Silent Honor (39 page)

Chapter 17

F
OR HIROKO
, leaving Tad and her cousins at the train was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Everyone had cried copiously, and the emotions they hadn't been able to let go of when they left the camp came tumbling out of their pores now. Even Tad cried when he said good-bye to her, and she was still sobbing as the train pulled away and she and Toyo were waving.

She had kissed each one of them, and they had kissed her, and him, until they almost missed the train. And after they left, she thought she had never felt as empty. She felt drained as she walked the ten blocks to the bus station, carrying Toyo and her suitcase. A few people glanced at her, but no one seemed surprised to see a Japanese woman walking anywhere. There were no shouts of “Japan no unpleasantness, and yet the war wasn't over. She wondered what had happened while they'd been away, if everyone had forgotten or lost interest.

It was five o'clock by then, and she bought a sandwich for both of them before she got on the bus. At exactly five-thirty the bus left, right on schedule, and headed for San Francisco.

It was an uneventful ride, and Toyo slept most of the way, and as they came in over the Bay Bridge, Hiroko sat and stared at how beautiful the bridge was. It looked like diamonds strung across the bay. Everything looked so clean and so perfect. There was no barbed wire in sight, there were no guns, no one hurrying to their rooms, with newspaper in their coat because they were cold, to sleep on straw mattresses that scratched you all night. She couldn't even begin to imagine now what a real bed would be like, or even a comfortable futon. It made her smile, too, to realize that she had become so American over the past three and a half years since she'd come from Kyoto. It had been a hard way to become one.

She slept in a small hotel downtown that night, and thought about the others on the train. It was going to be a big adventure for them, and she smiled thinking of Tad and Sally. She was going to miss them all, but she still thought she had made the right decision.

She took Toyo to breakfast the next day, and afterward she looked for a phone booth. She was holding his hand, and flipping through the directory, and when she saw the familiar name, she started to tremble. Maybe she was wrong. She could go through an agency. She didn't have to do this, and yet she wanted to. Something told her that she had to.

Hiroko called, and asked for her, and she came on the line very quickly. She hadn't given her name, she just said “a friend from college,” and whoever had answered went to get her.

“Yes?” a voice asked pleasantly.

“Anne?” Hiroko said as the phone trembled in her hand, and she tried to keep her voice normal, as she held Toyo with her other hand. But he was bored and started complaining. He was not yet two years old, and he didn't understand where they were, or where the others had gone. To him, it was all an incomprehensible adventure. He kept saying Tami's name, and Hiroko had explained to him that she was going on a train. But he didn't know what a train was.

“Yes, this is Anne,” Anne Spencer said, sounding as aristocratic as ever. She was going back to school the next day. They were still on Christmas vacation. And she was graduating in June, but St. Andrew's seemed like a distant memory to Hiroko. “Who is this?”

“Hiroko,” she said simply. “Hiroko Takashimaya.” From St. Andrews and Tanforan …and Tule Lake …perhaps she had forgotten, but somehow Hiroko didn't believe it.

There was only a brief pause, and a small gasp.

“Your basket kept us going for days,” Hiroko said sadly.

“Where are you?” Anne asked softly. It was hard to tell if she was glad she had called, or just startled.

“I got out of camp yesterday. My cousins went to New Jersey.”

“And you, Hiroko?” she said gently. They had once been roommates, never friends. And yet twice she had come to tell her she was sorry. “Where are you?” she asked again.

“Here in San Francisco.” Hiroko hesitated, and then looked down at Toyo to give her courage. “I need a job.” It sounded so pathetic now that she had said it, and she was sorry she had called, but it was too late now. “I wondered if you know anyone … or even your parents, or friends … if you need a maid, or someone to clean house …really anything…. I've been working in the hospital for two years. I could take care of a child or an old person.”

“Do you have my address?” Anne asked her bluntly, and she nodded, stunned into silence.

“It's in the phone book. Yes, I have it.”

“Why don't you come right over. Take a cab, I'll pay for it.” She wondered if Hiroko had decent clothes, or if she was hungry or had any money.

