Within These Lines

by Stephanie Morrill

  “We enjoyed the sandwiches very much,” Father says with a slight bow. “Thank you.”

  “It isn’t much, I know,” the woman says with a shrug. “We thought we could at least be friendly faces who helped today go smoother. Now, you’ll want to loop your tag through the buttonhole of your coat because the guards will ask to see them before you get on the bus.”

  We tag our bags as well as ourselves, then we leave our possessions with the men from the church. For a moment, we stand huddled together, surveying the crowd.

  “Strange that it is so many volunteers,” my mother murmurs. “How are we supposed to know what bus to get on?”

  My elbow is bumped by the girl passing out waters. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She has a high, clear voice that rings excessively loud. “There’s just so little space in here!”

  She holds out the tray of small paper cups, which we gratefully take.

  “How do we know where to go?” Aiko asks her.

  “I’m really not sure there is a place you’re supposed to go.” The girl flutters a hand toward the buses. “There’s a lot of families just standing alongside the sidewalks out there. It should get a little less crowded now that the buses are arriving. Sorry I can’t be more help.”

  And then she’s gone, carrying her tray of cups to a line of people who are happy to see her.

  “Let’s go this way,” Father says, and we nudge our way through the crowd, back out into the fresh air.

  Several guards bearing bayonetted rifles stand at the end of the sidewalk, clearly marking a line we’re not to cross. A bus has just filled up, leaving a few vacated spaces where we can stand. I scour the sprinkling of Caucasian faces for Evalina. I thought she would be here by now. What if she is, but she just can’t find me?

  “It seems like nobody is in charge here,” Aiko says through gritted teeth. “He is the closest I’ve seen.”

  I follow her gaze to a Caucasian man wearing the same uniform as the guards, only he’s holding a clipboard instead of a gun. He steps off the bus that just finished loading, and the doors shut behind him.

  Inside the bus, a young boy waves out the window to someone. “See you soon!”

  An elderly man leaning on a cane waves back at him. “See you soon!” he echoes.

  Aiko snorts in my ear. “Yes, it’s sure a good thing all these guards are holding guns. We certainly want to keep this situation under control.”

  I think of the man at the doughnut shop, his sneer and the poster. “Maybe they’re here for our protection.”

  Aiko flashes me a dirty look. “You’re naivete is insufferable at times like this. I’m going to try and find a drinking fountain.”

  I want to call to her to keep an eye out for Evalina, but she disappears into the crowd before I can.

  With the sun directly overhead, the sky is a washed-out shade of blue. There’s not even an interesting building or a glimpse of the bay to suggest that we’re in San Francisco. What will it look like wherever they let us off?

  The bus pulls away from the curb, and as another pulls up, the guard with the clipboard yells, “Numbers 2200 through 2350, line up in an orderly fashion!”

  I check my tag—not us—and rub at a rough edge on my thumbnail as I half-listen to the conversation my parents are having with the family next to us. I know some Japanese, of course, but Mother and Father hardly ever speak it to us. With the noise of the crowd and their rapid speech, I can only pick out a few words. Sounds like this family has heard Manzanar as a possibility, but more likely Santa Anita or Tanforan.

  My father’s brow creases at this. “Where they race the horses?”

  The man shrugs. In Japanese he says, “It is not race season now.”

  My father chuckles. “Even still. I do not wish to sleep in a horse stall.”

  Another family pushes past us—a mother, father, and five stair-step children—in search of their own space on the sidewalk. My gaze follows them, and a heaviness drapes around my shoulders. We all need seats on a bus, a bed, and three meals a day. And we’re just a fraction of the people who are being evacuated. If the government is relying on church volunteers just to get us fed and sorted onto the buses, what’s waiting for us on the other end of the ride?

  “Taichi!”

  I open my eyes to the sight of Aiko’s face—which looks much more cheerful than the expression she left with—but my attention snaps to who she has with her: Evalina.

