Paper Wishes (3 page)

Father sits near the soldiers, eating and talking.

Mother brings a box with fruit and bread. She offers it to Grandfather.

“No, Daughter,” he says.

Kimmi sits on Father's seat.

She leans close to me and whispers, “I'm sorry about Yujiin.”

I do not want to think about this.

I close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep.

Maybe I do sleep.

When I open my eyes, the breakfast cart is gone. Kimmi is gone. Father is gone. Mother is still here, her hand on Grandfather's shoulder again.

“So ugly,” I hear someone say.

“So empty,” I hear someone else say. “Where are the trees?”

“I hope we don't end up someplace like that,” another voice adds.

The train slows to a stop.

We step off the train and board the waiting buses. The buses will drive us to our destination.

As we get closer, I see bits and pieces through my window.

Fence.

Barbed wire.

Guard tower.

Buildings covered with black paper.

Red dirt.

I read the sign:
Manzanar.

It is ugly.

And we do end up in this place.

The soldiers help us off the buses and motion to us to gather in a group while our luggage is unloaded. I see that there are many people I don't recognize. I do not know where they have come from.

While we wait for instructions, Mother says, “Desert. There's no water. No green.”

Her cheeks are wet with tears.

“It is a prison,” she says.

“The soldiers say it will be a village,” Father says. “We will make it a village.”

*   *   *

A soldier calls out numbers from a paper.

The island families follow the soldier.

“Block 1!” the soldier shouts, pointing to the right, to rows of black-covered buildings.

“Administration!” he shouts, pointing to the left.

We walk past the buildings and then cross a dirt road.

“Block 2!” he shouts, pointing to the right at more black-covered buildings.

“Garage!” he shouts, pointing to the left.

We cross another dirt road.

“Block 3!” he shouts, pointing to the right. “Your block.”

Block 3 looks like the other blocks: black-covered buildings lined up in two rows. But the buildings in Block 3 are not all finished.

This is where the island families will live.

“There are fourteen barracks per block,” the soldier says. “Each barracks will be divided into four rooms.”

The soldier taps a building and says, “Barracks 1.” He calls out numbers and tells each family which room is theirs.

He goes to Barracks 2 and then Barracks 3. At Barracks 4, he calls our number.

“That's us,” Father says.

I touch the black wall of the building before I go inside. It is rough and almost sticky.

We go to our room, and another island family comes inside, too. The Soto family. I count. There are ten people in here. But there are only eight cots.

Mother walks to the back corner and arranges four cots into a rectangle.

Father and Mr. Soto go outside.

Grandfather sits on a cot. “I have lived too long,” he says.

My heart squeezes when I hear Grandfather's words.

Mother rushes to him and holds his hands. “All will be well,” she says.

The other children sit in a heap on the floor.

Mother helps Mrs. Soto arrange suitcases and cots. Mrs. Soto has a large belly and a baby coming at any moment.

“Sit,” Mother tells her. “You need to rest.”

Mrs. Soto starts to cry.

I curl up into a ball on the cot next to Grandfather's.

Mother nails a string from one wall to the wall across from it. Then she drapes sheets over the string.

“Now we have more privacy,” she says.

I look around. Inside our room I can hear the whispers of the Soto family. I can smell many bodies in one small space. There is no privacy, I think.

*   *   *

Loud clanging makes the Soto children freeze. The clanging continues, and they start to cry. Mrs. Soto hushes them. Mother goes outside to see what is happening.

“Time for dinner,” she says when she returns. “You must bring your own dishes.”

After Mrs. Soto and her children leave, Mother takes my hand.

“Come, Manami,” she says, pulling me to my feet.

I don't let go of her hand.

“Father?” Mother asks.

“I'm not hungry,” says Grandfather.

“I'll bring something back for you,” Mother says.

Mother and I carry our dishes and join our neighbors outside. A line winds past the black-covered barracks to a larger building. It seems as if everyone in Block 3 is here.

