Silent Honor (28 page)

“I was in prison, nearby,” she explained, shaking her head about Tak and pointing to the direction from which she had come. Reiko had heard there was another camp nearby for people of high security risk, where they were holding them for interrogation. But she had had no idea that Hiroko was there and she didn't know where Takeo was either.

“Are you all right? What did they do to you?” Reiko asked her anxiously.

“They asked many questions. I never saw Takeo,” she said definitely, “but he left in the same kind of bus that we did, so perhaps he was there.” There were a dozen possibilities, as they both knew. He could have been at Manzanar, or the camp they'd opened at Minidoka the month before, or out of state at any of the other camps, Gila River or Poston, Arizona; Grenada, in Colorado; Heart Mountain in Wyoming; or Topaz in Utah. He could even have been as far away as Arkansas, at Rohwer. In the past month, five new camps had opened, and they were setting up one more in Arkansas, called Jerome, due to start receiving internees at any moment. There was some communication between the camps, but it was limited and censored, and Reiko had no way of contacting anyone to ask about Takeo. Undoubtedly, in most cases she knew people in different camps, but she had no way of knowing who was where or how to reach them. And every day it was a surprise to see who would appear, and who they knew, even at Tule Lake, where people were still arriving.

Hiroko realized from her number then that she had been assigned to stay with Reiko and the children, and they walked her inside, and she saw that they had two tiny rooms, one in which Reiko slept with Sally and Tami, on narrow cots, and the other which they used as a sitting room, and where Ken slept at night, and Tak would too, if he joined them. There was barely enough room to add Hiroko too, but there were other families that were much larger and they did it. You did whatever you had to do, to make it work, there was no choice. This was what they had been assigned to.

“How are Sally and Ken?” Hiroko asked anxiously, as she searched Reiko's eyes, noticing again how worried and thin her cousin looked. Reiko had been desperate for news of Tak, and anxious too about Hiroko.

“They're all right. Ken is working in the fields here, not that he can do much at this time of year, but there are provisions stored, and they have to handle what's brought in. He could have gone to school,” she said with a sigh, “but he refused to.” He was still furious at what they'd done to them, and talked all the time about the violation of the Constitution. He wasn't alone, there were other boys as angry as he was, and adults too. Some of the nisei were talking about renouncing their citizenship and going to Japan, although they had never been there in their lives. It was their only choice if they didn't want to stay in the camps, or work in the jobs the WRA got them in factories in distant locations. They didn't want to go to Japan, but the shame and indignity of being in the camps was too much for them, and they preferred to try their fate in the homeland of their ancestors. But Reiko had never even thought of it, and she knew Tak wouldn't either. They were American to the core, and they just had to sit this out until it was over. “Sally's at school, and she's made some friends here.” There were several girls' clubs, a friendship club, music groups, art classes, gardening clubs. There was already a plan to put together both an orchestra and a symphony, and there was talk of a recital by Christmas. It was incredible that in the limited world they shared, the people here were determined not to complain, to hold their heads high, and to make it pleasant. It brought tears to Hiroko's eyes when Reiko told her about
it
These people were so brave, she had no right to complain, or even to cry for Peter. And as Reiko looked at her, she took her in her arms again, feeling as though she had found one of her daughters, and Tami held both of them, with her doll, so happy to have Hiroko back with them.

“Can we make my new dollhouse now?” she asked, looking nine again, and not worldly-wise and deeply sad, as she had a few minutes before when Hiroko first saw her.

“If we can find the right things.” She smiled down at her little cousin, and held her small hand firmly in her own, as Reiko looked Hiroko over. She actually looked better than she had at Tanforan. She'd been so sick with stomach problems and dysentery, that at the end Reiko had been worried.

“How's your stomach?” Reiko asked, sounding like a nurse, and Hiroko looked startled.

“Much better.” She smiled shyly. No one had inquired about her health in months, and it made her feel so vulnerable and loved to have someone care about her, and not just by asking her questions and waiting for answers. “Are you well, Aunt Rei?”