  Aiko pulls Evalina until she’s standing right in front of me. Her eyes are red, and her forehead is pinched as if she’s holding in more tears.

  “I saw the bus pulling away,” she says on an exhale. “I thought . . .”

  Her face crumples, and Aiko chimes in, “Luckily, I spotted her.”

  “Yes.” Evalina takes a deep, wobbling breath. “Luckily.”

  Evalina looks up at me through her tear-soaked lashes. Her smile is weak, but it makes my breath hitch all the same. She’s here. She somehow got out of school and made it here. All to see me tagged and loaded up like livestock. I probably smell like cattle now too.

  “Miss Cassano.” Mother has appeared at my elbow, and she reaches out to clasp one of Evalina’s hands in a warm handshake. If only I were free to do the same. “This is a nice surprise. Are you here with the church group?”

  Evalina blinks and then, “Yes. Of course. I saw you all over here and wanted to say hello.”

  “No school today, then?”

  “It’s . . . I received special permission.”

  “Very good of you.” Mother smiles and nods. “There are many of us to organize. You are good to help out.”

  “I wish there was no reason for helping out, Mrs. Hamasaki.” Evalina’s chin trembles for a moment. “This is an injustice. An embarrassment for a country that prides itself on freedom and equality—”

  “No, no,” Mother smiles kindly as she shakes her head. “Our government is doing what they think is best. We will be fine. Taichi, you see who it is?”

  As if I haven’t been standing here the entire time. “Yes, of course. Nice to see you, Miss Cassano.”

  “You will still find good Hamasaki produce at the Medinas’ stand at the market,” Mother says. “Maybe you have met Diego already? Young like Taichi, but taller and broader.”

  “Yes, I’ve met Diego. I imagine I will see him most Saturdays now.”

  This sentence causes a twist in my heart. While I’m scratching out a new life at . . . wherever it is I’m going, Evalina and Diego will still be at the market on Saturday mornings. Their lives get to continue as normal.

  “Do we know yet where you’ll be going?” Evalina’s question draws me back into the moment. Which is where I should be. As it is, it’ll be over far before I’m ready.

  “No. That is a great mystery, it seems. Did you learn anything new, Aiko?”

  “Still nothing certain.” Aiko turns her back to Evalina and me as she answers Mother’s question. “Most say Manzanar is the only camp that’s ready for residents . . .”

  Her voice drops lower, and her body angles more. I’m about to lean in so I can hear when I realize that Aiko is doing her best to give Evalina and me a moment of privacy.

  I glance at Evalina, and we slip around the corner, back to the chaos of the tagging and the luggage. There’s so much commotion—luggage being moved on dollies, families herding children, a girl crying as her mother pries a cat from her arms—no one is paying attention to us.

  “I thought maybe I was too late. I stayed longer than I wanted to, to take an English test, and I saw that bus pull away, and . . .” Her jaw trembles.

  I decide no one is looking at us—or that if they are, I’ll accept the consequences—and I put a hand on her arm. “I know, but it’s fine.”

  I hear the distinct squeal of brakes as another bus arrives.

  “I’m just glad Aiko noticed me because I couldn’t see anything, I was crying so hard. How much longer do you have?”

  The bus that just braked is likely ou
rs. “I don’t know. I think we’re one of the next groups, but nobody is keen on giving us information.”

  Evalina’s humph speaks her annoyance. “What church group was your mother talking about? I feel terrible about lying, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Oh.” I gesture toward the table where more families are getting their tags. “I guess they’re from a church around the corner and volunteered.”

  One of the men rolls by with a dolly, headed toward the curb. My heart seems to jump up to my throat when I spot one of our suitcases on it. My time with Evalina is nearly up.

  Evalina’s gaze latches onto my tag, and a rush of shame sweeps over me. I cover the numbers with my hand. “It’s fine, Evalina. It’s not like they tattooed us.”

  “It’s not fine.” Evalina says through a clenched jaw. “Maybe they didn’t tattoo it on, but it’s not like this will just wash away either.”

