Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet (34 page)

"Why?" Henry asked, confused. "How can they put you here and then expect you to swear an oath of loyalty to them?"

Keiko broke in. "Because they want us to go to war for them. They want to draft men to fight the Germans."

That made about as much sense to Henry as his father sending him to an all-white school wearing an "I am Chinese" button.

"And we would go, gladly. I would go," Mr. Okabe said. "Many of us offered to join the army right after the bombings at Pearl Harbor. Most were refused, many were attacked outright."

"But why would you do that, why would you want to?" Henry asked.

Mr. Okabe laughed. "Look around you, Henry. It's not like we're living on Park Avenue. And anything I could do to help ease the suffering, and even more, the scrutiny and dishonor done to my family, I would do that. Many of us would do that. But what's more, for some, the only way we can prove we are American is to bleed for America's cause--despite what's being done to us. In fact, it's even more important, in the face of what's been done."

Henry began to understand and appreciate the sentiment within that complex web of injustice and contradiction. "When are they going to let you fight?" he asked.

Mr. Okabe didn't know, but he suspected it wouldn't be long after the completion of the camp. Once their labor here was done, they could be used elsewhere.

"Enough about all that fighting, Henry," Keiko's mother interrupted. "We need to figure out how we're going to get you out of here today."

"She's right," said Mr. Okabe. "We're honored that you would come all this way to court Keiko, but it is a very dangerous place. We're so used to it that the soldiers seem normal to us. But there was a shooting a week before we arrived here."

Henry blanched a little, feeling the color drain from his face. He wasn't sure what made him more nervous: that his being here was considered part of a formal courtship, which he supposed it was, or that someone had been shot.

"Um, I suppose I haven't asked permission ...," Henry said.

"To leave?" said Keiko's mother.

"No. Permission to court your daughter." Henry reminded himself again that he was now the same age his father had been when he was betrothed to his mother. "May I?"

Henry felt awkward and strange. Not because he still felt so young but because he'd grown up with the Chinese tradition of a go-between-- someone who would act as a mediator between families. Traditional courtship involved an exchange of gifts from family to family, tokens of betrothal. None of that was possible now.

Mr. Okabe gave him a proud look, the kind Henry always wished his father had given him. "Henry, you have been incredibly honorable in your intentions toward my daughter, and you are a constant help to us as a family. You have my full permission--as if being here sleeping on our floor wasn't permission enough."

Henry perked up, disbelieving what he had asked and what he'd heard in reply. He grimaced a bit as he worried about his father, then saw Keiko smiling at him from across the table. She reached over and poured Henry a fresh cup of tea, offering it to him.

"Thank you. For everything." Henry sipped his tea still stunned. The Okabes were so casual and relaxed, so American. Even in the way they mentioned the terrible things that happened to them at Camp Minidoka.

"What was that about a shooting?" Henry asked.

"Oh that ..." The way Mr. Okabe said it made it sound all the more strange. It was obviously something bad, but he was so used to living with the pain. Living here must do that to a person, Henry thought.

"A man, I think his name was Okamoto, was shot for stopping a construction truck from going the wrong way. One of the soldiers escorting the convoy shot him.

Killed him right there," Mr. Okabe said, swallowing hard.

"What happened to him?" Henry asked. "The soldier, not the man who was shot."

"Nothing. They fined him for unauthorized use of government property, and that was it."

Henry felt the silence settle heavily on all of them.

"What use? What property?" he asked after a moment.

Mr. Okabe choked up as he looked to his wife and drew a deep breath.

"The bullet, Henry." Keiko's mother finished the story. "He was fined for the unauthorized use of the bullet that killed Mr. Okamoto."

Farewell

(1942)

Since it was Saturday, Keiko had no school, and since Henry was a very special visitor, her parents let her skip her chores for the day---just this once. So while her mother did the laundry and the mending, and her father helped new families settle in on their block, Henry sat on the steps outside their building and talked to Keiko for the better part of the afternoon. If there had been a more quiet, more romantic part of the camp, they would have found it. But there wasn't a park, or even a tree taller than a shrub for that matter. So they sat on cement blocks, side by side, their feet touching.

"When are you leaving?" Keiko asked.

"I'm going to leave with the volunteers when the five-thirty whistle blows. I'll just cluster in with them at the gate, wear my button, and hope to get through. That's where Sheldon will be meeting me, so at least I'll have someone to vouch for me."

"And what if you get caught?"

"That wouldn't be so bad, would it? I'd get to stay here with you."

Keiko smiled and rested her head on Henry's shoulder. "I'm going to miss you."

"Me too," Henry said. "But I'll be waiting for you when this is all over."

"What if it's years?"

"I'll still wait. Besides, I need time to get a good job and save money." Henry could hardly believe what he was saying. A year ago, he'd been working in the kitchen of Rainier Elementary. Now he was talking about taking care of someone. It sounded so grown-up and somewhat frightening. He hadn't even dated Keiko, really, not when they were both on the outside of the fences. But a courtship could take a year, or several years.

Even in his family, where his parents often argued over the tradition of using a matchmaker for Henry, nothing was decided. Would they even let him date American girls? It didn't matter now that his father was so frail. Despite Henry's guilt, he would have to make his own decisions from now on. He'd follow the intent of his own heart.

