Silent Honor (32 page)

“I wondered if that was what happened when neither of you came home last night, but I figured you'd send a message if there was anything I could do. Is she all right?”

“She's fine now, but she had all of us scared for a while, even the doctor,” Reiko said, still with a look of wonder. “The baby weighed ten pounds. And he's just beautiful, Tak” And then she smiled sadly, thinking about Hiroko and Peter, and what a long road they had ahead of them, and a hard one. “He looks just like Peter.” But that in itself would present problems for Hiroko and the child.

“I thought so.” It couldn't have been anyone else, they both knew that. And he was glad for them. They had a bond to hold them together. And knowing Peter as he did, he knew it would mean a lot to him too. “She should tell him. I hope she will,” Tak said gently.

“She doesn't want to. She says he'll worry too much,” Reiko said, sitting down with an exhausted sigh.

“He ought to know he has a son.” He smiled at his wife, remembering what it had meant to them when Ken was born, and the girls too. He was sad for Hiroko that Peter couldn't be there with her. But glad that the child had been born. Perhaps it was an omen of new life to come, of something hopeful.

“She says they were married by a Buddhist priest at Tanforan,” Reiko said, taking her shoes off. It had been a very long night. “Apparently, she's been wearing a wedding band since May, and I never even saw it. She wears it with another ring, and somehow I missed it.”

“You don't miss much else.” He kissed her, and knew he had to leave for school. “I'll go see her this afternoon.” He started out the door, and then stopped, looking at his wife with a warm smile. It was a happy moment for them too. A baby was a blessing for them all, particularly here at Tule Lake. “Congratulations.” He beamed at her.

“I love you,” she said, and he hurried out, looking happier than he had in a long time, as his wife watched him with a smile, thinking of Hiroko's baby.

Chapter 15

H
IROKO STAYED
at the infirmary for a week, and then she and the baby came home to the adoring family waiting for them. She called the baby Toyo, and even Ken spent hours playing with him, holding him, and drew the line only at diapers. But Tak was the champion of them all. He was happy to take care of him whenever Hiroko needed a break, or wanted to sleep. He loved doing it, and the baby was completely at ease with him. He never cried. He just slept happily in his arms, until he decided he was hungry, and needed his mother.

Two weeks after he was born, feeling guilty lying around, Hiroko went back to the infirmary, and she took Toyo with her, strapped to her back. One of the older women in the camp had made her the kind of bands her mother had worn, called an
obuhimo
, to hold the baby on her back, and he seemed very content sleeping on his mother as she moved around. She hadn't regained all her strength, and she went back to rolling bandages again. She took it easy at first, and kept away from the more acutely sick people, since she kept the baby with her all the time. But everyone who saw Toyo loved him. He was big and fat and good-natured, and looked just like a little Buddha, except that anyone who looked at him knew that he was not pure-blooded Japanese. More than ever, after he was born, he looked just like Peter. And true to her word, Hiroko wrote to him, but said nothing about their baby.

The army had sent recruiters into the camps by then, many were signing up, but the No-No Boys still held firm for the most part. They even went so far as to threaten the boys who enlisted.

But Ken startled them all with his news three weeks to the day after Hiroko had had the baby. He had gone to the administration building that afternoon. He had turned eighteen two days before, and without even discussing it with his parents beforehand, he had signed up for the army.

“You
what?”
His mother stared at him, unable to believe what he'd just told them. “I thought you had no interest in defending this country,” she said, wishing he had kept it that way. She loved her country, but she didn't want to sacrifice her son. They had sacrificed enough already.

“I volunteered for the army,” he said again as his parents looked at him in dismay. Despite all of his earlier protests and sense of betrayal, his conflicts seemed to have been put to rest. And suddenly he looked so proud of himself. He was getting out of camp, which was what he wanted.

