I scrunched up another piece of paper. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what I wanted to say and ask, but that I couldn’t seem to arrange the words on the paper the right way. I couldn’t go on like this for much longer. Not only was I running short of paper, but I was running out of time. It was almost ten-thirty and Sam and I were to meet in a little more than thirty minutes.
My sisters had been in bed and asleep for over an hour. They were both tired after being in school today. From the time they had arrived home until they finally turned in for the night, all they did was blabber on excitedly about their teachers, and new friends, and what they’d learned in class, and the games they played at recess.
It would have been nice to be that excited about something. Maybe it was being so young, or it could have been because they didn’t know enough to be worried. I hadn’t even talked to my mother about the things I’d heard — what was the point? Either they weren’t true and not worth repeating, or they were true and there wasn’t anything she could do about it anyway, except worry. And she already had enough to worry about with my grandmother.
My grandmother wasn’t feeling well. She’d gone to bed even earlier than the girls. She said she wasn’t “in balance.” This was her polite way of saying that she hadn’t been able to hold down any food for two days, and had made at least four trips to the washroom since she had first laid down tonight. There was some kind of flu going around the whole park and there were lots of sick people.
Each time my grandmother got up, my mother got up with her. She held her gently by the arm and walked her to the washroom. My grandmother looked so little, and frail. She had hardly been eating at all even before she got sick. She just hated the food … couldn’t understand the whole thing … standing in line, big metal plates … eating with so many strangers all around. All she talked about was going home … home.
I glanced at my watch. I’d wasted more time. If I was going to write Jed it had to be done now. Sam and I had agreed we were headed out tomorrow to mail the letter. He’d showed me a letter his father had received from a neighbor. It was filled with thick, black stripes that blotted out more than half the letter. I didn’t have any way of knowing what was underneath that ink, but the rest of the letter was just everyday stuff about the neighborhood activities and gardening. I couldn’t imagine the hidden parts of the letter contained the location of allied shipping or some other military secret.
Maybe I couldn’t find the right words, but I was now out of time. Whatever I wrote in this one was going in the envelope and to Jed instead of into the trash bin.
Dear Jed,
Sorry I didn’t have a chance to write earlier but it’s not so easy to send a letter. All mail, in and out, is read by the soldiers who guard us. I’ve seen what they do to letters. They use big markers and just black out anything they don’t think anybody should know. They don’t think anybody should know anything. I got away from the park for an hour and mailed this from a mailbox away from the park so they couldn’t get their hands on it.
At least, that’s what I was hoping to do — leave the park and mail this letter. It was a dangerous thing to do, but what choice did I have?
That’s right, I’m living in a park: Hastings Park, in Vancouver. I always thought Vancouver would be pretty exciting. Mostly what we see are the fences surrounding the park. You can get out if you’re sneaky, but we’re supposed to stay inside. Besides, my parents don’t think it’s safe to be Japanese and out in the city. The newspapers are full of stories of the war and they’re afraid we might be attacked on the streets.
Getting attacked. That last line echoed around in my head. I had to go out to mail this letter if I wanted to find out the truth. I needed to find out the truth. Besides, the attacks were probably nothing but rumors. I didn’t believe half of what I heard. I thought about the “I Am Chinese” buttons and couldn’t help but smile. Who was going to bother two Chinese kids? Back to the letter.
After the trip down here I don’t fear getting attacked. Nothing could be worse than what we went through. It took us fifteen days. All the fishing boats were tied together behind two navy frigates. There were sixty boats. The seas were heavy and there was a lot of fog. Our boat became covered in ice from the spray. We had to chip it off. The only place to get away from the cold and spray was in the cabin. You know how small that is, but somehow we managed to find places to sleep. There were times I wasn’t sure we’d make it. I heard afterwards they probably brought our boat up to the Annieville Dyke on the Fraser River. Somebody told me they have twelve hundred Japanese fishing boats all tied up there. I think it causes my father great distress to know how his boat is being cared for — or, really, uncared for. He said if he knew what was going to happen to it he would have sunk it himself.
My father had said it more than once. The first time I couldn’t believe my ears. He cared for that boat almost as much as he cared for us, and he regretted not sinking it. It took a lot for that thought to sink in.
The boat ride prepared us for living in a small space. My family has been given a stall to live in. I don’t mean a small place. I mean a stall. We’re living in the place where they used to show livestock. All of us families have been given a separate stall, and we’ve hung blankets and things to act as curtains. So I guess if somebody asks me if I was raised in a barn, I can answer yes.
