Silent Honor (35 page)

“He's smart, Mom, and maybe he's right,” she had said once to Reiko defiantly, and it had won her a rare slap from her mother.

“Don't you ever let me hear you say that again!” Reiko had warned, trembling with fury. “Your brother is fighting for you, and for him. We're
Americans
! That boy, and the others like him, are all traitors.” There had been no ambiguity in what Reiko said to her, but Sally still saw him on the sly sometimes. She wasn't in love with him, but she liked him, and in some ways it excited her to defy her parents.

He had taken part in the attack on the infirmary that night. Tadashi had seen him there, and he had approached Tad once and angrily called him an
inn
, and then as though in deference to the relationship he knew the Tanakas had with Tad, he ran away, and had been satisfied to overturn carts of instruments and bedpans. Hiroko saw him leave the building later on, and she had been incensed at his attitude and the destruction she saw him leave in his wake, but Sally had refused to listen to what Hiroko said when she told her younger cousin about it.

“He doesn't do things like that, he's too intelligent,” Sally said, defending him, which only angered Hiroko further. Sally seemed to be growing more defiant by the hour, and her friends were more often than not the wrong kind now. It was something that worried all of them about her, particularly Reiko. She didn't know what to do with her—the camps were no place for a young girl, particularly Tule Lake, with so many young disloyals roaming around looking for trouble. The truly dangerous ones were in segregation of some kind, or even in prison, but there were many others whom the Tanakas did not like, and who hung around with the rest of the young people like Sally. And it was difficult not to be influenced by them, they were so persuasive in their complaints about how they had been ill-used and how America had betrayed them. And lately, Sally seemed far too willing to believe them.

Reiko talked to Tak about it, but there was little they could do. There were so many problems there, of health, of safety, of disappointment, of supply, of fear about the future. The only thing one could do to survive was live in the here and now, and do the best one could. For many of the internees, concentration on their families, and their friends, and even their jobs was a godsend. Working at the infirmary kept Hiroko from thinking of Peter incessantly. Though he was often on her mind, her days and nights were filled with Toyo, and the people she was helping.

She was working double shifts at the infirmary again long before Thanksgiving. And at nine months, Toyo was an adorable little terror and had just started walking.

Tadashi often came to their room to play with him, and bring him little things he made, and he was always polite to all of them, and he had a special gentleness with the children. As a child, he had often been tormented at school because of his leg, particularly in Japan, and it had made him especially compassionate about other people's sorrows. He had a nice sense of humor too, and Hiroko often teased him about how silly they had all looked when he pushed them into the closet to save them.

“I suppose I really should have locked it,” he said thoughtfully, tossing Toyo up in the air with ease. In spite of the polio, he was young and strong and healthy, and very good-looking, Reiko always added.

“Never mind,” Hiroko said, insisting that they were only friends. She was totally faithful to Peter, and the memory of their Buddhist wedding. But Tak and Reiko thought that Tadashi was a nice young man, and not by any means a negligible prospect. He was
kibei
after all, he had been born in the States, and studied in Japan. He knew her culture, her language, they were of the same race, and they would be equal in the face of any prejudice that came their way later on. Mixed marriages were not only illegal in California, Tak pointed out to her when they were discussing it one day, but they were extremely difficult, and potentially very dangerous for the children.

“Is that really what you think?” She had looked at her cousin sadly. “Is that what you think will happen to Toyo when his father comes back? That our love will be dangerous for him?” She looked shocked by what he was saying.

“Not your love,” he said unhappily, “but the attitudes of those around you. Those attitudes have put us here. Look at this. Look at where you are. The people who believe these things, that we are different, that we are disloyal, that we are dangerous, will stop at nothing. And one day they will hurt your son, as they have hurt you. He won't be exempt, it won't end with us. You'll be better off with a man of your own kind, Hiroko, one who accepts you as you are, and even Toyo.” She was horrified at what he was saying, not only the sorrow and sense of prejudice that seemed to have defeated him, but the fact that he didn't seem to think she should wait for Peter. Tadashi was there. Why not marry him? The only problem was that, although they were friends, she didn't love him. She didn't want anyone except Peter.

