The Purple Heart (6 page)

Again, Mrs. Ito brought her
hands to her face in astonishment and looked into her husband’s eyes as he
said, “I want you to christen her with me.”

As her eyes glistened she
humbly said, “I’d love to.”

With Mr. Ito standing
behind her, and on the count of three, they swung the bottle against the side
of the boat, shattering the bottle as foamy champagne splattered along it.
Mayumi was then fully commissioned and seaworthy. For a moment Mr. Ito held the
beautiful woman he had so madly fell in love with, and she leaned into his warm
embrace during that celebratory moment. Things were looking up for the young
couple, in a new land full of adversity. They would make it, he thought. He
looked down at her and beckoned her to look up. With a sly smile he simply
said, “You can call me captain now.”

That night, the young
family had dinner on their newly christened boat. Mr. Ito detailed in a
glorious manner using his hands to illustrate into the air, how much fish he
would catch. Being Japanese, by law he could not own land, but on the open sea,
no one could tell him what he couldn’t do. He was finally master and commander
of his family’s fate. His sense of independence was restored.

A big thud brought Mr. Ito
out of his reverie as his eyes suddenly focused on the large pelican that had
landed on the wooden rail on the starboard side. He looked at the pelican and
the pelican looked back at him with its beady eyes for a few seconds before it
clumsily took flight and flew away.

Without further hesitation,
Mr. Ito reluctantly began to paint over the name
Mayumi
.

Over the next few days, as
a thick sense of uneasiness fell onto the Japanese American community, they
noticed the strange visitors. At first, it was a few black cars here and there
with unknown men in dark trench coats, with only the knots of their ties
peeking through that gave the only hint of a suit underneath. The sunglasses
and fedora hats could not hide their presence. It magnified it instead.

Mr. Ito had instructed his
family to gather anything that could be thought of as Japanese so that it could
be burned. Soon that idea spread like brushfire across other Japanese American
homes and after the first few days, a wispy ashy smoke could be seen from each Japanese
American home. As much as each home was burning away anything that connected
them to their former homeland, the one thing that they couldn’t get rid of was
themselves.

Mr. Ito was out back
managing the burning. He had set up an electric fan that gently blew the smoke
away in an effort to thin out the smoke. Only a few items were burned at a
time, which slowed down the process. Sweat had soaked through his white T-shirt,
which exposed his darkened skin from being out in the sun while at sea. He
wiped the sweat off his brow occasionally with his thick forearm. There was a
sense of determination on his face. In the beginning, his children didn’t
understand why he ordered the burning. But when the visitors arrived, the
unknown fear that they had felt was enough to convince them that their father
was right.

Minami appeared with the
last box full of items. A box containing family photos was still untouched, as
well as another with books but the personal letters from Japan were burning
silently. The scent of ash was everywhere.

Minami looked up at her
father who despite the sense of impending doom, gave a weak smile to reassure
his daughter.

“I didn’t believe Mom at
first,” said Minami.

“Believe what?” asked her
father.

“That we could be
considered spies. We live here, Dad, we’re not spies. How could anyone think
that?”

Minami’s father tossed a
couple of more letters into the fire and then responded, “I know. It’s tough
Minami and things are not looking good right now. You’re still young, there’s
still much for you to learn about people. Your mother and I are not American
citizens but you, your sisters and brother are. But white people don’t care.
All they see now is that we are Japanese.”

Minami sighed. For a
moment, they just looked at one another, and then a tap on the wooden gate
leading out to the street startled them. The tall wooden fence hid the person
tapping from view. The tap came again along with a whisper, “It’s me, Joe.”

Mr. Ito cautiously walked
to the door and motioned to Minami to stand in front of the fire to hide it
from view as the smoke billowed behind her. He opened the wooden gate a crack
and Minami could see a sliver of Joe. She heard Joe whisper to her father,
“They’re two houses down, they’re coming.” Her father nodded and he quickly closed
the gate. Her father turned around when Minami’s mother came rushing out and
said under her breath, “They’re coming!”