Hiroko left the phone booth and hailed a cab, but she paid for it herself, and was surprised to see Anne waiting for her outside. But Anne was even more surprised when she saw Toyo.

“Is he yours?” Anne asked in utter amazement, and Hiroko smiled as she nodded. While Anne had been playing tennis and learning French, and summering at Lake Tahoe, Hiroko had had a baby.

“Yes, he is,” she said, looking down proudly at her son. “His name is Toyo.”

Anne did not ask his last name, or if Hiroko was married. She suspected, looking at her, that that wasn't the case, and the dress Hiroko was wearing was not only ugly and too big for her, but it was threadbare and ancient.

“I spoke to my mother,” she said as they stood on the sidewalk on Upper Broadway. “She'll give you a job. I'm afraid it won't be a very fancy one. They need someone to help in the kitchen.” She looked down at Toyo then, but she knew it wouldn't make a difference. “You can keep him with you when you work downstairs,” she said, unlocking the door for her, and then she turned to her and asked if she was hungry. But Hiroko smiled and told her they'd had breakfast.

Anne took her right downstairs to see her room. It was small and clean and without frills of any kind, but it was far better than anything she'd seen in nearly three years, and she was grateful for the job, and when they were in the room that was to be hers, she told her.

“I cannot thank you enough for this, Anne. You owe me nothing.”

“I thought what they did to you was wrong. It would have been better to send you home, if they didn't trust you. You, at least, were Japanese. But the others, the Americans, didn't belong there, and neither did you, really. What could you have done to them? You were no spy.” The woman who had taken care of her as a child had died the year before at Manzanar, during an emergency operation. Anne thought of her as a beloved relative and Anne would never forgive them for taking her away and letting her die there. She was doing this for her, and the others. It was something she could do to make up for what had happened.

She explained that Hiroko would have to wear a black dress and a white lace apron and cap, with matching collar and cuffs, with black shoes and black stockings. But that didn't bother her either.

“What are you going to do after this?” Anne asked her. She didn't imagine for a moment that this was going to be Hiroko's future. But the war was still on, her cousins were gone, and she couldn't go back to Japan yet.

“I'd like to stay here, with you, if I can, until I can go home again. My brother was killed, and I must go home to my parents.” She didn't tell her that two of her cousins had died too, Ken and Tak. And she had no news of Peter. But Anne looked down at Toyo then, wondering.

“Will his father come back?” she asked cautiously, not quite sure of their arrangement. It was obvious that the child's father had been Caucasian. But Hiroko only looked at her with worried eyes. She wanted to ask her another favor.

“I need to find out if something has happened. I haven't heard from him since August. He's with the army, in France. But after they got to Paris, I heard nothing. I was wondering if, somehow …. someone you know …maybe they can call someone and find out if anyone knows …” Anne understood and nodded.

“I'll ask my father.”

The two women stood looking at each other then. It was an odd moment between two women who had never been friends, and yet she had just done everything possible for Hiroko, more than anyone else would have.

Hiroko left a few minutes later to get her things from the hotel, and then she came back in a cab again with Toyo. It was a handsome house, a large, imposing brick edifice, and one of the largest on Broadway. And as soon as she got back, she went to her room with Toyo. She changed into her uniform, and holding Toyo's hand, she appeared in the kitchen. Everyone there was very pleasant to her, and they showed her what her responsibilities were, and two of the maids promised to help her with Toyo. The cook fell instantly in love with him, and gave him a big bowl of soup for lunch, and a chocolate eclair, which he thought was very exciting. For a child who had started out so big, he had grown quite thin from the inadequate food they had all had at the camp, and Hiroko was relieved to see him eating.

