Nobu
October 15, 1942
Something made Nobu shiver. Maybe it was because the streets were deserted, though he caught people peering from hidden places. He zipped his jacket and crossed his arms.
Gravel crackled and Nobu wondered what in the world was going to happen to them now. Headlights approached. An army jeep.
His pulse quickened. Who would ever think he’d be happy to see an army jeep?
It came to a quick stop beside the group of men. Dust swirled up around the headlights. An officer approached from the passenger side, and the soldier who had left them earlier in the day hunkered behind the wheel.
“This all of them, Private?” the officer asked.
“Yes, Captain McCutcheon, sir,” answered the private from the jeep.
Captain McCutcheon held a flashlight on the faces of the locals. “What do you gentlemen think you’re doing?”
The one in the orange ball cap answered. “Well, uh, we was—”
Howard elbowed his way toward the officer. “Sir,” he said, smiling, “we believe we got us some Japanese spies.” He waved the gun at the boys. “We was just keeping an eye on ’em ’til the sheriff gets here.”
The officer moved closer to Howard, got in his face. “These boys aren’t Japanese spies. They were on work detail from the internment camp.” He turned toward the jeep and scowled at the soldier. “Unfortunately, someone didn’t follow orders. But these boys haven’t done anything wrong.”
The captain herded the rescued hostages toward the jeep. “Get in, boys. We’re going home.”
As Nobu climbed in, the private whispered, “Sure sorry about the mess I got y’all into.”
“Hush up, Private!” the captain ordered. “And you can bet you and me are gonna have words when we get back to camp.”
The engine chugged to a start and exhaust surrounded them as the private backed up to turn around. The headlight beam shone thick in the dust, then crossed over the locals they were leaving behind in stunned silence.
The ride back to camp was quiet, a comfortable silence. Nobu closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat. What would he say to Mama? Strange, how returning to the camp he’d hated that morning, now felt like returning home. But he couldn’t help wondering if they had really just been rescued, or were they plundered treasure?
When the jeep pulled up to the front gate, the private left it idling.
“You boys go on to your barracks now,” the captain said. “I guess you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Nobu got out and looked up to see an armed guard in the tower. He shook his head. What difference did it make who held a gun on him, a bunch of stupid locals or a uniformed guard? He walked into camp, his path lit by headlight beams.
“Hey, wait up!” Kazu called.
Nobu slowed but didn’t stop.
“That was a close one, huh?” Kazu asked.
“Yeah. I should have never agreed to come help today.”
The jeep’s headlight beams flashed along the fence line as it backed up. Nobu turned to watch it drive away, but something caught his attention, something beside one of the fence posts. He walked toward it.
“Where are you going?” asked Kazu.
Nobu didn’t reply, too focused on what he saw. He moved closer, knelt. A stack of rocks. Like what Papa used to make. The very sight of it brought him unexpected comfort and peace, as he recalled what Papa used to say about stacking the rocks.
“What is it, Nobu?”
Kazu was a good friend, but sometimes he got on Nobu’s nerves—always in the way. “Just a stack of rocks. Why don’t you go home? I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”
“You sure? You okay?”
Nobu glared at his friend. “I’m fine! I just want to be alone for a while.”
Kazu threw his hands up. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint,” he mumbled and walked away.
Nobu studied the stack of stones and wondered who put it there. He was embarrassed to admit it—even to himself—but it was like a message from Papa. A way to calm him after the day he’d had.
Put everything out of your head, and focus only on balancing the rock on the others.
In his contests with Papa to see who could stack the tallest, he’d focused on calming his thoughts many times. Maybe it would work now.
He searched for a flat stone, smaller than the rest of the stack. The selection was sparse, and he paced in the dim light from the guard shack, looking for just the right one. There it was, just on the outside of the barbed wire. He stretched his arm to reach it. Grabbed it.
Taking a deep breath, he let his hand hover over the top rock and put all thoughts out of his head, except balance. Balance.
He steadied his hand.
Lowered it.
Felt the stone touch the stack.
Let go.
Carefully, carefully, pulled his hand away.
“Hey! You there!” Someone called and flashed a light beam in Nobu’s eyes.
