After making love, Moira lay with her arms around Teddy’s waist and her head on her shoulder. Funny, that they slept this way, Teddy often thought, since she was the bigger woman. But Moira rarely wanted to be held.
‘You awake?’ Teddy whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘I was thinking, but it wasn’t important if you were falling asleep.’
‘No, I’m awake, sweet, what’s on your mind?’
‘I was thinking about how I used to dream something like this. When I was little, I used to daydream about these two dolphins sleeping together in a cave under the Atlantic Ocean. And then when I was in high school and I had a crush on my math teacher, I used to imagine she would hold me, no falderal, only the holding.’
‘Hmmm. Did you ever tell anyone?’
‘Mom, once I told Mom.’ Teddy’s voice dropped.
‘And what did your Mom say?’ Moira felt a twinge of jealousy about Teddy’s closeness to her mother.
‘Not much,’ Teddy said. ‘I remember she was sewing at the time. She didn’t look up from the mending, but her voice turned kind of funny. She said something like, “You’ll probably grow outta that dear. But if I was you, in the meantime, I wouldn’t go around telling folks.”’
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothin. I stopped having those daydreams, although sometimes they stole into my mind at night. There was that warning in Mom’s voice. I never did tell anyone either. Not until just now, not until you.’
Moira squeezed tighter. ‘I love you, long one, you know that?’
‘Yes.’ Teddy sighed with a breath that moved through her whole body. ‘I do know that.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Winter 1944–5, Lion’s Head
WARSAW LIBERATED
BURMA ROAD TO CHINA OPENED AGAIN
AUSCHWITZ LIBERATED
AMERICANS LAND ON IWO JIMA
IT WAS TOO COLD TO SIT outside, but Wanda leaned back on the bench and stared through the barbed wire to the mountains beyond. She had come here, as usual, for a good think and talk. Papa and Howard always provided good answers. If she needed a third opinion, she would consult Roy. Today she was filled with incredulity and exhaustion. The week before Christmas, three years after Pearl Harbor, and the Supreme Court decides in its infinite if tardy wisdom that it is a crime to detain loyal citizens against their wills. Who was going to pay for the crime? Who was going to resurrect Papa? Would they turn around and say that the war, itself, was a crime? Who would find Howard? Missing. Lost. Unaccounted for. Dead, she guessed he was dead. So did Mama, who now set flowers in front of his photograph too.
They could go any time. The United States was sorry to have detained them. They were free to go back. Back to what? Their farms and fishing boats had been sold from under them. Most people owned only what they could cram into their tiny cells here. They were free to return to California and start all over again as they had in 1910 or 1890 — three or four or five decades before. Not quite all over again.
What choices did she have? She could go now or later. Betty would hate leaving Mr Sasaki’s lessons and her friends before the end of the school year. Mrs W. would be very disappointed to lose her. But Mama wanted to go as soon as possible. She ached to get to the coast, prepare for the journey to Japan and find the first ship leaving after the war. And Wanda? What did Wanda want?
Poking her stick in the cold ground, she thought about Ann’s visit a year and a half ago. At that time, she might have known what she wanted. She would have been ready to leave this wilderness at the first opportunity. She thought about how she hungered after that college furlough Mrs Nakashima tried to arrange. How much she missed Stockton Street! How often she yearned to re-enter ‘normal’ life. But what was normal now? She couldn’t live at Stockton Street because someone had to look after Mama and Betty. So returning to San Francisco without Papa and Howard, with Teddy and Moira and Ann, was like going to a strange land. Even living near Uncle Fumio’s family would be strange, since they had been separated in different camps for three years. As mad as Mama’s dreams of Japan were, Wanda understood her urge to control life. She understood the bitterness that made her want to leave this country for ever. But she doubted that she or Betty could ever become Japanese.