With nervous eyes, Minami’s
father looked at her and indicated to her to discard the burnt ashes as best
she could and to hide the remaining items. Minami’s mother hurried in with her
father, who was already taking off his sweaty white T-shirt. Minami dumped the
ashes from the barrel into the softened dirt her father had previously prepared
and mixed the ashes into the dirt with a hand shovel. She gave the barrel one
more rinse and then sprayed the air with the water hose in a vain attempt to
disperse any lingering smell of the burnt ashes. She then picked up the two
remaining boxes and looked about. There was nowhere to put them. Then she
remembered a place.

She hurried into the
kitchen and up the stairs just as her father was coming down in a new shirt.
Her heart raced. Her father looked alarmingly at the boxes in her arms. There
was no time to explain as she rushed past him up the stairs and pulled down the
ladder to the attic crawlspace. She remembered a place when she used to play
hide-and-go-seek with her sisters. At the top of the creaky ladder, she tossed
the boxes into the attic. In one corner of the cluttered attic, she quickly
removed a few loose floorboards and placed the items carefully into the floor
space. The empty boxes were tossed into another corner and then she lowered
herself down the ladder when she heard the ominous knock at the door.

She closed the panel to the
attic crawlspace and quickly entered the bathroom. After washing up and
brushing away her bangs, she opened the door and was startled to find a man in
a dark trench coat facing her. He looked down at her and said in an abrupt
tone, “What do you think you’re doing?” She regained her composure and was
annoyed that he would dare ask her what she was doing in her own home. She
replied in a curt fashion, “I was using the bathroom.”

Minami then brushed him
aside as he took a step back to let her through. She paid him no mind, walked
down the stairs and into the living room. Her mother, sisters, and brother were
sitting around the coffee table while her father was standing eye to eye with
the other FBI agent. At five foot nine, her father was tall for a Japanese man.
He had a natural athletic build, broad shoulders and a muscular frame from his
daily fishing.

Her father glanced over at
her and the stranger, an FBI agent, who turned his head to look at her as well.
Minami returned the look with resentment and then turned away. She sat next to
her mother, who held onto Yoshi, who in turn simply eyed his father and the FBI
agent. The FBI agent then looked back at Minami’s father.

“Mr. Ito, as you know with
recent events, we feel that it’s in the best interest that you come with us so
that we may ask you some brief questions,” said the FBI agent.

“Simply questions?” replied
Mr. Ito.

“Simply questions. You’ll
be back in time for supper, latest tomorrow.”

Mr. Ito looked at him with
some skepticism and said, “I’m a man of honor. I have nothing to hide.”

“Wait!” interjected Minami
whose expression turned to one of worry as she rose to her feet despite her
mother’s attempt to pull her down. “Where are you taking him and why? He hasn’t
done a thing!”

Mr. Ito shot Minami a stern
look but hidden in that look was a sense of pleading. Her father was only doing
what he thought was best to protect his family, and if that meant sacrificing
himself, he would.

The FBI agent simply said,
“We’re only going to question him.”

Minami’s father motioned
with his eyes begging his daughter to sit down. She understood and sat back
down. Her father didn’t do anything. He had nothing to hide. Everything would
be fine, she told herself. The second FBI agent came down the stairs and
brought with him a box he had taken from one of Minami’s sister’s room with
several items. He then walked into the kitchen and continued his search.

“You can bring a jacket if
you like,” said the first FBI agent.

“I thought you said I’d be
back before dinner?” asked Mr. Ito.

“It’s only if you get
cold,” replied the FBI agent.

“I’m a fisherman, I think I
know more about the cold than you,” Mr. Ito said smartly.

The FBI agent looked at him
dead on, took out a notepad and jotted down a few notes.

The second FBI agent
returned from the kitchen with the two-way radio along with many kitchen
utensils, such as knives and anything that had a sharpened edge. He stood
alongside the first FBI agent and sifted through the items in the box for him
to look at. There were a few nods exchanged between the two of them.

Minami again got up and
asked, “You’re taking the radio? How are we supposed to contact our father when
he’s fishing?”

The FBI agents looked up
and didn’t answer her.

“You’re taking our kitchen
knives? How are we supposed to cut our food?” asked Minami.

There was a pause and the
second FBI agent responded, “I thought you people use chopsticks.”