“Manami!” Kimmi is ahead of us, waving her hand. She skips down the line to stand with us.

“Our barracks is crowded,” she says. “I am in number 7. What number are you in?”

Mother answers Kimmi. “Number 4,” she says. “Who is in your barracks?”

I can hear Kimmi and Mother talking, but I do not pay attention.

Then Kimmi squeezes my hand. “See you soon,” she says before she goes back to her mother.

Father joins Mother and me in the slow-moving line. A sign near the door says
Mess Hall Block 3
.

The mess hall is filled with tables and benches. The line moves toward the back, where food is being served. There is a long table. Three people stand behind it, scooping food onto our dishes. I collect my dinner and follow Mother and Father to an empty spot at a table. The room rumbles with low voices and forks clinking against plates.

I am hungry, so I take a bite of the mashed potatoes on my plate.

They are sticky and thick, and the more I try to swallow, the stickier and thicker they grow. I do not like these potatoes.

But I am still hungry, so I take a bite of the corn on my plate.

It has no flavor. But at least it isn't sticky and thick.

There is some kind of meat, too. It is shaped like a square.

I try to imagine a bowl of rice and a plate of fruit.

I am hungry, so I eat the food. But I do not like it.

*   *   *

I soon discover that if I crouch down low with my eyes next to the ground, I can pretend that the dirt looks like sand here.

If I stand tall with my feet bare, I can pretend the dirt feels like sand here.

But when I open my mouth to speak, the dirt no longer feels like sand. It sticks to my lips and tongue like red mud. It coats my throat so that I cannot speak.

I think this is what has happened to me.

I wish the dirt would cloud my eyes, too, so that I would not see this place that is and is not my home without Yujiin.

*   *   *

“Say something,” Mother tells me. We have been here two days and she is sitting behind me on my bed, her arms wrapped around me and her mouth next to my ear.

It feels good to sit like this.

“You are sad,” she says. “Maybe even angry.”

I close my eyes and listen to her words. Sad and angry, yes, maybe. But mostly scared and worried.

“Go outside and play with the other children,” she says.

Before the door closes behind me, I hear Grandfather speak.

“Let her be,” he says.

“But she won't talk,” Mother says.

“Give her time,” he says.

Kimmi waves to me from the big open space between Block 2 and Block 3.

Many children play there.

They talk and laugh.

Some play with marbles.

Some play with a ball.

Some stand in groups giggling.

Kimmi asks me a question, but I cannot answer.

“It's okay,” Kimmi says. “I know you're sad. I miss Yujiin, too.”

“What's wrong with her?” someone asks.

“Leave her alone!” Kimmi says.

“Why won't she talk?”

“Just leave her alone!” Kimmi says again.

Kimmi holds my hand tighter.

But I don't want to be in this place with these children.

I step backward. Kimmi looks at me and then lets my hand go.

“See you later,” she whispers.

*   *   *

Father starts to join the other fathers in the morning. They work all day, clearing brush for new buildings, and some help finish the barracks in Block 3. Each is just like ours. A long rectangle, divided into four rooms. They will keep building new blocks filled with more barracks, thirty-six blocks in all.

After two weeks, Father gets permission for us to move to a new barracks in Block 3.

“Barracks 8 is finished now,” Father explains.

We carry our suitcases to the room Father tells us is our new home.

Inside, it is the same as the room in Barracks 4.

Sharp scent of fresh wood.

A window where dust can blow in because there are gaps in the frame.

Mother empties the pillowcase of dirt and garlic and onions onto the ground outside. She washes the pillowcase and cuts the seams. She sews the edges, making a curtain. She nails it over the window.

Light filters in, but dirt mostly stays out.

Outside, along the wall of our barracks, I use Grandfather's rake to smooth the dirt. The rake is not much larger than my hand. On the island, Grandfather used it to make designs in the sand.