I stopped writing. I looked around. Even sitting here in the stall, knowing that of course everything I was writing was true, it still didn’t seem real. I was living in a cattle stall. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jed didn’t believe what I had written. I was living it and only half believed it myself. I took another quick glance at my watch.
I can kid about it, but it really steams me to be treated like cattle. A lot of us, mostly Canadian born, are really angry. There’s a lot of talk about a protest or petition or civil disobedience, or something. Nothing has come of it. My father tells me not to get involved. None of the Issei seem to want to get involved.
I shook my head in disbelief. How could people not want to get involved in something that was their whole life? It was almost as if nobody cared.
My father is typical of how they’re acting. He walks around with his eyes on the ground. Best I can make out he feels shamed by his treatment. Can you imagine that? These people make us leave our homes, and he figures he should feel ashamed! The people who should feel ashamed are those politicians who ordered our internment and the RCMP officers who did it. So much for democracy and the British sense of fair play. Can you tell me where the fairness is?
I almost would have liked the censors to read that! Maybe they’d obliterate the words with thick black ink so Jed couldn’t read it, but at least for a few seconds they’d have to think about it, and know what I’d written was right.
I don’t know for sure, but I figure there must be close to three thousand people living here. They cook big meals for all of us. There’s only a couple of showers and a few more washrooms for the whole place.
There isn’t much to do. When the weather changes there’ll be more things. There’s a baseball diamond, and a soccer field. Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, we probably won’t be here when that happens.
I stopped and took a deep breath. Where would we be? New Denver or Alberta or where? Part of me wanted to stop the letter right there. The terrible danger was that if I asked him a question about my house he might give me an answer — an answer I didn’t want to hear. But I guessed I had to. For better or worse, I needed to know.
There’s lots of rumors going around. I heard they’re going to ship us across Canada, away from the coast. Another rumor is that we’re bound for Japan. Some other people said the war will be over before spring comes and they’ll let us go home. Another rumor is that we don’t even have homes to go to, that our homes are being taken apart by looters. Other talk is that we don’t even own the homes anymore, that the government is taking them away. Who knows? It would make me feel better if you could just go by my place and make sure everything is okay. You can write me back at Hastings Park Exhibition Building, Vancouver. Please tell me how you’re doing and how things are going around Rupert.
Your friend always,
Tadashi
There, done! I folded the letter in two and was just about to stuff it into the envelope when I remembered something else Sam had mentioned, about them keeping a big book of all mail going in and out of the camp. I unfolded the letter and picked up my pen again.
p.s. You’ll get another letter from me in a day. That’s so the censors will see me writing to you and won’t get suspicious when you write back.
Was there anything else I should write? Maybe I should just remind him that he had to be careful what he wrote back to me.
p.p.s. Be careful what you write. They read all the letters coming in as well as going out.
p.p.p.s. They’ve got me acting like I really am a spy.
I put down my pen and folded the letter for the second time, slipped it into the envelope and licked the flap, sealing it in place. For better or worse, this letter was finished. Now all that had to happen was for it to be mailed. I tucked the envelope into the front left pocket of my pants.
I got up and looked down the aisle toward the washroom. There was no sign of my mother and grandmother. They’d been gone for over thirty minutes. That probably said something about the lineup and the number of people who were also sick. I would have liked to have said something to them before I left, but I only had a few minutes until I was supposed to meet Sam. I just didn’t have time to wait. They’d be back soon and they knew I was leaving. When I’d told my mother what I had in mind, I had the feeling that she wasn’t too happy, but she didn’t voice any objection. I think she was worried about my father too.
I took one last look at my sisters, peacefully sleeping in the darkened stall. There was just enough light still streaming in for me to see their faces.
“Good night, girls,” I said softly.
“Good night, Tadashi,” came back a little voice.
“Yuri … what are you doing still awake?” I asked.
“I was asleep. I woke up,” she whispered.
“Try to get back to sleep,” I said as I tucked in the edge of her blankets.
“I’ve been trying, but I’ve got too many thoughts in my head.”
“Thoughts about what?” I asked. I wondered if she was worried about grandmother.
“I was thinking about living here.”
I was surprised. I didn’t think it was something she gave any thought to at all.
“Do you think we’ll be staying here a long time?” Yuri asked.
