The Purple Heart (7 page)

“No wonder this didn’t sell
Mom. It’s so ugly!” said Minami.

Her mother stared back at
her daughter and then looked at the shirt and smiled, “How dare you? That’s a
perfectly good shirt,” she said sarcastically.

Minami looked at her mother
with almost a sinister look and tossed the shirt into the fire that swallowed
it whole and fed on it.

Her mother picked through
the clothing and found a white shirt that belonged to Minami. “This shirt, made
you look fat!” she said with a smile. Minami laughed. This shirt, too, was sent
into the hungry jaws of the fire.

Soon, Miho, Yuka, and Yoshi
joined them and found the humor in the act and together the family fed the fire
and made good fun of one another. The fire roared and raged like a little
animal being fed throughout the night. The family took the opportunity to burn
most of their father’s fish-scented clothing, but Minami’s mother sacrificed
only those pieces he wouldn’t object to losing. She was anticipating his return
and didn’t want to lose hope.

The last of the clothes
were fed into the fire as red ashes ascended into the night sky. Yoshi ran
after a few stray burning embers that landed on the ground and stomped out
their glow, leaving only black smothered ash on the ground.

Miho played with Yoshi,
pointing out the stray red embers that he had missed. Yuka sat behind her
mother and Minami with her knees drawn up close to her chest as her chin rested
on the top of her knees. She silently watched the fiery beast dance. There was
a solemn silence in the air except for the crackling of the fire, the pattering
of Yoshi’s feet on the pavement and his giggles.

A scraping noise caught
everyone’s attention as they watched their mother drag the bowl and tea set to
the front of her. Mrs. Ito unlatched the wooden lacquered box and revealed the
six beautiful bowls and teacups, each one a bit different as she had selected
each bowl and teacup to reflect the distinct personality of each member of the
family. She picked up her bowl and looked at it as her eyes were reflected in
the black lacquered glaze.

Minami placed her hand on
her mother’s hand that was holding the bowl. She turned her head and looked
into her daughter’s eyes. “It’s okay Mom, we don’t need to throw these into the
fire. We’ll each take our own set with us.”

Mrs. Ito returned her look
into the dark glaze of the bowl. When the bowls and teacups came together, they
represented the family itself. They’d used it for family celebrations like
birthdays, holidays or when their father hauled in a large catch. But they
represented something that was Japanese, and thus hated by many. Yet these same
people still wanted it if the price was low enough.

But that day, she refused
to sell out her Japanese heritage or family. They were heavy, yet delicate. They
would be difficult to travel with and probably would not survive the trip.

She looked soulfully at
Minami. “Thank you, but these bowls and teacups, they represent our heritage
and family honor. Today we didn’t sell that honor. Ultimately what’s Japanese
is within us, not simply in a bowl.” She paused and took in a deep breath and
continued. “If we take these bowls, they will be separated. Some may break and
may not return home safely. They should share the same fate together so that
they should never ever have to be asked to consider their own worth.”

Minami was struck by her
mother’s deep thoughts, how the bowls represented their Japanese heritage but
ultimately, how each bowl represented each one of them. The bowls withstood the
battle together but they needed to be sacrificed together to preserve their own
sense of honor.

Minami’s mother reached
down and handed out each bowl and teacup that belonged to each of her children.
When they each had their bowl and teacup, she gathered her family around the
fire. As much as Minami may have wanted to preserve the bowl set, she followed
her mother’s lead. It was her mother’s time of conviction, a way for her to
hold back something from the community that had cast undue suspicion on her and
her family, had taken her husband away and forced her to make decisions she
didn’t want to make. Yes, they would not get the ornate bowl set. She would
deny them and she would make sure of it.

