Sachi
November 2, 1945
Sachi pulled the pillow over her head and shut her eyes. Why did Mama and Papa have to argue all the time? That day Papa arrived from Jerome—the day she learned he was alive—she thought nothing in the world would ever be wrong again.
Didn’t Mama feel the same way? She was always angry or crying, especially after she decided to return to Japan.
Poor Papa. Only a few months after returning, everyone is mad at him.
Mama cried. “But I do not want you and Sachi to stay in Arkansas!”
Pulling the pillow tighter around her ears, Sachi curled into a ball under the covers and wished her stomachache would go away.
Papa spoke softly. “Sumiko-san, listen to me. There is nothing left for us to return to in California. Besides, since you have decided you must return to Japan, what does it matter to you if we stay here or return to California?”
“When I return to Japan …” Mama’s voice broke, “ … if I find that my mother and father did not survive the bombing, I will come back to America. But I do not want to come back to Arkansas.” She blew her nose.
Sachi wasn’t sure what she hated more, the sound of Mama crying, or knowing poor Papa was only trying to do what he thought best.
“Sumiko. Do you understand we are still hated in California? I refuse to expose my family to that. Perhaps in a few years, when things have settled—”
Mama whined. “A few years?”
“Please, Sumiko. You will wake Sachiko.”
The apartment quieted, except for Mama’s occasional sniffling. Sachi threw back the covers and tiptoed to the curtain that separated her corner from Mama and Papa. She peeked through it into the splinter of light.
Her parents sat on the bed and stared at the floor, their faces droopy and sad.
“I have found a job,” Papa said. “A few families have decided to stay and work on a plantation near Little Rock.”
Mama’s back straightened. Her eyes widened. “You are going to be farmer? But you’re a banker. What do you know of farming?”
Even Sachi had a hard time picturing her father as a farmer. All her life he’d worked in a bank. She didn’t like the thought of him working in the hot sun all day.
Papa raised his voice. “What do you think I did while I was at Jerome? Bank? No. I farmed. Plowed the ground. Planted seeds. Harvested crops.” He glared at Mama. “What kind of job do you think I could get in California right now?”
She stared at him with a look in her eyes Sachi knew too well. Defeat. She’d felt it herself, when Nobu left for Tule Lake and told her she couldn’t come with him.
“So there is nothing more to be said? Then, I am going to bed.” Mama lay down and turned to face the wall.
Papa wiped his eyes. Running his hand through his hair, he shuffled toward Sachi’s curtain.
Panic shot through her and she jumped back into bed and pulled the covers up, pretending to be asleep. But her heart beat so hard and loud she was sure Papa would hear it.
When he drew the curtain, light cast over her eyelids. The warmth of Papa’s hand hovered before he touched her hair and brushed it out of her face. Her heart pounded even harder as she wondered if she should open her eyes.
No. What would she say?
“Sweet dreams, Sachi-chan,” he whispered, then pulled the curtain shut and turned off the light.
In the big, dark silence, she closed her eyes. Tears burned.
Sweet dreams? How could they be?