Chapter Seven Ren #2
“Well, if I do, I’ll need you there to get me out of it.
” Kai flashes one of his dazzling smiles, the ones that always got teachers to round up his grades and girls to ask for rides in Delilah.
“Join us, Dragon. We need you. We’re going to break up the council meetings.
Make them face us and answer for everything. ”
“It’s not for me, Tiger.” I mean it. Breaking up council meetings sounds like a great way to get separated from everyone and sent to Tule Lake.
“And it shouldn’t be for you, either. You should go to school.
” I’m acutely aware that I sound like Mr. Nomura or Dr. Suzuki and don’t love it.
But while I’ve written myself off a long time ago, I believe in Kai.
“You have a future, once all this is behind us. A good one.”
“Yeah, one predetermined by my dad.” A fretful frown settles on Kai’s face. “Medical school and marriage to an issei.”
“Hey, there’s worse things than becoming a doctor.” I’m not so dumb as to think it’s easy being Kai. But I’m also aware it’s probably a damn lot easier than being me. His path is set. All he needs to do is stroll down it. “Think of all the Cadillacs you’ll be able to buy.”
The man in charge notices us talking and comes over to us. He wags his finger at me and then points out of the garden.
“Too much talking,” a woman calls, interpreting for him. “You go.”
“Sorry.” I reach for the pickax. “Sorry. I’m working.”
The man says something to the woman, and she declares, “You and those boys no good. You go.”
She means Kai and his friends. They’re blaming me for bringing them to the garden.
In fact, they probably think I’m one of them, even without a bandanna.
The man flaps a hand at us, shooing us away.
I don’t need to know Japanese to understand what he’s saying.
Guilt knots in my chest. I hear Mr. Nomura’s voice in my head. Han’nin.
Doesn’t matter that I haven’t done anything wrong. Shame is my stasis. It’s what’s left when my anger has burned out and my thoughts catch up to me. Reminds me I’m the dead weight of the world and that it might be better off if I was left alone to sink.
“Hey, it’s not his fault!” Kai protests, but it only makes the man firmer. Kai doesn’t get it. He never has. I toss down the pickax and stalk away, face burning. “Slow down.” Kai catches up to me. “That guy was a pendejo.”
“Damn it, Kai, I needed that job.” Anger makes it hard to speak.
“I can help you.” Kai is unperturbed. His confidence spills into everything.
Even now, he thinks he can make things better.
“I was trying to find you because I just got a job myself and can get you one, too. J-man and his buddies work at one of the warehouses, near the WRA offices. Unloading stuff. You did that before, right?”
“I’d have to work with those goons?” I’d rather eat glass.
“You’d work with me.” With his self-assured smile in place, Kai holds his arms out as though he’s God’s gift to the world. “I go after classes.”
“Does your dad know?”
“Since when are you so obsessed with my dad?”
“Since you started being an idiot.” I don’t want to work with—what do they call that guy? J-man?—but if it’ll let me help Emi, then yeah, I’ll do it. “Fine. Sure. I’d like the job.”
“Ayyy, Dragon and Tiger! We ride again!”
Kai’s enthusiasm is irresistible, and I can’t help but smile. Still, my stomach tightens. I’ll have to be careful around Kai’s new bandanna crew. Emi needs me. The baby needs me.
Everyone else can go to hell in a handbasket tied with a bow.
A package arrives the next day for us, about an hour before I’m due to start working at the warehouse. I planned to use the hour to search for the man but get derailed when a WRA lackey brings the box right to our barrack. The lackey whistles at it admiringly.
“It’s from some well-connected folk in Pasadena,” he says as he hands it over. “They used some sort of courier service to have it brought way out here.”
Well-connected folk.
Pasadena.
Mrs. Ross.
I stand on the steps, not sure if I should bring it in.
Emi is awake. It might upset her to see it.
When she found out about Mrs. Ross’s offer, all she said was “No way in hell,” and then didn’t talk or even stir in her bed for the rest of the day.
Mama steps out behind me. She realizes what it is and eagerly descends.
“Maybe she’s sent something nice, like hand creams,” she says, sounding excited for once in her life. Her bracelets clack around her wrists as she reaches for it.
“I don’t think it’s for you, Mama,” I point out, and she sighs, as though Mrs. Ross has personally affronted her.
I wonder, though, if it might contain medicine or even money.
I tear it open. Sweetness hits my nose so strongly, I’m confused.
Has Mrs. Ross doused the box in perfume?
