Caged Eagles (9 page)

She walked away toward the large sliding door. There was a growing crowd of people — families like ours — all standing silently, waiting.

I turned back to my family. My grandmother now had the broom and she started to sweep. My mother spoke to Yuri and Midori, instructing them to go and get soap and water.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Meet your father, bring our things.”

I nodded. That seemed like a good idea. I walked away, picking my way around the women and children who were slowly shuffling along the aisles. Stepping outside, the fresh air felt good. I took a deep breath and my head cleared a bit.

Coming along the path were more families. As I approached the first group, which was moving silently, eyes to the ground, I moved off the path and onto the grass. They were from my village, but nobody even exchanged a word as we passed each other.

I'd traveled no more than two dozen paces when I became aware of the rumble of trucks. I stopped and the noise got louder. Within seconds a truck turned the corner of one of the buildings and came into view. It was moving slowly, following the same path as the families. A second truck, and then a third and a fourth, were close behind it. They looked like the trucks that had brought us here to the park.

People moved off the path to make way for the oncoming vehicles. As they approached, it became obvious that the trucks were much wider than the cobblestone path. The big tires dug into the grass, chewing up the wet sod and spitting out mud behind them. Silent little groups stood off to the side and watched as truck after truck moved past them.

I looked up into the cab of each truck, trying to see if I could recognize the soldiers who had driven us here. The cabs were high off the ground and the reflection off the windscreens made it difficult to see inside. And, of course, all the trucks looked the same.

The trucks came to a stop directly in front of the big sliding door. I ran back and arrived as the soldiers climbed out of the vehicles. I looked over the men, searching for the two soldiers who were driving our vehicle. I saw them almost immediately. Some of the older Japanese always had trouble telling one “white” guy from another. They said they all looked alike. I always thought that was crazy — as crazy as those whites who thought that all Japanese looked alike … or should be treated alike.

The two men circled around the back of the truck and unhooked the chains holding the tailgate in place.

It dropped down with a thunderous crash. One hauled himself up into the back. Within seconds I saw an object fly through the air out of the truck. It was a box, and it was caught by the second soldier standing on the ground. He quickly placed it at his side as a second object came flying out at him. He caught it as well and dropped it to the ground with a loud thud. Didn't these guys know that some of these boxes contained plates and dishes and other really breakable things? Maybe they knew but didn't care!

“Excuse me!” I said, coming forward. “The things in the boxes … they could be breakable …”

“I haven't dropped one yet,” the one soldier said.

“But —”

“We haven't got time to go slow, kid,” interrupted the other soldier. “We're under orders to unload and get back to the docks. More of you people waiting to be loaded up.”

He tossed the sewing machine he was holding and the other man just barely caught it.

“I could unload,” I offered. “And you two could take a break, maybe go and have a coffee or something.”

They stopped again. I could tell they were thinking it over. “I don't know, John,” one said to the other. “A coffee would be nice, but we have to move fast.”

“I'll move fast, really fast,” I said. “And it won't be long until my father and the other men come to help.”

“The men won't be here for a long time,” one said.

“My father said as soon as he was settled in he'd be coming, and I know that won't take more than a few minutes, and I'll work until they get here.”

“It'll be way more than an hour, kid. They have to all be interviewed by the RCMP.”

“Interviewed? But why?”

“Checking for spies.”

“Spies! My father isn't a spy, he's a fisherman.”

“Doesn't mean he can't be both,” the man in the truck said.

I was going to answer when the second soldier spoke. “Don't worry, kid, I'm sure he's just a fisherman, but it still takes time for them to interview them and —”

“I'll work fast!”

“Fast isn't possible by yourself. You need two people, one in the back of the truck and a second on the ground. You can't do it by yourself.”

There had to be somebody who could help me … maybe my sister, or — I caught sight of a boy, Japanese, maybe my age or a little younger, standing just off to the side, watching. He was wearing a baseball cap on his head, chomping on a wad of gum.

“What about him?” I asked, pointing. The boy's eyes widened in surprise.

The two soldiers exchanged a look. “Sure, why not.”

“Come here!” one of the soldiers called out to the boy. He didn't move.

“Come over here,” the second said, much louder, gesturing with his hand.

Reluctantly the boy came over. He didn't look happy.

“We want you to help unload this truck,” the soldier in the truck barked.

The boy slowly shook his head. “No … understand … no English speak.”

One of the soldiers picked up a box. “Moovving.

Understand?”

The boy shook his head.

“Too bad. I could have used a break … wait a second. You speak Japanese, don't you?” the soldier asked me.

“Of course.”

“Then explain it to him in your language.”

My language is English, I thought, but didn't say a word.

“Tell him to get up in the truck and start handing things down to you.”

I nodded. “They want you to help unload the truck,” I said in Japanese.

“And tell him it's an order, from me,” the larger of the two said, tapping himself on the chest. “And if he doesn't do it he'll be in trouble, big trouble.”

I'd tell him I needed his help, but I wasn't going to threaten him. “Your help would really be appreciated,” I added in my best Japanese.

The boy nodded and walked to the edge of the truck. The soldier reached down a hand and pulled the boy up into the truck.

“We'll be back in about fifteen minutes, and we'll see how you're doing.” He turned to his buddy still standing in the truck. “Come on, I can use a drink.”

The soldier jumped down off the back of the truck and the two of them strolled away. Fifteen minutes — that would be more than enough time to get my family's things off the truck in one piece before they returned. It wouldn't work, though, for the boy to be in the truck. I knew what was ours. He could come down here and I'd pass things to him.