Mrs. Ito tossed her bowl at
the fire, knowing full well that it would not melt. The fire represented the
hungry jaws of the unscrupulous buyers, the U.S government, the white neighbors
whom she thought were her friends, and the white townspeople that taunted and
assaulted her. The bowl shattered, and though the fire tried to devour it, it
couldn’t. It was denied the sustenance that was being thrown to it. It tried
again with the teacup, but failed again. Then Yoshi gleefully threw his bowl
and teacup at the fire, then Yuka and then Miho. Minami hesitated. Out of all
the children, she had the most memories with the bowl set and remembered each
event. She rubbed the side of her bowl with her thumb until her mother looked
at her and said with a smile, “Go on Minami, it’s just a bowl.”

Minami smiled and along
with the quiet goading of her siblings, “Minami, Minami, Minami!” she tossed her
bowl, and then the teacup, into the fire and watched with delight as they
shattered upon impact. She felt satisfied, as if some albatross had been lifted
off of her. Her mother bent down, picked up the last bowl and teacup and
straightened herself up as she sighed. Standing in the middle of her children,
she looked at each one of them and simply said, “This one belonged your
father.” Her children looked up and she tossed the bowl and teacup at the fire
that raged once more before it whimpered hungrily, its strength slowly ebbing
away. The fire coiled back in on itself and tried to preserve its remaining
strength as it slowly burned itself away into the ashes.

The next day, the family
lugged their suitcases down into the hallway. Their assigned pick-up center was
the local elementary school. Their neighbor, Mrs. Yasuda, offered to pick them
up in her station wagon. Mrs. Ito had already sold the family car since she
wasn’t a good driver as Mr. Ito did most of the driving in the family. Minami wore
a pair of jeans and a sweater, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
She had packed her two suitcases along with a backpack full of personal items.
Yuka was with Yoshi outside, playing catch. Miho was milling about in the
barren living room.

The backdoor slammed and
Minami saw her mother walking in wearing a serious expression. “Your father’s
friend Joe–well maybe not his friend after I tell him what he offered for the boat,”
she said in an agitated voice. “We had agreed on a fair price a few days ago,
but he said he needed a little more time to raise the cash. So when I went to
collect the money, he gave me a few hundred dollars less than what we agreed
on. He didn’t say a word as if I was supposed to just take it, knowing that we
were leaving today. So I just glared at him and looked at the boat and
threatened to sink it.”

“No you didn’t,” said a
surprised Minami.

“Oh yes I did! That’s your
father’s pride and joy, and I know he wouldn’t want me to undersell it. So I
simply gave back the money and jumped into the boat. I said was going to ram
the boat into the jetty since I’m such a bad driver, which he knows since I
almost ran him over a few years ago. I was confident I could do it. I guess
that’s when he took me seriously so he pleaded with me to stop and I’m glad he
did–I don’t know how to start the boat.”

Minami laughed and her
mother continued, “So the ungrateful man pulled out from his pocket the rest of
the money and handed it to me. He apologized and offered to help me out of the
boat. But I just took the money and walked away from him.”

Minami was so amused that
she let out another laugh. Her mother laughed with her and then she went back
to check the kitchen drawers and cupboards to see if anything was neglected.
Her mother’s slender frame glided along the kitchen counter checking every nook
and cranny that she knew so well. She was wearing a dress whose hem was below
her knees. She walked more casually those days. Being a fisherman’s wife, she
didn’t need to carry the poise that she had when she was a younger woman and
before she bore four children. But she had an inner strength that carried
through especially in the last few months. Father would be so proud of her,
Minami thought.

A honk came from the front
of the house and both Minami and her mother looked in the direction of the
front door. Miho yelled out, “They’re here!”

Mrs. Yasuda stepped out of
the brown station wagon and greeted Mrs. Ito. Her youngest son, who was not
taken away, was driving. Her husband and oldest son had suffered the same fate
as Minami’s father and were also imprisoned in North Dakota. They had run the
local Japanese newspaper, which was high on the FBI’s list of suspicious
activities.

