The Purple Heart (14 page)

As Hiroshi collected his
things, two of the players on his team trudged up to Hiroshi. Hiroshi wasn’t
sure what to expect but stood his ground. The first soldier was a tall man with
a chest built like a tank. His hair was shaved close and it looked like he was
holding in his breath as his head seemed ready to explode at any minute. He had
obviously been in the sun too long as his entire face was a pinkish red. The
second soldier was about Hiroshi’s build with dark hair. Actually he had quite
a lot of hair. A thick curly hair that simply covered his arms that even
extended down to his knuckles as puffs of hair extruded from his chest area.
“Hey, I just wanted to say you did good job out there,” he said.

The first soldier echoed in
a grunt like tone, “Yeah, you did good.”

Hiroshi nodded and
responded, “Thanks, just doing my part for the team.”

“Yeah, speaking of team, I
just wanted to say welcome. Eddie’s the name and this big fella is Gordon but
we all just call him Gordy.”

“Hiroshi is the name.”

Eddie extended out his
furry hand and Hiroshi shook it and then took in Gordy’s burly handshake.

“Hey careful Gordy, that’s
his pitching arm,” said Eddie.

“Oh, sorry,” said Gordy.

“No problem,” as Hiroshi
had to shake off Gordy’s vise-like grip.

“You know,” said Eddie. “I
always thought I’d be fighting Japs but never did I think I’d be playing with
one.”

“And I never thought I’d be
placed in a relocation camp even though I was born in Los Angeles,” said
Hiroshi.

“You don’t say? An American
born Jap, who woulda figured? I guess you wouldn’t think that either,” remarked
Eddie.

“Actually, if you don’t
mind fellas, Japanese American,” said Hiroshi.

Eddie looked up at Gordy and
then back at Hiroshi, “Yeah, you’re right, Hiroshi. We’re fighting Japs, not
playing baseball with them. We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Take care.”

Gordy merely grunted as he
and Eddie turned away from Hiroshi, who couldn’t help noticing that Eddie even
had hair coming out from the back of his shirt collar. Hiroshi was a bit amused
as he watched the odd pair walk away.

Hiroshi walked back into
the prison camp and rushed toward Minami, who had her arms open to welcome him.
He lifted Minami and placed a quick kiss on her lips as Minami laughed and
whispered, “Not here, my little brother is watching.” She turned away from
Hiroshi with a smile and reached for Yoshi’s hand.

Hiroshi knelt down to greet
Yoshi, who looked back at him in amazement. “How are you little guy? My name is
Hiroshi.”

Yoshi simply shot both of
his arms straight into the air and with a smile blurted out, “Home run!”

Both Hiroshi and Minami
laughed. Hiroshi was still kneeling down with his back to the fence. But Minami’s
look turned from elation to guardedness when Kiddache and another soldier
walked past them. The other soldier was rambling on about an inning while Kiddache
was obviously not listening. He simply glared at Minami with eyes that couldn’t
be trusted, and then let out a stream of spit that landed just right of
Hiroshi.

Hiroshi immediately
straightened up and turned to Kiddache and stared back at him. “You should look
where you’re kneeling, Jap,” was all he said as he walked away.

Hiroshi started after him
but Minami stepped in front of him, placed the palm of both hands on his chest
and in an admonishing and pleading tone said, “Don’t, please… They’ll lock you
up.”

Though she continued to
hold Hiroshi back, she could feel anger coursing through his body and flaring
through his very nostrils. The red veins against the whites of Hiroshi’s eyes
pulsated in quiet rage but it was slowly soothed away as Minami brushed his
arms up and down. Yoshi, who was kicking up the sand to cover the splattered
spit, simply looked up and said, “That’s gross.”

They could do nothing but
laugh as Minami picked up Yoshi and giggled with him as the three of them
walked back toward the barracks.

Over the next few weeks,
the two teams played three games during the week and one afternoon game on
Saturday. News of Hiroshi’s athletic prowess soon traveled throughout the
prison camp, and he soon attracted the attention of many Japanese American
onlookers. The casual games that the general instituted to boost morale among
his troops had become a form of unexpected entertainment for the Japanese
Americans as well.