“Come on down here —” I started to say and then remembered he couldn't speak much English.

“Make up your mind,” he answered in perfect English.

My mouth dropped open in shock. “You speak English,” I blurted out.

“Better than
you
,” he answered.

“But … but … why …”

“Why did I pretend not to understand?”

I nodded my head.

“Because if they don't think you understand what they're saying, they can't make you do things. Did you think I wanted to unload this truck? And if somebody hadn't started jabbering away to me in Japanese, I would have gotten away with it. Thanks a lot.”

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “But I could use your help — I'd really appreciate it.”

He shrugged. “Why didn't you want the soldiers to unload the truck, anyway?”

“I was afraid they'd break something, something valuable,” I said.

“I guess you're right.” He paused. “What's your name?”

“Tadashi Fukushima.”

He reached out a hand. “Pleased to meet you. My name's Sam Uyeyama.”

We shook. “Is that short for Isamu?”

“No, it's short for Samuel,” he answered.

“Samuel … that doesn't sound very Japanese.”

“It isn't, but why would I have to have a Japanese name?”

“But … but …”

“Because my relatives were from Japan?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Maybe, but that was a long time ago. My family has been in this country for close to forty years. I don't even speak Japanese.”

“You don't?” I asked in amazement. I knew of people who didn't speak great Japanese, but almost everybody spoke — wait a second. “But you understand it.”

“A few words … names of food; I can count to ten.”

“But you understood when I told you to help with the —” I stopped as I realized that of course he understood what the soldiers had said to him in English in the first place.

He smiled. “You always this quick?”

“Not always.”

I did notice that he was quick, though — he spoke in rapid bursts and with an accent that was different than mine. It wasn't just that it wasn't Japanese, but that it wasn't even like the English I knew. It was more like … like how those gangsters talk in the movies I'd seen at the theater in Prince Rupert.

“So are we moving or what?” Sam asked, pushing the words past the thick wad of gum he was working around his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess we should. Maybe we could get my family's stuff out of the truck. Then I guess I can help with your family's belonging.”

“We moved in last week.”

Sam began to hand down items from the truck. Rather than direct him to things that belonged to my family, I simply allowed him to pass the things closest to the back of the truck. I guessed it wouldn't have been fair, either to him or to the other families, to just take our things. Sam worked fairly quickly, but just as quickly I discovered that he wasn't that much more careful than the two soldiers.

Within a few minutes a few of the women and children came out of the building and began to claim their belongings. They offered thanks to both Sam and me for helping. One very old woman tried to start up a conversation with Sam. He shrugged, shook his head and tried to explain to her that he didn't understand Japanese. And, of course, since she didn't seem to know much English, she didn't understand him not understanding.

“You must get that a lot,” I said as Sam passed me down a heavy sewing machine.

“Just around here. Where I live there aren't any Japanese.”

“None?”

“Well, other than my family.”

“Where do you live?” I asked as he tossed me down the box.

“About twenty miles from here. It's a town just outside of Vancouver. You?”

“In a village just outside of Prince Rupert.”

“Where's Prince Rupert?” he asked.

“You haven't heard of Prince Rupert?” I asked in amazement.

He shrugged. “So shoot me. Where is it?”

“It's on Kairn Island. Just south of the Alaskan panhandle.”

“Alaska! I didn't think there was anything up there but Indians!”

“There's lots of different people. English, Norwegian, French, Dutch, Natives and lots and lots of Japanese. Everybody in my whole village is Japanese.”

“”What does everybody in the village do — you know, for a living?” Sam asked.

“Most people fish.”

“And your father?”

“He's a fisherman too.”

“Is that what you want to be as well?” Sam asked.

There was something about the tone in his voice and the look on his face that I didn't like. “Maybe, if I want. What does
your
father do?”

“He's in the trucking business.”

“And is that what you want to do? Drive a truck?” I asked.

“My father doesn't drive a truck. He owns the business, a cartage company. He has ten trucks altogether. He brings in half the fruit and vegetables that come to Vancouver. Nine of those trucks parked in the racetrack infield belong to my dad.”

“I thought you said he had ten trucks.”

“He does … it's just …” He motioned for me to come closer. “He has a tenth truck; it's new and was going to be delivered next week — it's all ready except for the company name being painted on the side. My father just didn't tell them about the extra truck. You're not going to tell anybody, are you?” he asked. There was a touch of anxiety in his voice.

“Who would I tell?” I asked.

“Nobody, I hope.”

“I really appreciate all your help. There's not much stuff still up there, is there?”

“Not a lot.”

Sam went back into the truck to continue moving things. He returned with a canvas bag. It contained my clothing. He dropped it into my arms. As he turned back around, Midori and Yuri appeared. I was glad to see them. It meant that they could start carrying things, which would save me some work.

“Sam!” I called out, and he stopped. “These are my sisters, Yuri and Midori.”

“Good to meet you,” Sam said.

They both mumbled greetings.

“Since they're here now, they can help me. If you want you can stop,” I offered.

“That's okay. I started, so I'll finish. Besides, I figure the faster this is all done the sooner I can show you around the place, explain the ropes to you.” He paused. “That is, if you want me to.”

“I'd like that … I'd like that.”

.8.

The air was now filled with the rumbling of voices instead of the cloud of dust. Colorful sheets and blankets were being draped along the bars across the front and sides of the stalls, providing some privacy. We'd moved all of our things into the stall. All that was left to do was the unpacking and then arranging things so there would be room for us to sleep tonight. It wasn't home — heck, it wasn't anybody's home, it was a cattle stall — but at least it was dry and warm.