Her hands were red and chapped. She had become oblivious to the weather, finally withdrawing inside herself. The stifling heat of July and the frigidity of December were the same to her when she felt this numbness. After Papa’s death, she had tried to stop feeling. She was surprised how much she felt for Roy, how much fear she experienced when he and Howard went away, how much anger she could muster against Mrs Wright, how much pain she felt about Howard’s loss. Missing. Lacking. Absent. Astray. The day of that terrible telegram was the last occasion she had spent an hour feeling vulnerable. Since then, she squashed the slightest intimation of happiness or relief or sadness or regret. She had a hard time writing in her diary. What was the point? What was there to reflect upon? So the weather didn’t faze her. She just made it through each day, teaching her class, tending to Mama, listening to Betty, waiting. Now that one of the things she had been waiting for was here, she was paralyzed. Maybe it would be better to finish the school year. Maybe it would be easier, then, for Betty, at least. Maybe Mama would change her mind about Japan once they were out. Wanda leaned forward on her stick and confronted the mountains, her eyes wide and her jaw set.
School was difficult to contain this afternoon. The kids were excited about the court decision. A quick civics lesson for reconstituted Americans. Mrs Wright had scheduled practice for the Christmas pageant and she could do nothing to cajole the students to concentrate on their lines. As Ricky and Bobby stumbled over the dialogue, two lost Wise Men, Mrs W. turned to Wanda.
‘Wonderful news. You must be thrilled.’
Wanda nodded, somewhat surprised at Mrs W.’s enthusiasm and then abashed at her own surprise. Of course the woman wasn’t evil, just a little dense at times.
‘So many decisions for everyone,’ Mrs Wright continued. ‘I understand the children’s excitement — about this. And then Christmas on top of it all. But the show must go on.’
Wanda nodded again. Theatres, she remembered, summoning the numbness.
‘Ricky, Bobby.’
The boys recovered their lines from Betty, who worked behind the scenes on this production. She was saving her excitement for her own recital in February. Stanley, who Wanda thought looked more and more like his brother Roy since he got glasses, was practicing solemnity as St Joseph. Wanda ached to leave the classroom, to return to her spot by the fence, maybe to climb the fence, to lie down in the frozen desert. No, she pulled herself back.
Noticing Wanda’s distraction, Mrs W. turned again, ‘I hear that some families are leaving this week.’
‘Yes.’ Wanda wished she could fend off the next comment.
‘I trust you will stay until the end of the school year — for Betty’s sake, well, to be truthful, for all our sakes.’
‘I don’t know what will happen. It’s been so long since we’ve had any choices.’
‘I can appreciate your acrimony.’ Mrs W. kept one eye on Ricky and Bobby.
Acrimony, Wanda pondered. If Mrs W. thought this was acrimony, she should know what Wanda had felt at other times.
Maybe the teacher could see it all. Maybe her numbness was so deep only she, herself, experienced it.
‘The news is quite sudden. And the decision involves conflicts.’
‘Ah, yes, does your mother still want to repatriate?’
‘Possibly,’ Wanda answered quietly. Had Mrs W. heard the plan from Betty?
‘You told me some time ago,’ Mrs Wright reminded her. ‘The first day we met, I believe.’
Wanda turned her attention to a fracas in the corner. The children settled down.
‘Wanda, I’d like to t
ake you to lunch. I’ve always been reluctant to impose on your time, on your family obligations. Still, I would appreciate the opportunity to talk before you make a firm decision about leaving.’
‘Of course,’ said Wanda, conscious of the distance in her voice. ‘How about after the holidays?’
‘Good.’ Mrs W. patted her hand.
Wanda compared the textures and colors of their skin. Mrs W.’s wrinkles and veins webbed together in a weathered pattern of experience. Her own hand was rough, but comparatively unlined. And the color was indistinguishable, both of them darkened by the desert to a light brown. Wanda thought of that man on the streetcar who scowled and moved away from herself and Roy on Pearl Harbor morning. Yellow peril. The desert had taken even her color.