Many of the Japanese
Americans would simply take their breakfast out from the mess hall and lay out
a blanket on the dry ground to watch the game. Soon, so many people were coming
out that people actually rushed out of the mess hall to claim a prized spot
along the fenced-in area overlooking the baseball field. Hiroshi was surprised
by the unexpected turnout, never imagining that he would be such an attraction.
But it was something more. To the many Japanese Americans who watched the game,
Hiroshi represented to them a symbol of hope. They cheered on Hiroshi and his
teammates and spared no love for the opposing team. As non-expressive many Japanese
Americans typically were, things were a little different during those nine innings:
They lived vicariously through Hiroshi with every single swing, pitch, and
slide into home. Hiroshi was the pride of the Japanese American prisoners and
represented everything that was good about them.

The weather had warmed up
considerably, and Minami had become quite the fan of Hiroshi. She knew that
everyone just loved him and felt even a bit jealous when other women talked
about him. But after every game, Hiroshi returned to her. They shared many more
nights atop the mess hall rooftop of block number twelve. During those times in
between the kissing and romantic embraces, he taught her the intricacies of the
game of baseball and she would just listen in wondrous awe of his passion.

Minami had become quite the
avid baseball fan and when she had to confess to her mother that she was seeing
Hiroshi, her mother responded by saying, “The baseball player?” It seemed that
Hiroshi’s reputation had preceded him. Minami’s family then made it a point to
go to every game, and even Yoshi had become quite the baseball fan.

With the unexpected growing
crowds, the general in charge of the base had his men build some much-needed
bleachers along the outfield. Though the bleachers were outside the confines of
the relocation camp, he felt it was a low security risk since the Japanese
Americans were only out there during the day and were not an unruly crowd.

It was on a Saturday
afternoon toward the end of May when the final game between the two teams was
held. The casual games had turned quite competitive. The two teams were tied up
after thirty-four games, and whoever won the next game would be the champion.
The win would be bittersweet, as many soldiers from both teams were due to ship
out to the European Theater. Though the United States and its allies were
making considerable progress against the Nazis, the United States was taking
heavy losses and needed more troops. Because of the turn of events, that
Saturday’s game would be their last.

Hiroshi was warming up in a
marked off area designated as the bullpen. The catcher changed up the pitches
to give Hiroshi the chance to loosen up his throwing arm, but it was his
notorious fastballs that would be the crowd pleaser.

A line of people had
gathered along the fence as they waited for the gate to open so that they could
make their way to the bleachers. It was a scorching day as the heat was trapped
in the bowels of the valley and simply simmered there. Finally the gate swung
open. The soldiers in charge politely motioned to the Japanese American fans
toward the bleachers. Minami and her family were one of the first in line and
walked along the third base line when Minami caught sight of Hiroshi sitting on
the bench. On that special day and seeing that it was hot, Minami had put on
one of her favorite floral print sundresses with her low-heeled white shoes.
She had also let her hair down; it now went past her shoulders, since she’d
gone months without cutting it. But she kept it silky and voluminous by
brushing it every single day. Hiroshi was retying his shoes when he looked up
and caught sight of Minami. For a moment he had to admire how radiantly
beautiful she was. As Minami and everyone else shuffled along, she gave a
little wave and Hiroshi responded with a wink. The exchange did not go
unnoticed by Minami’s mother. Minami turned back to meet her mother’s gaze when
she said, “He’s quite the handsome boy.”

Minami smiled and responded
sheepishly, “I know.”

Minami’s sisters giggled
behind Minami but she paid them no attention. As Yoshi passed by Hiroshi,
Hiroshi smiled and Yoshi simply raised both of his arms and exclaimed, “Home run!”
Other fans nodded and smiled when they passed by Hiroshi and offered words of
encouragement to which Hiroshi humbly accepted. The pressure was on and Hiroshi
just hoped he could live up to his fans’ expectations. After thirty-four games,
the players on the other team grew accustomed to Hiroshi’s skill and habits. He
still pitched and batted well, but what was really going to win the game was
strategy and experience.