He jerked his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light, and brushed against the stack. The stones tumbled to the ground.
“I asked you a question. What are you doing there?”
Nobu stared at the scattered rocks, speechless. His heart pounded as he tried to find an answer the hakujin army guard would understand. Finding peace by stacking rocks? No Caucasian army guard—no Caucasian—could ever understand.
“You gonna answer me?”
“I … I … I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.” He had the urge to put his hands in the air. “I was just trying to spend some time by myself before going home to my family.”
“What’s that in your hand?” The guard motioned with his gun.
“It’s a rock,” Nobu said, tossing it on the ground.
Just a stupid rock.
“Well, it’s past curfew, so you’d better get home now.” The guard waved his flashlight in the direction of the barracks.
Bowing his head slightly, Nobu walked in the direction of his apartment.
When he entered the tiny room, Mama rose from a chair in the dimly lit corner. “Nobu! Where have you been?” She twisted at a dishtowel in her hand.
Sachi looked up from the book she was reading, her eyes, too, wide with worry.
“Sorry I’m late, Mama.” He felt bad that Mama and Sachi had been so worried but was not in the mood to face their questions either.
Mama’s voice shrilled. “Sorry you’re late? You’ve been gone all day with no word. You said you’d be home by dinner.” She slapped the table where a plate of food waited. “Now it’s ice cold. Sachi and I have been all over this camp asking about you. So do not tell me you are sorry you are late.” She clutched the towel as she walked toward him, her angry, watery eyes glaring. “I told you not to go out. Abunai, abunai!”
“I know Mama. Dangerous! You don’t have to tell me again.” He struggled to hold his temper.
“Where have you been? What were you doing?”
Should he tell her the truth? How much should he say? Would she worry more or less if he told her everything? He sat on Sachi’s bed and ran his hands through his hair. “Mama, just give me a minute. Please?”
Sachi sat up and touched his shoulder. “Don’t be mad. We were worried about you,” she whispered.
He smiled. Feeling the burn of tears, he covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.
Mama wasn’t going to give up. “Well? Nobu?”
He stared at the lamp in the corner, waiting for the right words to come. “There was a misunderstanding while we were out clearing brush.”
“A misunderstanding? What do you mean, misunderstanding?”
“The guard that took us out there left us. It felt great to be trusted, to be free, Mama. But then, some local hunters came up to us. They thought we were …”—he took a deep breath—“Japanese spies.”
“Japanese spies?” Mama began to cry. “Oh, abunai. I told you, abunai! What did they do? Did they hurt you?”
“No. We’re all fine.”
“How did you get home?”
“A captain from the camp came and got us. Brought us back to camp. I guess that private who was supposed to guard us is in trouble tonight.”
“And I guess you won’t be going outside of camp anymore, right?” Mama wore her I-told-you-so face.
Of course he would go outside the camp again, given the opportunity. But he wasn’t going to argue with Mama about it tonight. He headed to his curtained corner. “Nagare no tabi, Mama. We cannot control our destiny.”
His corner of the small room gave him comfort and escape. It was tiny, barely enough for his cot, but it was his. No Mama, no Sachi. No guards, no locals. He stuck his hand under the mattress and felt around until he touched the smooth binding of his journal.
He opened it on his lap and began to write.
October 15, 1942
Today I was taken for a Japanese spy. Me, an American. I’ve never even been to Japan. But I look like one of them. Hell, I’m reminded of that every day. But being taken prisoner at gunpoint? It was a hard slap of reality.
But I did feel freedom for a time today, when the guard who took us outside of camp for work detail left us alone. What a huge feeling freedom was, not to be watched because of what we look like. I didn’t care that we were put there to work—didn’t even care that the work would help the same people who took us from our homes. We were free.
Until the hunters found us. We were the treasure their egos searched for—Japanese spies! Paratroopers, they called us. Booty for them to bring into town to show off.
I’ve never been so scared in my life. Sure, the guards around this place have guns, but they don’t point them at us. These men pointed, cocked, even shoved them at us, and I think they believed if they shot one of us, they’d be heroes all the more.
It all made me wonder about fear and hate. Does America fear us because they hate us, or do they hate us because they fear us?