jumped over. The occasional car would drive by, bathing the street in its dim blue headlights, illuminating the men and women, Chinese and Caucasian, enjoying the nightlife--despite the rationing.

Crossing Seventh Avenue and entering Nihonmachi was like stepping onto the dark side of the moon. No lights. No cars moving. Everything locked down. Even the Manila Restaurant had boards across its windows to protect them from vandals, despite being owned by Filipinos--not Japanese. The streets were empty all the way along Maynard Avenue. From the Janagi Grocery to the Nippon Kan Hall, Henry saw no one, except for Keiko.

At Kobe Park, across from the Kabuki theater, he waved as he found her sitting on the hill, like last time, surrounded by a grove of cherry trees whose blossoms were beginning to bud. After walking up the steep hill of the terraced park, Henry caught his breath and sat on a rock beside her. She looked pale in the moonlight, shivering in the cold Seattle air.

"My parents made me stay home from school, they were afraid something might happen, that our family would be separated," she said. Henry watched as she brushed her long hair out of her face. He was surprised at how peaceful she looked, how calm. "The police and FBI came and took our radios, cameras, and a few people from our building, but then they left. We haven't seen them since."

"I'm sorry." It was all he could think of--what else could he say?

"They came and arrested scores of people back in December, right after Pearl Harbor, but it's been quiet for months now. Too quiet, I guess. Papa said the navy has given up worrying about an invasion and now they're more concerned about sabotage, you know--people blowing up bridges and power plants and stuff like that. So they swept through and arrested more Japanese."

Henry thought about the word
sabotage.
He'd sabotaged Mr. Preston's plans to buy up part of Japantown. Didn't feel bad about it either. But weren't these people taken away American? Japanese by descent, but American born? After all, Keiko's father had been born here.

"There's even a curfew now."

"Curfew?"

Keiko nodded slowly, contemplating its effects as she looked around the barren streets. "No Japanese are allowed outside of our neighborhoods from eight o'clock at night to six in the morning. We're prisoners at night."

Henry shook his head, struggling to believe what she was saying but knowing it must be true. From the arrests at the Black Elks Club to the victorious smile on his father's face, he knew it was really happening. He felt bad for Keiko and her family, for the wrongs done to everyone in Nihonmachi. Yet he was so selfishly grateful to be with her--feeling guilty at his own happiness.

"I cut class today and went looking for you," he said. "I was worried ..."

She looked at him, a small smile turning into a crooked grin. He felt nervous, stumbling over his words.

"I was worried about school," Henry said. "It's important that we don't fall behind, especially since the teachers don't pay attention to us very much anyway ..."

There was silence for a moment, then they both heard the swing-shift horn--blaring all the way from Boeing Field. Thousands of workers would be going home.

Thousands more would be starting their day at ten o'clock at night, making airplanes to fight in the war.

"It's nice of you to care so much about my schooling, Henry."

He could see the disappointment in her eyes. The same look she'd had when they departed last night, after the arrests at the Black Elks Club. "I wasn't just worried about school," he admitted. "It's more than that. I was worried about--"

"It's okay, Henry. I don't mean to get you in trouble. Either at school or at home with your father."

"I'm not worried about my troubles ..."

She looked at him and took a deep breath. "Good, 'cause I need a favor, Henry. A big favor." Keiko got up, and Henry followed her down the hill a bit, behind a bench where a red Radio Flyer wagon was partially hidden. In the back were stacks of photo albums and a box of prints. "These belong to my family. My mother told me to take them to the alley and burn them. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Her father was in the Japanese navy. She wanted me to burn all her old photos from Japan." Keiko looked at Henry with sad eyes. "I can't do it, Henry. I was hoping you might hide them for us. Just for a while. Can you do that for me?"

Henry remembered the horrible scene in Japantown that afternoon, the photographer from the Ochi Studio--visibly shaken but determined.

"I can hide them in my room. Do you have more?"

"This is the important stuff My mom's keepsakes--family memories. The stuff we have from my baby years is okay for us to keep, I think, and some families in our neighborhood are trying to find someplace else to store things. Bigger things. We'll probably put other stuff there if we have to."

"I'll keep this safe, I promise."

Keiko hugged Henry for a brief moment. He found himself hugging her back. His hand touched her hair. She was warmer than Henry had imagined.

"I need to get back before they know I'm gone," Keiko said. "I guess I'll see you in school tomorrow?"

Henry nodded, taking the handle of the little red wagon, heading for home, down the darkened, empty streets of Japantown. Pulling behind him a lifetime of memories.

Memories that he'd hide, and a secret he would keep, somewhere back home.

Downhill

(1942)

Henry knew just where he'd hide the photo albums when he got to his Canton Alley apartment--in that shallow empty space between his lower dresser drawers and the floor below. Just enough room to stash all of Keiko's precious family photos, if he spread them out properly.

He'd go up the fire escape and come back down with a pillowcase. It'd probably take two trips to bring everything up, but it shouldn't be any real trouble. My father snores, Henry thought, and my mother compensates by being a heavy sleeper; as long as I don't cause a racket, I should be able to pull it off without a hitch.

Doing his best to stay in the shadows and zigzagging through darkened alleyways, Henry crept back toward Chinatown. A young boy out at night by himself might not normally draw that much attention, but with the blackout restrictions and the new curfew imposed on the Japanese, he would surely be stopped by any police officer patrolling the street.