For a moment, the Japanese
Americans’ attention had turned in the direction of a jeep that was rumbling
along behind the bleachers. It cut through a break in the bleachers, drove
along the front of the center bleachers and came to a grinding halt as the
driver fiddled with the gears. The man sitting in the passenger side sat still.
There was a sense of authority about him as his teeth gripped a half smoked
cigar. It was the general, and it was rare for anyone to ever see him about. He
donned a pair of sunglasses that shielded his eyes from the bright mid-morning
sun, and he wore his cap proudly. He dismounted the jeep, rose to full height,
and along with a couple of military aides, stepped into the bleachers and sat
down where the view was the best. The general looked to his right as he saw the
bleachers still being settled into by the fans and then looked at the long line
of people snaking along the fence and back into the relocation camp. He looked
over at one of his military aides who took attention, cleared his voice and
then said, “Boy, you build it and they will come.”

Minami and her family
clambered up the bleachers with Miho and Yuka, lifting Yoshi over the steps as
they each held onto his arms. Yoshi let out a yelp of glee each time he swung
over a row of seats. Minami’s mother admonished her daughters to stop, fearing
that Yoshi’s arms would disconnect from his body. Minami chose a row that was
in the left field bleachers and everyone sat down. It took some time for the
hundreds of fans to climb over the bleachers and settle in. Many of the women
opened up umbrellas to ward off the sun’s rays as others complained that the
umbrellas were blocking their view. But the fans sounded off cheers as the
players took to the field.

Hiroshi was the starting
pitcher. Minami watched him as he stepped onto the mound. Along with the other
players, he was given a baseball jersey to play in. He looked so athletic in it,
thought Minami. Hiroshi took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair and
placed his cap back on his head. He removed his glove from under his arm and
placed it on his left hand and slipped the baseball out. He tossed the ball a
couple of times into the air to get a feel for it. The first batter stepped up
to the plate and swung a few times to which the umpire yelled out, “Play ball!”

Hiroshi exhaled and assumed
the pitching position. He acknowledged the catcher’s signal, a fastball. It was
what was expected; as it would serve to remind the batters who was in charge
and a fastball would do just that. Hiroshi effortlessly sent a fastball down
the pitching path and it landed squarely in the catcher’s mitt. “Strike one!”
yelled the umpire. And so began the start of the last game. Hiroshi was quite
successful with his fastballs, but he had to throw more pitches than usual as
the batters were more prepared for his pitches. But that was the extent of the
excitement for the first few innings, as the game became one of strategy. There
was a lot riding on the game for the coaches, as it would mean coveted bragging
rights for the weeks if not months to come.

By the time the top of the
eighth inning rolled around, Hiroshi was back on the mound. His jersey was
drenched in sweat that soaked through to his back. He had undone a few buttons
on his jersey, but even that did not relieve the intense heat of the day. His
breathing was labored as he inhaled the hot, sultry air while bearing down on
the next batter. He didn’t want to let on, but his pitching arm felt sluggish.
After eight innings, he had already thrown over ninety pitches, but he was
still able to hold down the batters. However, it didn’t look good. The score
was seven to four, and his team needed three runs to tie it up. He still had
one more strike to muster before his team could go up to bat. There was a
runner on second, and he had to hold him there at the very least.

The catcher signaled for a
curveball, but Hiroshi shook his head. The catcher already knew that Hiroshi’s
arm was tired, since he didn’t feel the sting in his mitt any longer. The
catcher again signaled for a curveball, to which Hiroshi shook his head.
Hiroshi just wanted to finish off the current batter and he had just thrown a
fastball to him already. The batter would be expecting a change up from the
fastball. The catcher shifted his feet in the dirt and grudgingly signaled for
the fastball. Hiroshi nodded in agreement and straightened up. He sensed the
man on second and mentally relaxed his pitching arm. He exhaled slowly and like
a catapult, raised his left leg, lunged forward and in one fluid motion arced
his arm over his body and sent the ball hurtling toward the batter.