Nobu
June 19, 1942
Nobu sat in the shade of the administration building, trying to escape the sun, trying to hide from too many people. He tossed pebbles at a fence post, unable to quit thinking about the graduation ceremony he’d missed at Berkeley High School.
He pulled his journal from his shirt and began to write.
June 19, 1942
I should have graduated with the Berkeley High School Class of 1942 last week and keep imagining what it would have been like to be there. The parade of my classmates in their crimson and gold gowns while the band played “Pomp and Circumstance.” Watching our proud parents gawk as they searched the procession for their graduate. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, Papa wouldn’t have been there anyway. But it was stolen away from me! Only a month and a half to go, and they sent me here. I missed the parties, the celebration. The prom! I missed talking about where we’d go to college.
Sure. They put together a small ceremony for all the graduating seniors at Santa Anita, but hell, what the fuck did that mean to any of us? We’d been here less than two months. Few of us even knew each other.
So now I’m a high school graduate. I should be getting ready for UC-Berkeley. And I would be if I weren’t in this godforsaken assembly center, this prison!
Will I ever go to college now? And if not, what about my future? What kind of shit job can I hope to get without a college degree? Hell, even with a college education, I’m a Jap. With the way things are today, who’s going to hire a Jap? Guess it doesn’t matter if I have an education anyway.
He tucked his journal inside his shirt. Now what? Boredom swelled with every breath he took. There was nothing to do in this place. He picked up a large rock and felt its coolness against his palm, until his jittery restlessness erupted and he threw it at the fence that locked him inside the miserable camp. Missed.
He hung his head between his knees until the shade wandered away and left the sun to beat on his neck.
The rumble of a bus engine signaled more Japanese being delivered. He watched, though it was nothing new. Buses arrived every day with new evacuees. Only difference was that in recent weeks, rather than leaving right away, they waited to be loaded with Japanese families being transferred to a more permanent relocation center. His family’s time could come at anytime. Then he could be bored someplace else.
He watched lost-looking souls shuffle off the bus and recognized the look in their eyes, a search for answers to questions that pounded in their heads from the start of their journey: Where are they taking us? When will we return? What have we done to deserve this?
A few were close to his age. He tried to interpret the looks in their eyes. Not so resigned but anger raged in some of their stares, anger he knew. They didn’t belong in this place. Didn’t do anything to deserve being treated this way. They were American citizens.
The sun’s reflection burned his eyes. He stood and dusted off. Time to get back to pick Sachi up for lunch. But a familiar face caught his eye. He moved closer and held his hand to block the sun’s glare.
Kazu?
He yelled. “Kazu?”
The kid looked up and around, searching for who had called his name.
For the first time since arriving at Santa Anita, happiness burst inside and he waved with all his might. “Kazu! Over here!” The words caught in his throat and the urge to cry surprised him. He swallowed hard.
Kazu’s eyes widened. “Nobu? Is that you?”
He ran over to Kazu and took a suitcase from him. “Oh my God. I don’t believe it. How are you? How is your mother?” He had a thousand questions, a thousand things he wanted to say.
Kazu nodded toward the bus. “Mother is here, too. Over there.”
“And your father?” Nobu asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Pop is still at a camp in New Mexico. Still don’t know when we’ll see him again. We get letters every once in a while, but so much of it is blacked out, we don’t really know what’s going on. Hey, don’t bring it up in front of my mother, okay?”
“Hello, Mrs. Sasaki,” Nobu said when she approached.
Mrs. Sasaki studied his face for a moment before she spoke. “Nobu? Oh, my! How are you? How is your family?”
“My mother and Sachi are fine, but we haven’t heard from Taro since we’ve been here.”
“Ah,” she said. “Perhaps no news is good news, neh?”
“Keep moving. Keep moving,” called a young guard, swinging his arms forward. “Proceed to the administration building for further instructions.”
“You’ll get directions to your new living quarters there,” said Nobu. “Don’t expect much. I’ll warn you now. They’re not much more than swept-out horse stalls.”
Mrs. Sasaki clutched her bags tighter and looked up at her son.
The urge to soften his words struck Nobu in the gut. “A little bit of mother’s touch adds a lot though.” He could kick himself.
Kazu took one of his mother’s suitcases. “Guess we better keep moving.”
“We’re in Row 3, the fourth stall on the right. When you’re finished, come by and I’ll treat you to lunch at the mess hall.” Nobu flashed a sly smile at his friend.
“Okay, we’ll see you in a bit.”
He jogged back to his apartment to tell Sachi and Mama the good news, still not believing it. Kazu. Here. Maybe now they could start a baseball team. And he’d have someone to talk to. Someone who understood his anger.
He found Mama sweeping the dirt floor. Sachi was reading a book on the bed.
“Great news,” he announced.
“What is it, Nobu? You have not smiled like that since we arrived.”
“You’ll never believe who just got off the bus. Take a guess.”
“I have no idea. Just tell me.”
Sachi leaped up and began to recite a list of names. “Uh, let’s see, was it Mr. Sato from the grocery store? No? How about Mrs. Thompson? That would be so nice if it was Mrs. Thompson. Then I could take my dance lessons again.”
“No, no, and no,” he said. “Okay. You’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. It was Kazu. Kazu and his mother.”
“How nice for you to have a friend here now,” Mama said. Her voice softened. “But I suppose I should not wish being here on anyone.”
“Thanks, Mama.” He went to his bed and drew the curtain, the door to his “room.” The mattress hay crackled as he laid his journal beside him and began to write. For the first time since Sachi had given him the journal, he recorded good news.