  I take hold of her hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

  Her glare is full of fire. “‘Fine.’ You keep saying that, but you don’t know. Maybe it’s not going to be fine, Taichi.”

  I know she’s angry on my behalf, not at me, but I really don’t want to spend our remaining minutes fighting.

  “Because what other choice do I have, Evalina?” I grip her hand. “I have to believe it’s going to be fine. That though you’re not physically getting on the bus, you’re still with me. That’s why I can feel this will all turn out fine. Because I believe that someday in the future, I’m going to leave wherever it is that I’m going. And that when I step off that bus, you’ll be there waiting for me.”

  Evalina’s teeth are clenched to the point of trembling, and she nods at me as the fire in her eyes melts away. “I will.” Evalina’s tears break through. She wipes them with the palms of her hand. “I promise.”

  I can feel the crowd shifting around us, can sense that I’m about to be pulled away, but even though I think I should tell her bye, should walk away, I instead put my arms around her waist and pull her close to me.

  Her eyes widen as she realizes that I’m about to kiss her. Maybe she too has all the reasons why we shouldn’t pounding through her head. The guards with the bayonets, my parents who could see us at any moment, and all the Japanese around us who are just as likely to disapprove of Evalina as her family is to disapprove of me.

  But I’m not going to let all of those should-nots rob me of this. This one moment where all that matters is this girl in front of me, and that she knows without a doubt everything I feel for her. I kiss Evalina, and for a blip of a moment, everything really does feel like it’s going to be fine.

  “Taichi.” Aiko stands beside us with round, apologetic eyes. “They’re asking us to line up.”

  I’m lightheaded as I blink at Aiko, as I take in the pulse of the crowd around us.

  Evalina blinks too, and then yanks open her schoolbag with a panicked, “Food!” She withdraws a paper sack. “I didn’t know what they would have for you, or how long you might be traveling, so I packed things that don’t need to be refrigerated. It’s almost all Italian food, so I don’t know if you’ll like it or not, but I . . . I just wanted to do something.”

  I take the bag from her, making sure my fingers touch hers. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

  Aiko’s smile holds a rare warmth. “If you really want to be helpful then write to my brother frequently or he’ll be depressed all the time.”

  “Of course.” Evalina looks up at me, all strength now that the time has come. “Every day.”

  “Every day.” I squeeze her hand and make myself say the last word I want to speak. “Goodbye.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Evalina

  As Taichi mounts the bus steps, he turns and searches for me in the crowd. I make myself smile. I don’t want him carrying away any more memories of me bawling on the San Francisco sidewalks.

  “Goodbye! See you soon!” call several other Japanese families, many of whom are not yet wearing tags. Maybe they haven’t received their evacuation orders?

  Those being evacuated file onto the bus in an orderly fashion, even the young children. They’re so quiet and polite, the guards must feel ridiculous holding those bayonetted guns.

  A young woman not much older than me crouches to tie the saddle shoe of her toddler while also cradling a newborn. Somehow she does so with efficient pulls and loops, and then she holds her daughter’s hand as her stout legs attempt the steep bus steps.

  Fury blazes in my chest. Oh, yes, I’m so thankful that these dangerous people are being removed from my city. Thanks ever-so-much, Mr. President.

  I’ve been so absorbed with the young woman and her children, I lost track of Taichi. Panic claws at me as I scan the silhouettes of passengers filing deeper into the bus. Even though Taichi stands several inches taller than many of the others, it’s impossible to make out a difference like that through the windows. Foolishly, I had counted on one more smile. One more wave. Only now—

  Aiko’s delicate features appear in an open window toward the middle of the bus. She waves to me and says something, but with the idling bus and the chatter around me, I can’t hear her.

  I cup my ear. She mouths TAICHI and points to the other side of the bus.

  He must be on the other side.

  I don’t think, I just move. I skirt my way around the Caucasian men loading the luggage, dash through the exhaust, and search for Taichi’s face in the windows. When I find him, he raises his window and reaches out a hand.

