Chapter Eight Violet
Chapter Eight
Violet
Dear Otōsan,
I don’t know when any of our letters will get mailed because we are still waiting for the post office, but I’ve resolved to keep writing you.
That way, you’ll know everything that’s happened.
We are doing well! Mama got a job sewing and I’ve started classes.
College has been postponed indefinitely, but I’m still determined to graduate on time.
I’m learning it’s best to keep busy. It’s something I never fully understood.
Back home, we were just busy. You know how it was.
We were simply…living. And it was beautiful.
I had school, hung out with friends, helped you fulfill orders, went to church with Mama, spent too much time drawing instead of doing homework.
But here it’s different. Life has just stopped, in such an unexpected, horrible way.
So we must keep busy until it starts again for real.
Otherwise, we’re just waiting, waiting, waiting.
Though funnily enough, amid all this waiting, something happened.
Something I never expected. You’ve always told me about the gods.
You say their magic is like the air. We need it for life but hardly notice it, unless it acts up and carries our hats down the street.
Well, I think I encountered it. There’s a man.
He can do things—command water and glow like the moon.
I wish you could see him. I remember you saying that if you ever met a god, you would ask it for flowers to give to Mama and me.
It makes me think…so many stories from mythology involve gods granting mortals gifts.
I already know what I’d ask for. You, safe with us.
By the way, I met a friend. Or someone who I think might make a good friend. I’m hopeful. I could use a friend.
Love you always,
Violet
As I watch Mr. Boser charge off with my laundry, I don’t know what to do.
My plan seemed promising this morning. After seeing the man at the creek, I knew I had to find him again and decided I should enlist Ren’s help.
I told myself teaming up with him was the best option for success—but, if I’m being honest with myself, I also want more time with Ren. As much as possible.
I planned to go to his barrack after class and I did our laundry, but when I was at the washroom, someone mentioned the Hamadas and said Ren had gotten a job at the warehouses. Eager to see him again, I headed off to find him, laundry in hand.
And ran straight into Boser.
“You’re doing your laundry?” he asked as I dropped the bag, startled. He swooped in like a seagull waiting for a sandwich on the beach and slung it over his shoulder. “We have automatic washers and tumble dryers in our bungalows. Come with me.”
“No thank you,” I said, but now he’s already striding away.
I glance around, terrified someone will see him holding our laundry.
Bad things are said about people who associate with guards—even worse things are said about girls who date them.
But I can’t let him go with our laundry.
Aside from the clothes Mama and I are wearing today, all the rest are in that satchel. “Mr. Boser, stop, give me my laundry.”
He continues around the corner of a warehouse. I hurry behind him, mind awash in fear and frustration. The brisk, bustling camp disappears as thick shadows claim us, the warehouse creating a tall wall. We’re behind it, far from everyone, and my throat tightens in panic. I’m alone with him.
I’ve already seen that there isn’t much recourse for women and girls who are harassed.
And since everyone is suspicious of the authorities, incidents are mostly unreported.
Mama never lets me go to the latrines or showers alone, especially after a man was caught peeking through the slats.
Rumors fly everywhere about molestation, even rape.
No one would take me seriously if I accused an official.
Mr. Boser turns unexpectedly, dropping the laundry satchel in one swoop while looping an arm around my waist. Terror fills me. There’s a playful smile on his face.
“Ever kissed a guy like me before?” he asks abruptly. The sketching pencil I’ve tucked behind my ear falls to the ground. “I’ve never kissed a girl of your kind before, but I’ve always wanted to.”
Stubble brushes my cheek. His breath is thick on my neck. I twist in his grip.
“Let. Me. Go.”
I haul back my fist. I don’t think. I simply act.
I punch him in the nose, my knuckles colliding with soft cartilage. Bright red blood spurts from his nostrils. He staggers back, cupping fingers over his nose. Horror descends on me. I’ve struck a WRA official. I’ll get arrested.
“You—you hit me!” Mr. Boser gasps. His blue eyes swim, watery from the blow.
A door bursts open.
I look up.
It’s Ren striding from the warehouse exit. I hardly recognize him. He moves with purpose, his body eloquent with rage and determination. His sling is nowhere to be seen. Swiftly, he steps between us. Mr. Boser sputters something unintelligible.
“Get away from her.” Ren’s growl is deadly and low.