“Why didn't you discuss it with us first?” Tak asked, looking hurt. He had been so vocal with them about his anger and his sense of betrayal, and now suddenly he had joined the army. But it was one of their few ways out of camp, and the only one palatable to Ken. He just couldn't stay in the camp any longer. Three of them had gone together that afternoon, and the other two boys were, at that exact moment, having the same conversation with their parents. It wasn't that Tak wasn't proud of him, or even patriotic. It was just that it was such a surprise. Nothing he had said had warned them that he was thinking of enlisting. Most of the parents were unprepared, though proud.

Many of the boys left that month. Once the boys signed up, they left within the week, and his last night with them was painful and poignant. They shared a lot of memories and tried not to cry.

They saw him off at the bus the next day, and Tak cried openly. He couldn't believe Ken was leaving them, but in a way he was relieved to know that at least one of them was going to be free now.

“Take care of yourself,” he said in a strangled voice. “Don't forget how much Mom and I love you.” They were Americans, offering up their son for their country, and yet here they were, behind barbed wire, essentially imprisoned.

“I love you,” Ken shouted from the steps of the bus, and then looked embarrassed, as they all stood there. Sally and Tami were crying when he left, and Hiroko fought to hide her tears as she held her baby. She had said good-bye to so many people by then. All of them had. Some of them would be back one day, but others wouldn't. As the bus pulled away, and they watched him leave, Hiroko prayed for his safety, while crying for Ken and his parents. And when they walked back to their tiny home, Takeo cried again as he hung a star in the window for all to see. Some windows had several stars in them. But they all stood there after he'd hung it, and. thought of Kenji. It was a painful time. A time of hope, and pride, and terror.

They had a letter from Ken shortly afterwards. He was in Camp Shelby, Mississippi, and he told them he would be joining the 442nd Regimental Combat Team. They were an all-nisei battalion, and most of them were from Hawaii. Interestingly, although they were closer to Japan, there were no relocation camps in Hawaii. And in his letters Ken sounded happy and excited. There had been a big ceremony for them in Honolulu before they left, on the grounds of the Iolani Palace. From everything he said in his letters, which they read over and over, he was thrilled to be out of. camp. He was also excited to be doing his patriotic duty. In spite of his initial resistance, he had settled down, and he sent his parents a photograph of himself in his uniform looking very handsome. Reiko put it carefully on a little table Tak had made, and showed the photo to all their friends. It looked like a shrine, and seeing it that way sometimes made Hiroko nervous. She wished that he were there with them, and not just someone they talked about. But she understood his fervor about going to war and serving his country.

She also heard from Peter more frequently. He was still in North Africa, and unfortunately, so were the Germans. And from what she could make out, despite the censor's efforts to keep the news from them, it sounded as though the fighting was ferocious. But at least in June she knew he was still safe, and Ken was fine too.

In July, a serious bout of meningitis hit the camp. Several old people died quickly, and a number of small children were swiftly felled and in critical condition. It was terrible, and mothers sat night and day with them in quarantine, but many of them died. And there were ghastly funerals with tiny little coffins put into narrow graves in the dusty ground. It was more than Hiroko could bear, particularly now with Toyo to worry about, and still a baby. He was only four months old. But it was not Toyo who got it late one hot summer night. It was Tami. She seemed hot when she went to bed that night, but later, Hiroko heard her crying softly when she got up to feed Toyo. She was still nursing him, and he was hungry frequently. Often she got up two or three times a night.

But poor Tami had a frightful fever. Her neck was stiff, and she was almost delirious the next morning when Tak carried her to the infirmary and left her there with Reiko.

The battle raged on for days, and Tami seemed unaware of where she was most of the time. Hiroko left Toyo with Tak and took turns with Reiko sitting with her, and sometimes Takeo came and spent the night with her instead, just putting damp cloths on her head, and talking to her, and singing the little songs she had loved as a baby. If anything, Tak looked worse than he ever had. He had a special bond with her, and Reiko knew it would kill him if they lost her.

“Don't let her die, please…. Hiroko, please don't let her die,” he said one night as he sobbed, and Hiroko gently put her arms around him.

“She's in God's hands, Tak. He is taking good care of her. You must trust him.” But when she said it, he turned on her and surprised her with the vehemence of his anger.