“I'm fine.” Except that she couldn't sleep at night, worrying about her husband. And she knew from her own nursing experience that she was developing a gastric ulcer. But other than that, they were managing. The conditions were fair, the guards were decent to them, and the other people in the camp were, for the most part, remarkable. There was the occasional corn-plainer, but most of the people her age were determined to make the best of it, particularly the women. Some of the men were having a harder time of it, they felt responsible, and guilt-ridden for not having been able to save their families and businesses, and seen it coming. They felt useless here, doing menial jobs, peeling potatoes, or digging ditches in the frozen ground. It did not compare with being architects or engineers or professors or even farmers. It shamed them deeply to be here. And the old people sat around and talked about old times, touching the past with ancient hands, so they would not be touched by the present. Only the children seemed relatively un-scathed by it. Most of them had adjusted admirably, except those who were ill or frail. And the teenagers were almost enjoying it, Reiko sometimes thought. There were so many of them, they were together all the time, and they gathered constantly to sing, or play music, or just talk and laugh, and drive the old ones crazy.

“I'm working at the infirmary,” Reiko explained, “naturally. We've had a lot of sick kids here. Some nasty influenzas, even in these few weeks, and more measles.” Measles was the bane of their existence. The children got so sick, and the adults even more so. And now and then some of the old people were felled, and more often than not, it killed them. There had already been several deaths in the brief month that Reiko had been at Tule Lake, mostly from problems that would have been minor elsewhere. She hated assisting at surgery here, the conditions were terrible, and they never seemed to have enough ether.

“We're managing,” she went on with a resigned smile. Life would have been so much happier for her, if they'd been with Takeo. She couldn't imagine going through the whole war without him, but for the moment it looked like she might have to. She just prayed he was still alive, and would stay that way until they met again. She hadn't liked the way he'd looked at Tanforan before they left, but there was nothing she could do about it now, except pray, and worry. “Just do yourself a favor, and don't get sick here,” she said to Hiroko. “Stay warm, eat what you can, and try to stay away from sick children. They pay me twelve dollars a month at the infirmary.” She smiled as she helped Hiroko unpack her things, and looked disapprovingly at Hiroko's coat. It wasn't warm enough for Tule Lake. “You'd better join one of the knitting clubs, and make yourself some sweaters.” It was hard to get wool, but some of them were unraveling old sweaters to make new ones, particularly for the children, or the women having babies. Reiko had set up something of a maternity ward for them, but they couldn't waste ether on them, or medications. They needed them for the serious surgeries. It was a lot like the old days of medicine.

They went back out into the winter sunshine then, and Tami told her that they were making decorations for Halloween at school. And Reiko and Hiroko dropped her off at school after lunch on their way back to the infirmary. In spite of Reiko's warnings, Hiroko wanted to volunteer to work with her there. She thought it sounded interesting and useful, more so than working in the kitchen.

And when Reiko introduced her to the doctors she was working for, they were delighted to have more help. They gave her an apron and a cap, and had her start by making beds and washing sheets and rags soaked in blood, and pans filled with vomit. She was retching miserably outside when Reiko saw her later that afternoon, and smiled sympathetically at her.

“I'm sorry, it's not pretty work here.”

“It's all right,” Hiroko whispered hoarsely, just grateful to be out of prison again. She would do anything she had to.

And in the next couple of weeks, she almost got used to it. She did hideous jobs for them, but little by little they also let her talk to the patients. She was such a sweet girl and had such gentle ways that everyone loved her. And her naturally fluent Japanese was a great help with all the old people who were sick in the infirmary. They particularly appreciated her extensive knowledge of their traditions.

