Nobu
February 14, 1943
The day Nobu had looked forward to—but now dreaded—had arrived. Valentine’s Day. Until a week ago, he had anticipated showering Yuki with tokens of affection—chocolates he’d purchased in town. A haiku he’d written for her.
He glared at the gaudy, red, heart-shaped box, filled with an assortment of chocolates he had intended to give to her. A plastic cupid glued to the center of a mass of pleated lace taunted him. None of the arrows in his quiver were for Nobu.
He ripped the evil-looking cherub from the box and threw it on the floor, feeling only slight satisfaction when it broke in half. His heart raced and heat flashed on the back of his neck as he remembered Yuki’s answer to his invitation to the dance.
“I’m sorry, Nobu-san,” she’d said, her voice trembling. “I can’t go with you.”
Her words had been like a punch in the gut, but he’d replied softly. “Why? Have I done something wrong?”
She wouldn’t even look at him. Like an impenetrable wall, silence hung between them, though when she finally spoke again, that wall hadn’t protected him.
“I have feelings for someone else,” she said. Then she ran away.
Fond memories of their time together mixed with confusion and rage, like a cyclone. He would explode if he didn’t get out of the tiny apartment. He grabbed his journal from under his mattress, threw his curtain open, and stormed past Mama.
“Nobu? Where are you going?” she asked.
He shook his head. Sorry, Mama. Can’t answer your questions. Grabbing his jacket, he hurried out, and slammed the door behind him.
At times like this, he felt like he was in a prison within a prison. Bad enough that he was living behind barbed wire. But to also be stuck in a small room with Mama and Sachi? Where he couldn’t do anything without one of them asking, “What are you doing, Nobu?” It drove him mad.
He found a dry place to sit in front of the mess hall and leaned against the building. Tossing a few stones, he looked up and searched for a glimpse of sunshine through the clouds. Closing his eyes when he felt them burn, he wiped them with his sleeve and gritted his teeth. No way would he cry over a girl. He’d write instead.
February 14, 1943
I thought I’d be dancing with Yuki tonight. I couldn’t wait to hold her as we swayed to the tunes of Sinatra. But when I asked her to the dance, she turned me down! Is there something wrong with me? I thought everything was going along great.
Then Sachi told me about that soldier, Collins. How he’s been eyeing Yuki. Flirting with her. She said it seemed Yuki liked it. So that’s it? Yuki has feelings for Collins? A Caucasian! Hakujin!
We spent so much time together in the last two months. Didn’t she have a good time at the New Year’s Eve Dance? Is there something about me she doesn’t like? Maybe the way I kissed her at midnight?
No. It’s all Collins’s fault. If he hadn’t flirted, teased—probably even offered her special privileges—she’d still be with me, and in my arms tonight.
The hakujins! It’s not enough they stole our lives away from us. Now they steal our women!
I’d planned to give her chocolates. And the haiku I wrote for her:
Sunshine fills my heart.
’Tis not light from my window,
But thoughts of Yuki.
Dammit! It’s been hard enough to be stuck behind this barbed wire with no control over my life. Now it’s worse—like being trapped in a tiny fish bowl, always having to look at Yuki and Collins.
He heard two men talking and looked up from his journal.
A kid about Nobu’s age spoke to an older man, maybe his father. “So you think they’re going to start letting some of us out?” Hands in his pockets, he continued reading a bulletin posted on the outside of the mess hall.
“Who knows?” the older man replied, his gaze moving down the form.
“What’s this?” asked the kid.
“What?”
“Have a look at number twenty-seven.”
More block residents began to approach. They whispered first, but soon their grumbling turned louder, and they shook their heads. Some men stomped away, throwing their hands in the air. One woman grabbed her stomach and walked away alone.
Nobu had to see what all the fuss was about. He walked over, stood on his toes, and strained to see the bulletin, scanning it for the two questions he heard mumbled most often. Questions 27 and 28:
Question 27: Are you willing to serve in the Armed Forces of the United States on combat duty, wherever ordered? What does that have to do with leave clearance?
Question 28: Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America and faithfully defend the United States from any or all attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or any other foreign government, power or organization?
The words rose from the page and threw him a hard punch.
What the—? Hell, no! Why would I serve a country that rounded up its own citizens, shipped them off in trains, and corralled them behind barbed wire? And number twenty-eight? How could they ask me this? I’m an American citizen. I’ve never even been to Japan—know nothing of the Japanese emperor. Even so why should I swear unqualified allegiance to this country that has no allegiance to me?
He knew how he wanted to answer those questions: No. No. Hell, no! But how should he answer? What would be the consequences of no-no? What would Mama say? And what would Papa say if he were alive? Mama and Papa were Issei—first generation. Even after living and working in America for over two decades, they’d been denied citizenship by the American government, like every other Issei. If they answered “yes,” forswore allegiance to the Japanese emperor, the Issei would be without a country. Yet, if they answered “no,” they would be labeled “disloyal.” How could they possibly answer Question 28?
What about Yuki? Forget Yuki. Why should he care how she would answer? Of course, she’d say anything to stay by the side of her soldier.
He could think of a hundred reasons to answer “no” to both questions. And only one reason to answer “yes.” Fear. Fear of the consequences of answering “no.”
Rage threatened to erupt. Fear rolled in tsunami waves, splashed over his anger, simmered it. But when the wave receded, it left boiling fury exposed.
He would not let fear drive him. When his time came to answer, he would answer “no” to both.
The gray sky tore with a rip of thunder, and a hard, cold rain began to fall as Nobu drifted back to his apartment. He pulled his jacket over his head and started to run. God, how he didn’t want to see Mama now—didn’t want to talk to anyone. All he wanted to do was spill his anger onto the pages of his journal.
He arrived at the stoop in front of their unit. Water dripped from the eaves above, but he didn’t care, couldn’t stand the thought of Sachi asking what he was writing about again. He removed his journal from his shirt and sat on the top step. Holding his jacket as shelter from the rain, he began to write.
To hell with them all. They stole Yuki, but they’ll never steal my dignity. I will answer NO-NO! Let’s see what they will do!