Through the darkness Henry pulled the little red wagon, cargo and all, down Maynard Avenue--backtracking the way he'd come earlier. The streets in Japantown were barren. It felt empty but safe. The wagon's back wheels squeaked and whined once in a while, piercing the quiet, peaceful evening. Only a few more blocks, then he'd be able to head north and down the hill into the heart of Chinatown and the direction of home.

Still worrying about Keiko, Henry rolled past the Rodo-Sha publisher and the Yada Ladies Tailor, with its Western-size, American-looking mannequins in the display window. Then he passed Eureka Dentistry, with its giant modeled tooth hanging outside, looking pale, almost transparent in the moonlight. If he could somehow block out the American flags and slogans that hung in every window--or were plastered on every boarded-up storefront--he could almost mistake this part of town for Chinatown, only bigger. More developed.

As Henry left the quiet sanctuary of Japantown and warily headed north on South King, in the direction of home, he saw someone--a boy. He could barely make out his shadow in the moonlight, backlit by the streetlamps that buzzed and hummed, surrounded by moths bouncing off the glass. As Henry rolled closer, he could see the boy wiping down the poster of an American flag that had been posted over the window of the Janagi Grocery. The door had a plank of plywood covering the glass near the doorknob, but the large windows were intact. Probably newly installed, Henry thought. Covered with flags, serving as protectors.

To Henry, it looked like the boy was painting, moving a brush over the surface of the paper. He's out at night, Henry thought, still doing his best to declare his citizenship.

Trying to protect his family's property. Henry relaxed for a moment, comforted that other kids his age were out at this hour.

The young boy heard the squeaking of the wagon and froze. He turned away from his handiwork, stepping clear of the shadow to where Henry could see him and, likewise, he could see Henry.

It was Denny Brown.

In his hand was a paintbrush, dripping red paint all over the sidewalk, tear-shaped splotches trailing behind him.

"What

are

you
doing here?" he said. Henry could see a flicker of fear in Denny's eyes. He was scared,
caught.
Then Henry saw his startled, wide-eyed look change to anger when Denny's eyes narrowed with anticipation. Henry was all alone; there was no one else. And Denny seemed to know it, drawing closer--all while Henry looked on stunned, holding the handle of Keiko's little red wagon.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it from Denny himself It was a vain attempt at understanding. He understood who, where, and what. But for the young life of him, he couldn't fathom
why.
Was it fear? Hatred? Or just youthful boredom that drove Denny here, to Japantown, where families hid and locked their doors, hiding their precious possessions, fearing arrest. While Denny stood on the corner, painting "Go Home Japs!" over American flags posted on store windows.

"I told you he was a Jap on the inside!"

Henry knew the voice. Turning around, he saw Chaz. Crowbar in one hand, and a wadded-up poster of an American flag in his other.
A different kind of flag duty
, Henry thought. The wooden door behind Chaz had long gashes where he'd scraped the poster off. Behind Chaz stood Carl Parks, another bully from school. The three converged on Henry.

Looking around, Henry saw no one else. Not a soul. Not even a light was visible from the nearby apartments.

Chaz smiled. "Taking your wagon out for a walk, Henry? Whatcha got in there?

You delivering some Jap newspapers? Or is that stuff a Japanese spy would be delivering?"

Henry looked down at Keiko's things. The photo albums. The wedding album.

Things he'd promised to protect. He could barely stand up to one, let alone the three of them. Without thinking, Henry slammed the handle of the Radio Flyer back into the wagon and took off running, pushing the wagon from behind. He leaned his whole body into it as he ran, legs pumping the wagon up the crest of the hill and down the steep slope--down South King.

"Get him! Don't let that Jap lover get away!" Chaz shouted.

"We're coming after you, Henry!" he heard Denny shouting, his feet pounding the pavement. Henry didn't look back.

As the wagon sped faster down the steep hill, Henry thought he'd fall face-first into the sidewalk while it sped away. Instead he jumped, like playing leapfrog on a moving playground. He flung his feet wide, knees out, as the seat of his pants landed in the back of the wagon, right on top of Keiko's photo albums--legs splayed out, one on each side, the rubber of his shoes suspended over the ground as he flew along.

Henry gripped the handle, steering as best he could. The wagon, cargo and all, careened down South King, rumbling on the cracked pavement. Henry could hear the shouts of the boys closing in behind him, giving chase. He briefly felt a hand on the back of his shirt, grasping at his collar. Henry leaned forward over the wagon handle, shifting his weight. Looking back for a moment, he saw his pursuers fall behind as he flew down the hill faster than a sled in wintertime. The squeaky wheels were now just a shimmering hum, as the revolutions of the wagon's axles made a spinning noise like a top.

"Make way! Watch out! Move!" Henry yelled as bar patrons wandering the streets skipped out of the way. He nearly clipped a man in overalls, but the racket was so loud, and the scene before him so hysteric that most people jumped out of the way with plenty of time to spare. One woman dove into the open window of a parked car. Henry leaned back, slipping just beneath her wriggling stocking feet.

He heard a clatter and a cry, and looked back to see Chaz and Carl skidding to a halt as Denny tumbled to the pavement face-first. They'd given up their pursuit, far back, up the hill.