Tadashi had asked her casually, several times, about what plans she had for “afterward,” and what was going to happen to her and Toyo. She knew what he meant, and she was always guarded about what she said. She didn't discuss her plans with anyone, but she let him know nonetheless that as far as she was concerned, she was “taken.”

She had talked to him about going back to Japan after Yuji died, to help her parents. But it was almost impossible to get back now, and she knew it was safer for her and Toyo in America. She knew she should stay in the States, and go back after the war was over, and all she could do was hope that her parents would be all right in the meantime.

The anniversary of Pearl Harbor came and went again with a somber mood, but at least no violence or problems. And when Christmas came that year, despite martial law, the authorities tried to encourage a more peaceful atmosphere. The curfew on special nights ended to allow them to have dances, and meetings of the friendship clubs. It was extraordinary how many positive groups there were in camp, all made up of people trying to overcome the grief and the fears and the problems. They were determined to make the best of a bad situation, and much of the time they succeeded.

There was even a Kabuki play Hiroko and Tami went to, and a Bunraku puppet show Tadashi took her to with Toyo. Hiroko and Tad played together in the symphony, and they went caroling, and despite all her efforts, she couldn't get Sally to join them.

“No. What do I care about Christmas?” Sally had spat at her, lying on her bed when Hiroko had asked her to go with her and Tadashi. “And why are you taking him anyway? If he's so crazy about you, why don't you get married?”

“I don't think that's any of your business,” Hiroko said coldly. She was tired of her. Sally was rude to everyone. She fought with Tami all the time now, and argued with her mother till it drove them all to distraction. And no matter what Hiroko said, it set her off. The only human being she was ever civil to, and even loving, was Takeo, her father. She still idolized him, and Tak adored her.

“Just leave her,” Reiko said, so Hiroko took Tami with her, and they had a lovely time singing “Silent Night” and “The First Noel,” and all their favorite songs in the cold, crisp air of the mountains. Although Tule Lake was hot and dusty in the summer, it was freezing in the winter.

And in spite of where they were, and the inescapable restrictions, it was a lovely night, and afterward Tadashi came in to chat with them. Sally was sitting in a chair, sulking for a while. She watched him talking to her parents and Hiroko, and slipped quietly into their bedroom, but no one seemed to notice. He and Hiroko were too busy laughing about the dance the whole group from the infirmary had gone to the other night. The band had played “Don't Fence Me In,” and even the soldiers who had monitored the dance didn't seem to get it. They had played a lot of other songs too, like “Harvest Moon,” and “String of Pearls,” and “In the Mood,” and many of the Glenn Miller arrangements.

Tadashi had only danced with her once, it was hard for him with his leg, but she had danced with her Uncle Tak, and one of the doctors she worked with. There weren't a lot of eligible young men left in camp, at least not nice ones, but she didn't care. She didn't want anyone except Peter, and anyone who knew her was aware that she was interested in being friends, but not dating.

She walked outside with Tad when he left that night, and they sat on the steps in the freezing cold for a minute, just talking about Christmas, and Santa Claus, and the things they had loved when they were kids. Tad had cut down a small Christmas tree for them, and they had made the decorations, but it wasn't quite the same as a “real” one, a big tree, with store-bought decorations.

“One day,” Tadashi said with a warm smile, getting ready to leave her. “We'll have it all back again one day,” he said, looking as though he believed it.

But in spite of Toyo's fascination with everything as he lurched everywhere, their Christmas was quieter this year. She hadn't seen her family for almost three years, her brother was dead, and now Ken was gone, and she hadn't heard from Peter since late November. Not hearing from him always frightened her, because she didn't know what it meant, if he was on the move, or injured, or worse. She knew that if something happened to him, it would take a long time for the news to reach her. He had put Tak on his list of people to be notified, but still he could have been dead for a month or two, before she knew it.

“Good night,” Tadashi said, looking at her, as plumes of frost from their breath hung above their heads. “Merry Christmas,” he said. Christmas Eve was the next day, and they would both be working. “See you tomorrow.”

And when they met in the infirmary the following night, he handed her a tiny package. It was a small locket that he had carved out of wood for her, with her initials in it, on a gold chain his mother had saved from somewhere.

