Chapter Nine Ren #3
“Naw…” I pretend to ponder. It’s nice to talk to the kids.
They don’t judge me. Not like Mrs. Aratani.
I wonder what she said after she had Violet out of my earshot.
I wonder if Violet will obey. “That isn’t quite right.
Not an island or a cave. Let me see…where was it?
” I lower my voice, and they gather close, eyes flashing with excitement.
“A desert. A desert called…hmm…Mowens Alley? No, that’s not right. Bowen Sally?”
“Owens Valley,” Abigail cries. “Bluebeard buried his gold here! At Manzanar!”
“Let’s go find it.” Jace hoists his sword in the air like a rallying knight.
“Wait, wait, it’s late.” I’ve riled them up, so I do my best to stop them from running headlong into the camp.
“Your mother is probably waiting to take you to dinner. Come on, let’s head back.
The doubloons won’t go anywhere. You can hunt them down tomorrow.
” The kids sigh dramatically but obey. I notice Abigail lagging, her steps shorter than her brothers’. “Want a ride?”
She nods happily. With my good arm, I swing her onto my back.
She’s lighter than Violet’s laundry. Her hands close around my neck.
I worry about the kids in the heat. Days get over a hundred degrees but then at night it drops all the way down to the forties.
Wind doesn’t help anything. It’s either Lucifer’s hot breath or the Abominable Snow Monster’s cold one, blowing into your face, kicking dust in your eyes.
On top of that, it’s dry as bone. Nurse Rose goes around the camp armed with tissues because bloody noses are so common.
“How old are you guys?” I ask.
“Eight and three quarters,” Jace says proudly.
“Six!” Abigail chirps in my ear. I look at Ethan. He’s shyer than the others, I realize.
“I know how old you are,” I tell him. “You’re twenty, clearly. Older than me.” They are an easy audience. The joke sends them into uproarious laughter. Ethan holds up four fingers, a smile on his grimy face. “Four, I see. Well, I was close.”
Mrs. Wozumi is holding the baby, Akiko, outside the barrack when we arrive.
She wags her finger at her older children and shakes her head, upset at how dirty they’ve become.
She thanks me for bringing them in and herds them toward the mess hall, but they morph from playful puppies to stray cats, not watching where they’re going and heading in different directions.
I don’t envy her. She’s probably about thirty and alone with four kids because her husband was arrested, just like Violet’s Otōsan.
At least the Wozumi kids seem to be having fun with their newfound freedom.
For them, it’s probably like summer camp, the adults’ fears playing out far above their heads.
But I know they miss their father something fierce.
I hear them asking their mother all the time about when he’ll come back.
I rub the back of my neck as I head into our barrack in a futile attempt to ease the locked muscles. I’m exhausted. I try to focus on the fact that maybe I’ll get help from the god, but right now I’m just pissed off and worn out.
Emi, at least, is awake and reading in her bed.
Dr. Suzuki comes by every day to check on her.
He’s been pleased with her progress and even says she can get up and occasionally go to one of the gardens or the mess hall for a change of scenery.
She’s not in the clear, though. The biggest challenge, he says, will be the labor and delivery in about two months.
It’s a tough thought, one that follows me everywhere.
Makes me feel like we’re crossing off calendar squares to the Day of Judgment or something.
Mr. Nomura sits on a crate, making more origami flowers. Mama is next to Emi’s cot on another crate, her face blank. I know, though. She’s scared for Emi, so scared she’s basically watching her like a pot waiting to boil. We all are.
“Why don’t you two go get dinner?” I ask. “You haven’t been out in a while, Emi.”
“Are you up to it?” Mama asks Emi. “It isn’t far.”
“Yes, I think I could use the fresh air,” Emi replies. She lowers her book and grimaces at my sweaty hair and clothes. “Or perhaps I should say hot air. Did you go swimming, Ren?”
“No, but I did work in a warehouse without air-conditioning. See if you come back any different,” I retort as I push my sweaty hair back, grateful that she’s herself again.
