Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet (22 page)

Henry thought about sleeping outside and was grateful he had brought extra clothing. September brought rain and cold weather, at least in Seattle. Who knew what it would be like in Idaho this time of year?

Six hours later they made it to Walla Walla, a small farming community known for its apple orchards. Henry and Sheldon had forty-five minutes for lunch, then they’d board again for Twin Falls – then on to Jerome, Idaho, which, they assumed, would lead to Camp Minidoka.

As soon as he stepped out on the sidewalk, Henry immediately felt self-conscious. Like the eyes of the world were on him, and Sheldon too. There wasn’t a person of
color anywhere in sight. Not even an Indian, which Henry had expected to find in a town named after an Indian tribe. Instead, they were greeted with buttoned-up white folk, all of whom seemed to take notice. Despite that, no one appeared unfriendly. They simply regarded him and Sheldon and went about their business. Still, Henry fidgeted with his ‘I am Chinese’ button, and Sheldon said, ‘Let’s go find something to eat. Just don’t make eye contact, you hear?’

Henry knew that Sheldon wasn’t originally from Seattle; he’d grown up in Tacoma but was born in Alabama. His parents had left the South when he was five or six, and evidently he’d seen enough to never want to return. He still called grown men and little boys ‘sir’ and tipped his hat and said ‘ma’am,’ but aside from that, he wanted no part of the South. And judging by Sheldon’s hurried reaction to the people on the streets of Walla Walla, this might as well have been Birmingham.

‘Where we gonna go?’

Sheldon looked at the windows of stores and restaurants. ‘I don’t know – maybe this isn’t as bad as I’d thought.’

‘What do you mean, bad?’

‘I mean, look and you see for yourself. Ain’t no one even really concerned with us. And I don’t see any “whites only” signs in the windows.’

They walked down the street past people who seemed to notice them, but instead of pulling their children to the far side of the road, they just waved. Which was all the more bewildering.

He and Sheldon finally stopped at the grand entrance of what must have been the tallest building in town, the Marcus
Whitman Hotel. Inside, a coffee shop could be plainly seen. ‘What do you think?’ Henry asked.

‘This is as good as any. Let’s go around back and order something to go.’

‘Out back?’ Henry asked.

‘Ain’t no need to be taking chances, Henry, we’ve come this far—’

‘Can I help you two with something?’ An older gentleman must have crossed the street behind them. His question made Sheldon bolt upright, and Henry stepped behind him. ‘You two aren’t from around here are, you?’

Henry swallowed hard.

‘No sir, we’re just passing through. In fact, we’re heading back to our bus right now …’

‘Well, since you’ve come all the way down, might as well go on in and grab a cup of something warm.’ Henry watched the man crane his neck and look down the street to the bus depot. ‘Looks like you’ve got time. Welcome to Walla Walla, and I hope you come back and see us again.’ He handed Henry and Sheldon a small pamphlet and tipped his hat. ‘God bless.’

Henry watched him walk away, confused. What place is this, he wondered. Does he think I’m Japanese? He looked at his button, then up at Sheldon, who was skimming the brochure and scratching his head – a surprised yet relieved look on his face. The small pamphlet was from an Adventist church, a group Henry had known was lending charitable aid to imprisoned Japanese families. Volunteering as teachers and nurses. As it turned out, there was a large congregation, even a private church college, here.

As he and Sheldon grabbed a quick meal of coffee and toast, they looked around and made eye contact with the folks around them. Not everyone was afraid. Some even smiled back.

Finding the camp was easy – in a way that made Henry feel more than a little saddened. As he and Sheldon stepped off the bus in Jerome, Henry couldn’t help but notice an enormous sign that read ‘Minidoka Wartime Relocation Center – 18 miles.’ There were dozens of people loading into trucks and cars, all bound for what had become the seventh largest city in Idaho.

Sheldon adjusted his hat. ‘Relocation Center – they make it sound like it’s the Chamber of Commerce helping people find a new home or something.’

‘It’s
their
new home now’ was all Henry could muster.

A woman with a nurse’s cape rolled down the window of a blue sedan. ‘You two must be going to the camp. Need a ride?’ she asked.

Henry and Sheldon looked at each other. Was it that obvious? It seemed that everyone in the bus depot had business up north. They both nodded vigorously.