“Tad, it's beautiful,” she said, handing him the scarf she had knitted him, wrapped in a small piece of red paper. He opened it and put it on immediately with a broad grin, and told her that he loved it. It was red and it looked well on him, and he pretended not to notice the mistakes she'd made. “I didn't win any prizes at the knitting club,” she apologized and thanked him again for the locket. And then they both hurried away to work, and for the rest of the night they were busy.

He walked her home afterward and wished her a merry Christmas again, and she was pensive as she walked into their room and kissed the sleeping Toyo. Tad was a nice man, and she liked him, but she didn't want to encourage him. It wouldn't have been fair, no matter how good to her he'd been. But she convinced herself he understood that, and forgot about him until morning. Instead, she dreamed about Peter coming home to them, and Ken, and in the far, far distance, she thought she saw Yuji.

“Where did you get
that
?” Sally asked her the next day, and Hiroko glanced down to see what she meant, and remembered the locket Tad had made her.

“Tadashi gave it to me.” She smiled pleasantly at Sally. She had knitted her a sweater too, and bought gloves for her from the Sears catalog. They all needed them so badly at Tule Lake. But Sally was suddenly furious again, and she made a comment about some girls going from one man
to
the other.

“What does that mean?” Hiroko asked her bluntly, hurt by what she'd said, and the obvious implications.

“You know what I mean,” she said, looking angry, and sounding surly.

“Perhaps I do,” Hiroko admitted to her, “but I do not like it. I do not go from one man to any other man. I have gone nowhere with Tadashi,” she said correctly.

“I'll bet,” Sally said, and left the room while Hiroko tried to control her temper. Sally was not only unkind, but rude, and she was barely civil to Tadashi when he came by to wish them all a merry Christmas a little while later. He brought them a watercolor his mother had made for them, and it was really lovely. It showed a summer sunset in the mountains.

“Sally is in a lovely mood,” Tadashi said to her jokingly, and Hiroko groaned.

“I almost spanked her this morning,” she admitted.

“Maybe you should. It would certainly surprise her.” Hiroko laughed at the idea, and afterward they went for a long walk, and when they left, Reiko raised an eyebrow.

“Those walks of hers have a familiar ring,” she teased Tak. “Should I be worried?” He smiled in answer.

“I think she's old enough to take care of herself, don't you?” And then he added more seriously, “He's a nice boy. I was telling her that the other day, but she didn't want to hear it. He's a much more reasonable choice for her than Peter.”

“What makes you say that?” Reiko was surprised, and he told her all the same things he'd told Hiroko.

“You might be right, Tak. But she still loves Peter.” Over the past months, she had said it repeatedly to Reiko.

“Maybe she can love Tad too,” he said practically. “He's awfully good with Toyo.” She was almost twenty-one years old, and she had a child. In some ways, it would be a lot better for her to get married. And there would be no objection to it from any quarter. Reiko had even met his mother and she had mentioned how much she liked Hiroko. But as Sally came through the room, and heard some of what they said, she slammed the door again to their bedroom.

“What's wrong with her?” Takeo asked, looking startled and then worried. He hoped she hadn't seen Jiro again. She always seemed to behave worse after she had seen him. But then he remembered having heard that Jiro had been put in segregation the week before, and Sally claimed he had a girlfriend.

Sally had been in a dreadful mood all week, and she seemed to be having a real vendetta against her cousin. Lately more than ever.

“Her worst problem is that she's sixteen,” Reiko said in answer to Tak's question. She was almost seventeen, and growing up at Tule Lake was an unhappy time for her. Despite all their efforts to make life in camp livable, they all had to deal with constant deprivation. And in the young people's case, they missed all the frivolous things all their Caucasian friends still had, and their parents and older siblings had grown up with. She couldn't go to proms, or have pretty dresses or go to football games, or even movies, or even go to an ordinary school. She couldn't go anywhere or have anything. Just like the rest of them, she was in prison. She was cold all the time, wore ugly clothes, lived behind barbed wire, had too little medicine if she got sick, and most of the time, she was hungry.