  I reach back, pushing up on my tiptoes. Even still, I can’t quite grasp his fingers. “I should’ve been born taller,” I shout through the window.

  Taichi laughs, but his grin evaporates as a guard closes a hand around my arm. His grip isn’t overly firm, but it’s not gentle either.

  “Sir, your entire body must remain in the bus.” The guard turns his steely gaze on me. “Miss, this is an unsafe place for you to stand. The bus is about to depart.”

  “We’re just saying goodbye,” I say, but the guard is already pulling me away.

  I look back up at Taichi’s window and find he’s tracking me as best he can while keeping his head inside the bus. We’re still close enough that he could hear me if I shouted to him, but my voice is suffocated by fear as I allow myself to be led back to the sidewalk.

  The guard releases me. “Stay here, or I’ll have to remove you from the loading zone.”

  I don’t meet his eye.

  When I do look up, I find the Japanese American families around me are angled away, as if to offer me a moment of privacy after a public embarrassment. But one of the Caucasian men loading the buses watches me openly. His gaze holds no condemnation, only curiosity and perhaps sympathy.

  I seek out Aiko’s face once more in the window and find her looking at me as though she’s been struck. She must have seen the guard escort me back to the sidewalk.

  I flash a thumb’s up.

  She nods, but her face still looks ashen.

  The bus must be full by now. There are many standing in the aisle. They must not be going too far if they’re expected to stand for the journey, right?

  No, they’re still letting people on. An elderly man, leaning heavily on his cane and being helped by a middle-aged son, struggles up the first step.

  The woman behind them watches with a stricken expression similar to Aiko’s, as if she can’t quite process what’s happening in front of her. When the elderly man stumbles—and is caught by the man helping him—her jaw trembles. She releases a sob so loud, I can hear it from where I’m standing.

  The woman boards, crying into her hands, and somehow a few more behind her are squeezed on. Then the bus door swings shut, as does the luggage compartment. Aiko faces forward, her jaw locked tight.

  The woman’s cries are still echoing in my ears as I stand there waiting. Minutes tick by. Another bus comes and idles behind this one, and the families who have tags begin to organize into a line.

  The br
akes pop as they’re released, and the bus lurches. Aiko raises her hand in a farewell to me, and I’ve barely raised mine in return when the bus chugs away from the curb.

  They’re gone.

  All this waiting, all this agonizing over when it would happen and how it would happen and if it would happen. And now, it’s happened.

  I know I need to be getting home, but I can’t seem to move.

  “You had friends aboard?”

  I look up and find the man who’d been loading luggage standing near me. He looks as though he’s about my parents’ age, with silver strands threading his auburn hair and creases around his mouth from years of smiling. He’s not smiling now, though.

  “Yes.” The syllable is coated in tears, and I clear my throat. “Yes, I did.”

  His gaze flicks to my arm. “Did the guard hurt you?”

  “No.” Not physically, anyway. “Are you with War Relocation? Do you know where their bus is going?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just a volunteer.”

  “You’re with the church group, then?”

  He nods.

  “Your help has been greatly appreciated. My friends”—I gesture to where Taichi’s bus disappeared—“spoke of the kindness of the church volunteers.”

  “We’re not able to do much, unfortunately. You’re welcome to stay and help, if you like.”

  I look at my wristwatch and grimace. The school day is gone, and Mama will expect me to come home from Gia’s—my cover story—in time to help with dinner. “I wish I could, but I’m expected at home. Will your church help with other evacuations? If so, who could I leave my name and phone number with?”

  “My wife, Mrs. Bishop.” He points down the crowd. “She’s the one dressed in yellow.”

  I dig in my school bag for paper and a pen. “Can you give her my name and number, please?”

  “Of course.”

  I scribble my information as fast as I can. Mr. Bishop looks at the paper before tucking it into his breast pocket. “Nice meeting you, Miss Cassano.”

  “You too, Mr. Bishop.”