‘That truck behind me is taking visitors, if that’s what you’re planning.’

Henry pointed to a large flatbed hay truck, with makeshift benches and rickety boarded siding. ‘That truck?’

‘That’s the one. Better hurry if you’re planning on going, they won’t wait much longer.’

Sheldon tipped his hat and grabbed his suitcase, nudging Henry. ‘Thank you, ma’am – we’re much obliged.’

They walked to the back of the truck and climbed up, sitting next to a pair of nuns and a priest who spoke to one another in what appeared to be Latin, occasionally mixing in some conversational Japanese.

‘Looks like this might be easier than you thought,’ Sheldon said, sliding his suitcase between his feet. ‘Bigger than you thought too.’

Henry nodded, looking around. He was the only Asian person in sight, let alone in the truck. But he was Chinese; China was an ally of the United States – and he was a U.S. citizen to boot. That had to count for something, right?

Looking at the horizon, Henry could see the camp from five miles away. A massive rock chimney rose above the dry, dusty fields, which eventually revealed the layout of a small city. Everything appeared to be still under construction. Even from a distance Henry could make out the skeletal frames of enormous rows of buildings.

Sheldon saw it too. ‘That must be one thousand acres, easy,’ he said. Henry didn’t know how much that was, but it was huge.

‘Can you believe that?’ Sheldon asked. ‘It’s like a city rising up out of the Snake River. Everything’s so dry and barren this far north, now they just dump everyone here.’

Henry stared at the arid landscape. There were no trees or grass or flowers anywhere, and barely any shrubs. Just a living, breathing landscape of tar-paper barracks spotting the dry desert terrain. And people. Thousands of people – most of them seemed to be working on the buildings, or in the fields picking corn, potatoes, or sugar beets. Even small children and elderly people could be seen hunched over in the dusty furrows. Everyone was very much alive and in motion.

The truck lumbered over a patchwork of potholes, brakes squealing as it rattled to a halt. As passengers unloaded, camp workers were pointed in one direction and visitors in another. Henry and Sheldon followed the small herd of people who crowded into a stone visitors’ room. With the wind blowing, Henry could taste the dust in the air, and feel the grit on his skin. The land was dry and parched, but there was an indescribable smell. Sweetgrass, and the smell of rain coming. Being from Seattle, Henry knew that smell all too well. A storm was blowing in.

Inside, they were instructed on what could and could not be brought to and from the camp. Things like cigarettes and alcohol were allowed in small quantities, but fairly benign things like nail files were forbidden. ‘I guess a huge pair of wire cutters is out of the question,’ Henry whispered to Sheldon, who just nodded and tipped his head.

If the sight of a Chinese boy was unusual, it was hardly noticed in the hectic comings and goings of Camp Minidoka. Even Henry, who at first was certain he’d be swept up at bayonet point and taken into the heart of the camp, was surprised at how hardly anyone noticed him. How could they? There were thousands of prisoners to process. And more buses of prisoners were arriving by the hour. The camp was still breathing and lurching to life, finding its rhythm – a growing community behind barbed-wire fences.

‘Hope you took a bath before we left,’ Sheldon said, looking out the window. ‘’Cause those are sewer lines they’re digging in out there.’

Henry sniffed at his sleeve, smelling sweaty and musty, like the bus ride.

Sheldon wiped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘It’ll be months before they get hot water or flushing toilets.’

Henry looked at the Japanese workers laboring in the sun. The sight made him thankful for being indoors as he and Sheldon waited in line. It was thirty minutes before they were allowed to register as visitors. Finally a file clerk checked camp records to see if the Okabe family had arrived.

‘They’re Quakers,’ Sheldon commented to Henry, nodding in the direction of the office staff.

‘Like the oatmeal guy?’

‘Something like that. They objected to the war and all that. Now they volunteer in the camps, teaching, filling in as nurses and stuff – least that’s what I hear. Most of the white folks here is Quakers. Though this is Idaho, so some of ’em are Adventists probably. Same thing, I guess.’

Henry peeked at the white woman behind the desk. She looked like Betty Crocker – average, plain, and pleasant.

The woman looked up from her papers, smiling. ‘Okabes? They’re here, along with a dozen other families with that name, but I think I found who you’re after.’

