The Purple Heart (37 page)

“Yes Sir!” replied the men.

“Mother Mary of God,”
muttered the drill sergeant under his breath as he stared back at the unfazed
faces of his Japanese American troops.

Hiroshi, Peter, Kenji, and
Akira were waiting in the lunch line. Kenji was still playfully reenacting
Hiroshi’s moves along with excited sounds. “Damn, Hiroshi, you showed those
guys. They barely touched you!”

Peter interjected, “I’m not
sure if it was good idea for you to beat up the sergeant like that…”

“Don’t forget those two
other soldiers!” exclaimed Kenji.

Peter gave Kenji an annoyed
look and continued, “I’m just saying, I’m not sure if it was wise to go up
against the sergeant like that. He’s our commanding officer.”

“Well, what did you expect
him to do? Not fight back and let those guys simply demonstrate their so-called
combat tactics?” said Akira from the front of the line.

“He’s our commanding
officer!” shouted Peter.

“Hey! We did them a favor
by showing them what the white boys may be up against if they were to fight
against the Japanese troops, hand to hand. I say, America better stick with
their artillery, tanks, ships, airplanes, and bombs. Shit, white boys couldn’t
fight with their hands even if they had eight of them.”

Kenji laughed out loud, and
Peter turned away irritated.

“You showed them white
boys, Hiroshi. I wished the sarge called me up, I would have showed them as
well,” said Akira as he slapped Hiroshi on the back.

Hiroshi turned to look at
Akira. He wasn’t sure if he liked Akira. There was something about his
personality that bothered Hiroshi, but at that moment, he nodded toward Akira
and with a grin said, “They were pretty bad weren’t they?”

Akira let out a laugh and
then pointed to Hiroshi’s right.

“Hey, look at the sarge’s table,”
said Akira discreetly.

Hiroshi turned to his right
and saw the drill sergeant eating his lunch along with the other sergeants.
Many of them had some bruising on their faces and some even had bandages. Some
were wincing with every bite.

Hiroshi looked back at
Akira with a grin. “Looks like our brotherly soldiers showed them that we’re
tougher than we look,” Akira blurted out. “Maybe we’ll get a little more
respect around here now,” he said as the mushy food plopped onto his tray.

“Maybe, maybe…” said
Hiroshi as he held out his tray.

The four men sat at their
table. There was quiet chattering among the other soldiers about how the white
soldiers who were supposed to teach combat training should have taken
self-defense lessons instead. For a little while, the morale of the troops was
boosted.

Hiroshi, Peter, Kenji, and
Akira were about finished with their lunch when they heard the drill sergeant’s
black boots step up to their end of the table. The four men looked up as he
stammered, “Private Satoh, come with me now.”

Hiroshi quickly stood up
“Yes, Sir.”

The drill sergeant turned
around and marched toward the exit with Hiroshi close behind. There was a
shared moment of silent concern as Peter, Kenji and Akira kept their gaze on
Hiroshi as he walked away.

Hiroshi stepped into the
bright, warm sunlight that bore down on the camp. He squinted momentarily and
caught the drill sergeant disappearing around the corner of the barrack.
Hiroshi quickened his step and followed him. As he turned the corner, Hiroshi
caught the sight of a fist coming straight at his face. Hiroshi reacted
instinctively and deflected the punch with his right hand while ducking.
Hiroshi assumed a defensive posture as the drill sergeant pulled back his fist.
The two men stood face to face, looking ready to brawl. Hiroshi wasn't sure if
the drill sergeant wanted to get back at him for unintentionally embarrassing
him in front of the troops. The two men kept their stare at one another until
finally the drill sergeant relaxed his stance.

"At ease, Private
Satoh," the drill sergeant said calmly.

Hiroshi relaxed his
posture, brought his hands together behind him, and spaced his feet apart. The
drill sergeant stood there, seemingly unmovable. The grayish brown hair on his
forearms glistened lightly from the sun's rays. His eyes were hard to see from
the shadow caused by the brim of his hat. But Hiroshi sensed a change in his
demeanor.