Mrs. Yasuda’s son Kenji
stepped out of the car in a plaid shirt and jeans. He was a skinny kid with
spiked hair and slightly crooked teeth. He was in the same grade as Miho. He
watched Minami walk toward the car and yelled out, “Looking good Minami, if you
were a few years younger, I’d ask you out.”

Minami playfully rolled her
eyes and responded, “At any age, I would say ‘no.’”

Kenji placed the palms of
his hands on his heart and feigned a painful rejection, “Oh Minami, you hurt me
so!”

Mrs. Yasuda quickly whacked
the back of her son’s head in an upward motion as he winced in pain and exclaimed
“
baka!”
the Japanese term for “fool.” In a motherly silence that can
only be understood by disobedient sons, she motioned curtly with her hands for
Kenji to get the Itos’ suitcases.

Kenji managed to stack and
tie down all nine suitcases onto the top of the station wagon. Mrs. Ito squeezed
into the front seat with Mrs. Yasuda as the young Kenji got behind the wheel.
He seemed excited, probably because he got to drive. Minami piled into the back
seat with her sisters; Yoshi was small enough to sit on Minami’s lap.

Kenji placed his hand on
the gearshift and put it into drive. “Okay everyone, take a last look at your
house,” he said.

Minami looked somberly at
the house that she had lived in for most of her life. She looked at the front
door, with her eyes travelling to the second floor and then to the attic. Kenji
then began the drive down to the school as the house faded away into the
distance.

The school was overrun with
Japanese families, all sitting around their suitcases as armed soldiers stood
about like sentries. A fleet of buses lined the street. Men in suits walked in
between the families with clipboards and eyed each family suspiciously.

Minami and her family found
a spot to wait along the curb and thanked the Yasudas for their help. Mrs.
Yasuda and her son got back into their car as they had helped five other
families earlier that day and it was finally their turn. Minami waited with her
siblings, each sitting on a suitcase. Their mother had appeared and brought back
with her, tags that bore the same number and their name. It was their family
number and she was also given the number of the bus to board.

Minami looked around her
and saw the glum mood of the Japanese American families around her. The U.S. Army
had plucked out each family with ease. If Japanese Americans looked white, it
would not have been that easy to single them out.

The roar of the coughing
mufflers broke the silence. One by one, men in suits called out the bus
numbers. They were being carted away like cattle, thought Minami. They were
told that the suitcases should be left behind as they would be picked up
separately and driven to their destination. Minami was incensed by the request,
but she could only grumble about it.

When their number was called
up, the family neatly lined up their suitcases and gave a sigh of relief.
Minami went along side with her mother with Yoshi in between her two sisters
trailing behind. They waited in line and came to the front. The soldier with
the clipboard stared down at Mrs. Ito. In a polite voice Mrs. Ito said, “Ito.”
The soldier looked at her scornfully and replied, “I don’t want your name, just
tell me your number.” Mrs. Ito collected her composure and simply said, “59.”
The soldier looked down at Mrs. Ito, Minami and her three siblings and made
five quick scribbles on his clipboard and motioned with the pencil to board the
bus. The Itos climbed into the bus and found two rows of empty seats side by
side. Yoshi sat between Miho and Yuka and Minami sat with her mother.

They sat there for a few
minutes as other Japanese American families filled up the remaining seats.
Soon, the curt soldier who greeted them at the door boarded the bus and in a
low but sharp voice, informed them that they would be taken to their designated
relocation center. He also informed them that the trip was long and that their
belongings were on their way to the relocation center. He then said that lunch
would be passed out. As he spoke, he scanned the bus. Silent expressionless men
and women, all with black hair and almond eyes stared back at him. He then
disembarked as two other soldiers stepped on board and handed each person a
brown paper bag that contained their lunch. Finally the bus roared to life once
more. The bus driver closed the doors and began to drive to an unknown
destination.

