Sachi
May 2, 1942
Sachi sat at the edge of the bed and pretended to read a book. But it was only a place to hide while she watched her mother get dressed for breakfast.
Finally, Mama had agreed to go out. Since arriving at Santa Anita, she had refused to leave the stall they lived in, and Sachi couldn’t understand why. She had never been shy before. At home in Berkeley, she went out all the time: to the grocery store, parent meetings at school, afternoon tea with friends. But at Santa Anita, she hardly ever left, even to go to the mess hall.
Mama stared into the tiny mirror that hung on the wall and brushed her long hair. She pulled it into a ponytail before wrapping it in a bun and poking hairpins all around. How pretty she had always been. But as Sachi studied Mama’s face, she noticed it had changed. Now, her mother looked tired and pale. Beneath her once smiling eyes were dark circles that left Sachi feeling unsettled. Something wasn’t right. Mama didn’t act like Mama. She used to fix meals and serve her family at the table. Now Nobu brought meals from the mess hall. She used to keep the house in order. These days, it was up to Sachi.
Maybe Mama missed Papa as much as she did. Maybe even more.
She watched Mama pat the dark circles under her eyes, then run her fingers over her cheekbones, too prominent now that she’d lost so much weight. Her black, silken hair that Sachi loved to run her fingers through had begun to show signs of gray that streaked from her creased forehead.
But on this day, Sachi shooed away thoughts that left her uneasy. For the first time, Mama said she would go to breakfast. Maybe it meant the return of the mother she’d missed since leaving their home.
Mama turned from the mirror and took a deep breath. “I’m almost ready.”
“Me, too,” Sachi said, smiling. “Nobu, are you ready?”
He answered from behind the curtain. “You two go on. I’m going to the showers first. I’ll meet you there.”
Sachi put her book down and scooted off the bed. She wiggled Nobu’s curtain and whispered. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
She tiptoed into the corner of the apartment that Nobu called his bedroom and closed the curtain behind her. Leaning over his bed, she whispered, “This is the first time Mama is going to breakfast with us. You can take a shower later.”
“Ah, come on, Sach.” He rolled over and faced the wall. “I’m sick of waiting in those lines at the shower. I’m going during breakfast when there won’t be so many people waiting.”
Frustration threatened to chase her appetite away. This might be the start of Mama getting back to normal, and it felt as fragile as a dandelion puff, held between an inhale and exhale.
Dandelion puffs. Fairy balls. How many times had she closed her eyes to make a wish before blowing on the puffs, then watching the tiny fairies fly away to make it come true?
“Sachi, no!” Papa had scolded when she found them on their lawn in Berkeley. He told her each of her little “fairies” would grow into a weed.
You mean grow in to a new wish to make. So she always made sure Papa wasn’t looking before she made her wish.
Blowing dandelions used to work. But lately, none of her wishes came true.
No way would she let Nobu ruin Mama’s morning. She leaned in close and whispered. “I mean it. You need to come with us. Please.”
He sat up and huffed. “You can be a real nag, you know?”
She grinned, pleased with herself. “Good. Now hurry up and get dressed,” she said, then returned to Mama. Closing the curtain, she reported, “Nobu said he’d be out in a minute.”
Sachi stepped out of the dark apartment into the sunlight and squinted against its brightness. A cloud of dust hovered over the path as they walked to the mess hall, but above, the sky was brilliant blue, cloudless. Mama held her purse close and walked just behind.
A man jogged by and turned to greet them as he passed. “Ohayogozaimasu,” he said. “A good morning, neh?”
Mama smiled and nodded. “Hai.”
Sachi couldn’t wait to show Mama the flowers that some of the residents had planted. She especially liked two of the gardens—purple and yellow pansies in one, bright red begonias in the other. Maybe she’d let Sachi plant flowers, too. As far back as she could remember, she’d looked forward to spring, time to plant seeds with Papa. He’d help her water them, and weeks later, when the first colorful blooms appeared, they celebrated together.
“See the pretty flowers,” Sachi asked her mother. “I like the purple ones best. Which do you like?”
“The purple ones are nice.”
“Don’t they brighten the doorway? Do you think we could plant some in front of our door?”
“Perhaps,” Mama said. “We shall see.”
They passed horse stall after horse stall, until several rows down, they passed the showers. Nobu punched Sachi’s arm.
“Ouch!” She rubbed where he’d hit her. “Why did you do that?”
“You see there?” he asked, pointing. “Two people in line. That’s all. Two people!”
“Children!”
Unaffected by the scolding, Sachi smiled. The old Mama was back.
Dozens of people stood outside the mess hall. Another long line. Maybe Nobu was right. So many waited in lines to eat. To take showers. To buy supplies. Even to go to the bathroom. Lines, lines everywhere. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
But today, she didn’t care if Nobu had to stand and wait. He needed to be there for Mama. She whiffed the air. Even oatmeal smelled good in the fresh air and sunshine, so why would her grouchy brother complain? The week before, they’d waited in the rain, and she’d shivered so hard it didn’t matter what scents came from the kitchen. It could have been brussels sprouts for all she cared. She only wanted to get inside where it was warm and dry.