I’m shocked it comes from him. Mr. Boser lowers his hand, and blood runs over his lips.
His mouth twists. He’s about to say something when his attention changes.
Lowers. It fixates on Ren’s fox hanging around his neck.
He draws himself up and it’s like watching him transform from one role into another.
“Is that a relic from Japan?” he demands, snuffling slightly around the blood. He steps closer. “Looks old. Is it from the Edo period? Did you get it from your family?” Ren doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t back up. Mr. Boser pauses, glancing around. “Give it to me. It’s contraband.”
I suppress a gasp. My hand almost flies into my pocket to touch my deer.
It’s still hot, the heat soaking into my thigh, distinct from the day’s warmth.
I glance around, searching for help. But nothing can stop Mr. Boser.
He is the authority, and we are subject to his command.
The full weight of the United States government stands behind him.
If Ren has to give his pendant to Mr. Boser, I’ll never forgive myself.
Slowly, as though he has all the time in the world, Ren tucks the fox into his shirt with his good hand.
“I made it myself,” he says smoothly. Mr. Boser’s face tightens, his lips pressing together. He frowns.
“I’ll ascertain that.” He holds out a hand.
“Big fan of arts and crafts?” Ren asks. I don’t know how he’s able to sound so unafraid and caustic. A sneer crosses his lips, even as his eyes remain dark, glinting with anger. Mr. Boser takes a step forward. He hauls back his arm and slaps Ren across the face.
Ren doesn’t do anything to avoid the blow.
His head snaps to the side, and I let out a cry of fright.
I’ve never seen someone slap anyone else outside of the movies.
When Ren straightens, a red mark stains his cheek, and a muscle flexes in his jaw.
At his sides, his hands are fists, but he doesn’t raise them.
Terror thickens in my throat. Maybe Mr. Boser will arrest Ren now.
Maybe both of us. Maybe he’ll forcibly take Ren’s fox.
The warehouse door bursts open, and five other guys come bounding out.
One seems about Ren’s age. I recognize him from school.
Kai, I believe his name is; I’ve heard he has a Hispanic mother.
The other four are a little older. They spread in a semicircle behind Ren.
Rabid energy writhes through them—in fact, some of them even look excited.
They are turbulent while Ren is as still as stone.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Kai demands. Mr. Boser takes them in. Nervousness crosses his face. It makes Kai grin in glee. “What’s wrong, hijo de puta? You look worried.”
The door opens once again and a guard comes out, reeking of cigarettes. I think he’s going to be angry when he sees Mr. Boser’s bloody nose. Strangely, one corner of his mouth lifts in a quickly passing smile, and he crosses his arms.
“Lost?” he asks. “Offices are right outside.”
Fury sparks in Mr. Boser’s expression, but then he takes a sharp breath and the fury disappears behind a layer of control. He draws himself up, as though striving to be as tall as possible.
“I was just heading there,” he says abruptly. He sniffs through the blood still running over his lips. He glares at the guard and then, without another word, turns on his heel and leaves. The guard takes a box out of his pocket, knocks it against his open palm, and shakes a cigarette out.
“Guy thinks he owns the place,” he mutters. Glancing at us, he sticks the cigarette in his mouth and says, “He’s an odd duck. Avoid him so I can smoke in peace, got it?”
Then he turns to head back into the warehouse, cupping his hand around the cigarette as he raises his lighter to it.
As soon as the door swings shut behind him, the guys burst into cheers, as though they were the ones to evict Mr. Boser.
Quickly, I snatch up my drawing pencil. I put it in my pocket with my hands shaking, not daring to put it behind my ear, where I usually have it.
I need to keep it safe. I don’t have very many.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” one of the boys howls, throwing an arm around Ren’s neck and jostling him.
He has a tattoo, I notice. Shock punctuates my already overwhelmed mind.
Are these Ren’s friends? “You put that bastard in his place, Ren. Now just imagine us doing that but on a larger scale.” Ren roughly shoves him off, but Kai pounces, grabbing his good arm and lifting it like Ren has just won a boxing match. He shakes him off, too.
“See, J-man,” Kai says to the tattooed one. “Ren is a fire-breathing dragon! I’m telling you—he did time in the slammer and hasn’t been afraid of anyone ever since.”
Time in the slammer.
Jail?