Minami glared back at him
for his condescending remark. She didn’t like him. She didn’t like either of
them for treating her family like second-class citizens, or worse, like spies.
She was about to say something else when her mother’s firm tug finally pulled
her down and her father looked at her sternly once more. Then she realized that
she might be making the situation worse by being defiant. She finally sat down
and could see the worried faces of her sisters who sat across from her. She
decided to put up with the situation and hoped for the best.

“You’ll need to come with
us now,” said the first FBI agent.

Mr. Ito nodded and walked
over to his family. Everyone seemed to have gotten up at once. He embraced his
wife and his children gathered around him and gave their father a hug full of
assurance, worry and love. He let them go and stepped back, looking at them
with his usual serious look but there was a sense of somberness as well.

He then turned from his
children, walked in between and ahead of the two FBI agents. They were caught
off guard and followed him. The rest of the family followed the three men.
Minami’s father opened the door, paused for a moment, inhaled the evening air
and then walked out with the two men in tow.

The family crowded around
the doorframe with consternation on their faces. A sudden chill came over them
as they stared after their father, followed by two men in their dark trench
coats. “Where is Daddy going?” asked Yoshi looking after his father. “Your
Daddy will be back,” replied Mrs. Ito.

Minami’s father didn’t
return that night, nor the day after. They had lied.

“Stop!” was all that Minami
could cry out at the top of her lungs as she desperately clutched her mother
with one arm and shielded the back of her head with the other while holding
onto her purse. Mrs. Ito’s face was contorted in fear as she ran side by side
with her daughter as a small group of angry townsfolk chased them down the
street.

An empty glass bottle
smacked into Minami’s back and she responded instinctively by arching her back
as the thudding pain took hold. But Mrs. Ito didn’t give Minami a chance to
think about the pain and dragged her along.

The shouts from the
townsfolk had started earlier as they were walking home from the local fishing cannery
where they had taken up work. A middle-aged woman glared at them from across
the street and yelled out, “Burn in hell you goddamn Japs!” At first, Minami
and her mother simply ignored the woman, but her outburst encouraged others.
Another man yelled out, “Go back to where you fucking came from!” A teenaged
girl, feeling the boiling emotions, screamed, “I hope you all die! You dirty
Japs!” Feeling emboldened, the townspeople gave chase.

Minami and her mother
quickened their pace and rounded the corner just as another glass bottle
shattered to pieces on the pavement.

The angry townsfolk soon
gave up their chase but Minami and her mother, both gasping for air as their
hearts pounded furiously within their chests, continued to race home. When they
reached the metal fence surrounding their front yard, Minami’s mother struggled
with the latch on the fence as tears of fear clouded her vision. Minami choked
back her tears and held onto her mother’s arms until finally she managed to
swing the fence open, allowing the two of them to race up the path to the front
door of their house. Her mother fumbled for her keys and even though Minami
knew no one had followed them, she turned her head to look down the street and
continued pounding on the door. Miho heard her mother’s and sister’s frantic
shouts and raced to open the door allowing them to enter as the door slammed
shut.

As the weeks went on,
Minami’s mother held up well despite the uncertainty of her husband’s
whereabouts and the anger that erupted within the community. She knew she had
to be strong for the family’s sake. Holding the family together was her priority.
They may have taken her husband away, but they were not going to take away her
strength and commitment to her family. Other wives weren’t as strong. Mrs.
Yasuda burst into the Ito’s kitchen one early evening shouting hysterically how
they had just taken her husband and oldest son away.

But the growing anger from
the community started to take on a more frightening tone. Japanese Americans
were accosted in the streets. There were rumors of mobs taking their own action
against some Japanese Americans. Stores owned by Japanese Americans were vandalized
and bricks with frightening notes like “Die Japs!” were thrown through the
homes of some Japanese American families. People within the community who
appealed for calm were labeled traitors and “Jap lovers.” Their views, no
matter how correct, became overshadowed by the growing hate for the Japanese.
If you weren’t anti-Jap, then you weren’t American, and no one wanted to be
labeled that.

It was on a Saturday when a
letter came. Minami came rushing in through the front door after checking the
mailbox waving a letter in her hand. “Mom!” she shouted in the hallway. Her
mother appeared at the end of the hallway. “It’s a letter from Dad!”