"Private Satoh, what
you did today was absolutely the best demonstration of combat skill I have ever
seen," said the drill sergeant firmly.

"Thank you, Sir,"
responded Hiroshi.

"I was told by many of
the other sergeants who trained the 100
^th
Battalion, the other Japanese
American battalion, that they were all taught a lesson in humility by their
troops. Some of the other sergeants who did not ship out with the 100
^th
conveniently neglected to tell me of this thing called karate. They thought I
would get a
kick
out of it. Needless to say, Private Satoh, you spared
me the brunt of the embarrassment, but I can't say the same for Stevens and
Donovan."

"My apologies, Sir, I
didn't mean to hurt them…" replied Hiroshi before he was cut off.

"Private, there are no
apologies in the army and especially none in combat. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir!"
replied Hiroshi affirmatively.

"Private, let me ask
you a question," the drill sergeant paused. "Why are you here?"

"To fight for my
country," said Hiroshi firmly and confidently.

"Spare me the fucking
propaganda, Private, and tell me why you are here," asked the drill
sergeant sternly.

Hiroshi paused for a moment
and then asked, "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

"Granted."

Hiroshi took another pause,
gathered his thoughts and spoke, "To fight for my home, Sir, and to prove
to everyone that Japanese Americans are just as patriotic as any other
Americans."

"But you're
Japanese," said the drill sergeant.

"Beg your pardon, Sir,
Japanese American," said Hiroshi respectfully.

"Whatever," said
the drill sergeant dismissively.

"No Sir, not
‘whatever,’" Hiroshi replied firmly.

The sergeant then stared at
Hiroshi, pondering how Hiroshi just corrected him. "Okay, Private, why is
it so important that you want to believe you're an American?"

"Sir, may I ask you a
question?" asked Hiroshi.

"By all means."

"Would ‘home’ be the
place you live in, where you are married and raise a family, Sir?" asked
Hiroshi.

"Of course,"
replied the drill sergeant.

"And would you not
defend that home no matter what?" asked Hiroshi.

"Certainly."

"And would you defend
that home against people who may just happen to look like you, like the British
in the Revolutionary War. In that case, white?" asked Hiroshi.

"I believe so,"
said the drill sergeant.

"Then I'm defending my
home against an enemy who just happen to look like me," said Hiroshi.

The drill sergeant was
silent and took a moment to think about Hiroshi's arguments. "But we're
fighting the Japanese, Private."

Hiroshi quickly
interjected, "Sir, I would be hard pressed to tell you the difference
between a German, an Italian, and an Englishman. As far as I'm concerned,
you're all white."

The drill sergeant paused
once more, "Fair point, Private. So what you're telling me then, is that
America is your home and that because it is, you would defend it no matter
what?"

"That's what I'm
saying, Sir."

"Well Private, I'm
still thinking about your arguments but I'm starting to understand… maybe, and
this is a strong maybe. Maybe I just need to be a bit more open-minded."

"Yes, Sir."

"Private Satoh, remind
the men that afternoon training starts promptly at thirteen hundred hours.
You're now dismissed," said the drill sergeant.

"Yes, Sir," said
Hiroshi. It was customary to salute a senior officer and for the most part,
Hiroshi did so out of protocol. But the conversation that Hiroshi just had with
the drill sergeant was different and for a moment, he felt that the drill
sergeant was talking to him as a fellow soldier and not as the enemy. He then
saluted the drill sergeant with a bit more respect.

The drill sergeant looked
at the young soldier, who stood lean and tall. The last few weeks had
definitely honed his physique. The face of the Japanese American soldier stared
back at him and gave him a sense of respect that he could feel. Strength
definitely emanated from the soldier. More importantly, the drill sergeant was
beginning to feel the walls of suspicion fall away. He then saluted the
soldier, looked into his eyes and for the first time, recognized patriotism.

