Author's Note
By January 1943, 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry, American citizens and alien residents alike, had been forcibly living for almost a year, under Executive Order 9066, in what were called relocation camps. During the first month of 1943 the United States government developed a plan to recruit Nisei--American citizens who were second-generation Japanese Americans--directly out of the camps to fight for the Allies in Europe and to do intelligence work in Asia. In their effort to make the strategy acceptable to the general American population, Washington required that all Japanese American adults, both citizens and noncitizens, male and female, sign oaths proving their loyalty to the United States and forswearing any allegiance to the Emperor of Japan or to the people of Japan. Refusal to sign carried a penalty of up to twenty years' imprisonment and possible expatriation and/or repatriation.This attempt to distinguish between loyal and disloyal evacuees set up wrenching conflicts for families living together in the camps. Issei, or first-generation residents, who were not allowed to become citizens of the United States by law (Japanese Exclusion Act of 1924), understood they would be people without a country if they forswore allegiance to Japan. Their children, the Nisei, who were citizens by birth, feared being separated from their parents and sent to other camps if they answered differently from their parents. And many people, young and old, were so outraged by this latest affront that they answered in a "disloyal" manner simply to make a stand. The people who answered "no" on two specific questions regarding absolute allegianc were dubbed "No-No's" within the camp population. They were subsequently transferred out of their camps and relocated to the newly designated Tule Lake Segregation Center in northern California where many "loyal" residents remained from the original Tule Lake Relocation Camp days.
Question #27: Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States, in combat duty, wherever ordered?
Question #28: Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States and faithfully defend the United States from any and all attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or any foreign government, power or organization?
Chapter One
Denton and Esther Jordan were stopped at the gate by a young man in army uniform, his cheeks red and raw under the harsh searchlights. He held a machine gun across his waist.
"What's going on?" Denton asked as he rolled down the window, letting a gust of frigid air into the car.
"I'll have to see your identification first, sir. I'm not authorized to talk, sir, till you've identified yourself."
The soldier dropped his r's, so 'first' came out as fust, and 'sir' as suh. He was one of the boys they'd brought up recently from an Arkansas boot camp to guard Tule Lake when it became a segregation center. As far as Denton was concerned they were all racist rednecks, and rumor had it that they were trying to force themselves on some of the Nisei girls. But Denton wasn't about to argue with a boy who carried a machine gun.
He got out of the car, and hunching against the cold wind, unbuttoned his coat and dug into the back pocket of his trousers for his wallet. Stinging particles of sand blew up off the surface of the packed-down dirt. His hands smarted as he riffled through myriad scraps of paper looking for the identification card he wasn't even certain he had. They'd never asked for it before.
Even stooped forward, Denton was taller than the soldier, and just as slender. The soldier wore a wool cap, but Denton was bare-headed, the wind flattening his dark hair back from his high forehead.
Watching from the car, Esther was annoyed that, as usual, her husband wore no hat, no gloves, no muffler. Why couldn't he remember to take care of himself? Because he was so preoccupied with everyone else's needs that he neglected his own and his family's, was why.
She slid over to the driver's side and called out to him, "Ask about the children. Ask what's going on."
"The children are fine, ma'am," the soldier answered her directly.
Denton continued going through his wallet, the papers now dropping out.
"Damn it," he hollered, squatting down. He grabbed as the wind sent the scraps skittering across the road and the same gusts pitched dust into his eyes. Denton looked up. "Can't you tell us what's happening in there, soldier? For my wife's sake."
"I've got to see your I.D., sir."
"Sure, sure, soldier. I'm sorry. We're just worried about our daughter." Finally he found the year-old, dog-eared yellow card identifying him as Denton I. Jordan, Director of Business Enterprises. "Here you are." He stood and handed it to the soldier. "So how about it? Can you tell me what's going on?"
"In a minute, sir." The soldier turned and walked toward the guard tower. Denton started after him.
"Denton, no," Esther called. "Don't make him mad. I have to get to Parin as quickly as possible."
Denton spun around, sending more sand into the air. He stood for a moment, his face washed out in the light that was as intense and shadowless as the midday sun.
"What the hell were we thinking of? We shouldn't have left her alone tonight of all times."
"We didn't leave her alone. Nancy can hear everything through the wall. Don't accuse me." How dare he fault her? She and Nancy McIntyre always traded baby-sitting duties by listening through the thin walls of their barracks for any sounds of trouble. When he began to take responsibility for his daughter, then he could make accusations.