Wanda sat a second longer, claiming her place, contemplating how alone she felt. Alone with Mama, with Betty, with Mrs W. She was a different person to each of them, responsible for important things. Who were her real friends? Carolyn, yes. But since the news about Howard, she was more a person to be taken care of. Two people to be taken care of now that she was pregnant. She longed to talk with Moira and Teddy. Now that the possibility was closer, that she might be in San Francisco within a few months, she didn’t know if she could talk. She was out of practice. Correspondence was such a different form of communication. You orchestrated letters. No one looked back at you and said, ‘Really?’ or ‘Tell me more’. It was just you and the letter.
February 1945
Wanda sat in the large, darkened room, holding Mama’s hand. Together with everyone else in the audience, they waited for Betty to walk out on stage. Wanda could hardly believe this was the long-awaited February recital, so much had occurred in the past few months. Mama sat perfectly still, save for a slight fidgeting in her left hand, and her nervousness was unapparent to anyone except Wanda. This was the first time Mama had heard Betty play. She had refused all invitations to rehearsal, but Papa would have wanted her to attend the public performance. Wanda sat erect on the hard folding chair and tried to calm Mama with her own charade of serenity. Mama continued to fidget. She was eager to be free of this place, Wanda knew. Only three more weeks and they would be gone. This compromise had worked out best for all of them. Betty wanted to stay until the recital. Mrs W. had begged Wanda to wait until she could train another aide. Mama, herself, admitted that it would take time to arrange for a place in San Francisco and to pack.
A spotlight scanned the stage and, after a long pause, Betty walked toward the piano.
Wanda studied the pretty, poised girl and thought how much her sister had grown these last three years. She had come to camp as a shy, eight year old and now she was verging on an almost sophisticated adolescence. Bless Mr Sasaki. Betty would miss him. But Carolyn said she and her father would be coming West after the baby was born. It was just a matter of months. Oh, this moving was almost as painful as the evacuation from San Francisco. They had made close friends here. Wanda regarded her sister critically, as if she were a stranger. What a vibrant one, this Betty, who had taken to calling herself Lisa. She caught your heart with the joy of her movement. She was the kind of young woman who made you sit back in anticipation of gifts.
Wanda recalled a moment earlier this evening as they dressed together, the two of them standing before the mirror, giggling as they primped. Betty asked to borrow Wanda’s rouge. Although the girl hardly needed it, Wanda handed her a small glass pot. As Betty applied red dabs to her cheekbones, Wanda thought about her own growing up. She remembered the thrill of being elected to Girls’ League; her pride in the high school ‘Nisei of Promise Award’; the fun of parties on Stockton Street. Betty was on the verge, full of potential energy. Wanda hoped that her sister could maintain this momentum.
Betty bowed gracefully before the crowd. Wanda turned to find Mama’s eyes closed. Was she crying with sentimentality or was she still angry about her daughter playing Hakujin music? Was she thinking about Papa? Betty surveyed the crowd. Wanda’s face grew more animated and she managed a discreet wink at her sister.
Chopin étude, Beethoven sonata, Liszt waltz: Wanda knew the program by heart. Betty had agonized over and over about which pieces to play in which order. At first Wanda couldn’t concentrate because of the moving plans. Then she was distracted by everyone around her. The Watanabes off to the left. Mrs Nakashima sitting in the front row. Carolyn smiling brightly from the far edge of the room. Wanda took a deep breath and tried to enter the music. But she was fighting, resisting. It was beyond her. She didn’t know how to appreciate it. Were you supposed to imagine a world painted by chords? Or did the notes fit together in a system you were meant to understand like mathematics? For several claustrophobic moments, Wanda imagined she would never fathom the music. When she had asked to learn the piano as a child, Mama had said it was too expensive. Of course Betty hadn’t had to pay for lessons. And would she choose Betty’s childhood here over her own youth?
The Beethoven was arresting and she felt Mama sit up. Wanda looked over and saw tears edging down her mother’s cheeks. She took the old woman’s hand in hers. Old, she was very old if you measured age by hardships. Wanda felt no response in Mama’s hand, neither resistance nor acceptance. Since the telegram, only talk about Yokohama would revive her. Everyone tried to dissuade her now, saying the country would be ripped to shreds. Wanda also protested that there was no money for travel, that the conditions would be unbearable. She didn’t want Mama to endure yet another defeat in Japan. She held on to the hand as if it were a rock that might come alive.
