Caged Eagles (6 page)

The Japanese are big on things like waiting, being patient and accepting fate. I'm no good at any of those things. Maybe my blood is Japanese, but I guess having only breathed Canadian air in my lungs my whole life has made me as impatient as any other Canadian. I hate waiting. I think I'd rather get bad news and at least know than wait around hoping things will turn out. At least once you know, you can stop worrying and get on with doing. After all, how much worse could it get?

I'd started to slowly sidle away when my attention was caught by the sound and sight of a large, gray truck, an army truck. It had appeared from behind a warehouse, its engine rumbling, black smoke bellowing out of twin smokestacks over the cab. The engine protested noisily as it ground through the gears to slow down before passing through the gate that marked the entry point through the high wire fence that ringed the wharf.

I recognized the type of truck — it was nicknamed a butter box because it was used to transport supplies. It then clicked on me that its arrival, undoubtedly with a large quantity of supplies, meant only one of two possibilities: either we were being restocked to continue our journey elsewhere by boat, or we would be given more food because we weren't going anywhere. We were staying here at wharfside and going nowhere … maybe for a long time.

My heart started to sink when my eyes caught sight of a second truck. How many supplies would we need? Then a third truck appeared, and a fourth, and a fifth … and a sixth. The column just kept on coming, truck after truck. The second and third vehicles had already come through the gate and joined the first coming along the actual wharf.

All along the dock at each boat, people had come out of their cabins, alerted by the noise and attracted by the unspoken promise that something was going to happen. But what? My father, along with the other men, moved to the side, allowing the truck a clear passage. There was a rhythmic thumping as the wheels of the trucks passed over the rough, loosely fastened planks of the dock. The truck rumbled past us, leaving behind the lingering smell of smoke and diesel fuel. It continued down toward the very end of the wharf, flashing brake lights and squealing brakes bringing it to a stop beside the very first boat.

The second and third trucks passed by where we stood before coming to a stop farther down the wharf,

spaced out behind the first vehicle. A truck came to rest directly in front of us. I looked way up into the cab and saw two soldiers, one at the wheel and a second sitting beside him. Letting my eyes run down the line of trucks I started to count. Twelve. All along the length of the wharf, the people who had been standing on their boats watching had now come onto the dock.

They formed a thin line, knotted in places by groups, clumps where a mother and father stood surrounded by a clutch of children, or four or five men pressed together to discuss what they were seeing.

I was struck by the sight of hundreds of people … children, fathers, mothers, old people … all different but all the same … all Japanese faces peering out from beneath hats or caps … watching. Nobody was making a sound. It was like every single person was holding his breath. Waiting.

And then came the sounds. Heavy boots against the wooden dock, the slamming of doors, men's raised voices, the loud crash of metal as the heavy tailgates were untied and let drop.

From the back of the truck directly in front of me leapt three men in sailor uniforms. Then two more sailors jumped out.

“Attention!” screamed out a loud mechanical voice.

My head snapped around to see a man, a soldier in an army uniform, an officer, standing there holding a bullhorn.

“Attention! The head of each family and the captain of every boat is ordered to assemble to receive further instructions concerning evacuation!”

Evacuation! Were we leaving our boats now? That might explain those sailors. Were they here to pilot our boats when we left?

My father silently started to file away toward the man with the bullhorn. Other men joined in until he was lost to my view in the midst of a crowd. I was certain I could walk over and hear what our fate was going to be, but I was just as certain that I already knew the answer. Those sailors were here to take charge of our boats, and all those trucks, far too many to deliver anything, were here to move us and all of our possessions. The only question in my mind was, where?

.5.

I hurried back to our boat. Where we were heading wasn't as important as the fact that I'd have to help move all our belongings, and I wanted to eat breakfast before I did anything.

My grandmother was standing on the edge of the wharf beside our boat. I think that was the first time she'd left the boat since this trip had begun. Her expression was questioning. She was straining to try to understand what was happening. I doubted she had been able to pick up the meaning of the garbled burst of words yelled through the bullhorn.

“We're going to be leaving, I think,” I explained as I rushed by her and jumped aboard the boat.

“Tadashi!” she called out, and I stopped and turned around. I could tell that she was struggling to find the right words. “Where … go where?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. Father will find out. I just figure we'll be loading our stuff onto those big trucks.” I gestured to the closest vehicle. “I need to eat,” I said.

Grabbing the door, I hesitated and looked back. My father was now standing with the same group of men, away from the officer who was giving the instructions.

Whatever was said certainly hadn't taken long — but how long would it take to say “load up the trucks?”

My grandmother had taken a few steps toward where my father stood. She then stopped, rocked back and forth on her feet, and retreated. She shifted back and forth, took two steps toward him once again, stopped and retreated for a second time to her original position. She wanted to just rush up and ask my father where we were going, what was happening, but she couldn't. It wasn't her place; it wouldn't have been proper or polite for her to question my father, especially in front of a group of men. She'd just have to wait.

I smiled to myself. I had the urge to yell out to her, “Be patient! Wait. Just accept what happens.” But, of course, it would have been just as wrong for me to yell as it would have been for her to chase my father with questions.

I opened the door and was enveloped by the warmth and odors wafting out. Somehow, when I was hungry the only aroma that reached me was the cooking, which overtook all the other less appealing smells.

“Well?” Midori asked excitedly before I'd even taken two steps inside. She wasn't restricted by the same ideas of politeness as my grandmother — at least, when talking to me.

I removed my hat and started to slowly unbutton my jacket. “Well what?” I asked.