"Esther." Denton came toward the car. He leaned his head against the window frame, reaching in to touch her, to twist a curl of her thick black hair. "I wasn't accusing you. I was questioning my own judgment." She shifted away from him, moving over against the passenger door. Her strong profile, which hours earlier he'd admired in the movie's silvery light, had become haughty and stern. "Esther, please," he pleaded, but he saw she was gone from him. He knew she was frightened, but why couldn't she contain her anger and suspicions just this once?
"Sir." The soldier had come out of the guard tower and was walking toward the car.
"Esther, please don't act like this. I can't..."
"I'm all right." She smiled so falsely that he felt more forlorn than if she hadn't bothered.
"Thank you," he said, in his softest voice, wanting desperately to appease her. "Very much."
"Sir."
Denton turned to the boy. "Did I pass inspection?"
"Yes, sir, and there's a message that Director Andross wants you at Administration Headquarters as soon as you come in." He handed the I. D. card back to Denton.
"Now, how about it, soldier? Can you tell me quickly what happened?" Denton said, getting into the car, conscious of Esther's continuing hostile silence.
Esther stared straight ahead, wishing she hadn't become so angry. Even so, her rage threatened to erupt again. He had no right to blame her. All she'd asked for were a few private hours together after months of seeing him only when he arrived home after ten or eleven at night, exhausted, complaining, and worried.
"There was a pretty big altercation, sir, between the no-no's and the administration. What they say, sir, is that over a hundred of the Japs come into the administration area armed with four-foot pieces of lumber and baseball bats. They come on foot and in pickup trucks they got from the motor pool. One of the guys, a big Jap, I heard, run down a staff member with the pickup truck. 'Most killed him. They say the Japs was everyplace, at the hospital, in the bushes outside the project director's house. Scared the director's wife near to death. They was drifting around all over the place. Then a whole bunch, around fifty Japs or so, got into the gate around Andross's house and started yelling in English, 'Get Andross! Get the keto!' or whatever it is they call white people. They say they attacked 'cause they're still riled up about that farmworker fellow who died, and they was yelling about the strikers and 'scabs' out at the farm. But I wasn't there. I was in my bunk, but I could hear the Japanese music coming out over some kind of transmitter. By the time I got called to the gate, it was pretty much calmed down. Didn't take nothing to get them in line, I hear, once we moved in with the tanks and equipment. Not so brave as they like to think, them Japs ain't."
Jesus Christ, Denton thought. He looked over and saw that the six tanks and the dozen jeeps that had been lined up outside the gate for the last couple of weeks were gone. Ted Andross had been threatening for a month to retaliate against the militants, "to mow them down and bend them into submission, if we have to." The opportunity had finally arrived. If he hadn't let Esther talk him into the movie, he'd have been here tonight. He could have interceded and it wouldn't have had to come to this. Denton started the car, and rolled up the window with a terse 'thanks.'
"Bastards," he whispered.
The kid knocked on the window. "For Christ's sake, what the hell does he want now?" Denton muttered, and lowered it again.
"I forgot to tell you, sir, the Mrs. should go to the Community Room straight away. That's where the kids are. They took them there for protection, in case it got rough." He dipped down and peeked in at Esther. "She want to go?"
"Esther?" Denton asked. She remained in profile to him, staring out the windshield.
"Yes, I would like to go, soldier," she said, looking at the boy, avoiding Denton's gaze. "Can someone drive me there so my husband can go to his emergency meeting?"
Denton found her hand. "Give us a minute, soldier." He closed the window. "Esther, tell me what I should do, should I take you to the Community Room?"
"No, it'll be more efficient if one of the soldiers drives me," she said in a cold voice. She held herself stiffly, but he saw her face giving way to the strain.
"Come here," he said, moving over to put his arm around her.
"I think I should go to the Community Room, Denton. I'm too upset," she said, beginning to cry. "I simply wanted an evening out of here."
* * *
Esther waited on a wooden bench in the sentry house. The sooner Denton went to the meeting, the sooner he'd be back home, or so she hoped. One never knew with Denton these days. There were evenings when he'd return to the barracks to have dinner with her and Parin, and Esther would leave them to go into the kitchen for a minute, only to return to find their three-year-old daughter, her thumb shoved deep into her mouth, alone at the table. He'd wandered out again and sometimes he wouldn't show up for hours. When she asked him where he'd been, he would say he'd remembered something at the Co-op office, or a resident's birthday party, or a piece of business with the block manager. But she didn't want to focus on her anger at him any more. She felt ashamed of her own behavior in the car. She knew he was as worried about Parin as she was. She shuddered in the wind-chilled room, and pulled up her coat collar to cover her ears.
