Caged Eagles (10 page)

If only it didn't stink so much. It was the powerful stench of animals, and instead of getting used to it, I was finding it getting even worse. I imagined that the years and years of animal droppings and urine had worked their way right through the wood of the flooring, and the soap and water and the scrubbing and rubbing now being done by the women was just freeing it up.

There was still more to be done, but it was mainly women's work — unpacking and arranging instead of moving or lifting. I glanced at my watch. It was fifteen minutes past the time Sam had said he'd come back and get me and show me around the camp. And my father still hadn't appeared.

It had been more than three hours since he left us and walked away to that other building. With each passing moment I was getting more and more concerned. What was going on? Maybe he had known something more was up when he said I was in charge if he wasn't there — I wanted Sam to show up. If he really did know his way around this place, then he could take me to where my father was being detained.

“Ready to go?” It was Sam.

I was grateful he'd finally arrived, but annoyed that he was late. “I was ready fifteen minutes ago.”

“What's the rush? I promised you a tour, not a train trip. There's no schedule here and it isn't like the pool is going, anyway.”

“There's a pool here?” I asked.

“Sorry, that's what the soldiers call it — the pool. We're all part of the pool. You coming?”

“Of course.”

Sam turned and started away. I hurried after him. I waved goodbye over my shoulder to my mother and grandmother and they waved back. I'd wanted to introduce Sam to them, but he hadn't given me a chance.

Too bad … although maybe it was better that I didn't introduce them right now. I didn't know how they'd react to a Japanese who couldn't speak any Japanese.

“Where are we going to start?” I asked.

“Depends. Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I had a bowl of cold noodles while I was waiting.”

“Then we'll leave the mess for last. The mess is where people —”

“Eat,” I said, interrupting him. “The kitchen and dining area.”

“Yeah … how did you know that?”

“I used to work on a military base in Prince Rupert.”

“They let a Japanese work on a military base?” he asked in disbelief.

“I'm not Japanese!” I snapped.

He held up his hands. “You know what I mean … Japanese family.”

I nodded. “My friend Jed worked there, and his mother. They got me the job.”

“Are they Japanese?”

“No.”

“That explains it.”

“And I had to leave not long after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.”

“That happened to everybody, whether or not you worked on an army base,” Sam said.

“I know. But why do we have a mess here? Aren't they going to let each family cook their own meals?”

“Nope.”

“My mother isn't going to like that.”

“I think they're afraid of fires or something. All the meals are served in the mess hall. Breakfast from seven until eight-thirty, lunch from noon until one-thirty and then supper from four-thirty until six-thirty.”

“Is the food any good?” I asked.

“Nothing special, but there sure is a lot of it. You can go back for seconds or even thirds if you want. But I guess you'll find out for yourself. I'll make sure to get you there in time for dinner.”

“Sure. Do you think you could bring me to the men's barracks?” I asked.

“Technically we're not allowed to be in there.”

“We're not … Why?”

“It's only for the men. I heard they don't want us around there because of what goes on inside.”

“What do you mean?” I asked anxiously.

“You know, gambling and playing cards. How old are you, anyway?”

“I'm fifteen — I mean, almost fifteen,” I answered.

“I'm fourteen too,” Sam said. “Even though we're not really allowed, they don't pay too much attention to who comes and goes in the building. I went there yesterday to see my father.”

“He lives in there too?”

“All the males live there.”

“What's it like?” I asked as we kept walking. “Is it like where I am?”

“No stalls. I don't know what the building was used for before, but it wasn't for animals. It smells okay. Just row after row of bunk beds.”

“And your building? Where do you live?”

“It's like yours,” Sam said. “And just so you know, you never get used to the smell.” He spat out a big wad of gum and pulled out some new pieces from his pocket. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

He unwrapped three pieces and stuffed them into his mouth. “You know that even if we go to the men's dormitory you won't be able to see your father.”

“Why not?”

“He'll still be in the restricted area until all the interviews are finished.”

“The soldier mentioned the interviews. I just don't understand why they'd think my father was a spy,” I said anxiously.

“They interview all the men who come to Hastings Park. There's nothing to be concerned about,” Sam said. “It's just routine.”

“I'm not worried.”

“You're not much of a liar,” Sam said. “But there's really nothing to worry about unless your father really is a spy.”

“Don't be stupid! He's no spy, he's a fisherman!”

“That's right, you told me … and that means that the interview might take a lot longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you read the newspapers?” Sam asked.

“Sure, sometimes, but what's that got to do with anything?” I demanded.

“I read them, every day. There's been a bunch of articles about how the Japanese fishermen know the coastal waters better than anybody, including our own navy.”

“Of course the fishermen know the waters. If they didn't they couldn't survive. But I still don't understand.”

“Well, the headlines in the papers said that the Japanese fishermen could lead the Japanese navy right into any harbor or cove or inlet up and down the whole coast,” Sam explained.

“They could, but that doesn't mean they would!” I snapped.

“Hey, you don't have to convince me. The reason they took away my father's trucks and all those other vehicles was because they thought they could be used to transport the Japanese soldiers once the fishermen finish leading them into the ports.”

I couldn't help but laugh. I hadn't laughed for a long time and it felt good.

“Let me show you the playing fields first,” Sam said.

“That sounds interesting.”

“There's a soccer pitch and three baseball diamonds, and —”

“Are they any good?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? They're among the best ball fields in all of Vancouver. The semi-pro league uses them — or, at least,
used
to use them. Do you play ball?” Sam asked.

“Of course I play! And you?”

“All the time,” Sam replied.

