The Purple Heart

by Vincent Yee

  For a moment, he paused as the paint from the brush began to ooze down and collect into bulbs at the brush’s tips. Heartache had lodged itself in his chest and in that private moment, where it was just he and his boat, he could feel the agitated warmth gathering in the lower part of his eyelids. He inhaled heavily through his nose, clearing his thoughts, as he looked up solemnly toward the cloudy horizon in silent reflection.

  When Mr. Ito first came to the United States, he took up odd jobs to make ends meet. It was a real struggle for him and his new wife back then. She had courageously followed him across an entire ocean to be with the man who swept her off her feet with his cavalier attitude. Many other Japanese men who came over to America took up farming to make a livelihood. Japanese immigrants could never own the lands that they farmed. The tracts of land that they did farm were usually discounted as infertile by white farmers. But through perseverance alone, they turned those tracts of land into fertile land, yielding all types of crops. Mr. Ito worked as a farmhand, but it wasn’t the life he wanted.

  He worked hard for a few years, with his wife at home to take care of Minami when she was born. He had saved his money carefully and when he could, he bought a fishing boat. It was a second-hand boat, maybe even third-hand judging from the condition it was in when he first showed it off to his wife. Mrs. Ito could only frown as the boat bobbed up and down weakly along the dock. Paint was peeling everywhere from the hull and the deck boards were weathered gray and black, almost to the point of rotting. It stalled constantly and smoke drifted out of the engine room. But Mr. Ito didn’t seem to mind. His excitement could not be contained. He simply slapped the side of the boat and proudly exclaimed, “She’s got a good strong frame. She’ll be seaworthy once I’m through with her.”

  Mr. Ito worked night and day on the boat. He first gutted the little fishing trawler, removing every vestige of grime and dirt. He replaced every weak board along the hull, ripped up the rotted deck boards, and laid down new ones. He refitted the engine and the navigational instruments, many of which he restored himself. Mrs. Ito still had no idea how her husband had learned to fix navigational instruments. But that’s what she admired about him: his ingenuity and resourcefulness. Toward the end of its restoration, he sanded down everything and gave it a gleaming new coat of paint. Where he could afford to, he placed brass fixtures, his favorite being the boat’s bell.

  When the boat was finally ready, Mr. Ito led his wife to the boat while covering her eyes. When he uncapped his hands from her eyes, she saw before her not the sickly derelict of a boat that he brought home a few weeks before, but a gleaming white boat. Its windows were shiny and clear, the rails brightly stained, and its brass fixtures shone in the afternoon sun. It looked ready to ride through anything the ocean could throw at it.

  As Mrs. Ito brought her hands up to her mouth in surprise, Mr. Ito saw the genuine astonishment in his wife’s eyes. He spun around to face her, gave her a smile and indicated with his index finger, “Hold onto that look for one more second.”

  Mrs. Ito was sharing a very proud moment in her husband’s life and she knew that he wanted her to be a part of it. He hopped into his newly reincarnated boat, went into the captain’s quarter and brought out a bottle of the cheapest champagne that he could find. He jumped back onto the dock and brought Mrs. Ito over to the back of the boat. Painted on the backside of the boat was her name: Mayumi.

  Again, Mrs. Ito brought her hands to her face in astonishment and looked into her husband’s eyes as he said, “I want you to christen her with me.”

  As her eyes glistened she humbly said, “I’d love to.”

  With Mr. Ito standing behind her, and on the count of three, they swung the bottle against the side of the boat, shattering the bottle as foamy champagne splattered along it. Mayumi was then fully commissioned and seaworthy. For a moment Mr. Ito held the beautiful woman he had so madly fell in love with, and she leaned into his warm embrace during that celebratory moment. Things were looking up for the young couple, in a new land full of adversity. They would make it, he thought. He looked down at her and beckoned her to look up. With a sly smile he simply said, “You can call me captain now.”

  That night, the young family had dinner on their newly christened boat. Mr. Ito detailed in a glorious manner using his hands to illustrate into the air, how much fish he would catch. Being Japanese, by law he could not own land, but on the open sea, no one could tell him what he couldn’t do. He was finally master and commander of his family’s fate. His sense of independence was restored.