"How long will you wait for me, Henry?"

"As long as it takes, I don't care what my father says."

"What if I'm an old woman?" Keiko said, laughing. "What if I'm in here until I'm old and my hair is gray--"

"Then I'll bring you a cane."

"You'd wait for me?"

Henry smiled, nodded, and took Keiko's hand. He didn't even look, their two hands just seemed to fall together. They spent the better part of the day beneath that cloudy sky. Henry looked up expecting rain, but the wind, which kept them a little chilly, blew the clouds south of the camp. There would be no more rain.

As the hours passed, they talked about music, Oscar Holden, and what life would be like when Keiko's family came back to Seattle. Henry couldn't bear to tell her that Nihonmachi was disappearing. Building by building and block by block, it was being transformed, bought out and renovated. He wondered how much, if anything, would be left by the time they got out. The Panama Hotel, like the rest of Japantown, was boarded up now, slumbering like a patient in a coma--you never knew if they would sit up, or just drift off and never wake up again.

As the evening shift changed for the many volunteers who worked inside Camp Minidoka, Henry said good-bye to Keiko's family once again. Her little brother even seemed to regard Henry with a sense of longing. I guess even he knows I have a

connection to the outside, a freedom he's not allowed, Henry thought.

Holding Keiko's hand, he walked with her as close to the volunteer gate as possible without being seen. They stood behind an outbuilding and waited for a crew of workers and missionaries to pass by, then Henry would disappear into the crowd and head to the gate. He hoped Sheldon would be waiting on the other side.

"I don't know when I'll see you again. It took all I had to come see you this time,"

he told Keiko.

"Don't come. Just wait, and write. I'll be here--you don't have to worry about me.

I'm safe here, and it won't be forever."

Henry hugged her close and felt her small arms around his shoulders. Leaning in, he felt the warmth of her cheek in the cool autumn air. Their foreheads touched as he looked down into her eyes, rolling clouds moving slowly in the reflections. His head turned to the left as hers did the same, and a simple kiss found a home between their lips.

When he opened his eyes, hers were beaming back at him. He hugged her one more time, then let her go--walking backward, waving, trying not to smile too broadly, but he couldn't help it.

I love her.
Henry paused at the thought. He didn't even know what that was, or what it meant, but he felt it, burning in his chest--feeling fuzzy inside. Nothing else seemed to matter. Not the somber crowd of camp workers drifting to the barbed-wire gate. Not the machine guns in the towers above.

Henry began to wave, then lowered his hand slowly as the words "I love you"

rolled off his tongue. She was too far away to hear it, or maybe he didn't make a sound, but she knew, and her mouth echoed the same statement as her hand touched her heart and pointed at Henry. He simply smiled and nodded, turning back to the gate.

Angry Home

(1942)

Henry sank into his seat and spoke very little on the long bus ride home.

He truly felt bad, imagining the concern he had caused. But he'd had to go. And he'd deal with the consequences. There was a strange, abiding comfort in knowing he could no longer let his father down. Not anymore. What more could there be to disappoint him?

What more could he withhold from Henry as a punishment?

His mother, though. He worried about her. He'd left an additional note on his pillow for her to find later. Just a little something to keep her from worrying--too much anyway. The note told her that he was going to visit Keiko, that a friend would be coming along to keep him company and that if all went well, he'd be home by late Sunday night.

The money jar on his dresser was empty, so she'd assume that he had plenty of money for the trip. But in his entire life, he'd never been gone overnight. This would worry her immensely, especially with his father ailing.

When Henry had left Seattle, he'd imagined that he felt the same way his own father must have felt leaving home at age thirteen. Scared, excited, and confused. For his father, leaving at age thirteen was a matter of pride, even though, deep down, Henry sensed a lot of emptiness and sadness along with it. Now, on the bus heading home, he knew what his father had felt. Hurt and loneliness--but also a need to do what was right.

To his father, that meant helping causes back in China. To Henry it meant helping Keiko.

When he and Sheldon finally said their good-byes at the Seattle bus station, Henry was exhausted, despite having slept on the bus all day. "Everything going to be okay for you back home?" Sheldon asked.

Henry yawned and nodded.

Sheldon looked at him, his eyebrows raised in concern.

"I'll be fine," Henry reassured him.

Sheldon stretched and said, "Thank you, sir, you have a fine day now," and headed for his home, walking in the direction of South Jackson, suitcase in hand.

Henry had assured him it would all be okay. But now, walking up the steps to his apartment, he realized it barely felt like home anymore. Somehow it all felt smaller. More confining. But he knew it was the same place he'd left.

The door was unlocked. A good sign.

Inside everything was dark and quiet. Their small home had a humid smell of rice cooking and the burnt, raw tobacco smell of the Camel cigarettes his father favored. His mother smoked them too, but not as frequently as his father had. That was the one thing that had changed when his father fell ill. His ability to smoke had disappeared, along with his desire. What will he had left seemed aimed at denying Henry's existence and focusing on the maps of the war in China.

The only light was a small ceramic lamp in the kitchen that his mother had made at the Yook Fun artisan shop years ago, before he was born. She'd had such a different life before Henry came along. He wondered whether she'd return to that life if he ever left. Next to the lamp was a small plate of food, cold rice and wind-dried sausages made from duck. Henry's favorite.