A Girl Like You

by Maureen Lindley

  “And this”—Dr. Harper turns to Satomi—“is your client, Miss Satomi Baker.”

  “So, all the way from Manzanar, Doc! I’ve heard tell of the place.” He allows his eyes to settle on Satomi for a moment. “Good of you, very good of you to help the girl.” His voice has a gloopy mucus gurgle to it, like the sound stirred-up river mud makes.

  “Emphysema,” Dr. Harper tells her later. “Strange disease for a bank manager.”

  “Sit, sit. How can I help?”

  “Your clerk told us that you have sold my farm,” Satomi says quietly. “I don’t recall giving you permission to do that.”

  He is taken aback by the way she has launched straight into things.

  “We didn’t need your permission, Miss Baker. Associated Farmers bought up a lot of the land around here with the government’s permission. They plan to grow on a big scale. Best thing for Angelina.”

  “Why didn’t you need my permission? I own the farm.”

  “Well, that’s debatable. No papers to show that you or your mother had a legal stake in anything.”

  He didn’t like her tone, she was pretty uppity for a girl, too sure of herself. He guessed that was a fault with lookers, they expected you to dance to their tune. Her father was the same, he hears, chip on the shoulder, looking for trouble, thinking himself better than the whole town put together.

  “So you sold my farm from under me. What did I get for it, Mr. Port?”

  “Well, off hand without looking at the papers, I seem to recall something near three hundred dollars. Land isn’t bringing much these days, less than a quarter of its prewar value, I’d say.” His eyes slide from Dr. Harper’s. “We’ve all had to make sacrifices for America, no doubt of that.”

  “I don’t believe you had the right to accept an offer on my mother’s behalf, Mr. Port. Mine, either.”

  “Well, let’s get things straight here, young lady. It isn’t exactly your farm, now, is it? It was your father’s, and he didn’t leave a will, so I reckon you should be grateful to be getting anything, considering.” He flips open a pack of Chesterfields and offers Dr. Harper one. “I go through three packs of these a day, Doc,” he confides as though they are old friends. “You won’t find a smoother smoke anywhere.”

  “Considering what, exactly, Mr. Port?” Dr. Harper asks, declining the cigarette.

  “Well, considering the war and what took us into it.” He sneaks a look at Satomi, confirming to himself the Jap in her. “It changed everything, Doc, you gotta know that. Angelina isn’t as trusting as it used to be, we rely on ourselves these days, don’t want foreigners owning our land. And I guess you don’t need telling how people in these parts feel about Pearl Harbor? You won’t find Japs working the land around here anymore.”

  He’s easy to despise, Satomi thinks, disgusting, full of bigotry. But she holds her anger back, she isn’t here about Bill Port. She’s here about Aaron and Tamura, she’s here about the farm that they had loved and had worked together. They had picked and packed their crop with care, sheltered their little family in the house that Aaron had built. It’s about Aaron’s pride in his land, the way he had resented every cent spent on living, thinking land the only thing worth shelling out his dollars for. If she doesn’t fight for it, it will be like forgetting who her father was. It will be like saying her parents’ life counted for nothing.

  “Did you take a commission on the sale, Mr. Port?”

  “Just the usual.”

  “Seems like everyone did well out of my father except his family. I could fight you on this, Mr. Port. The law’s still the law, isn’t it? Our farm wasn’t yours to sell, let alone for three hundred dollars.”

  “Sure, you could go ahead with that, but I’d advise you to take the money, Miss Baker. We can string the process out, if that’s what you want. I’m simply showing goodwill on the bank’s part.” He purses his lips so hard that for a moment they disappear altogether and he seems fishlike.

  “Goodwill! You’ve stolen my father’s farm. Is that goodwill?”

  “No need for that kind of talk in here, miss.” The worm of his mustache hair quivers delicately as though in tune with his shaking voice.

  “Nobody’s stolen anything. There’s been a war, and the government had to take over deserted land. It would have gone to ruin otherwise.”

  “We didn’t desert it voluntarily, Mr. Port. We were shipped out against our will.”