“Not long. Some people have already been moved out. Don’t worry, we’ll be gone soon.”
“But I don’t want to go,” she said.
Her words caught me completely off guard. “You want to stay here?”
She nodded her head.
“But why?”
“I like it.”
“What exactly is it that you like?” I asked.
“I have friends to play with and I get to go to school.”
“You’ll have friends wherever we go and there’ll always be a school.”
“I like these friends and this school,” she said emphatically.
I wanted to say something about how she might not like this school so much after the first day, but I didn’t.
“But what about living here,” I said, motioning around with my hands, “in a cattle stall?”
“It’s good.”
“What could you find good about this?” I asked.
“All our things are here … it looks pretty … I have my dolls … and I like that everybody is so close when we sleep … not like in the house we used to have.”
“What do you mean ‘used to have’?” I demanded. Of course, I knew what she meant, but I didn’t like to hear it described that way. It was still our house.
“In our old house. I used to get scared at night and there was nobody there but Midori. Now Mother’s right here, and Grandmother and you.”
“But not Father.”
“He could come, there’s enough space,” Yuri said. “Do you see the way I always sleep at the edge of my mattress?”
I’d never noticed before, but she was lying on the very outside of the bed, almost balanced on the edge, as if she was trying to get as far away as she could from
Midori, sleeping with her.
“There’s room. They could let him stay with us.”
“It’s not that simple. All the men have to stay together … as long as we live here.”
“And if we live someplace else?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the fathers can be with their families. I don’t know.”
Yuri took a deep breath and a loud sigh came out of her. “If Father could live with us, then maybe I could make new friends.”
I reached out and stroked her head. “Of course you could. But right now I think you need to get to sleep.
You have a big day tomorrow at school. Do you have your dollies?”
With one hand she pulled down the blanket to reveal all three dolls tucked under her other arm.
“Good. Now all four of you get to bed.” I paused. “All right?”
“I’ll go to sleep. Can you say hello to Daddy for me?”
“Of course,” I said as I pulled up her blanket and she snuggled down under the covers.
It was time to go. I got up and started off. I knew if I didn’t leave now, not only would I be late for the meeting with Sam, but it would be harder to get out of the building. The soldier on duty here in the building usually began his patrols at around eleven.
I walked in the direction of the washrooms. There was a small exit at the back of the building. It didn’t seem wise to go out through the big front door. As I neared the washrooms I saw the reason why my mother and grandmother hadn’t returned yet. Despite the late hour there was still a lineup. Obviously, there were a lot of people not feeling well. I hurried past them and along the back corridor.
The door was far enough from the washrooms for nobody to really notice me — somehow it seemed better to leave without being seen by anybody. I pushed down on the handle and the door opened with a noisy groan that sent a shiver down my spine. I looked around. Anybody who might have heard the noise was lying in the darkened stalls. I stepped out and was relieved to find that the door was nestled amongst bushes and trees. I closed the door behind me, slowly, so that the groan would be muffled. It sealed with just a click. I looked at the outside of the door. There was no handle or doorknob. It was meant as an exit, but not an entrance. When I came back it wouldn’t be this way.
Slowly I moved through the bushes. Before breaking through into the open I looked out, scanning the grounds for any motion. I couldn’t see anything, but that wasn’t surprising. It was dark. The only light was from the few lampposts placed at intervals along the path that ran through the grounds.
Moving beyond cover I felt very exposed. It was dark, but I didn’t know who else might be hiding in the dark. I moved quickly, crossing the path at a point as far as possible from the lights. I took a deep breath when I reached the shelter of the shadows of the next building. It was a large warehouse, and one of the few buildings that hadn’t been converted to hold people — at least, not yet.
I moved along the side of the building. Right around the back of it was a thicket of bushes coming up almost to the edge of the building. Once I got within the cover of the bushes I’d be safe from any patrols. I started to run, not just because I was late, but to get into the cover as soon as possible. I walked along the building with the wall protecting me on one side and the bushes on the other. As I moved I couldn’t help but think about the last time I’d been out on my own at night.
It was the night before my family had to leave our village, when Jed and I had tromped over ten miles through the dense forest, dodging army patrols, on our way to the military base. Just like tonight, we’d had to avoid the guards. I’d felt braver then, with Jed at my side, even though where we were — in the middle of a forest — and what we were doing — trying to free the eagle — was far more dangerous than this.