Ken was happy to have her back again too, because he could talk to her about some of the things that were bothering him, and she listened carefully. He even admitted secretly that he had heard some of the other nisei talk about renouncing their American citizenship to go to Japan and get out of camp, and more than once he had thought about it. He knew it would break his mother's heart, but every fiber in his being rebelled at the idea of being imprisoned in camp, while other Americans, just like him, fought for their country. But Hiroko begged him not to even consider giving up his citizenship, nor to tell his mother about it. More than anything, he wished he could join the U.S. Army, but that was no longer an option. Those who had, before the evacuation came, were doing K.P. in boot camps and even regular posts around the country. And recently, the draft boards had been classifying nisei as IV-C, “aliens ineligible to serve,” so the army was out for Ken, and all the other young men like him. Hiroko was grateful that she was able to reason with him, most of the time. It was only when he talked to his other young male friends that he got so worked up there was no talking to him. He had heard from Peggy at Manzanar once or twice too, but communication between the camps was difficult, and they seemed to be drifting apart. They each had their own troubles.

And Sally was difficult sometimes too. At fifteen, she felt grown-up, and longed for more freedom. She wanted to hang out with the young people there, many of whom were not as strictly brought up as she was. And Reiko was particularly anxious to keep her in check, and it wasn't always easy to do it. Hiroko had several talks with her, about following the rules, and listening to her mother, and it really annoyed her when Hiroko tried to play big sister.

“You're only four years older than me,” she complained. “How can you be so stupid?”

“We do not want you to get into trouble,” Hiroko said firmly, and urged her to join one of the girls' clubs. But Sally thought they were silly. Hiroko joined the symphony, alternately playing piano and violin. And in her spare time, she was doing artwork with the children, mostly origami, and she had promised to do flower arranging with Reiko's women's club when there were flowers after the winter.

The news from the war was interesting too. Several people got newspapers, though they weren't always current. But Hiroko was able to learn that Eisenhower and his men had landed at Casablanca, Oran, and Algiers with the British, and the Vichy French in North Africa had surrendered. It was a major coup, and Hiroko could only pray that Peter was safe and still with them.

And four days afterward, German troops had moved into occupied France, apparently mainly to subdue the French Resistance. But that was the only news they heard before Thanksgiving.

Their Thanksgiving meal was sketchy that year; no one was able to get turkey. Some people had received care packages from friends. Others had begun using their salaries to buy things from catalogs, which were sent to them at the camps. But it was difficult to get enough food to cook a real Thanksgiving dinner. They made do with chickens, and hamburger, and in some cases, even baloney. But as usual, they were grateful to be alive, and the children were in high spirits the night before the holiday. A new load of arrivals came by train that day, and another group from the other part of the camp, which was used as a prison. More and more people were being released from there as their loyalty was questioned and eventually found adequate to put them in the camp with the others.

And Reiko had just come home from work on Wednesday afternoon, the day before Thanksgiving, and she was helping Tami with her homework, when someone knocked on the door, and Sally opened it, and then she just stood there, staring. And suddenly there was a scream, as Reiko saw him and flew to him. It was Takeo. He looked tired and worn, and terribly thin, and his hair was much grayer than it had been before, but he was safe, he was well, he was “loyal,” and other than over two months' confinement in a small cell, he had not been mistreated.

“Thank God, thank God,” Reiko said over and over again as he kissed her, and then he pulled all of his children into his arms, as Hiroko watched them. None of them could believe their good fortune to have him back in their midst after his long absence.

Reiko kept looking him over as a mother would a small child, holding him in her arms, and touching his face and his hair, wanting to assure herself that he was real and not her imagination. But as he sat down with them, she saw that he seemed almost broken by what had happened. It was not what they had done to him, so much as what they hadn't. They hadn't given him freedom or respect, or acknowledged him as an American, or even as a man who had a right to something from them. In two months, he had had a lot of time to think, and like everyone else, he had thought of going back to Japan, but he knew he couldn't do it. He didn't want to be there. He wasn't Japanese anymore. He felt completely American, by adoption. The heartbreak came when he realized that his adoptive country didn't want him.

But he said none of that to Reiko as he sat with her, or as they walked slowly to the mess hall for dinner. He seemed to be moving very slowly, and Reiko was more concerned than ever. She wanted to know if he'd been ill, but he just said he was tired, and she noticed that he had a hard time breathing. He was exhausted and out of breath when they reached the mess hall.