When the word “Dad” echoed
throughout the house, Minami’s mother and Miho quickly came down the hallway
from the kitchen, with Yuka and Yoshi bounding down the stairs. Minami eagerly
handed the letter to her anxious mother. Minami’s mother quickly sat down at
the end of the stairs as her children gathered around. “What does it say,
Mommy?” Yoshi asked.

Her mother looked at the
letter. It was indeed her husband’s handwriting. His name appeared in the upper
left-hand corner with a strange address in North Dakota. Minami’s mother stared
at it. It was the first communication from her husband in weeks. It was awful
to deny a wife the whereabouts of her own husband. She wasn’t sure if she
wanted to open it, fearing its contents. Minami sat to her mother’s left and
saw her concerned expression. She gently lent a reassuring touch with her right
hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Go on Mom, Dad would want you to open it.”

Mrs. Ito looked at her
oldest daughter, and saw her husband’s strength in her eyes. She was young,
vibrant and had just barely begun her life. But she was caught up in the whole
mess simply because she was Japanese. Mrs. Ito nodded in agreement as she
looked down merrily at the letter and began to open it. “Let’s see what your
father has to say!” exclaimed Mrs. Ito as she glanced into the eyes of each of
her children.

The letter itself was only
one blue lined sheet of paper folded into thirds. Mrs. Ito started to read the
letter aloud.

My
dearest wife, my wonderful children,

It’s been so long since I’ve seen all of
you. I don’t know if you’ve been told of my whereabouts. I can only wonder how
scared you might be if no one has told you. First, let me just say that I’m ok.
I’m in North Dakota right now along with many other men. We’re being treated
well here. I can’t write much now, but I wanted to tell you how much I miss you
all and that I hope we will be reunited soon as one family. Be strong and be
there for each other until my return.

Your
father

The Ito family fell into a
silence when Mrs. Ito finished the letter. They didn’t know what to think. They
didn’t know what to say until Mrs. Ito simply said, with a cautious smile,
“He’s okay.” Minami smiled too and looked up at her mother and verbally echoed
the same thought “He’s okay, he’s okay.” Then the rest of the family chimed in,
“Dad’s okay!” and they all laughed as they hugged their mother. It seemed odd
for them to revel in the knowledge of their father’s incarceration, but at
least the weight of fearing the worst was lifted. Their father was okay.

The next bit of news was
received with less enthusiasm. President Roosevelt had signed Executive Order
9066 on Feb 19, 1942, which ordered the detainment of all Japanese Americans
into relocation centers. Minami’s family, like many others, only had a few
painful days to decide what to take with them. While her mother and siblings
were sorting through their own things, Minami stood in the middle of her room
as two suitcases laid on top of her bed, half filled. Several piles of clothes
and personal items, along with the family items she salvaged from the attic
were still on the floor. There was no hope of it all fitting into the two
suitcases. She had to make some tough decisions but gave into indignant
frustration instead. Again, she felt like she had to make choices that she had no
control over.

Minami brushed her hand
through her hair and found to her surprise that it was tangled and knotted. She
walked toward the mirror. She was a mess. Her mother always said she had a
classic beauty to her. Her unusually large oval eyes stared back at her, but
they didn’t convey her usual joyfulness. They were tired, and the last few
arduous weeks of working at the local fishing cannery had taken their toll. Before,
she would have taken the time to make herself up every morning, applying just
enough makeup to accentuate her pretty features and no more. Otherwise, her
father would immediately send her back to her room with his disapproval. She
picked up her favorite brush and began to gently brush out the knots in her
hair as her thoughts wandered.

She was excited about
turning twenty-one. She wanted to possibly enter nursing school, but she was most
excited about the possibility of dating. Her parents wanted her to find a
responsible young Japanese man. She had worked through the knots on the right
side of her hair as it fluttered downward. She was about to brush the other
side when she stopped and slammed the brush down on the dresser along with her
other hand. She hunched over the dresser and looked down at her makeup,
everything from her lipstick, hairpins, perfume and the other little bottles
any young woman would have.