  “Well, that’s nothing to do with me, nothing to do with the bank. Guess if you don’t want to take what’s on offer you could write to our head office, although I hear they’re pretty snowed under, what with all the claims folk are making. Could be years before they clear the backlog. Even then there’d be no guarantees you would get more, no guarantees you’d get anything. As I said, it’s all a question of goodwill.”

  He’s sure of himself, has the law on his side, and the mother being dead makes things easier. And everything has been stamped by the government, after all. Not to mention that it’s his duty to do right by his employers, by his American customers.

  “However you care to describe it,” he scoffs. “Twelve acres is hardly a farm.”

  “Plenty of farms the same around here,” Satomi says. “And there’s our house, what about our house?” She is thinking of how her father had transformed the small cabin that he and Tamura had first bought into a home fit for a family. She is thinking of the cool apple light in Tamura’s comforting kitchen, the lean-to laundry with its copper boiler and wooden hanging rails, the familiar scent of rice and miso.

  “Not much more than a shack now, I’m sorry to say. It’s due for demolition any day soon.”

  “Seems like sharp dealing on the part of the bank to me,” Dr. Harper says. “Whatever shape the house is in, surely combined with the land it must be worth more than three hundred dollars.”

  “Well, you have to take into account that the place had a tenant for a while, Doc. Yugoslavian fellow, turned out he was a drinking man, he let the land run to ruin. They had a fire a couple of years back and half the house burned down. Knocked the value out of it. You’re a doctor, a man of the world. I guess you’ve seen it all in your time. A drinking man can run things into the ground quicker than you or I can blink.”

  Dr. Harper is disappointed in himself; he’s finding out that when it comes to matters of finance he’s no match for the likes of Bill Port.

  “I guess it would help if you paid interest on the money, and added your commission to it,” he says. “You should do that, at least. United Farmers is a big company, they got the land at an unreasonably low price.”

  “Can’t do it, I don’t have the authority. I might wish it different, but that’s the way it is. What I’m offering is the only deal to be had in Angelina today.”

  “Well, I guess you know the deal stinks.” Dr. Harper shakes his head and turns to Satomi. “A bird-in-the-hand, Sati?”

  Bill Port opens the desk drawer and withdraws a checkbook in anticipation.

  “You intend on staying around Angelina, Miss Baker?”

  “What do you think, Mr. Port?”

  “Girl like you, I guess not. I reckon not many of the Japs will come back. Being resettled elsewhere, I hear.”

  A girl like you, a girl like you. How many times has she heard that? What did he mean by a girl like her? He didn’t know her, not like she knew him, anyway. A man like you, Mr. Port, she thought, at home in Angelina, small town big fish, big fish small mind.

  “And my parents’ account with you. That had money in it. My mother told me there should be around a hundred dollars in that.”

  “Maybe there was, I seem to recall more like seventy. We closed a lot of accounts around that time. They were small feed, mostly, cost more to manage than made sense. They weren’t being used, you see.”

  “We could hardly use it while we were interned, now, could we?”

  “You’ll have to take that up with the head office too.”

  “I guess there’s going t
o be a long line at the head office.”

  “I guess.”

  “I’ll have to let it go, then. I’ve given up waiting in line.”

  “You make sure you don’t go spending it all at once, now.” he hands the check to Dr. Harper.

  “A young girl with all that cash, eh, John?” He winks at Dr. Harper. “Pretty dresses, makeup, gone in a flash if she’s not careful, eh?”

  “You’ve made it out for two hundred and sixty dollars,” Dr. Harper says, confused.

  “Tax.” Bill Port moves toward the door.

  Satomi takes the check that Dr. Harper hands her and waves it in the air. “What would you do with the money, Bill?” she says, experiencing a moment of pleasure as his body stiffens at the use of his first name.

  “Well, Satomi, I … guess …”

  “Oh, better if you call me Miss Baker, Bill. More professional, don’t you think? Me being your valued customer after all.”

