CANADA DECLARES WAR
Proclamation Issued Following Solid Vote in Parliament
The Globe and Mail, Sept. 11, 1939
The morning after, Chisato awoke disoriented. She found herself in a Western-styled bed in a strange city, in a new country. But she knew she was happy. Her muscles were perhaps a little sore, but that would not deter her from the day’s activities.
She dressed. Her torn and soiled clothes had indeed disappeared. Kiyoshi must’ve discarded them, she decided. She then found a note and some money from her husband.
Must go to work. I hope you can manage on your own. I shall be home by dinner.
Kiyoshi
She imagined his smiling face, causing her to smile as well. The idea of leaving the comfort of her home was daunting, but if she stayed in the Powell Street area, she would not have trouble with the language.
She did have a goal for the day.
Cheimi Oneesan,
I am writing you to let you know my address in Kanada.
I am very happy to be here. My husband Kiyoshi Kimura is a wonderful man, successful, handsome, and well-respected. I’m very lucky.
She went on to talk about the neighbourhood, the house, the church, and some of the personalities she had met. She did not mention the Immigration Building experience. She didn’t want her sister to worry. Nor did she talk about the lost letters.
She concluded with:
I hope all is well in Hiroshima, with the family. Write me soon and let me know about everyone.
All is good here.
Chisato-chan
She found an envelope and folded the letter into it. She then knew she had to address it in English, or at least with English lettering. She decided someone at the church could do it for her—Fujiino-san, I mean Michiko perhaps.
***
Once outside, she began to walk along Main Street looking for Powell Street. The landmarks were familiar but not as a guide. When she encountered the busy East Hastings Street, she turned around and wondered if this was the right way. But then she smelled a familiar and wonderful aroma—bacon and eggs. She was hungry and so stopped in front of a restaurant a few feet away. It was not Ernie’s; the interior was dark with the noise of food preparation and customers speaking English. She stepped inside, feeling her stomach growl.
She sat on a stool at the counter, a long one reminiscent of Ernie’s, just not polished. She could not peer into its depths. A rough and burly white man in a long apron and cook’s hat, like Ernie himself, stood in front of her. Unshaven and rumpled, he growled something she couldn’t understand.
“What’ll it be?”
Her face went blank; she looked back to the entrance.
“C’mon lady, I ain’t got all day!”
She was about to run out when a friendly voice called out in Japanese, “He wants to know…what you’d like to eat.”
Chisato turned to see, to her relief, a Japanese man in plaid shirt, jacket, and work pants.
“Oh, ba-kon to tamago,” she answered.
“Bacon and eggs, Mac,” he said to the cook.
“Coming right up. Coffee?”
That Chisato understood. “Hai.”
“Yeah, with cream and sugar.”
She smiled and nodded.
In normal circumstances, she would never talk to a stranger, a man especially, but the gentleman beside her seemed kind and he did do her a favour. She was in Canada now, where customs were different, she ultimately reasoned.
“Thank you for your help,” she said.
“My…very good appreciation,” he replied. His Japanese was not particularly good, but she understood. My pleasure, he meant to say.
“What is your name?”
“Osamu Otagaki, but you call me Sam,” he said in a practiced way. Otagaki-san was a man of average height, balding head, and narrow shoulders. He did appear to be a friendly sort.
“What do you do for work?”
“I don’t understand.”
This was odd to Chisato since Sam seemed to be the same age as she and was Japanese.
“I am Nisei and I know no good Japanese,” he explained clumsily.
They spent the next hour talking in an awkward, haphazard way, but they managed to communicate while Chisato ate. One thing she learned Nisei referred to the children of the immigrant Japanese. Made sense since she knew she was an Issei.
Otagaki worked odd jobs around the area. At present, he was a helper on a construction site—the Showa Club, a gentlemen’s club on Powell Street. His boss was hired to renovate the place for Morii Etsuji.
She nodded not knowing the place or the name.
During the conversation, Sam revealed something that reminded her of her family.
“I join army soon.”
Chisato just nodded. She thought of Hideki. Canada was at war with Germany, but she remembered her brother constantly spouting off a warning that Japan would soon go to war with Europe and America. Does that mean he’ll be fighting Canada as well? She nodded and said nothing. This new war had nothing to do with her.
Having finished her meal, she had to ask one last question. “Do you know a beauty salon nearby?”
He didn’t understand at first, but when she pantomimed her wish, he understood and pointed to a place down the street.
She thanked him for all his help and took out her money. He generously offered to pay. She couldn’t understand his largess and offered to pay a few more times. She finally allowed the gesture. Lines creased her brow; she now owed him.
***
The Gaiety Beauty Salon was a small storefront of East Hastings near the Patricia Hotel. It was owned and run by Mitzi Abe, an older Nisei, who took over from her mother, her okaasan, after she retired. The Abe Okaasan came in occasionally to pass the time visiting friends who patronized the business.
Mitzi was a short, squat woman with a sense of style about her. Her round, kind face welcomed all to the Gaiety. Chisato was no exception.
“Hello,” Mitzi greeted in Japanese and then showed her to a chair to wait. She sat among a few women who nodded their welcome.
Chisato felt instantly at ease. She guessed that she must have looked like one of them. While she waited, she noticed a newspaper, the Tairiku Nippo. It was all in Japanese which she appreciated. Once she knew it was a daily, she decided she would ask her husband to buy a subscription.
“Better than that other paper,” the woman next to her opined.
“Oh?”
“A new Nisei paper called The New Canadian. Just a bunch of loud, complaining young people trying to make trouble with the Canadians.”
Before Chisato could ask how, Mitzi came and led her to a chair and asked what she wanted to do with her hair. Chisato answered that she wanted to look modern and Canadian to fit her new situation. Mitzi nodded and began the task of giving her a permanent in the latest “city style”.
During the long, complicated process, Chisato overheard the gossip among various customers.
“Did you see that Otagaki down the street?”
“Yes, that ne’er-do-well,” said another.
“You mean bokenasu!” Ass!
Everyone laughed or gasped.
“Can’t speak proper Japanese if his life depended on it.”
Sam Otagaki as it turned out had a bad reputation. He never had a steady job; he drank to excess at times; he would betray anyone for a price. He was cheap, always bumming free drinks and meals whenever he could.
This naturally confused Chisato who was just treated to breakfast by the man. Maybe they were talking about someone else. However, further talk confirmed the identity.
“Stay away from him,” Mitzi warned.
Chisato nodded.
One last word of caution came from the corner of the room. “Stay away, he’s working for Morii these days.”
That name again. Who was this Morii? She would have to ask her husband.
***
“How do you know that name?” Kiyoshi asked with some concern.
“At the beauty salon.”
Kiyoshi, who had returned home at about five o’clock, noticed the new hairdo consisting of curls and an acrid processed scent. He commented that it suited her. Before sitting down to a simple dinner of rice and cooked meat with vegetables, he began what was becoming a nightly ritual: the lighting of the candles, something Chisato decided to tolerate.
She was not a seasoned cook, but she could fix something with the meat and vegetables found in the icebox. Her mother taught her well.
His approval of the new hairstyle and dinner turned to dismay when Chisato asked about Morii. He stiffened when she mentioned the name. The expression on his face turned hard. His smile had disappeared.
“You don’t need to know about that man,” he said with finality.
“But Kiyoshi-san—”
“I said, you don’t need to know.”
And that was that. But Chisato’s curiosity was piqued.