Later that evening, Hiroshi
returned to his barrack with Peter alongside him. Hiroshi was walking steadily,
with his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. Peter was shirtless and had his T-shirt
thrown over his left shoulder. Peter's skin had tanned well under the
Mississippi sun. There was also more confidence in Peter's stride and perhaps
the military training was actually doing his self-esteem some good.

The two men were chatting
amongst themselves as they turned to face their beds when an expression of
surprise appeared on Hiroshi’s face. His eyes focused on a white envelope
tucked underneath his pillow.

"What is it?"
asked Peter.

Hiroshi walked to his
pillow and for a moment ignored Peter and then responded, "I think it's a
letter from my wife."

Hiroshi carefully picked up
the envelope with some anxiety. He had been waiting for almost three weeks for
a response from Minami. In that time, many scenarios played out in his head:
had he addressed it correctly? Did the mailman know how to find the prison camp
in the middle of desert? Or far worse, had something happened to Minami and he
just didn't know? He was looking at the back of the envelope and turned it over
to see Minami’s familiar handwriting. A smile crept over his face.

"Well, is it from
her?" inquired Peter.

"Yes, it's from
her," Hiroshi replied as he stared down at it.

"You know, she didn't
just send you an envelope. There's probably a letter in there that she'd want
you to read. Just because you seal it, doesn't mean it doesn't want to be
opened, you know," said Peter sarcastically as he sat down on his bed.

Hiroshi chuckled, nodded
his head, and brushed away his nervousness as he began to open the letter
excitedly. As he sat down on his bed, he unfolded the letter and smiled when he
saw a black and white photo of Minami. He took the photo by the bottom corner
and turned it upright to see his beautiful wife staring back at him. Her head
was slightly tilted to her right and she was smiling. Her hair was properly
primped and its sheen softly reflected in the light. She wore a dress with a
ruffled, jeweled neckline and she was looking back at him with her wondrous
eyes.

"Is that your
wife?" asked Peter who was staring at the back of the photo.

Hiroshi straightened up a
bit, smiled proudly at Peter and handed the photo to him. Peter carefully took
the photo and his eyes lit up when he turned it over to see Hiroshi's wife for
the first time.

"Wow, she's absolutely
beautiful! You're one lucky man. My girlfriend isn't as pretty, but she really
cares about me," said Peter.

"That's all that
matters, Peter, a woman who cares about you."

Peter didn't respond as he
selfishly took another look at Minami’s picture. "Yeah, but looks don't
hurt either."

Hiroshi laughed lightly and
bent his head down as he began to read the letter to himself.

"Well don't keep me
waiting, what does it say?" prodded Peter.

Hiroshi smiled. "Okay,
I'll just summarize it for you. She starts off by saying how good it was to get
my letter, then she says how much she misses me. The next paragraph tells me
that my parents are doing fine as well as her family. Oh, she tells me that her
sister, Miho, is going to write a letter to Kenji. She thinks Miho may actually
have a crush on Kenji. She goes on to tell me how she finds it such a
coincidence that Kenji is with me, like I'm supposed to be watching him."

Hiroshi flipped to the
second page and reads a few sentences to himself and continued to summarize for
Peter's benefit, "She then talks about her students… oh she teaches school
at the camp. She mentions about seeing me for the last time at the camp and how
she wanted to tell me so much more and…" An abrupt silence fell over
Hiroshi as he read the last few sentences of the letter. His eyes widened as they
darted back and forth more quickly.

"And?" asked
Peter anxiously.

Hiroshi looked up at Peter,
who saw shock on his face. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was slightly
ajar. Peter looked up attentively, awaiting whatever news his friend was about
to blurt out. An uncomfortable moment of silence passed. Peter was thinking
that something terrible had happened back at the prison camp.