“Do you think that maybe we could try to get a game together sometime?”

“We wouldn't have to try. There's been a game there almost every day since I got here. I've gotten into a few games already.”

“That's great … How long has your family been at Hastings Park, anyway?” I asked.

“Just over a week.”

That seemed like a long time. I was hoping that we wouldn't be here that long, but who knew?

As we moved along all the paths among the buildings we continually passed by people. They were standing or walking or just sitting on the benches that were frequently placed beside the path. Some of the people were quietly talking, some looked solemn and serious, and others were actually laughing. People would often nod as we passed, or say a few brief words. Twice people asked us for directions. I didn't know much, but I did know where the family residence was located and told them the way.

I could nearly always predict which language people would use, even before they opened their mouths. The older people, people my parents' age or older, would always start off talking in Japanese. Kids or teenagers would begin speaking in English, and those in between might be talking in either language. No matter who it was, though, it wasn't like they could only speak the one language. Almost everybody had at least some of both.

Except Sam. Here was a kid with Japanese blood in his veins but, from what he'd said, hardly a word of Japanese in his head. I had thought he was just kidding when he said he knew virtually no Japanese, but I quickly realized that he was telling the truth. As I answered questions or greeted people, Sam would occasionally mutter one of his very few Japanese words — things like hello or goodbye. But more often than not, his one-word reply was totally unconnected to what was being said. And even then, he spoke with such an awkward accent.

Two RCMP officers came toward us along the path. Sam and I separated and moved just off the path to allow them to pass.

“Good afternoon, boys,” one of the officers said.

“Good afternoon,” I answered.

“Don't do that,” Sam said quietly as we continued to walk.

“Don't do what?”

“Don't speak English when you're around the soldiers.

Do what I did when those soldiers tried to get me to help unload the truck: pretend you don't speak English. It can get you out of a lot of work — at least, it will if somebody doesn't try to translate for you,” he said, shooting me a dirty look.

“Sorry,” I said, although I wasn't really sorry at all.

“Just kidding.”

We left the buildings behind and made our way along a dirt path that cut through some bushes. We turned to the left when we came to a fence — stone and metal and almost twice as high as me. It was topped by three strings of barbed wire.

“This fence surrounds the whole park,” Sam said.

“The whole thing?”

“Yep … other than the three entrances. And of course there are gates and guards at each of those.”

“Are we allowed out?” I asked.

“Some people can get out, with permission. My father goes out for a few hours two or three times a week to take care of business. You can't stay out overnight.”

“So we could go out?” I asked.

“Do you have any business in the city?” Sam questioned.

“Of course not!”

“Then you're not going anywhere.” He paused. “At least, through the gates.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I've walked the whole length of the fence. There's a few places where it isn't so high, and two places where there's a gap underneath the fence that's big enough to allow somebody to get under. Why, do you have someplace you want to go?” Sam asked.

“Not really. I just don't like the idea of not being able to go, that's all.”

“Then maybe we should go out sometime. You ever been to the Stanley Park Zoo?”

“Never.”

“It's nice. Maybe we should go sometime … maybe tomorrow or —” Sam suddenly stopped talking. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Those bells.”

I listened. I could hear the faint jingling of bells.

“Come on!” Sam yelled, and then sprinted away.

I ran after him. I was amazed at how fast he moved along the jagged and rough path that ran beside the fence. Up ahead I saw him wave his arms over his head, and he started yelling. He came to a stop and breathlessly I caught up to him.

“Over here!” he yelled, peering through the fence, still waving his arms in the air.

I followed his gaze. There was a boy, about our age, sitting on a strange-looking three-wheeled bike. Across the front of the bike, over top of a large yellow tub, was a string of bells — the bells we could hear. Slowly the bike moved along the road toward us. When it got close I could see drawings on the side and big lettering that said, ICE CREAM.

“Do you want an ice cream?” Sam asked.

“Um … I don't have any money with me.”

“My treat.”

“Thanks.”

The boy had parked his bike over at the edge of the busy street. Behind him, what seemed like only inches away, cars whizzed and trucks rumbled by. Further beyond, I could see houses lining the far side of the street. They were little one-story bungalows with neat lawns and nicely tended gardens — flower gardens. I didn't see any vegetables growing at all, just flowers. There was a couple toiling away in one of the colorful gardens, tending to their flowers, and a few doors farther down a man was mowing his grass. It all looked so pleasant and peaceful … if only I wasn't looking at it through the links of a fence — a fence I wasn't allowed to go past.

As I watched, Sam pushed a dollar bill through the chain-link fence. The boy returned some change through the fence. The boy removed two paper-wrapped ice cream bars from the big “tub,” which I could now see was some sort of cooler.

“Heads up,” Sam said.

The boy pitched one of the ice cream bars into the air.

It arched over the fence and came down. Sam reached out and caught it. The second one was thrown up, but not as well. It hit the top of the fence and bounced away. I scrambled off to the side and just managed to grab it with my fingertips before it plummeted to the ground.

“Nice grab!” Sam said. “If you can hit as well as you can catch, I want you on my side when we play baseball.”

I smiled.

“Thanks!” Sam yelled out to the kid, who tipped his hat in reply.

I started to unwrap the paper, but Sam reached out and stopped me. “I'll show you a great place to eat these … a great place to get away to. Come on, we have to move fast before the ice cream melts.”

Sam trotted off and I again found myself running to keep up with him. We were following a small path worn across a field. The field ended abruptly at a dirt racetrack. In the infield of the track sat dozens and dozens, or more likely hundreds and hundreds, of cars and trucks.