The buses meandered out of
the winding streets of the small fishing town until finally they were all in
single file, moving along in silent unison. Though Minami was sad and angry
about leaving the only home she knew, she was also glad. The chants from the
townspeople shouting “Go home, Japs!” fueled her disgust with the townspeople
and she wanted to just leave it all behind her. The eggshells that cracked and
splattered on the windows of the bus let out its gooey bomb of yellow yolk and
raw egg white, exposed a reality that she never wanted to admit: The
undercurrent of hate toward the Japanese Americans. She had to wonder if all
those smiles and pleasantries in the past had been simply an elaborate facade.

Once the bus got onto the
highway and the sun arced behind them, the ride was steady and uneventful. The
people on the bus were a varied load, mothers with children of various ages,
young women in their twenties, and elderly couples. Women outnumbered the men
on the bus by almost two to one.

The air became heavy and
stale as it slowly baked in the metal cocoon of the bus. Each breath of air was
dry and hot as weary eyes began to droop as the scene through the windows
turned into a blur of sand. It was gritty sand that ricocheted against the
windows and the metal sides of the bus. The passengers fell into a somber
attitude, as chatter waned altogether. Some leaned up against a piece of neatly
folded clothing propped up against the window to sleep off the journey while
others merely stared on ahead into nothingness. Their eyes glazed over,
reflecting a sense of ostracism and confusion. Their fate was no longer their
own, but in the hands of the determined bus driver to deliver them to the
unknown.

For the most part, Minami
stayed awake during the entire journey. Her mother had leaned up against the
window and fallen asleep. Yuka, Yoshi, and Miho had fallen asleep as they all
leaned into each other toward the window. There were only a few people awake on
the bus after several hours had passed. A few of the passengers were fanning
themselves. The older men undid their shirt buttons to find some relief from
the stuffiness. Her backpack caught her attention and it held the photos from
the attic that she was able to rescue from the burning. She opened up her
backpack and pulled them out.

She looked down at the
three small bundles and undid the rubber band that held the first bundle
together and began to flip through the pictures. The white border framed the
grainy black and white pictures and in the waning light, she could barely make
them out. They were of her parents while they were in Japan. A picture of her
father showed him standing tall alongside a railing with the ocean in the
background. He was strikingly handsome, with his boyish yet cocky smile. He had
on a short-sleeved white dress shirt with two buttons unbuttoned and black
slacks with shiny polished shoes. The next picture was of her mother, standing
against the same rail and looking a bit stiffer than her father. Her parents
were taking pictures of each other. But she had a smile on her face and her
hands were clasped in front of her. She looked so young then. Minami then
looked over at her mother. Her head was nestled into the makeshift pillow. Minami
admired how her mother had aged gracefully over the decades. A sense of
appreciation for her mother filled Minami and a smile gave way in the darkness.

She flipped through the
remaining pictures of the first bundle, undid the rubber band from the second
bundle and flipped through those as well. They were pictures of her when she
was a baby. Pictures she hadn’t seen in years. She was a chubby baby with fat
cheeks, who stared blankly into the camera. Another smile crept across her face
as she came across a picture of her being held by both of her parents on either
side. She was so helpless then and she felt helpless all over again.

The entire bus rattled abrubtly
when the driver shifted gears causing Minami to look up. She leaned over to
peer down the aisle. Through the bus’ windshield, her attention was fixated on
the looming structure, which was partially obstructed by the other buses ahead
of them. Miho had awoken and looked down the aisle as well. Both were silent as
the end of their journey seemed near as the bus eased itself through the metal
fencing that surrounded the relocation center.

“Miho, wake up Yoshi and
Yuka,” said Minami.

Miho turned to her brother
and sister and shook them gently. Minami turned to her mother and shook her softly
to stir her from her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open and she coughed slightly to
ease her parched throat. She looked at Minami who only said, “We’re here, Mom.”