“Well what! How can you —” Midori stopped herself as she realized I was just putting her on. I always enjoyed teasing her or, even better, watching Jed making fun of her.

“I don't know for sure,” I finally answered. “But I did hear the word evacuation —”

“I heard that too,” Midori said, interrupting me.

“And I don't think they brought those trucks just to carry the sailors. I'm guessing that we'll be loading up soon, putting our stuff in the trucks.”

She nodded her head in agreement, as did Yuri and my mother, who were standing behind her, listening in.

“Before we have to load up I better —”

My mother interrupted my words with her actions. She reached out and handed me a steaming bowl of porridge.

“Thank you!”

Her eyes smiled back at me. “You are welcome.”

I shoveled in the first spoonful. Thick and rich and sweetened with brown sugar. Tasty. Before I could put another spoonful in, my father, followed by my grandmother, came in. I expected that I'd have plenty of time to finish the bowl before my father spoke, so was shocked when he began to speak immediately.

“We must leave our boat today,” he began, confirming what I had already guessed at. “Our belongings will be put on the trucks, which will take us to a place called Hastings Park.”

“We're going to be living in a park?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “How can we live in a park?” I had a terrible vision of us in tents.

“The officer said there are buildings.”

“You mean there are houses in the park?” Midori asked.

He shook his head. “Not houses … buildings … shared by families … it is only temporary. And we must be ready to leave in one hour.”

“One hour!” I exclaimed. “It took us at least four times that long to load in the first place! That's not possible to do!”

There was a pause as my father waited for my outburst to fade from the air.

“In an hour more boats will be coming to take our place along the wharf. Our boats must be moved elsewhere.”

“You mean you're not coming with us?” Midori asked my father, thinking he'd be sailing the boat away. She looked worried and her voice quivered.

“I will be coming with my family,” he answered, and she smiled.

“Then who …”

“The sailors,” I said.

He nodded. “They are taking them farther … up the Fraser and away from the ocean. They will be at anchor in fresh water.”

That was at least good news. Away from the ocean waves and in fresh water, which would be less corrosive than the sea water if they had to stay at anchor for a while.

I put down my bowl, which was still steaming and full. “I'll start moving things.”

My father shook his head. “Finish. First we have to decide what we are to take.”

My mother shot him a look that asked without words what we were all questioning. What did he mean “decide what we are to take?”

“Some things will stay with our boat.” He paused.

“We are only permitted one hundred and twenty pounds for each person older than twelve. Four hundred and eighty pounds. And seventy-five pounds for each child younger. Another one hundred and fifty pounds.”

“We must have put twice as much as that on board!”

Midori said.

Having personally carried most of it, I knew the amount was much more than that.

“I will decide … along with your mother and grandmother … which items will come with us and which will be stored aboard the boat,” he said solemnly.

My mother and grandmother came to his side and they began discussing things. They spoke in Japanese.

My mother and grandmother spoke very quietly, but it was clear that they were doing most of the talking and my father was mainly nodding his head in agreement.

Yuri came over to my side and pulled at the sleeve of my sweater, and then motioned for me to bend over.

“We can't bring everything?” she asked softly.

“No, not everything, but I'm sure we'll be able to take all the important —” I suddenly stopped as I saw her eyes tear up, and I realized what she was thinking: her dolls. I wanted to just blurt out that it would be okay, that I was sure all three dolls could come along, but I couldn't offer her any reassurance. I couldn't see any dolls being considered important by my parents when we were so limited in space, and I didn't know if I could smuggle them aboard the truck.

I reached out and put an arm around her shoulders, and I saw her bite down on her lower lip in an effort to fight back the tears. It would have been hard enough to leave the dolls at home, lying on her bed, but to leave them here on the boat where they didn't belong seemed so much worse.

I put my mouth close to her. “Your dollies are coming along,” I whispered in her ear, and while I didn't know how, I knew that I was going to try. She threw her arms around me and squeezed.

“Tadashi,” my father called out.

I turned around and stood up to face him.

“Sewing machine, clothing and bedding goes in the truck,” he said.

Bedding! Of course! We'd take the bedding and I could just take the dolls wrapped up in Yuri's blankets like I did to get them onto the boat in the first place.

“What about other things?” Midori asked.

“Other things too,” he answered. “Help your mother repack dishes and some pots to come with us.”

“We could take seventy-five more pounds if we told them I was twelve,” Midori said.

“You are not twelve,” my father said.

“I'm almost twelve, and how would they know I'm not?” she asked.

“They wouldn't know,” he said, “but
we
would know.”

I understood perfectly what she was saying, but also knew what my father meant. He wasn't prepared to lie.

“We can bring what we need now,” he continued, “as well as some other things. Pictures … lamps … a vase … school books.”

I rolled up Yuri's bedding and gathered it in my arms.

“I'll start with this,” I said as I began to walk out of the cabin.

My father reached out and grabbed my arm. He shook his head. “Mattresses first. Something to sit on as well as piling on other things.”

“Sure … okay,” I stammered. I went to put the bedding back and two dolls clattered out noisily to the wooden floor.

Before I could react or even think what to do, my father bent down and scooped up the dolls. He held them up, turning them over slowly, examining them as if he'd never seen them before.

I looked over at Yuri. She looked scared. Midori stood silently, staring down at the ground as if she hadn't seen anything. Both my mother and grandmother looked away, pretending that they'd seen nothing.

“What are these doing in there?” my father questioned.

I opened my mouth to answer but I didn't know what to say. If only one had fallen out, it wouldn't have mattered. I shouldn't have defied my father, but I couldn't have just stood there and not helped my sister either.

“And is the third doll here too, or back at our home?”