“Like he's taken care of us, and put us here?” he said, and then regretted the words almost as soon as he'd said them. She looked so startled by the force of his fury. “I'm sorry. …” he said hoarsely. “I'm sorry….” They all were. And despite their efforts to make the best of it, they all knew that life in camp was grueling.

Things went from bad to worse for a while, and Hiroko sat with Tami every night hoping to relieve her parents. She went home only to feed Toyo, and then she would come back again to relieve Tak or Reiko, and send them home to rest. Both of them looked awful, and the outlook for Tami stayed grim. Hiroko worked tirelessly over the child, bathing her, watching her, forcing fluids into her, and a young paramedic she'd seen before helped her by doing whatever he could to assist her. His name was Tadashi, and he had come to the camp with his family when Tanforan closed. He had a bad limp, and wore a brace, and she knew from something he had said to her that he'd had polio. But she had been struck early on by how gentle he was, and how tireless with the patients. He had graduated from Berkeley the year before, and he had signed the loyalty oath immediately. But because of his limp, the army had refused to take him. He was one of the few young men left, except for the No-No Boys, who had refused to sign the loyalty oath, and the troublemakers, who had taken to marching every morning in military style, in their sweatshirts with their emblem, and their “bozu” haircuts, as symbols of defiance. By then the others, all who were able to, had joined the army. But Tadashi had stayed, and was working as a medic. He was a talented musician too. Hiroko had played with him in the camp symphony, and he had always been very friendly. She had worked with him a few times, and she liked him. He was bright and conscientious and easy to work with, and in a funny way, he reminded her of Yuji.

But he was particularly kind to them while Tami was sick, and did everything he could to help them. He had a tall, lanky look to him, a warm smile, and Hiroko had heard from someone else that in Japan his family was very distinguished. He was
kibei
, he'd been born in the States, but had gone to Japan to study before he went to Berkeley.

“How is Tami?” he asked late one night. It was the eighth night of her illness. Other children had either died or recovered in less time than that, and she'd been delirious again earlier when Tak left in tears with Reiko.

“I don't know,” Hiroko said with a sigh, not wanting to admit that little by little they were losing her. He sat down next to Hiroko quietly, and handed her a cup of tea. She looked exhausted.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled at him. He was nice-looking, but he seemed young to her, even though he was four years older than she was. Having Toyo had somehow matured her, and there were times when she felt very old now.

“How's your little boy?”

“He's fine, thank God,” she said, smiling, thinking of Toyo, but she was terrified of what was going to happen to Tami.

Even Sally had come to the hospital a number of times, although she and Hiroko had had more than their share of differences lately. It seemed as though they just couldn't get along, ever since the baby. Sally was spending most of her time with the No-No Boys, and Hiroko had scolded her over it repeatedly, and told her how much it upset her parents. And Sally's response was always that Hiroko wasn't her mother and it was none of her business. She was sixteen, and a real handful for Reiko. Coming to camp had not been good for her, her schooling had suffered, and she'd been thrown in with some kids whom she would have been better off not knowing. She wasn't interested in hanging out with the girls, who joined friendship clubs, or bands, or glee clubs. And she didn't want to hear about that from Hiroko either. When Hiroko had tried to tell her she was too young to go out with boys, Sally had said in no uncertain terms that at least she hadn't been dumb enough to have an illegitimate baby. Ever since that encounter, the month before, Hiroko and Sally had hardly spoken. But Hiroko was sorry for her anyway, she knew she was deeply unhappy and afraid about their future. She was also not unaware that her father hadn't been looking well, and that scared her too. And now with Tami so sick, Sally looked panicked. Everything she'd ever counted on seemed to be disappearing. Even her brother had gotten out of camp by going to the army. For Sally, there seemed to be no one left to talk to or rely on, except for a handful of friends she should never have had, including one of the younger No-No Boys, who came to the hospital with her once to visit Tami.

“Your cousin Sally looks like quite a handful,” Tad said conversationally after she left. Hiroko smiled-at him over her cup of tea.