"Do you know where that driver is?" she asked another young soldier.
"There he is, ma'am," the private said.
But Esther had heard the motor, too, and was already up and striding across the rough wooden floor. She climbed quickly into the jeep and gripped the metal frame as they took off along the cinder road leading into the camp, the army vehicle rattling and shaking as it bounded and rocked over the ruts in the dirt road. They passed the military police barracks, turned right, and there she saw it--an army tank looming in the entry to the motor pool garage, a tank almost as tall as the one-story building. Tears blurred her vision.
Parin, please don't be too frightened, she cried inside. I'm coming. They turned right again, and drove along the west side of the hospital. There was light in every window.
"Busy here tonight," the soldier shouted over the noise of the jeep. "They stormed the hospital. People got pretty banged up. Tried to take the head doctor, Stanforth, and the head Jap doctor hostage, I heard."
"Were they successful?" she shouted back. She knew there had been complaints about both Dr. Stanforth and Dr. Oshimoto.
"Don't think so. Don't think it amounted to much, once we came in."
The trip from the front gate to the Community Room had never seemed so long. Beyond the hospital, except for the searchlight beams, the whole area was eerily dark. Even the stars were obscured by thick cloud cover. There was a dull sheen overhead from the reflected glare of the searchlights. Was Parin warm? Had Nancy remembered Parin's knitted afghan? Parin would be terrified without it. Please let Parin be all right.
She jumped down from the jeep as soon as it came to a complete stop in front of the Community Room. Later she couldn't remember if she'd thanked the driver. Grabbing the splintery banister, she bounded up the sagging stairs. Two soldiers were stationed on the porch, to the right and left of the double door.
"My daughter's inside," she called breathlessly.
Opening the door she was overwhelmed by blazing light, humid heat, the smell of food and wet wool. She moved swiftly down the hall. Black and orange construction paper chains crisscrossed overhead, and the corridor walls were decorated with cutout witches and goblins from last week's Halloween party.
The main room was jammed with close to fifty people, mostly women, a few children and one or two men, their belongings piled on the ten-foot-long activity tables. Children were asleep on the tabletops in a jumble of pillows and blankets and on pushed-together chairs, while adults sat in clusters, talking quietly among themselves, or dozed with their heads down on a table, or lay curled on the floor. For a moment Esther recognized no one in the mass of Caucasian faces. She scanned the room but couldn't see her daughter, her daughter's lopsided glasses, her wispy, blond hair. Damn it, where was she?
"Esther, over here," Sarah Topol waved and called from the far corner where she sat holding her own newborn, Annie.
Esther saw Parin bunched forward on a dilapidated davenport, her blue afghan clutched to her chest, staring straight ahead. Her wire-rim glasses reflected the light, so her dark eyes were hidden as Esther rushed to her. Parin's round face was expressionless, her little lips tightly closed. Nancy McIntyre was dozing beside her, Nancy's youngest boy asleep with his head on her lap.
"Parin, dearest," She knelt before her small daughter, tentatively holding her hands out to her.
"She wouldn't move," Sarah whispered. "She's been like that since we arrived."
Esther could smell Sarah's breast milk as she leaned down to Parin.
"Thank you, Sarah, she'll be all right. Parin sweetness, it's Mommy. I'm here. Daddy and I are back." Parin looked at her, but still didn't register Esther's presence. Through the child's smudged glasses, Esther saw that Parin's lazy eye had slipped inward toward her nose. It happened when she was exhausted or frightened.
"The poor little dear must be terrified."
"Yes, I know, Sarah."
"We tried everything to get her to relax."
Esther sat on the floor beside the davenport. "Please, dearest, it's Mommy." She pulled Parin down to her, but the child was dead weight, her body stiff. She cradled Parin in her lap, wrapping her arms around her daughter, hoping this was the right thing to do, breathed into her hair, inhaled the metallic scent that children's perspiration always seemed to have, and the distinctive odor that was Parin's own. She rubbed her hands along the flannel pajamas that were rough and stiff from being washed in the cloudy mineral-filled water of the camp, felt the sturdy three-year-old body beneath the cloth. Rocking her daughter, oblivious of the room and the movement of people around them, she was flooded with desire for Parin. She slipped her hand up under the pajama top, caressing the smooth, warm skin. She swayed rhythmically from side to side, until finally she felt Parin's body sag and dissolve into her own.
"That's right, dearest. Let Mommy comfort you."
After a time Parin shuddered and whimpered. Only then was Esther assured they were both safe again.
