35
Yamada property * December 13, 1940
Kenichi Yamada rose early that morning. He spent the predawn hours with his wife, discussing matters over hot tea. Although Shizue was an elegant mastermind when it came to avoiding the appearance of directly contradicting her husband, she nonetheless had a way of making her disapproval clear. Ordinarily, Kenichi came around to his wife’s opinions. She was wise and practical, and he was happy to defer to her judgment. But on this particular occasion he was intent on winning her over to his side. Shizue listened to her husband as he tried to persuade her, and she had to admit it was touching to see how happy it made her husband to make their son happy. Her daughter was bright, her son was brave, and her husband was tremendously kind: What fault could Shizue find with any of that? She was grateful.
Which was why, when Kenichi returned shortly after taking a stroll in the orchards to watch the sunrise and announced his decision to drive down into Sacramento, Shizue only really pantomimed her disapproval, not quite convinced of it herself.
For his part, Kenichi swore he saw his wife smiling quietly to herself as she prepared oyakodon, a hearty dish of chicken and eggs over rice, for breakfast.
“Haruto,” he said once his son had risen from bed, “I’d like you and your sister, Mai, to come with us to Sacramento today.”
“All right,” Harry agreed, raising a still-sleepy hand to smooth his rumpled hair. “Why today, Otōsan?”
“There is an auction, and I would like your advice about an appropriate price,” his father answered.
Harry grunted. He was certain his father meant to bid on a prize bull or a herd of milk cows . . . and Harry had made it his business to never let such matters be his business. He would be terrible at giving advice on this front. His sister, Mae, would be better, in fact. But of course he would go anywhere his father wished him present.
When they drove into Sacramento, they did not drive south of the city, to the open fields where all the farmers’ auctions took place. Instead they drove to the heart of town, and Harry followed his father into a building next to the capital.
“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “What are we doing here?”
Mae giggled. Harry turned to her with surprise. He had been too distracted to notice that Mae was clad in a very nice dress and wearing her favorite patent-leather shoes. In fact, as Harry looked around now, he realized all of his family members were nicely attired.
“Do you know what we’re doing here?” he said now to Mae.
“Perhaps,” she said, and gave another giggle.
“You said you wished to bid on something up for auction,” Harry said to his father in Japanese.
“That is true,” Kenichi agreed. He exchanged a knowing look with his wife, Shizue.
Harry blinked and looked around. They were walking down a long, echoing hall of a large building with clerical offices on one side and what appeared to be a series of small courtrooms along the other. Kenichi led his family, then paused and looked down at a slip of paper in his hand. Harry recognized the Japanese character for the numeral 5 and realized they were looking for courtroom five. Kenichi glanced again at the number over the doorway, touched his bow tie once to ensure it was straight, and entered.
Inside, an auction was already in progress, the auctioneer using the judge’s bench and gavel to facilitate the transaction. The Yamada family quietly took a seat in the back.
“All right! The next property item up for auction is . . .”
It was a house. Harry realized they were at a bank auction. His father hadn’t come to Sacramento to bid on livestock for the ranch; he’d come for something else.
“Otōsan,” Harry whispered, shaking his head. “I can’t let you—”
“Shhhh!” his mother snapped at him.
Surprised, Harry immediately shut his mouth. It was not his mother’s way to shush people. Ordinarily she restrained herself from scolding; her manner of ruling the roost was silent and stony—she could level a grown man with a look—but she never shushed.
Despite her having done exactly just that now, she was not looking at Harry as he glanced at her in surprise. Her eyes were fixed on the front of the courtroom, where a man propped a large card on a picture stand that displayed the name of the item up for auction. He shuffled through the oversize cards now and put a new one up. Harry saw that it contained an enlarged black-and-white photograph. He squinted at the grainy image.
A biplane, with lettering on the side that read POLLUX.
“The next item up for auction is a Stearman Model 75 biplane,” the auctioneer announced. “Well maintained and in good condition. Opening bid will begin at eight hundred dollars.”
The auctioneer cleared his throat.
“Let’s begin. Do I have eight hundred dollars?”
“Eight hundred,” Kenichi said, tersely raising his hand.
“Eight-fifty!” someone else called out.
“Nine hundred!”
“Nine-fifty,” Kenichi spoke up again.
The bidding went all the way up to twelve-fifty. Harry wanted to say something but didn’t know what. One thousand two hundred and fifty dollars! You could nearly buy a house for that much. And the bidding was still going; who knew where the price would land?
“Otōsan . . . what are we going to do with a plane?”
“The same thing you were doing before,” Kenichi replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “However, you will do it legally,” he added. “I have spoken to a lawyer. There are ways. But we will need permits, and money to lease proper venues . . .”
Harry was awed by his father, and somewhat dumbstruck. As Kenichi spoke, he continued to raise his hand periodically as the auction went on.
“You will want to collaborate with your friend Louis, I assume,” Kenichi said. He gave Harry a sidelong look and a little smile. “I have noticed: Together you are very competitive, but also quite happy and creative, too—a winning combination.”
Kenichi raised his hand again. After several more minutes, he was the only bidder left. The gavel fell, its hammer strike echoing throughout the room.
“You will be responsible for collecting the airplane and transporting it from the county impound, Mr. Yamada,” the clerk droned, minutes later, as the paperwork was being filled out. He pronounced it Yaw-may-duh. “I trust you have the means to do so?”
Kenichi looked at his son.
“Yes,” Harry answered, still pinching himself. “We can arrange for that.”