The bus finally came to a
complete halt, and the door opened letting in a gust of sand. What hell on
earth had the U.S. Army herded them into? Wondered Minami. A soldier came
aboard the bus and all eyes looked up at him. He was a young man in his mid-twenties.
He wore a light brown shirt with matching pants and a black tie. He looked
curiously at the passengers and was silent for what seemed like an eternity
until he finally spoke.

“My name is Sergeant
McGinni. By Executive Order 9066, you all have been transported to a relocation
center. You will stay here until the war is over and until then, your fate will
be decided by the U.S. War Department.”

There was absolute silence
from the passengers and everyone simply listened.

“You will all get off the
bus now and report to the registration area where you will be assigned living quarters
for your stay here. Exit the bus now,” he stammered as he himself disembarked
from the bus.

Minami didn’t take kindly
to the curt announcement. She didn’t even know where she was let alone if she
was still in California. But nonetheless, along with the other passengers, they
started to gather their belongings. Minami carefully put the pictures back into
her backpack and with her family, they slowly filed out of the bus.

The groupings of families
formed a clumsy line in front of the bus. As Minami stepped off the bus, she
shielded her eyes as the sand whipped past her face. Wooden structures stood
eerily silent, all neatly laid out before her as far as the eye could see. They
were dark forbidding structures where the windows along each side were dimly
lit. The flapping of untacked tarpaper could be heard from the roofs as the
wind blew beneath them. Beyond the structures was a chain-linked fence topped
off with barbed wire that surrounded them. At regular intervals were guard
towers whose guns pointed inward. It was not a relocation center. It was a
prison.

Minami saw several
soldiers, all with guns, standing silent. There were men positioned behind
makeshift wooden desks, their stares uninviting and distant. Between them and
the new arrivals were small mountains of suitcases stacked in disarray.
Somewhere in those stacks were their suitcases, thought Minami. Other buses
were beginning to pull in and emptying their weary passengers. Like her family,
everyone stood silently and huddled together to ward off the blistering sand.
The mood of everyone was bleak, as everyone took in his or her fate.

The sergeant then broke the
silence by announcing that each family had to send someone to the registration
desk before they could search for their suitcases. When Minami’s mother came
back, she was assigned a unit, a barrack number and a block number. It was
their new address. Almost half an hour had passed before Minami and her mother
were able to locate all their suitcases, but only after several Japanese men
tackled the seemingly impossible task of sorting them out.

Minami’s mother made a few
nods to acquaintances and neighbors as they compared their living assignments.
Finally, Minami’s mother turned to her family and said, “Let’s find our
building, I heard that dinner will be served soon.” With a sense of renewed
determination, Mrs. Ito took charge. She rallied her family to grab their
suitcases and together they went looking for their barrack. Minami followed her
lead with her siblings in tow. Even Yoshi was a trooper, doing his part as he
lugged his little suitcase.

Once in the maze of dark
barracks, Mrs. Ito asserted herself and asked any soldier she encountered for
the location of the barrack to which her family was assigned. Though the soldiers
were curt and downright rude, Mrs. Ito’s composure remained unfazed. Her motherly
instinct told her that her priority was to get her family shelter and food.
Soon every street, every turn looked exactly the same until they came to the
front of a barrack. Mrs. Ito looked up at the light bulb that was shielded by a
circular metal shade that was attached to the barrack with a white metallic
tube that arced back into the building. Underneath the light, the number 15,
freshly painted in black, was illuminated. It also happened to be the last
barrack in the farthest corner of the entire prison camp. The Ito family saw
other weary families moving quietly back and forth among the barracks,
searching for their new homes.