  The color rises in Bill Port’s face. His hand trembles as he lights a fresh cigarette from the stub of his old one. Damn Japs, who the hell does the girl think she is?

  “You’ll cash the draft for her here, today?” Dr. Harper makes it sound like a demand.

  “Sure, Doc, we’re here to help.”

  “I guess you know the girl’s been cheated, Port? But then, that’s the business you’re in, it seems.”

  “Look here, Doc, no need for that kinda talk. I’ve never cheated anyone. It’s the way things are, that’s all.”

  “Do you like your job, Bill?”

  “I sure do, Doc. I like to help the folks in Angelina get along. How about you?”

  “More than I thought before I met you, Bill. I can see now that there are worse things than being a small-town doctor.”

  Back on the sidewalk, Dr. Harper takes her hand as they cross the road, although there is no traffic in sight.

  “Nothing seems respectable anymore,” he says as they settle themselves in the car. “The man was shameless. Time was when bank managers could be trusted, when fairness counted.”

  “I didn’t really expect anything different, Dr. Harper. Felt I had to make a stand, though.”

  “What now?”

  “Well, maybe it’s not such a good idea, but I guess I’d like to take a last look at the farm.”

  “You sure that’s what you want, Satomi? If there’s been a fire, it may, you know …”

  “I’m not sure, but let’s go anyway. I know I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

  “And after that?”

  “I’m thinking of heading East, New York. My old teacher, Mr. Beck, advised it once, my mother too. I think they were right. I’ve money now for the fare, and a bit besides. Things around here aren’t going to change anytime soon.”

  “I can help you there, Satomi. My cousin Edward and his wife Betty live in New York. Maybe they could put you up until you find your feet.”

  “Are you sure, Dr. Harper? You’ve already done enough for me.”

  “I’m sure, and why not call me John?”

  “I like calling you Dr. Harper. Calling you John would make you seem like a stranger to me. Besides, my mother wouldn’t have approved. It’s only proper to give you the title you’ve worked for.”

  They smile at each other, sharing the memory of Tamura.

  “I imagine New York won’t be easy, you know?” he says. You’re a country girl, after all. It’s a pretty hard place to make your way in.”

  “Well, I’m not expecting easy, and it feels as right as anywhere, I suppose. There’s nothing left for me in Angelina. I guess I’d rather be Japanese in New York than in California.”

  “I envy you,” he says. “It’s the American way to up sticks, start over.”

  “Well, I’m going to give it a try.”

  “And you won’t be alone. I’ll call my cousin before you get there, so you’ll be expected. Maybe he can help find you work, and you’ll have a place to stay until you can sort something out for yourself. His wife is kind, and he’s a warm person.”

  “It must run in your family.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No, not at all. My mother was a good judge of character.”

  They stop for gas on the way. The JAP TRADE NOT WANTED sign is still there, but it’s a stranger who comes to serve them. He fills the tank without looking at her.

  “Time to take that sign down, don’t you think?” Dr. Harper says, with a flick of his head toward it.

  “I’ll think about it.” The man grins at him.

  “It’s sickening, makes me ashamed, Sati.”

  “Oh, Dr. Harper, you have nothing in this world to feel ashamed about.”

  Along the road out of town she asks him to stop the car. He waits with the window down, watching her pace the road, feeling her panic. It won’t be light for much longer, they should hurry.

  She squats down and picks up a handful of earth, letting it run through her fingers, testing its friability in the way that Aaron used to do.

  “It’s good earth here,” she calls to him. “You can grow anything in it.”

  “You don’t have to go, you know,” he says. “Maybe it’s better to remember it as it was.”

  “It’s only a few hundred yards or so down the road,” she says. “We’ve come this far, how can I not go?”

  She half expects to see their old truck still stalled at the roadside, but it is gone.

  “You can tell it was a good building once,” he says, noticing the set of her shoulders as the house comes into view. She’s pale, attempting to rally herself. He wants to comfort but can’t think of how—words, he knows, won’t help.