It is wide and flat here. We can see mountains far away, and pine trees, too. It is like the beach—no plants. But also not like the beach—no waves. So I make my own waves in the dirt with Grandfather's rake. He comes to the doorway and watches me.

“Pretty,” he says.

The wind is strong, so I cannot hear well. But suddenly I think I hear Yujiin's yap in the distance. Perhaps Yujiin escaped from his crate and followed the train and chased it until it was out of sight. Perhaps he knew to stay close to the train tracks. Perhaps, after so many days, he is near us. Near enough that I can hear his yap on the wind.

I look and look and look.

But I do not see Yujiin.

And now I do not hear him either.

Grandfather motions for me to come back inside.

*   *   *

On our first morning in the new room, Mother rises early. Before the sun is up, she organizes it. There is a shelf on one wall where Mother stacks dishes and a tea tin and towels. Under the shelf she puts Father's tools and his fishing box. She arranges the cots so that they line the walls. She sets three suitcases on top of one another in the middle of the room to make a table. Then she drapes a sheet over it.

Mother puts the last suitcase in the corner that is away from the window and the door. She lays a pretty cloth over it and sets up our family altar. On top of the cloth, she puts a picture of Grandmother and a picture of Father's parents. She adds a shell from our beach.

Then she takes her seeds, goes outside, and plants a garden: one mound of onions, one mound of garlic, one mound of zucchini, one mound of tomatoes, one mound of cucumbers, one mound of cantaloupe.

When she's finished, she says, “Let's hope for rain.”

But day after day, there is still no rain.

When she complains, Father says, “Rain will come. And in the winter there will be snow.”

I remember the questions Mother couldn't answer when she said we must leave our island.

Where are we going?

Now I know: A prison in the desert. Or maybe a village in the desert.

For how long?

Now I know: Long enough to grow a garden. Or maybe even long enough to see winter.

Why?

I still do not have the answer to that question. But I can be patient.

*   *   *

Mother tears a blank sheet of paper from a notebook and sets it on the table with a pencil.

“This morning, Father mailed letters to Keiko and Ron,” she says. “I thought maybe you would like to write them, too.”

I sit at the table and look at the paper.

There are many things I would like to write:

They have taken us from the island.

They have taken Yujiin.

Grandfather does not leave our room.

I want to go home.

In the end, I write none of this. I carefully tear my paper into two pieces and write one letter to Ron and one letter to Keiko. The same message for both:
Please come.

I stuff the letters inside the envelopes Mother gives me.

“You can post your letters at the administration building,” Mother tells me. “Give them to the postman.”

As I leave our room, Mother hands me two bowls to fill with water at the pump near the mess hall. She tells me it will be my job to water her garden in the morning. But first, I can mail my letters.

I put the letters in my dress pocket, leave the bowls at the pump, and walk toward the administration buildings.

The wind is strong enough to blow my hair straight up.

I hear yapping on the wind again. It sounds like Yujiin. I'm sure it is Yujiin. But I don't see him.

A man with curly dark hair is sitting behind a desk where the post office is set up. A policeman is there, too. This policeman has a face like mine. A Japanese face.

“What do you want, girl?” he asks.

I hear him, but dirt has coated my throat.

“Girl! What do you want?” he asks again. “Girl!”

I run from the building. I run down the prison-village road. I run toward the water pump where I left Mother's bowls. And now I know why I can't hear Yujiin yapping anymore. There are shadows near the water pump, shadows on the wall. And in those shadows I see Yujiin drinking from one of Mother's bowls. I run faster. But when I reach the bowl, I realize that Yujiin isn't there. Only the bowls are there. I drop to the ground to catch my breath. I don't understand. I heard Yujiin. I saw Yujiin. Where is he?

I fill the water bowls and empty them on Mother's garden. And then I remember my letters. Maybe Mother will mail them for me. I set the bowls down and reach into my pocket. But the letters are gone.

I have lost them.