Sachi
Thanksgiving Day, 1942
Thanksgiving blessings
Elusive as butterflies
Each one a treasure
Sachi stared at the ceiling, feeling her body wake with a good, sleepy stretch and yawn. She listened to the patter of light rain outside and imagined Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing on the rooftop, like they did in the movies. The pitter-patter took her back to California, where she woke to the irregular cadence of drops falling from the elm tree in her backyard to the roof above her bed. Drip. Drip-drip.
But in camp, other noises accompanied the sound of the rain—Nobu’s snores rumbling like thunder from behind his curtain, and the sound of plop, plop, plop from the bucket Mama placed by the door to catch water from the leaky roof. Nobu had tried to patch the holes with tin can lids, but somehow water always found a way to drip, drip, drip.
Mama lay still and quiet next to her, but Sachi knew she wasn’t asleep. Every once in a while, she heard her sniffle, cluck her tongue. What was Mama thinking about? The rain? Papa? Thanksgiving Day?
Sachi remained still and pretended she was asleep, too, listening to the sounds of the world waking; wind howled between the rows of barracks, rain whooshed against her window.
How would the residents of Rohwer celebrate Thanksgiving? Many of them were Buddhist. But Papa always said Buddhist or not, there was always plenty to be thankful for. So they had celebrated with the American customs: turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie.
She remembered her last Thanksgiving morning—the sounds and smells that drifted into her bedroom from the kitchen. Utensils clanked against pans, drawers and cabinets slammed, as Papa and Mama worked together to prepare the turkey. She had giggled about the way they whispered to each other so they wouldn’t wake their children. But all that clanking and banging could wake the neighbors next door!
And oh, the scents of that morning. Hot turkey broth mixed with stuffing. Pumpkin pies baking in the oven. Wood burning in the fireplace. But that morning at Rohwer, the holiday aromas were only imaginary. She breathed in, yet no matter how deeply she inhaled, there was nothing of Thanksgiving in the air, only the smell of wet dirt, wood, and tar paper.
She closed her eyes and tears began to burn. The first Thanksgiving without Papa.
Mama turned toward the wall.
She must be thinking about Papa, too. Sachi wanted to move closer to Mama’s warm body and wrap her arms around her for comfort. But she was afraid they’d both start to cry. No, not on Thanksgiving. Papa wouldn’t want that.
She felt like she was bobbing up and down in an ocean of happy memories that made her sad to remember. Acknowledging the emptiness she and Mama shared would surely pull her under.
“What are you thankful for, Sachi-chan?” Papa had asked her that last year, as she watched him carve the turkey.
“Turkey!” she’d answered, sneaking a piece and putting it in her mouth.
Her tongue tingled with the memory of its taste.
Papa had frowned. “No more turkey until you give me a real list.”
Then, she’d recited her list to him: “Well, I’m thankful for you, Papa. And Mama, Taro, and Nobu. My friends, a bed to sleep in.” She looked up and thought some more, before sneaking another piece of turkey. “And, of course, food to eat.” She grinned.
Everything was different now. True, she still had most of what she was thankful for that Thanksgiving, but she was missing what she’d named first on her list. Papa. Still, she knew he would want her to focus on what she had, not on what she didn’t have.
Her friends. How thankful she was for Jubie. So different from any other friend she had known before. Funny, sassy, silly, adventurous. And best of all, mischievous!
What a daring surprise they’d planned for the day—a homemade meal, right in Sachi’s very own apartment. The mess hall was probably serving turkey, but where was the fun in waiting in line while a lukewarm lump of gravy was plopped onto meat and potatoes? Besides, she doubted Mama would think the day was special enough to go to the mess hall. She’d probably stay in the apartment like she did every other day.
What a surprise it would be for Mama when Jubie, her mother, and Auntie Bess showed up at the door with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and sweet potato pie.
Two days before, she and Jubie had sat by the creek, planning the event. “Sweet potato pie?” Sachi had asked Jubie. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Tastes like pumpkin. ’Spect you’ll like it, ’specially the way Auntie Bess adds extra nutmeg. Know what else?” Excitement sparkled from Jubie’s eyes. “I’m gonna ask her to bring you some of her special recipe pickled okra. Betcha never had that.”