“Hi, Sachi!”
Her heart leaped at the sound of Sam’s voice. When she saw him approach with his parents, she checked the yellow ribbon in her hair and moistened her lips. Then, she skipped over to meet them.
“Hi, Sam!” Excitement bubbled inside. She ran back to the line and touched Mama’s hand. Finally, Sam would get to meet Mama. “This is my mother, Sumiko Kimura. Mama, this is my friend, Sam, and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Uchida.” She had the urge to giggle and felt the warmth of a blush across her cheeks. What a good morning—Mama was having breakfast at the cafeteria and meeting Sam and his parents. She hoped Mama would like Sam as much as she did.
“Ohayogozaimasu.” Mama bowed to the Uchida family. “Sachi has told me about you, Sam.”
“Mr. Uchida owned a butchery in Los Angeles,” Sachi said, beaming. “Sam says he wants to be a butcher someday, too.”
Mama’s lips pursed and her body stiffened. “How nice.” She turned toward the mess hall door. “This line moves slowly, does it not?”
A prickly silence placed a barricade in the narrow space between them.
Mr. and Mrs. Uchida stared at the ground.
Sachi’s stomach hurt. What had just happened?
Sam shrugged his shoulders at Sachi.
Nobu stepped in. Resting an arm on Sachi’s shoulder, he offered his hand in greeting to Mr. and Mrs. Uchida. “I’m Sachi’s brother, Nobu. It’s nice to meet you.”
Mr. Uchida shook his hand. “Hello, Nobu. Have you met our son, Ken? He’s about your age.”
“Not yet, but Sam told us about him.”
Mr. Uchida nodded toward the showers. “He said he’d join us for breakfast after his shower.”
“I had thought about doing that myself.” Nobu tugged Sachi’s ponytail. “Not this morning, though. But I do look forward to meeting him.”
Only when Nobu nudged her did Sachi realize the line had finally started to move. She tried to shake a bad feeling that gnawed at her, but it was as stubborn to shoo away as the stinging horseflies that lingered around the race track.
Something very strange had just happened between Mama and the Uchidas. And the light, skipping feeling she felt earlier had turned to a heavy pit in her stomach.
After Mama’s unfriendly greeting, Sachi wasn’t sure if Sam would meet her at their secret hiding place. Still, she leaned against the school building, hidden in the shade of the storage shed, and waited. Surely he wouldn’t hold her mother’s behavior against her. After all, they’d played together almost every day since meeting weeks before, and now Sachi considered Sam her best friend. And she was pretty sure he had a crush on her.
She’d never had a Japanese best friend before, and hadn’t realized how much she missed it. She knew she was different from all her Caucasian friends, but in the past, had told herself to ignore the feeling. Now here was Sam, the same as Sachi—a Japanese American—not quite Japanese, not quite American. Always treated just a little bit different by Caucasian friends. And then there were the kids at school who teased about her looks, her name, her parents.
She had to admit, fitting in was something she liked about being at Santa Anita. She bit her lip, hating that she could like anything about being locked in a place away from their home. Nobu walked around with a scowl on his face all the time. Even worse, the camp made Mama quiet and sad every day.
But for once, I belong.
Her stomach twitched. Then, glancing around the shed, she giggled to herself. Of course nobody heard her thoughts. For the first time in her life, she didn’t hunker as she walked through a crowd, afraid of what others thought when she passed by. Here, there were no girls with blond or brown or red hair for her to envy. And at Santa Anita, it was okay that her name was Sachi Kimura and not Sally Smith.
Sachi left the shade of the secret hiding place and ambled away, certain that Sam wasn’t coming. Anger boiled inside. It was all Mama’s fault. Now what was there to do? Where would she go? The last place she wanted to be was back with her mother, where she’d probably blow up at her. That hadn’t happened since they still lived in Berkeley, where Mama would send her to her room. Here, she had no room of her own, so what would Mama do?
She walked up and down the rows of stalls. What did the other families do behind those doors? What were the homes they left like? These were the same old questions she always wondered, and she was bored with them.
There wasn’t much else to do but to go back to her stall.
She walked into the apartment, where Mama lay on the bed flipping through the pages of a magazine. How would she avoid talking to her?
“Where’s Nobu?” Sachi hoped the question wouldn’t lead to any discussion of what had happened earlier. Besides, maybe she’d go find her brother instead of being stuck in that room with Mama.
Mama laid the magazine on her stomach. “I have no idea. I cannot keep up with you children. He just said he was going out.”
Sachi sat on the bed and stared at the single painting they brought from home, cherry blossoms in Tokyo. It had seemed so full of springtime when it hung on the wall in the living room. But in this dark room, it only served as a reminder of what was outside of the camp and it made the room even drearier.