  A big thud brought Mr. Ito out of his reverie as his eyes suddenly focused on the large pelican that had landed on the wooden rail on the starboard side. He looked at the pelican and the pelican looked back at him with its beady eyes for a few seconds before it clumsily took flight and flew away.

  Without further hesitation, Mr. Ito reluctantly began to paint over the name Mayumi.

  Over the next few days, as a thick sense of uneasiness fell onto the Japanese American community, they noticed the strange visitors. At first, it was a few black cars here and there with unknown men in dark trench coats, with only the knots of their ties peeking through that gave the only hint of a suit underneath. The sunglasses and fedora hats could not hide their presence. It magnified it instead.

  Mr. Ito had instructed his family to gather anything that could be thought of as Japanese so that it could be burned. Soon that idea spread like brushfire across other Japanese American homes and after the first few days, a wispy ashy smoke could be seen from each Japanese American home. As much as each home was burning away anything that connected them to their former homeland, the one thing that they couldn’t get rid of was themselves.

  Mr. Ito was out back managing the burning. He had set up an electric fan that gently blew the smoke away in an effort to thin out the smoke. Only a few items were burned at a time, which slowed down the process. Sweat had soaked through his white T-shirt, which exposed his darkened skin from being out in the sun while at sea. He wiped the sweat off his brow occasionally with his thick forearm. There was a sense of determination on his face. In the beginning, his children didn’t understand why he ordered the burning. But when the visitors arrived, the unknown fear that they had felt was enough to convince them that their father was right.

  Minami appeared with the last box full of items. A box containing family photos was still untouched, as well as another with books but the personal letters from Japan were burning silently. The scent of ash was everywhere.

  Minami looked up at her father who despite the sense of impending doom, gave a weak smile to reassure his daughter.

  “I didn’t believe Mom at first,” said Minami.

  “Believe what?” asked her father.

  “That we could be considered spies. We live here, Dad, we’re not spies. How could anyone think that?”

  Minami’s father tossed a couple of more letters into the fire and then responded, “I know. It’s tough Minami and things are not looking good right now. You’re still young, there’s still much for you to learn about people. Your mother and I are not American citizens but you, your sisters and brother are. But white people don’t care. All they see now is that we are Japanese.”

  Minami sighed. For a moment, they just looked at one another, and then a tap on the wooden gate leading out to the street startled them. The tall wooden fence hid the person tapping from view. The tap came again along with a whisper, “It’s me, Joe.”

  Mr. Ito cautiously walked to the door and motioned to Minami to stand in front of the fire to hide it from view as the smoke billowed behind her. He opened the wooden gate a crack and Minami could see a sliver of Joe. She heard Joe whisper to her father, “They’re two houses down, they’re coming.” Her father nodded and he quickly closed the gate. Her father turned around when Minami’s mother came rushing out and said under her breath, “They’re coming!”

  With nervous eyes, Minami’s father looked at her and indicated to her to discar
d the burnt ashes as best she could and to hide the remaining items. Minami’s mother hurried in with her father, who was already taking off his sweaty white T-shirt. Minami dumped the ashes from the barrel into the softened dirt her father had previously prepared and mixed the ashes into the dirt with a hand shovel. She gave the barrel one more rinse and then sprayed the air with the water hose in a vain attempt to disperse any lingering smell of the burnt ashes. She then picked up the two remaining boxes and looked about. There was nowhere to put them. Then she remembered a place.

  She hurried into the kitchen and up the stairs just as her father was coming down in a new shirt. Her heart raced. Her father looked alarmingly at the boxes in her arms. There was no time to explain as she rushed past him up the stairs and pulled down the ladder to the attic crawlspace. She remembered a place when she used to play hide-and-go-seek with her sisters. At the top of the creaky ladder, she tossed the boxes into the attic. In one corner of the cluttered attic, she quickly removed a few loose floorboards and placed the items carefully into the floor space. The empty boxes were tossed into another corner and then she lowered herself down the ladder when she heard the ominous knock at the door.

  She closed the panel to the attic crawlspace and quickly entered the bathroom. After washing up and brushing away her bangs, she opened the door and was startled to find a man in a dark trench coat facing her. He looked down at her and said in an abrupt tone, “What do you think you’re doing?” She regained her composure and was annoyed that he would dare ask her what she was doing in her own home. She replied in a curt fashion, “I was using the bathroom.”