I lift out a sheer bag tied with a blue ribbon.
The bag is filled with something that looks like Kellogg’s cereal.
“It’s a sachet,” Mama declares, snatching it from me. She sniffs it and nods approvingly.
“A sachet?”
“For your drawers. To make your things smell pretty.”
“Great. Except we don’t have any drawers,” I say.
The only other item is a thick white envelope. It’s monogrammed and trimmed in gold. You’d think it was an invitation to a ball. I arch an eyebrow at it. Maybe it’s the real gift. Maybe it’s money after all. I open it. The letter matches the envelope. All it says is:
Dear Hamada family,
It was lovely to meet you. Please, consider my offer.
Warmly,
Mrs. Ross
I crumple the letter in my fist. It makes my hand sting after it was brutalized by the pickax but I don’t care. Lovely to meet you? Warmly? She makes it sound like we met at brunch, not that she wants to take my niece or nephew away and leave us behind for dead.
“Screw her,” I mutter. Mama rolls her eyes, like I’m annoying her. “What?” I snap, unable to stay calm. “You don’t think it’s insulting that she sent us a bag of wood chips and a reminder that she wants Emi’s baby? The lady’s basically a fairy tale hag, trying to steal a baby.”
“It’s dried flower petals.”
“What?”
“It isn’t wood chips in the sachet.” Mama takes another sniff. “At least she sent it. She could’ve just sent the note.”
“Why do you want a sachet?”
“I can put the flower petals in a cup for the scent and use the sachet as a tea bag.” Of all things, Mama sounds triumphant, and I fight the urge to tear out my own hair.
I tuck the box under my arm and we go back inside.
I’m relieved that Emi is still sleeping.
I put the box on the floor and kick it under my bed, swallowing down my rage.
Mr. Nomura knocks on the wall and Mama tells him to enter.
He spends more and more time in our apartment, all the while wearing his uniform.
Settling onto a crate, he picks up the old medical book.
He must’ve given up on its usefulness because he carefully removes the first page.
He leans back and his hands deftly move to fold it into an origami flower.
He hums under his breath. The sound reminds me of the strange man, whistling his way through the camp.
Emi stirs. I go to her bedside. Mama hovers over my shoulder and Mr. Nomura watches, lowering his origami.
Slowly, Emi’s blue eyelids flutter open.
I let out a sigh. I never knew how much it could mean for someone you love to simply look at you.
I pick up the tin cup of water by her bed and give her a drink.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired,” she says, even though she’s been sleeping nonstop.
She doesn’t seem feverish, though she’s weak.
Maybe the worst is behind us. “I thought our cracked ceiling back home was the worst ceiling in the world.” Together, we glance up at the unfinished pine spreading over our heads, crossbeams stringing between the rafters. “I was wrong.”
“Yeah, this place makes home look like the Biltmore Hotel, doesn’t it?” A small smile crosses Emi’s lips. Makes me happy. “Hey, how about I read to you?”
“I haven’t seen you read in years.” Emi’s voice is soft, but it’s hers. She’s coming back to us. She has to be. “Are you sure you still remember how?”
“Hey, I read…cereal boxes.” I was planning on searching for the man again, but if Emi wants me to read, I’ll read. I’ll do anything to keep her spirits up, especially after she was so upset by Mrs. Ross. “Where’s that book? The French one that I trucked here.”
“Les Misérables.”
“Yes, that one. Leh Misseres.” I exaggerate the title and butcher it at the same time, knowing it’ll get a reaction from her.
Emi sighs in annoyance, but her smile widens.
I turn to get the book and am startled to find Mr. Nomura standing behind me, holding it out.
Slowly, I take it. “Thank you,” I say, but it comes out like a mumble.
He doesn’t respond but returns to his crate and carefully continues his origami.
I flip open the giant book. It’s so heavy, you could use it as a dumbbell.
Emi has saved her place with a button. She’s always used random items as bookmarks—I’ve even seen her use a coffee mug once.
Who needs a bookmark when you can use your brother’s pocketknife, even if it leaves him searching for it?
I begin reading. Every few moments, Emi exasperatedly corrects my horrible French pronunciation, but soon the story kind of melts off the pages.
It pops up around us. I can see it clearly.
At some point, Mama leaves and comes back with a mound of rice and boiled Vienna sausages in a napkin for Emi and a mug of coffee for Mr. Nomura.
It’s my turn to go eat but I don’t stop.