Anne came back downstairs and introduced Hiroko to her mother that afternoon. Mrs. Spencer was very beautiful, and very distinguished. She was wearing a beautiful gray wool suit, with a necklace of enormous pearls, and matching earrings. She was a woman of about fifty. Anne was the youngest of three daughters and a son. Mrs. Spencer wasn't warm, but she was extremely polite to Hiroko. She knew what her circumstances were, Anne had even told her about Toyo, and Margaret Spencer was as sorry for her as Anne was. She had told the entire staff to be kind to her, and feed them well. And the salary she offered her, Hiroko thought, was nothing less than staggering. She offered her three hundred dollars a month, which was more charity than wage, but she didn't mind it a bit. In ways no one could ever have measured, she had earned it, and she was going to need every penny if she was going to save enough money to return to Japan when the war finally ended. There was still no sign of Peter, and she had Toyo to support. She was deeply grateful for the high wages.

For Hiroko, once Anne had left, it was a little bit like being Cinderella being there. Everyone was very kind, but they also knew that Hiroko had gone to school with Anne at St. Andrew's, and why she had left, and where she had been for the past three years. But no one ever asked her any questions. They showed her how to do her work, and let her be, and kept an eye on Toyo for her when she was busy. And Hiroko was always polite to everyone, and helpful; she worked hard and kept to herself. And on her days off, she took Toyo to the park, and she went to the Japanese tea garden she remembered visiting
in
Golden Gate Park with the Tanakas when she'd first arrived. It was run by a Chinese family now, and called the Oriental Tea Garden. There were lots of things to do with him, and she was reminded more than once of visits she had made to the city with her cousins.

Within a short time she heard from them. They were happy and well. Reiko was working at the hospital, both girls were in school, and on Valentine's Day, Sally and Tadashi got married. It was the day after she got their telegram, when Mr. Spencer finally had news for her from a friend in Washington. It had taken more than a month to get any information. And the news wasn't good. Hiroko trembled as she listened.

After Paris, they had moved on to Germany. And Peter had been missing in action since a skirmish near Antwerp. No one had seen him killed, and they had never recovered his body after the snipers moved on. But he hadn't turned up again either. It was impossible to say what had happened. Perhaps after the war they would find records of him, or find that he had been held prisoner by the Germans. But for now, all she knew was what she had known before, that he had vanished. His silence had been as ominous as she'd feared, possibly even more so.

She thanked Anne's father for getting the information for her, and silently went back to the kitchen to take care of Toyo.

“I feel sorry for her,” Charles Spencer admitted to his wife after he'd told her. “Is she married to the boy's father?” he asked curiously.

“I'm not sure,” his wife said cautiously. “I don't think so. Anne says she was awfully bright in school, one of the most outstanding students.” In spite of herself, Anne's mother had come to genuinely like her, and could see why Anne cared about her.

“I don't suppose she'll want to go back,” Charles said thoughtfully. One of their gardeners had gone to the camps as well, and Charles had had to move heaven and earth to get him out and sent to relatives in Wisconsin.

“Anne says she wants to go back to Japan to see her parents.”

“Well, do what you can for her while she's here. To be honest with you, from what they said about her …er …friend … I think he's done for.” They hadn't been able to prove he was dead beyond any doubt, but it sounded as though they were almost sure of
it.
It was one of those mysteries that wouldn't be solved until after the war, when they had all the information. But whatever actually happened, it didn't matter now. The man was gone. And the boy was without a father. It made Charles sorry for her all over again. But Hiroko was very happy there with the Spencers. She thought of Peter all the time, and despite what Anne's father had told her, she refused to be convinced that he was dead. Somehow, she just couldn't believe it.

And the war moved on without him. In February, the Allies destroyed Dresden, and in March, Manila fell to the Americans. Tokyo was being bombed relentlessly, along with other cities in Japan, killing eighty thousand and leaving more than. a million people homeless. And Hiroko worried endlessly about her parents. She spoke to the Tanakas about it on the phone, and they were sympathetic about her concerns, but Hiroko's life seemed far from them now. She was constantly listening for news of the war, hoping to hear something about Peter or her parents. It was her only concern now.

In April, Roosevelt died, and Hitler committed suicide. And the following month the concentration camps were opened, much to everyone's horror. It made Tule Lake look like paradise in comparison, and she was embarrassed to have ever complained about whatever minor miseries they had suffered. Compared to the people who had suffered at the Nazis' hands, the Japanese had been extremely lucky in Tule Lake, and elsewhere.