Nobu
Thanksgiving Day, 1942
Nobu had to admit—Sachi had really done it this time. When she opened the door to that colored family, he’d thought the same thing Mama had asked.
Do you remember the color of the boy who killed your papa?
Hearing it out loud, he realized how unreasonable, how irrational the thought—to hold the color of their skin against them. They’d carried a Thanksgiving meal to share. They didn’t even know Terrence Harris.
Poor Sachi. Standing alone in front of the door with confusion in her eyes and hurt written all over her body—slumped shoulders, eyes that could not face her own mother. How could Mama relate Papa’s memory to such a question?
But he’d asked the question, too. He just hadn’t spoken it out loud.
There was only hardness and anger in Mama’s face. No sympathy or appreciation at all for what Sachi had tried to do—bring a little happiness into the dark apartment, if only for a while.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be caught in the middle of this one. He understood them both and would not choose sides. Besides, he had problems of his own to deal with.
He went to his room and pulled the curtain shut. Taking his journal from under his mattress, he flung himself onto the bed and watched the curtain sway as he gathered his thoughts.
Thanksgiving Day, 1942
How could a day be so good, yet so bad? Thanksgiving used to start with good smells and the busy activity of preparing for the holiday. But in camp, it started as any other day, much to the chagrin of Sachi. I saw from the start that she wanted the day to be special. Unfortunately, I did not know what she had planned, otherwise I would have stopped her.
This morning, I had to get out—had to leave the tension already brewing between Mama and Sachi. So, I used needing firewood as my chance to leave. I figured Kazu and I could spend part of the day together gathering kindling to take our minds off of what Thanksgiving used to be, what it couldn’t be in camp.
No such luck. He’d already promised to help his mother prepare their holiday meal. When I entered their home, the warmth and the smell of sweet potatoes might have made me believe we were no longer in camp, except for the sparseness of our surroundings. But Kazu and his mother seemed able to ignore that, seemed to have the ability to focus on what they did have. I wished it could be the same for me. For Mama.
There was nothing left for me to do but gather firewood, which meant going outside of the camp and into the woods.
That’s where the best part of my day happened.
I couldn’t believe it when I found Yuki gathering wood too. Okay, now there was something to be thankful for—the prettiest girl in camp, gathering wood in the same forest as me!
I’ve never felt the way I did when I was with her, like there was a strange energy between us—something that vibrated faster the closer I got to her. One minute, I wanted to touch her, hold her, the next, I backed away, unable to think of anything to say. I imagined what her body beneath her clothes looked like, imagined touching her soft skin. Then I scolded myself for those thoughts.
But the worst feeling was the jealousy! An awful feeling, wondering if other guys have the same thoughts of her.
When it was time to go, I hated leaving her, but at least I could look forward to seeing her again in a few days. I told her I’d help her gather wood again.
That was all before I came up with the brilliant idea to take some scrap lumber to burn. Stupid me, in all my lovesick wonder, forgot to get my own wood. I was desperate—saw no harm in taking a little scrap lumber. But someone saw me, and the internal police tracked me down, right in the middle of Sachi’s big surprise. As if the situation wasn’t already tense enough.
I tried to tell him they were just scraps, that I didn’t see a problem with using it.
He jotted a few notes, told me that regulations posted last week said nothing was to be taken from construction sites by internees, and that I’d have to report to the administration building in the morning for assignment to work detail for the next four weeks.
Great! That means I won’t be able to help Yuki gather wood day after tomorrow. Now how will I see her?
Back to Sachi’s surprise. Yeah, to be ten years old again. She didn’t let the fact we’re in this miserable camp stop her from planning a Thanksgiving celebration. Like always, she looked for what’s good in the world instead of focusing on what’s wrong with it.
Still, when her colored friends walked through our door, all I could see was Terrence. All I could feel was the hatred I have for him and everyone who wears the color of his skin.
But unlike Mama, I didn’t say it.
Nobu closed his journal, no longer able to ignore the conversation on the other side of his curtain. He’d never heard emotion like that from his sister.
“How could you, Mama?” Sachi cried. “Don’t you see?” She heaved deep breaths between sobs.
Nobu held his breath, waiting for her next words. The room was silent, except for her crying. Even the murmured conversation of the people in the rooms on either side of their apartment had stopped.
Sachi’s voice softened. “First you did it with Sam, and now with Jubie. Don’t you see, Mama? If you hold the color of their skin against Jubie and her family … if you hate them because they’re the same color as Terrence … then you’re no better than the people who put us here, the ones who hate us because we’re the same color as the Japanese who bombed Pearl Harbor.”