I couldn’t help but think that thanks to me and Jed, that eagle was now flying around the forests on Kairn Island — free. And here I was.
I stopped at the spot where I was to meet Sam.
“Sam!” I called out, trying to be heard but not from too far away.
“Over here,” came back an answer.
I saw a shadowy figure move out of the darkness.
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I’m not that late. Besides, it’s about time I kept you waiting.”
“Maybe, but could it be someplace else than in the dark?” Sam asked.
“What’s wrong, you scared of the dark?” I kidded.
“Not the dark, but what’s in the dark.”
“Monsters? The boogie man?”
“No, animals.”
“Animals! It’s not like you’re going to find a mountain lion hiding in here, you know,” I chuckled.
“I heard noises.”
“Probably just a skunk or a raccoon.”
“A skunk! Let’s not give it a chance to come back.
Let’s go.”
I wasn’t concerned about any skunk, but I was eager to get going and see my father.
Sam almost immediately headed out of the bushes and onto a path that cut straight across the compound and toward the men’s building. Shouldn’t we be staying in the shadows? I looked all around anxiously. There was nobody to be seen. I couldn’t help but think how nervous Sam felt about being alone in the dark, and how I felt that way about being here in the open where one of the guards could see us.
I thought I heard faint strains of music wafting through the night air. Where would that be coming from? Nearing the building I got my answer. The music was f lowing out one of the doors that was propped open with a chair.
“I didn’t expect music,” I said.
“Sometimes it goes on for most of the night.”
Sam moved through the door and I followed. I felt a huge sense of relief stepping inside the building and away from the guards.
In the dim light I could clearly make out the rows of bunk beds stretching into the distance. The music was now louder, and it was punctuated by bursts of conversation, laughter and some profanity, in both English and Japanese. Many of the beds were empty, their occupants still awake. There were men strolling down the aisles, a group standing over in the corner, talking loudly — not arguing; they sounded like they were happy.
I sniffed the air. There was a strong, almost sickeningly sweet odor. “What is that smell?” I asked.
“That’s the still.”
“Still?”
“It’s what they use to make alcohol.”
“They’re making alcohol?” I asked in amazement.
“Lots and lots of it.”
“How do you make alcohol?”
“I don’t understand it much myself, but they make it out of things like potato peelings.”
“Come on, you can’t make —”
I stopped as I remembered my one taste of a strong Japanese drink made from fermented potatoes. I’d had a couple of little sips once from a bottle my father used to keep in the pantry.
There was a burst of loud voices and laughter. “People seem awfully happy,” I said.
Sam shrugged. “Probably been drinking.”
We followed the sound of the voices, and they led us to where six men were sitting in a corner around a table, playing cards. Each man had a drink at his side.
Sam was right about the alcohol. The deck was shuffled, cards dealt and each man put some bills into the center of the table.
“Poker,” Sam said. “I’ve never been here without seeing a game. My father said there’s gambling going on twenty-four hours a day.”
“My father doesn’t even play cards,” I said.
“Not just cards. Dice is big, and some strange Japanese games that I don’t understand. The only thing all the games have in common is that money and betting is involved.”
“He doesn’t gamble either,” I said.
“Neither does mine. He says business is enough of a gamble. I’m going to see my dad. How about if we meet back here in about an hour?”
“We don’t have to,” I said. “I can get back to the building by myself.”
“If you want to get back,” Sam said.
“What do you mean?” He couldn’t want to leave the camp at night, could he?
“I’m going to sleep in the truck tonight. Do you want to come along?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“That way you won’t have to worry about waking up your family when you go back tonight. And, we can get an early start tomorrow.”
That did make sense.
“Well?” Sam asked.
I nodded my head. “See you in an hour.”
Sam smiled and then started off in one direction while I headed down another aisle. It was funny, but Sam had hardly left my sight when I began to feel uneasy.
Moving quietly, I started down an aisle toward where my father had told me his bunk was located.
While there were many bunks all made up but unoccupied, most were filled. Men were huddled under their covers, their faces often buried beneath the blankets as well. I was surprised, though, by how many men were in their beds but not asleep. They sat there on the edge of the bed, either reading in the dim light or simply staring silently into space.
I then wondered if maybe my father wouldn’t be in his bunk, and I’d have to go searching for him. Or maybe he was there and was already asleep. Would it be right to wake him up?