The Ito family was the
first ones to arrive. The door had been left open, letting in the irritating
sand as it piled up on the inner doorstep. It was dark except for a dim single
light bulb in the middle. Mrs. Ito gently exhaled and marched into the barrack
as everyone else followed. They were looking for unit number six. The barrack
was long and it was far from being finished. The lower parts of the barrack
weren’t even boarded up yet in some places, letting in even more sand. There
were gaps in between the side planks. It was a dark wood, not like the new pine
used in a new home. The roof angled above them with exposed rafters and cross
beams. Spaced evenly along the center beam were the light bulbs with a string
dangling from each one. The floorboards themselves creaked under each step, which
caused an unsettling feeling. Along each side of the walls were beds with a
folded gray blanket on top of it, about two for each respective barrack unit.
Unit number one was the first one upon entering the doorway. Minami felt sorry
for the family assigned the first unit, as they would have to endure the
billowing sand as well as the traffic of everyone else in the barrack going in
and out. As Minami passed each unlit light bulb, she pulled down on the
dangling string to turn them on until they reached their unit. It was the end
unit, which luckily offered them privacy. Three walls surrounded them as they
looked from one empty corner to another. They had a window on each wall that
looked crooked in the window frame.

Minami looked at her mother
who had her back to her. She just stood there silently, as if she was staring
out through the window until finally, she bent down slightly and placed the two
suitcases on the floor. She turned around to face her family and simply said,
“Let’s do our best.”

Minami helped her mother
move the two beds on either side of the wall together. Minami’s mother noted
that the thin blankets weren’t going to provide enough warmth, so they would
need to share their own body warmth to endure the cold. Miho went about to try
find something to plug up the gaps in the wooden planks along the wall. Yuka
and Yoshi organized the suitcases and helped by cleaning the unit of bent
nails, torn pieces of tarpaper, and other remnants left behind during the hasty
construction.

Minami unfolded the four
blankets and was dismayed by their size, as she wanted to partition off her
family’s unit for some semblance of privacy. She hoped that she would be able
to request more. She looked up momentarily and saw another family entering the
barrack. Mrs. Ito looked up and greeted them politely. Miho was able to find a
nearly finished roll of tarpaper that had rolled unnoticed underneath one of
the beds. Mrs. Ito told Miho to rip the paper carefully and to save as much of
it for later. Miho understood and ripped off neat strips, which she used to
cover the biggest gaps in the planks. Afterwards, along with Miho, Minami was
able to hang two of the blankets from one end of the room to the other using
some of the nails that they had found.

That night’s dinner was
cafeteria style as people lined up outside their assigned mess halls. Minami
stood in line, taking up the rear. Yoshi kicked about the sand, but for the
most part, he behaved. There were hundreds of Japanese Americans standing in
line. Light conversation permeated through the crowds but not much more. A low
growling could be heard as people’s stomachs yearned.

White soldiers served the
food with indifference. They plopped down onto the metal trays rice, overcooked
string beans and America’s favorite preserved canned ham, SPAM. Minami and her
family had chosen a table at the corner of the mess hall. Though the mess hall
was getting crowded and the noise level was starting to rise, Minami’s mother
wanted some quiet, even it was just for a moment. Minami’s mother had Yoshi sit
next to her and despite his grumbling, helped him cut up his SPAM. The sisters
sat across from them, eating quietly as Minami struggled with her food. The
rice was undercooked, the string beans were limp and the SPAM, well SPAM was SPAM.
She ate her dinner in small tepid bites. A bright fleeting white light caught
her attention and she looked up through the window behind her mother. It was a
spotlight from the guard tower and for a moment, with a look of disgust on her
face, she knew how a prisoner felt.

She threw down her fork
onto the metal tray causing it to bounce onto the table. It caused her family
to look up at her with surprise and Minami simply ignored them. She knew that they
were thinking exactly what she was thinking. It was totally unfair, it wasn’t
right. There was no justice in the matter. Here she was, with her family in a
place they didn’t want to be in and deprived of their father. She bent her head
down and brushed her hair back with her hand and looked down at the half-eaten SPAM.
Was this to be her life for the unforeseeable future? Was she going to be a
prisoner forced to eat SPAM? How could it get worse, she wondered as random
thoughts coursed through her mind.