She looked up and still saw
the same tired eyes staring back at her but there was also anger. She tossed
her hairbrush onto the dresser as it ricocheted off the mirror and settled on
the dresser. “Whom am I going to impress now?” she thought. She was being taken
away, and for how long she didn’t dare guess. Would her young life be taken from
her while confined at a relocation center before it had even begun? How many
years will be robbed from her? Why was the Japanese American community being so
obedient to some order that was so wrong? But ultimately, she knew. They had no
choice. To America, Japanese Americans were not Americans and if you’re not
American, you deserved fewer rights than white Americans.

She straightened up. With
firm determination, she picked up each cosmetic item on her dresser, one by
one, and tossed it into the trash. Each item hit the metal trash can with its
own tone and it only encouraged her to pick up the pace until finally, the only
thing left on the dresser was her hair brush. She grasped the handle and was
about to toss it, when she paused. Unlike the other items that could be
replaced, the hairbrush was a gift from her mother. It was a pretty hairbrush,
with a silver handle inlaid with a waterfall scene. She brought the brush to
her chest with both hands and held it there for a moment before turning around
and tossing it into one of the suitcases. She went back to choose which items
to bring with her and which to abandon.

Her mother came into the
room and looked haggard. She had little sleep over the past few days. It was
tougher for Minami’s mother since she had to make the important decisions that
related to the family’s affairs. Her father was usually the decision-maker. She
looked at the remaining piles in Minami’s room and scolded Minami for not
packing faster. Only forty-eight hours remained to finish packing and in an
effort to raise money, Minami’s mother decided to sell the things that they
could not take with them. Minami assured her that she would be done and her
mother sighed at her response. She asked Minami if she had anything to sell.
Minami turned her head from side to side and said she hadn’t decided. Again her
mother scolded her and left the room in exasperation.

Later that day, Minami,
along with her siblings, brought down all the items to be sold. Among the
clothing and furniture were some Japanese heirlooms that were missed by the FBI
agents. Of particular interest was an ornate Japanese bowl and tea set.

Minami’s mother knew that
the buyers would try to take advantage of their plight. Many offered
ridiculously low prices. Only with a nod of approval from their mother, would
Minami agree to sell an item at the price offered. But everyone eyed the bowl
and tea set. It was a bowl and tea set that her mother had collected over the
years, one for each member of the family, and she would not sell it without a
fight. Soon, Minami noticed that her mother was saying “no” to every price
offered for the tea set, even when the price was pretty decent. But she
realized what her mother was doing. Her mother no longer had any intent on
selling the bowl and tea set. It represented their family dignity and she
refused all offers, denying unscrupulous buyers what they lusted after.

Toward the end of the
evening, Minami had carried in the few items that did not sell. She walked into
the quiet house, illuminated by the few wall lights, since they had sold their
floor lamps. She dropped most of the clothing onto the living room floor and
then noticed that there was a warm reddish glow flickering on the fringes of
the back door in the kitchen. Minami went to investigate.

Her mother was sitting on
the steps of the back door, watching a fire. Minami pushed aside the screen
door and the creaking of the wood made her mother turn around.

She eked out a smile,
“Minami.”

Minami sat beside her
mother, “What are you doing, Mom?”

“Oh I’m just enjoying the
fire. I figured for the things we couldn’t sell, no one should have them. So a
little fire seemed appropriate.”

Minami nodded and sat
silently next to her mother, watching the fire come to life. It was a
struggling fire and her mother would every now and then feed it an item or two
to keep it alive, as if to tame it, to keep the small fiery beast under her
control. Minami looked at her mother and watched the fire glisten in her eyes.
She seemed neither sad nor happy, but there was a sense of calm about her. Her
hair was tied back, and the light of the fire highlighted the few gray streaks
that ran through her hair. Her skin was still beautifully soft and shiny. A
couple of wrinkles here and there and a slightly sagging chin was all that time
had to cast onto her mother. Minami placed her left arm around her mother and
pulled her gently into her. Her mother reciprocated and drew comfort from her
daughter’s hug. But she ultimately missed her husband’s embrace when they were
alone–the way she would feel secure in his arms as he gave her a warm hug.

Minami suddenly had an
idea, got up and told her mother that she would be right back as the screen
door slammed against the doorframe. She gathered up the clothing from the
living room and called for her siblings. She walked back to her mother, plopped
the clothes in front of her and sat down next to her. She smiled at her mother,
riffled through the clothing and picked out an orange shirt that belonged to
her mother.