Mama stands, does a few stretches in her slip dress.
A lipstick appears out of her pocket. She puts it on without needing a mirror, slicking it over her chapped lips.
For a moment, she wavers, looking at me.
We’ve spent more time together here than we did in the months before the bombing of Pearl Harbor, but it’s like we don’t know what to say to each other.
Or how. Only that we hold the same knowledge.
Emi is sick. The fancy politician’s wife wants her baby.
We’re as screwed as we’ve ever been. Finally, all she says is “We’ll bring you back some food.
” She offers Emi the lipstick and she takes it, puts it on with the same proficiency.
Then, with matching red lips, they interlace arms and leave.
I sit down on the edge of my bed, realizing with alarm that I’ve been left alone with Mr. Nomura.
I’m grateful he’s helping us, but my nerves are already frayed and I feel the way I did at my court dates, standing before the glaring judge in his black robe.
Mr. Nomura should make a club with Mrs. Aratani, Mr. Bowerstone, Dr. Suzuki, and the judge so they can all talk shit about me.
“You need to take care of your arm,” Mr. Nomura says sternly.
“Yes, sir,” I say. As if in agreement with Mr. Nomura, my shoulder twinges in pain, and my anger returns. I’m angry at Mr. Nomura. I’m angry at Mrs. Aratani. I’m angry at Boser for slapping me and the fact that I couldn’t sock his lights out in retaliation.
Most of all, I’m angry at Violet.
I mean, she could’ve told her mother we were friends. Something. Anything. Instead, she portrayed me like a love-starved puppy desperate for her attention.
Damn it. Maybe that’s why I’m so angry—because it’s too close to the truth. I did want her attention. I wanted it a lot. And she knew it.
“Staring and doing nothing isn’t good for chi,” Mr. Nomura suddenly says. He motions to me. “Come. Sit.” Between two fingers, he holds an origami rose. “Make.”
“Make origami?” I’d rather put my fingers in the mouth of a snapping turtle than sit across from Mr. Nomura, much less learn anything from him.
“Hai, hai.”
I pause. My hand drifts to my fox. I think about how Boser looked at it. Wanted it. I hadn’t thought about it before, but maybe the fox could be a bargaining chip. Both Boser and Akira seem pretty interested in it. I could play both sides and pray to high heaven one of them works out.
“Okay if I try something else?”
There’s a dinner knife atop Mama’s suitcase that she smuggled in from the mess hall. I pick it up. One of the crates has a loose board. I splinter it off. Mr. Nomura watches but doesn’t say anything. I settle down on my cot and start whittling. Hurts my shoulder, hurts my hand. Don’t stop, though.
“What happened to your face?” Mr. Nomura suddenly asks.
“My face?”
“There’s a mark.” I don’t answer, and he doesn’t press it. Instead, he says, “Dr. Suzuki asked about Kai. He’s worried about him and his new friends.”
“Yeah?” I focus on driving the blade around the hunk of wood. If Mr. Nomura thinks I’m about to tattle on Kai, he’s got another think coming. I agree with Dr. Suzuki—Kai is hanging out with the wrong guys and being an idiot—but no one will ever hear it from me.
“Maybe you should go to school. Keep an eye on Kai for Dr. Suzuki.”
“Like a snitch?” I snap. I’m surprised when Mr. Nomura’s mouth twitches in a smile. He nods, like I’ve made a fair point.
My gaze tugs to his uniform. I wonder why he’s still wearing it. Only people who see it are us. But I heard he was nominated as our representative for the JACL or something. Probably because he looks so official.
He gets up, walks to the table we’ve pieced together out of more crates, and puts the origami rose atop it.
Carefully, he begins another origami. We sit in silence.
It’s strange. I’ve always avoided Mr. Nomura, but as we work with our hands together, I think he might be on to something.
I focus on my blade sliding through the wood.
It’s almost enough to ease my anger at Violet.
But not quite.