  The spectacle of the ailing house is hard to look at. Her chest tightens with the memory of how it used to be. A sudden desperate longing for Tamura overtakes her.

  There are cracks like lightning hits in the whitewashed windowpanes. All the frames are rotting away, and Aaron’s tough old enemy bindweed races up the smoke-blackened walls to the roof. KEEP OUT. PRIVATE PROPERTY is splashed across the padlocked door in red paint.

  “I could break the lock easy if you want, Sati.”

  “Oh, Dr. Harper, I didn’t have you down as a housebreaker.” She gives him a tense smile. “I can get in through my bedroom window if I want. I’ve done it often enough before.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s no hurry, Sati.” He doesn’t care about the dark coming now. “Take your time”

  “Okay.”

  At the back of the house she hunkers down by the kitchen door and smothers a wail. She doesn’t want to upset Dr. Harper. She thinks of what she has lost, what she can never get back. Her mother, she knows, would say different, she would say that she had a happy childhood and that can never be taken from her.

  The kitchen door is padlocked like the front one, but no KEEP OUT warning. She doesn’t want to go inside; just standing in the yard is pain enough.

  It’s a surprise to find Tamura’s henhouse still standing. No hens, the straw swept out, a few molding seeds set in the mud floor. A child’s basket stands rotting in one corner with peppercress growing through it, she doesn’t recognize it. How Tamura had loved her hens, those homely little things that she had thought beautiful. How she had cared for them.

  Their packing sheds have been knocked down and replaced with long aluminum buildings. Neat piles of boxes stand around stamped with the United Farmers logo. A chemical smell hangs in the air; the place feels dead. The years of her father’s attention have been swallowed up, gone. Aaron’s passage through his land forgotten. There’s nothing left of him for her to see or touch or smell. Home is nowhere to be found on the ground here.

  On her way back to the car she flips open the mailbox; it’s empty. A moment of disappointment connects her with her younger self, as though the place isn’t dead to her yet. How she had loved to find things there, seed catalogues, Aaron’s paper. She remembers the penciled note from Elena that had brought comfort to Ta
mura.

  “I need to go back into Angelina. One more thing to do.”

  “Sure, we should find a place to stay for the night anyway. It’s getting late.”

  She looks at the white orb of the sun low in the sky, a rising slice of moon already visible. She remembers how the sun takes its time here, dunking its way down into the woods before dropping out of sight. They have twenty minutes at least before dark, she guesses.

  “I doubt anyone would give me a room in Angelina, Doctor.”

  “Then we’ll drive to somewhere that has a better class of people.” He is angry on her behalf.

  At the side door of the post office, Mr. Stedall, with his dog at his feet, is oiling the chain on his bike. It’s the same old bike, with its straight handlebars, the big bell that looks like a shiny hamburger. In his post office uniform Mr. Stedall looks the same too, a handsome man, she notices now, if you like thin. He smiles at her, anxious, bracing himself against life.

  “Hello, Mr. Stedall. Remember me?”

  “Satomi, isn’t it? How’s your mother?”

  “She’s dead, Mr. Stedall. She died in Manzanar.”

  “That’s too bad.” He looks crestfallen. “Nice woman, your mother.”

  “Are the Kaplans still at their place? I’d like to send Elena a note.”

  “He is. She died around the time you left.”

  “Elena died?”

  “Yep, one of those freak-type accidents. She fell and hit her head against their tractor. Never woke up.”

  “I can’t believe it, Elena dead.”

  “News to you, maybe; it’s an old sore to Hal, though. He grieved something terrible. I reckon he’ll never get over the shock of it.”

  “Do you know, Mr. Stedall, I can’t help wondering sometimes if the devil lives in Angelina.”

  “Can’t blame you for thinking it, Satomi.”

  The Great Port

  Southport Street

  New York

  Dearest Eriko,

  Dr. Harper forwarded your letter and it has found me at last. He’s been such a good friend to me in so many ways that I wonder now why I was so hard on him in the camp. His letters come to me as if from home, just as yours did. I guess for me now home is not so much a place as the people I love.