Sheldon patted Henry on the shoulder.

‘Just head on over to that visitors’ room.’ She pointed. ‘And they’ll help you get oriented. The camp is organized like a city, with streets and blocks. Ordinarily, visits are arranged by letter or by outgoing phone calls, which can occasionally be made from the main office. Otherwise a runner will be sent into that area of the camp and a notice will get posted outside the barracks assigned to that family.’

Henry tried to follow along, blinking his eyes and rubbing his forehead.

‘It normally takes at least a day,’ she said, ‘since most of the children are in temporary schoolrooms and the adults do work inside the camp.’

‘What kind of work?’ Henry wondered, remembering all the activity outside.

‘Just labor. Either harvesting sugar beets or doing construction. Plenty of office work for the women too.’ She sighed as she said it, returning to the pile of papers in front of her.

Henry filled out a slip for Keiko, who he’d been told was assigned to Block 17 – not too far from this side of Camp Minidoka. He wanted to surprise her, so he just put down ‘visitor’ and left the name blank. A runner, an older Japanese man who ironically walked with a limp, took the paper and wandered off.

‘This could take a while,’ Henry said.

Sheldon nodded and watched the crowds of visitors shuffle in and out.

Sitting on a hard bench between an older man with several boxes of hymnals and a young couple with baskets of pears, Henry looked at Sheldon, watching him crack his knuckles, wishing he’d brought along his saxophone. ‘Thanks for coming with me,’ he said.

Sheldon patted Henry’s knee. ‘Needed to be done. That’s all. Your old man know you’re all the way out here?’

Henry solemnly shook his head no. ‘I told my mother I was leaving for a few days. She must know. I don’t think she knows I’m
here
, but she knows enough. I’m not saying she likes it, but she let me go and didn’t ask – that was the best she could do, I suppose, her way of helping. She’ll be worried and all,
but she’ll be OK. I’ll be OK. I just had to come. I may never see Keiko again, and I didn’t want what I said or didn’t say at Camp Harmony to be the last thing she ever heard from me.’

Sheldon stared off at the people coming and going. ‘There’s hope for you yet, Henry. You wait and see. Might take a while, but there’s always hoping.’

That
while
lasted for six hours, as he and Sheldon waited and waited – sometimes inside, other times pacing outside the stone visitors’ center. Thunderheads had rolled in, darkening the sky, even though there were still several hours before sunset.

Finally, Henry patted his suitcase, looking at a sign that said visiting hours ended at 5:30. ‘It’s almost time to go back. We left our message. She must not have seen it yet.’ But we’ll come back tomorrow. She’ll find it soon enough, he thought.

Outside, thick and heavy raindrops dotted the parched ground. As it hit the tin roofs of the makeshift buildings and half-finished barracks, the rain created a slow warbling, drumming sound. People everywhere headed for shelter. Henry thought about the tar-paper roofs and unfinished buildings. He hoped they were vacant and the camp’s residents occupied the rows sheltered by completed roofs.

‘There’s a bus for visitors over here.’ Sheldon pointed, balancing his suitcase on his head with one hand to keep the rain off as it turned into a downpour. Thunder rumbled far away, but no lightning could be seen. It wasn’t that dark yet.

Henry tried to imagine what Keiko must have been doing right then. Heading home from school with the other
Japanese kids. What a strange mix that must be – some spoke nothing but English, others spoke only Japanese. He thought about Keiko and her family settling into their one-room quarters, huddled around a pipe stove trying to stay warm, rain dripping into buckets through holes in the roof. He thought about her playing their Oscar Holden record. Does she think about me? Does she think about me as much as I’ve thought about her.
Could she
? No, Henry thought about her so much he could see her on the streets of Seattle, even hear her voice. Simple and small. Sparkling, with perfect English, like now, speaking his name through the rolling thunder of the rainstorm. As if she was there. As if she’d never left. He was always amazed at how he liked hearing her call his name.

Henry
. From the day they met in the kitchen.
Henry
. To that horrible day when he watched helplessly as she and her family boarded the train for Camp Harmony. Henry. And finally, when she said
goodbye
in a sheltered, guarded way he’d never seen, as he said farewell and let her go, not wanting to complicate things any more than they already were, wanting to be a
good son
.