The stifled cough behind obviously came from Mrs Wright.
Wanda didn’t need to — or want to — look around. It had been hard to think about Mrs Wright since their special lunch in January.
She had insisted on taking Wanda to town, to a small Italian restaurant where they ate too much minestrone and pasta. Finally, over tea, they got beyond the stiff exchanges about their favorite students.
‘Have you decided about whether you can stay to the end of term?’ Mrs W. bit her lip and stared over Wanda’s shoulder.
Wanda shook her head. Actually, she and Mama and Betty had decided the previous night that they would leave in February. But the war had taught them not to anticipate.
‘Good.’ The older woman’s voice was softer now, and calmer. ‘As you know I was hoping you would finish the term.’
Wanda nodded again. She observed this Japanese gesture — nodding gently with Caucasian people — and considered how she had acquired it at Lion’s Head. Was she being obsequious or just maintaining her distance? Would she still do this on the outside? With Teddy, Moira and Ann?
‘I have a proposal, well, nothing so grand, a suggestion, perhaps.’
‘Yes?’ Wanda listened politely. Why did she feel trapped? OK, so she was a chore to work for — fussy, erratic, old fashioned and formal — but these were not capital crimes. She was a kind, moral woman.
‘I have taken the liberty of writing about you to my friend Robert Gorman, President of Salway College in Illinois.’
Wanda felt her insides clench.
‘He has managed to arrange a full scholarship beginning next fall — that is …’
Stunned, Wanda fixed her eyes on the checkered tablecloth. At first she felt flabbergasted at Mrs W.’s arrogance in organizing her life.
The teacher studied Wanda’s tight jaw. ‘That is, if you are still interested in college. It has quite a good journalism program.’
Wanda was touched by the generous concern.
Mrs Wright looked at the young woman carefully. ‘That is if you are still thinking about writing as a career. Quite frankly, I think you’d make a grand teacher.’
Suddenly Wanda felt faint at the possibility of living near Mrs W. in Illinois.
‘This is terribly kind of you.’ Wanda cleared her throat. ‘However I have responsibilities. Who would support my mother and Betty?’
> ‘Surely, you weren’t expecting to do that on your own?’
‘No, my family, my uncles will contribute. And among all of us, we will manage.’
‘But couldn’t they do that without you? Don’t you have a right to your own life?’
Wanda found herself growing furious as Mrs W. raised her own doubts and resentments. She traced the red squares on the tablecloth with her thumb.
‘Well, could your mother come to Illinois? People there will be friendlier than in California. I’m sure we could find a grant for Betty at a good school. And the three of you would be welcome to live with me while you look for a place. There’s plenty of room until Howard comes back, even after that.’
‘Our home is in San Francisco.’ Wanda held her voice calm.
‘Yes, I understand you were raised in California. But there will be even more hostility to the Japanese there than in the past. Times have changed.’
‘We hope to change the times.’ Wanda was struck by her own forcefulness.
‘Of course.’ Mrs W. sighed. ‘I thought you might respond like this. Well, if there’s anything I can ever do to help. A letter of recommendation. A loan. Anything.’ She coughed. ‘Anything.’
Since the luncheon, it had been hard for Wanda to teach. The classroom lines had become unravelled. She would look up at the older woman and see through her discipline and control. Often Wanda thought she had liked the class better before.
Betty was embarking on the Liszt. Wanda relaxed. She would be fine now that she had made it through the hard pieces. Glancing at Mr Sasaki, she saw the old man smiling. Mama’s hand had warmed up, or was she imagining it? Wanda shifted to find Mama’s eyes were wide open, as if puzzling about the source of the music.
After Betty’s performance, two more children played. Wanda tried not to be restless, but the chair was uncomfortable and she was desperate for some fresh air, even if it would freeze her lungs with the first catch. Soon enough it was over. She found herself standing beside her mother who was being congratulated by Mrs Nakashima and Mrs Watanabe.
All Good Women Page 34