“Why so quiet, Sachi-chan?”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know.”
Mama sat up and put her hand on Sachi’s shoulder.
She pulled away so swiftly, the magazine fell to the floor.
“Sachiko!”
There was no place to escape in the small, dark room. Mama stood too close, gave no space. Sachi felt it coming—in her rapid heartbeat, her quickening breath, her desire to scream—her anger was ready to erupt.
She glared at her mother. “Why did you treat Sam and his family like that? You were nice at first, and I was happy that you finally got to meet them.” Her eyes began to burn with tears. She turned from Mama so she wouldn’t see, but couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. “Then something happened, I don’t know what it was, but you became rude. I wanted you to be friends, like Sam and me.” She couldn’t control her tears. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Mama.” She ran to Nobu’s room and pulled the curtain shut.
Mama had better not follow. She needed to be alone. Besides, she wasn’t so sure she was ready to hear Mama’s reason for her behavior. Somehow, she had a feeling learning why might be one of those awful times when there’d be no going back to before. Maybe not knowing was better, so why did she bring it up anyway? And now, Mama had seen her cry.
But it was quiet now. So quiet she could hear muffled conversations from next door. Maybe they heard her blow up. It would serve Mama right. Maybe she’d even lose face at the thought a neighbor overheard their argument.
Looking around Nobu’s room, she wondered. What secret things did he keep? She didn’t often have the chance to snoop around when he wasn’t there. Well, it wasn’t really snooping, just curiosity. She wouldn’t bother anything, and if she put it back the way she’d found it, he’d never know. So what would be the harm?
Her heart pounded hard as she wondered where to look first, and a merry wave of mischievousness swept over her, a welcome distraction from her anger. She pinched the corner of his pillow and lifted it quietly, gently. Nothing there. She tiptoed to the corner of his room, where his tennis shoes rested on top of an assortment of books. Boring books and smelly shoes that she didn’t want to touch. Surely there was something more interesting somewhere.
She returned to the bed and plopped onto the mattress. Didn’t all older brothers have something snoop-worthy for their little sisters to find? Ah, under the mattress! She knelt on the floor and lifted it. Hay dust escaped and made her nose tickle, threatening a sneeze. She closed her eyes and pinched her nose hard. If a sneeze escaped, Mama would come into the room, and her spell of naughtiness would be broken.
There it was. The most valuable find of all—Nobu’s journal. Oh, to read his thoughts. It couldn’t be so bad, he was her brother, after all. She felt very naughty, but very excited and knew to make a mental note of the journal’s position before slowly, silently pulling it from under the mattress. She held it and ran her fingers along its binding as she battled the angel and devil inside. The angel: How would you feel if Nobu read your private thoughts? Thoughts about your crush on Sam? About how cute you think he is? The devil: But Nobu is so quiet sometimes. Wouldn’t it be good for you to know what he is thinking?
Yes. It would be good.
She gently opened it, holding it close to her chest so Mama wouldn’t hear the binding crack.
“Sachiko, come in here, please.”
The sound of Mama’s voice startled Sachi and she almost dropped the journal. Did Mama know what she was doing? She took a deep breath.
“Okay, Mama,” she replied, though she still didn’t want to talk to her mother. She closed the journal and returned it to its hiding place. Before she rose to her feet, she checked it one more time, shifted it the littlest bit to make sure Nobu wouldn’t be able to tell. As she opened the curtain to return to Mama, she felt a curiosity bigger and hungrier than it had been before she’d entered Nobu’s room only moments before. She’d have to find another chance to read that journal.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, Mama?”
“I want to try to explain what happened this morning. Sit down, please.”
She sat on the bed. By the look on Mama’s face, she wasn’t going to like the conversation.
“Sachi, have you ever heard the word eta before?”
“No, what does it mean?”
“Eta means social outcast. In Japan, any occupation that has to do with death—undertakers, leather workers, butchers …” Mama looked away from Sachi.
“Butchers? What are you saying, Mama?” Sachi’s voice rose with each word she spoke.
Mama continued, still not looking at Sachi. “ … they were considered ungodly. Unclean. Outcast.”
“So are you saying Sam’s father is eta? Outcast?”
“Yes. And Sam said he wants to be a butcher like his father.”
“Then what are you telling me?” Sachi asked the question, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“You should not associate with them, or you will lose face.” Mama stared squarely into Sachi’s eyes. “You will bring dishonor to our family.”
Sachi stood, crossed her arms and leaned toward her mother. “I will bring dishonor to my family by playing with Sam?”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s right. It’s tradition, Sachi-chan.”
Sachi would explode if she stayed. She ran for the outside, but before leaving, turned to speak again. “I don’t care about tradition! I don’t care about losing face or family honor! All I know is Sam is the best friend I’ve ever had.” She ran from the stall, a place she hated even more than before.
How could Mama judge a man—his whole family—by his occupation? She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her blouse.
Her own mother was no better than those who’d made Sachi cry when they called her a Jap.