“This isn’t fair.” My brother’s voice rings out, shattering the silence in the rickety old bus crowded with people like us- of Japanese background, thrown out of their homes, to live in internment camps.
And Yoshi was right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that we were looked upon with hatred and suspicion, just because some people an ocean away started a godforsaken war. It wasn’t fair that our father was taken away from us. It wasn’t fair that we were evicted from our own home and into internment camps- all because of our background and our looks.
They thought we were spies for the Japanese Government. Pah. My Japanese is childish, like a second- no, first- graders’ and I can only just barely read the kana alphabets and almost no kanji. I’ve been to Japan only twice, to pay respects to my grandparents. Yoshi is even worse. He can’t read, and his Japanese is broken at best. My mother, although very proud of her country and background- she’s from a minor aristocratic family-, she looks at the Japanese government only with distaste and disapproval. She has a Masters Degree and a PhD in International Cooperation, which she labored to get in the US, so she is very knowledgeable and opinionated. My father lost his father, who was an innocent bystander, to government policemen in a political disturbance in Tokyo when he was small. He had no love for the government. Yet, they thought we were disloyal. Even though we were and are probably more loyal than some of them. It didn’t matter to them that Yoshi and I were American citizens, Japanese-American. They only looked at our Japanese side.
My thoughts fly to the past. When we were happy, when our family was whole. I am Yoko Shiomi. This is my story. My thoughts, my feelings, my pain.
~*~~*~
My parents came over to the US two years before I was born, when my father was transferred by his work. My mother started her studying a year after. My brother was born two years after me. We weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. I had, no, have, many friends. Emilie was my neighbor. She was Canadian, and she and her family were in the US because of her father’s work, like me. Em was also a bookworm, like me. All of us were. She had a wicked sense of humor. We would often tease Irene, who would patiently endure our merciless teasing. But she was evil in her own ways too, although a bit “proper”. Edith had a strong moral sense, but when she could be persuaded to abandon that, she was just as wicked as us. And last but not least except in height, was Stephanie. Despite her short height, though, Steph had an imperious attitude. I miss them. I miss teasing each other and playing pranks. I remember how we used to scare our teachers by hanging a doll in uniform outside the teacher’s lounge window. And sprinkling chalk powder on their heads too. I remember my parents teaching all of us Japanese history, culture, language, and laughing at our disastrous attempts at haiku. I remember.
I remember also, December 7, 1941. The day Pearl Harbor was bombed, the day the other people started looked upon us with hatred and suspicion, when they started spitting at us and throwing rocks. If it weren’t for my family and friends, I would have crumpled. I almost did, when, a day after, the police came to our house. They took him. They took my father. They took him because he was a leader at his work. It didn’t matter that he hated the Japanese government. Didn’t matter he was just as appalled at Japan’s actions as the next person. No. They just assumed. At least they let him write to us, although his letters always had more holes than words, like a doily, or a paper snowflake.
It wasn’t too long, however, until we too we taken away from our home. Technically, it wasn’t our home, because my parents were Issei. Issei Japanese can’t become American citizens. They also can’t own land. But technicalities aside, it was our home. I had lived there all my life. And now, they were taking us away. Away on this rickety bus. Far away.
~*~~*~
We’ve arrived. It’s a remote place, with only grass all around. High barb wired walls, with sentries. Like a prison. The inside’s a bleak place. There’s a mess hall- if you can even call it that- and several long building, which I presume to be living quarters. They aren’t in great shape at all. Ok, that’s an understatement. They leak, have no heating, are cramped, and smell. They’re no better than a stall for animals! In fact, barns would probably be better, because at least you get clean hay every day. We received a slip of paper with a letter and a number. We had F27. That meant we were in building F, “apartment” 27. Apartment meant the stalls. I placed our family picture in the opening I thought was supposed to be a window. I placed another picture with all my friends and their family with my family next to it. The stall was still gloomy. We also had no privacy. The slightest sound made could be heard by our neighbors.
The bell for mess rings. We rush outside, along with the rest of people in our building. I notice some girls who looked about my age as we line up for food. I wondered where they had come from, and if their family was whole. The food’s worse than anything I had ever eaten in my life. It’s kind of like gruel, but nasty gruel. Because, after all, even gruel can taste ok if you get it right. But this, this is disgusting. But it’s all we get, so we wolf it down. Argh. I gag, and I can see others trying to hold it in and swallow. Yoshi, who’s always been a bit picky, gags at the very sight of it. Mom’s trying to get him to eat it. After all, if he doesn’t eat, he’ll starve. The water isn’t all that clean looking, either. No bathrooms, just privies. The only running water is from the taps in front of each building which keeps stopping. So if you’re washing your clothes and it stops, you’re left with soapy laundry. It’s a hard life.
~*~
I’ve met some of the girls I spied in the mess hall. There’s Aoi, Masami, Nijie, Yurie, and Yommi. Aoi and Masami are artists. They spend whatever free time they get depicting the bleak life here. They are all close to my age, but all of them are older than me, even though it might be by just a few months. But, even so, Yommi seems so much older. They all speak fluent Japanese, totally different to my broken Japanese. I’m kind of jealous about that, and I plan to put more effort in listening to my mom when she corrects me. And my dad, that is, if I see him again. Aoi and Em share the same birthday, but Aoi is older by a year. What a coincidence! They’re quite nice. We’re in class together in the rundown shack we’re substituting as a school. My mom and other people are teachers. My mom’s teaching us, along with other older people, basically, the “high school” age group. Nijie is kind of like Mom in the academic aspect. She’s always answering the questions, and if we were in actual school right now, she probably would be valedictorian or something like that. Mom likes her, because she was an A plus student herself. They are my role models, and they are nice to me. Yet… yet I feel that I am an outsider, that I do not belong.
Life’s basically a routine now- wake up, eat (choke), school, lunch (gag), chores (laundering, trying to make the stall more hospitable), dinner (do I have to mention it??), homework (what we can do, anyway, with such a shortage of paper), sleep. We still leave a place for dad when we sleep. I miss him so much…
~*~
People are coming! Rumor has it that they’re people who were arrested two years ago at the start of the war! Dad might be among them. Oh, I hope so. Mom broke down, and she doesn’t do that ever. I hope so bad that Dad’s coming. I hope so much it hurts. Please Lord, let Dad be among them. Lord, please. I don’t care if we had to stay here forever, as long as Dad is coming. Well, that’ll be lying. But God, please, please, please.
Everyone rushes to the gate, watching the bus as it gets closer and closer. It seems like the bus is taking forever… As the bus slowly makes its way across the barren land, people stare intently at the approaching vehicle, as if they thought that if they stared enough, they might be able to make the bus come faster. They stare with their hope in their eyes, their hope that their missing relatives might be on that bus. The famous Japanese emotionless mask is gone, thrown to the winds. We hope, we pray, that the bus will bring the answers to our prayers…
It’s arrived.
Oh, Lord, Thank you!!!!!! Thank you so much. You are truly merciful and loving, Lord. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! Dad was among the new people. And he was unharmed, although thinner, and fatigued. Yoshi, Mom and I crowded him; oh, it was the happiest time of my life.
It is night fall, and the moon twinkles in the sky outside the window. All is calm, and the whole camp is silent. Everything seems so much better just because my dad is with us, and we are a family divided no more. I can get through this, this camp, this war. I can see the situation in a better light now. Now, even the end of the war and this oppression doesn’t seem that far away now. No, not far away at all.
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Chapter notes: This was done for school with a page limit of five max. As this is the unchanged version, some parts are very brief, so don't sue me.