Sachi
April 12, 1942
Sachi was the first to wake. Mama slept next to her, breathing in, then out, in a slow rhythm. There were times she wished she had her own bed again. Like when Mama whispered to Papa and Taro in the middle of the night.
Danna. Husband.
And she kept whispering something in Japanese to Taro, but Sachi didn’t understand much Japanese. The whispers pulled her away from dreams of tea parties with her dolls at her house in Berkeley and back to the cold, dark stall.
Nobu was still sleeping, too. His snoring practically rattled the walls.
She liked being the first to wake. In those first quiet moments, she could look around and pretend the walls were painted white and the floors changed from dirt to gleaming wood. Dirt floors. Why did Mama waste her time sweeping them each morning?
Pulling the blanket over her arms, she wasn’t sure what was worse—shivery goose bumps from the chilly air or prickly ones from the itchy blanket. Nobu had patched most of the stall’s holes with mud or tin can lids, but now in the early morning, the sun bolted through cracks and holes he’d missed, leaving bright lines and dots on the dark floor and letting in the brisk morning air. But she liked to watch dust drift and float in the shafts of sunlight that came into the dark room. In the right light, even dust could sparkle.
She shook her blanket to stir more flecks into the air. Something about the way it whirled around reminded her of practicing her dance lessons with Mrs. Thompson. She didn’t think she’d ever miss those lessons, but here at the assembly center nobody ever danced, and it often made her regret that she used to hate her lessons.
When Mama turned over and sighed, Sachi wished she hadn’t shaken her blanket. She wasn’t ready for her mother to wake up. Her imaginary world would disappear and she’d have to face the barren room and look at Mama’s and Nobu’s glum faces.
She didn’t like being ungrateful. In the last few days, they had done what they could to make the stall a home, but she still missed their real home. The smell of Mama’s cooking, the sound of her shoes on the wood floor, Nobu slamming the front door. She missed her bed, her toys, her books. The list went on and on. Now all she smelled was horse poo and hay that made her nose itch all the time. And she was tired of hearing the mumbles from surrounding stalls. She wondered what kinds of things they heard from her family. She tried to be quiet so she wouldn’t bother the neighbors the way they bothered her. Even so, Mama was always telling her “shhh.”
Gravel outside crunched with footsteps going by. A few minutes later, more footsteps and muffled voices. People must already be going to breakfast at the mess hall. When would Mama and Nobu wake up? If they didn’t get up and get going, they might run out of food before they got there.
Sachi’s stomach gurgled. “Mama?”
Mama sat up and stretched her arms above her head. “What is it, Sachi?”
“I’m hungry. Can we go eat now?”
Mama sighed. “Nobu. Wake up. It’s time for breakfast.”
“Ah, Mama. Can’t I sleep just a little longer?”
“No, I want you to take Sachiko to the mess hall. And please bring a tray back for me. I’m going to straighten up in here.”
Sachi looked around. Mama had already cleaned up before they went to bed last night. She never wanted to leave the dark room. “Why don’t you want to come with us, Mama?”
“I’ll just eat here when you get back.” She got out of bed and shuffled over to Nobu’s bed and shook him. “Nobu. Please. Get dressed and take Sachi for breakfast.”
He shooed her away. “Okay, okay. Why do I always have to take her? You’re her mother.” He stopped and took a deep breath.
She glared at him for a second, fury and pain carved on her face. Then, she closed her eyes and turned away.
Sachi walked to the front door and peeked out one of the cracks in the wood, looking for some place, any place, to escape from the tension. Did the same conversations take place behind those other doors, between other people who never used to talk to each other like that before?
Nobu came to her and touched her shoulder, ran his warm hand over the length of her long hair. “Better get dressed, Sach. Breakfast will be gone if we don’t hurry.”
“Okay.” She opened the cardboard box that held her clothes. As she dressed behind the curtain, she heard Nobu whisper. “Sorry, Mama.”
Sometimes Sachi didn’t know why she looked forward to breakfast. All they ever had was oatmeal or cold cereal, plus some boring kind of fruit like an apple or banana. It was never bacon or eggs or pancakes. That day, it was oatmeal, and by the time they got there it had gone cold, and as usual, they’d run out of sugar. She scooted lumpy glops around her bowl, as though moving them enough would make the entire glop go away.
Maybe she looked forward to going to the mess hall just to get out of the dark, stinky room, filled more with sadness than light. The grown-ups sitting around the metal tables in the dining hall didn’t seem much more cheerful than Mama, but at least every once in a while she’d notice a smile escape a stoic face. A time or two, she caught a couple of ladies covering their mouths, stifling giggles that seemed out of place. It seemed fine to Sachi, though, like standing in front of a fire on a cold night.
And at least the kids still cajoled and laughed, though it was quickly followed by taps on knees or, “shhh!”
“Hi.”
Sachi looked up from her cold oatmeal to see a boy standing next to her table.
“I’m Sam. What’s your name?”
She wasn’t sure why, but it surprised her for a boy to come up and introduce himself. But, she returned his smile and replied, “Sachi.” It occurred to her Sam may have meant to meet her brother instead. She put her hand of Nobu’s shoulder. “And this is my brother, Nobu.”
Nobu nodded as he peeled a banana.
She studied Sam. He was kind of cute. Maybe a year or so older than she, so probably too young for him to be interested in meeting Nobu. He must have been smiling at her. She liked his smile, too.
“I have an older brother, too—Ken,” he said. “And I have an older sister. Her name is Mariko. We live in the third row.”
“Really? So do we. Where did you live … before?” She scooted closer to Nobu and patted the bench next to her. “Have a seat.”
“We lived in Los Angeles. You?”
“Berkeley.”
“Berkeley? You came a long way. I haven’t seen you before. When did you get here?”
Sachi stirred her oatmeal slowly. “We’ve only been here for a few days.”
Sam sat next to her. “It’s been two weeks for us. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. So what does your father do?”
The question, always unexpected, was like a punch to her stomach. She put her spoon down.
Nobu dropped the banana peel into his bowl. “Our father is dead. Come on, Sach. Let’s go. Mama must be hungry by now.” He picked up the extra bowl of oatmeal.
Sam stood and nodded to Sachi and Nobu. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” Sachi said. “You didn’t know.”
Nobu called as he walked away. “Come on, I said. Let’s go.”
“Sorry. I have to go now. It was nice to meet you. Maybe we—” There was so much she wanted to say. “We live in the fourth stall from the end.” It sounded so strange to say it. We live in the fourth stall.
Sam laughed. “Ha! You live in a stall? Why, I thought only horses lived in stalls.” He whinnied as he galloped by. “I live in the stall in the middle,” he said, and turned to wave.
Sachi giggled and called to her funny, new friend. “Maybe I’ll see you later today.”