And then I saw him. Up ahead, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was here and he was awake. I stopped just beside his bed. He was staring straight ahead. He hadn’t even noticed that I was there.
“Father?” I asked quietly.
He turned and looked at me, his face showing his surprise. “Tadashi … why are you here? Is something wrong?” he asked in alarm, standing up.
“No, nothing. I just came to see you.”
He looked relieved as he sat back down on the edge of his bed. “You should not be here.”
“I just wanted to talk,” I said.
He gave me a questioning look.
“About what’s happening. About where we’re going,” I said.
“Who knows?”
“I heard some people have already been moved out,” I said.
“Some.”
“And that some are going to the abandoned mining towns and some families are going to Alberta.”
“Both,” he answered, without looking at me.
For the first time I noticed the smell of alcohol on my father’s breath. Maybe he hadn’t been gambling, but he had been drinking.
“But where are we going to go?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe our family goes to the mountains. Maybe I go to a work camp.”
“You mean you wouldn’t be with us?” I questioned.
“Not all the time. I would come and visit.”
“But if we went to Alberta, couldn’t we be together?”
I asked, repeating what I’d heard.
“Together, but not better. The fields, working sugar beets, is very hard. It would be better in the mountains. Better for the family. I’m not a farmer. I’m a fisherman … I was a fisherman.”
“You’re still are a fisherman,” I said.
He shook his head slowly. “I am nothing,” he said softly. “Nothing.”
I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find any words.
“I was thinking about my boat,” he said.
“I heard the boats aren’t far from here, up at the Annieville Dyke, about thirty miles away.”
“If it is there.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked.
“Seventy boats were sunk … by accident … when they were moved up the river.”
“I’m sure our boat is fine!” I blurted out, although of course I couldn’t possibly know anything.
“Maybe … maybe it would be better if it wasn’t.
Maybe it would be better if it had sunk.”
“How can you say that?” I asked. Just how much had he had to drink?
“If it was gone, it would be over.”
“But we’ll get it back … once things are over.”
“A few months, a few years being uncared for … what will it be like? Will it even float? Will I be able to fish?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“If I had known … I would have sunk the boat myself.”
“You can’t mean that,” I said in disbelief.
He nodded his head. “Yes.”
“But the war can’t last forever. Someday we’ll get back our boat and we can fix it up and it’ll be as good as ever,” I said.
“The war will end … but they may never return our boat,” my father said.
“I don’t understand.”
My father didn’t answer immediately. He took a deep breath. “Probably stories, probably rumors.”
“What are the rumors?” I asked.
“The boats, maybe other things, will be sold.”
“They can’t just sell our things,” I said.
My father snorted. “They can do … whatever they wish … and we can do … nothing to stop it.”
“There’s always rumors. They don’t mean anything!” I snapped. “I’ve written to Jed. He can tell us about our house and —”
I stopped as I heard a rumble of conversation and shuffling of feet coming from up the aisle. My father had heard it as well and had turned to peer down the darkened aisle.
“Come,” he said, getting up and starting to walk.
Other men had either woken up or simply gotten out of their beds as well and were moving toward the commotion. There was a crowd of men gathered at the end of the aisle. We pushed into the back of it. Through their heads I saw RCMP officers, a half dozen of them, moving across the floor. I ducked down slightly, hiding behind my father, remembering that I shouldn’t even be here.
Between two of the officers was a Japanese man.
Each of the officers held him by one arm, and as he passed I realized that he was in handcuffs! What had he done and what were they doing to him?
The crowd parted at the far end as two police officers pushed through, followed by the pair practically dragging the man between them, and then two other officers, one carrying a suitcase. They left the building.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
A man turned around. “Angler.”
“What’s Angler?” I questioned.
“A camp in Ontario … northern Ontario,” he answered.
“Like here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “A prisoner-of-war camp.”
“The place where they put troublemakers, people who give them problems,” my father added.
“What did he do?”
“They caught him at the fence,” another man said.
“He was trying to escape?” I asked in amazement.
He shook his head. “Trying to get back in. He had been out for a few days.”
“But if he was trying to get back …” I let the sentence trail off.
He shrugged. “That’s the punishment for going over the fence.”
Or for going under the fence, I thought. What could have happened to me and Sam if we had been caught? What would happen if we were caught tomorrow? Maybe we shouldn’t go, shouldn’t risk it for a letter. But maybe we should.