Sachi crinkled her nose. “Pickled okra? What in the world is pickled okra? Doesn’t sound very tasty, but I guess I’ll give it a try. Hey! Bet you’ve never had rice for Thanksgiving, either. That will be my contribution—I’ll make a pot of rice. Deal?”
Jubie held her hand out to shake on it. “Deal.”
The sun had begun to set, and a cold wind rattled red and gold leaves that still clung to their branches. Some whirled down to rest with those scattered on the ground.
Sachi stood and shut her eyes. She began to twirl, round and round. Round and round. Remembering.
Papa, see? I dance like the leaves.
As long as her eyes remained closed, she could almost make herself believe he was right next to her, watching and smiling.
“It’s kinda like snow falling, ain’t it?” Jubie had asked.
Her words had broken the spell.
When Sachi opened her eyes Papa disappeared. She collapsed to the ground and stared up at the falling leaves. “Snow? I wouldn’t know. I’ve only seen pictures.”
Jubie stopped spinning and sat beside her, breathless. “Huh? You ain’t never seen real snow? I thought ever body saw snow.”
“Nope. It doesn’t snow where I lived in California.”
“Girl, you in for a treat, then. Nothing prettier than a blanket of fresh snow. Why, it might even dress up that ugly, old camp of yours.”
“Yeah, speaking of that ugly, old camp, I guess I’d better get home,” Sachi said.
The pink dusk turned to red as Jubie walked with Sachi back to the camp. When Jubie turned to leave, she smiled. “We gonna have a good time in just two days! See you tomorrow, ’kay?”
Those two days had flown by, and Thanksgiving had finally arrived. Sachi got out of bed, moving the covers off gently, careful not to wake Mama. She checked the clock on the table across the room. Ten minutes after eight. Jubie and her family would arrive with the food in three hours. She had figured it would be best for Jubie to arrive around eleven, before it was time for lunch at the mess hall. That way, everyone would still be home for the surprise.
She couldn’t wait! She opened the drawer for something to wear.
“What are you doing, Sachi-chan?” Mama asked as she sat in bed.
“Just trying to decide what to wear today. Happy Thanksgiving, Mama.”
Mama hung her feet over the bed, and felt around for her slippers. “Oh. It is Thanksgiving.”
How could Mama not remember it was Thanksgiving? A pesky lump in her throat threatened her attempt to smile, and she wiped a tear on her shirtsleeve. Then, her stomach tickled. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to surprise Mama with Thanksgiving dinner. After all, Mama had not even met Jubie yet, much less her family.
She pulled a blue jumper from the drawer and found a white print blouse to match. “Do you think this is okay?” she asked.
Mama shuffled to the wood stove and poured hot water into a teacup. “Wear what you would like, Sachi-chan.”
Nobu flung his curtain open. He stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “Morning.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Nobu!” Surely he’d be excited.
Mama handed him a cup of tea. He blew off the steam and tested it with a loud slurp. “Thanksgiving, huh? Oh, boy. We sure do have a lot to be thankful for, huh? Like our first holiday in camp. Yeah, it should be a great day.”
Sachi forced a smile. “I think so. We’ll see.”
He put his tea on the table and pulled out a chair. “Think they’ll have turkey in the mess hall today?”
“Who knows,” replied Mama. “I’ll just have something to eat here.”
Nobu frowned. “Oh, come on, Mama. It’s Thanksgiving. You have to come with us to eat today.”
Sachi held her breath. How would she keep them from going to the mess hall before Jubie arrived with the turkey?
Mama bent over to pick up the last piece of wood, and tossed it onto the last embers in the stove. “Thanksgiving in camp? What is there to celebrate? What is there to be thank—”
Sachi interrupted. “Papa said there’s always something to be thankful for.”
Mama’s glare felt like a slap across her face.
Nobu broke the hard silence. “Right. I’m thankful for a good, hot cup of tea this morning.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Looks like we’re out of wood. I think Kazu and I will go out and get some more.” He disappeared behind his curtain again.
She watched her brother’s make-believe wall sway back and forth until it stilled and wished for her own barrier, a place to hide from the look in her mother’s eyes.