  Minami then brushed him aside as he took a step back to let her through. She paid him no mind, walked down the stairs and into the living room. Her mother, sisters, and brother were sitting around the coffee table while her father was standing eye to eye with the other FBI agent. At five foot nine, her father was tall for a Japanese man. He had a natural athletic build, broad shoulders and a muscular frame from his daily fishing.

  Her father glanced over at her and the stranger, an FBI agent, who turned his head to look at her as well. Minami returned the look with resentment and then turned away. She sat next to her mother, who held onto Yoshi, who in turn simply eyed his father and the FBI agent. The FBI agent then looked back at Minami’s father.

  “Mr. Ito, as you know with recent events, we feel that it’s in the best interest that you come with us so that we may ask you some brief questions,” said the FBI agent.

  “Simply questions?” replied Mr. Ito.

  “Simply questions. You’ll be back in time for supper, latest tomorrow.”

  Mr. Ito looked at him with some skepticism and said, “I’m a man of honor. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Wait!” interjected Minami whose expression turned to one of worry as she rose to her feet despite her mother’s attempt to pull her down. “Where are you taking him and why? He hasn’t done a thing!”

  Mr. Ito shot Minami a stern look but hidden in that look was a sense of pleading. Her father was only doing what he thought was best to protect his family, and if that meant sacrificing himself, he would.

  The FBI agent simply said, “We’re only going to question him.”

  Minami’s father motioned with his eyes begging his daughter to sit down. She understood and sat back down. Her father didn’t do anything. He had nothing to hide. Everything would be fine, she told herself. The second FBI agent came down the stairs and brought with him a box he had taken from one of Minami’s sister’s room with several items. He then walked into the kitchen and continued his search.

  “You can bring a jacket if you like,” said the first FBI agent.

  “I thought you said I’d be back before dinner?” asked Mr. Ito.

  “It’s only if you get cold,” replied the FBI agent.

  “I’m a fisherman, I think I know more about the cold than you,” Mr. Ito said smartly.

  The FBI agent looked at him dead on, took out a notepad and jotted down a few notes.

  The second FBI agent returned from the kitchen with the two-way radio along with many kitchen utensils, such as knives and anything that had a sharpened edge. He stood alongside the first FBI agent and sifted through the items in the box for him to look at. There were a few nods exchanged between the two of them.

  Minami again got up and asked, “You’re taking the radio? How are we supposed to contact our father when he’s fishing?”

  The FBI agents looked up and didn’t answer her.

  “You’re taking our kitchen knives? How are we supposed to cut our food?” asked Minami.

  There was a pause and the second FBI agent responded, “I thought you people use chopsticks.”

  Minami glared back at him for his condescending remark. She didn’t like him. She didn’t like either of them for treating her family like second-class citizens, or worse, like spies. She was about to say something else when her mother’s firm tug finally pulled her down and her father looked at her sternly once more. Then she realized that she might be making the situation worse by being defiant. She finally sat down and could see the worried faces of her sisters who sat across from her. She decided to put up with the situation and hoped for the best.

  “You’ll need to come with us now,” said the first FBI agent.

  Mr. Ito nodded and walked over to his family. Everyone seemed to have gotten up at once. He embraced his wife and his children gathered around him and gave their father a hug full of assurance, worry and love. He let them go and stepped back, looking at them with his usual serious look but there was a sense of somberness as well.

  He then turned from his children, walked in between and ahead of the two FBI agents. They were caught off guard and followed him. The rest of the family followed the three men. Minami’s father opened the door, paused for a moment, inhaled the evening air and then walked out with the two men in tow.

  The family crowded around the doorframe with consternation on their faces. A sudden chill came over them as they stared after their father, followed by two men in their dark trench coats. “Where is Daddy going?” asked Yoshi looking after his father. “Your Daddy will be back,” replied Mrs. Ito.

  Minami’s father didn’t return that night, nor the day after. They had lied.

  S I X

  “Stop!” was all that Minami could cry out at the top of her lungs as she desperately clutched her mother with one arm and shielded the back of her head with the other while holding onto her purse. Mrs. Ito’s face was contorted in fear as she ran side by side with her daughter as a small group of angry townsfolk chased them down the street.

  An empty glass bottle smacked into Minami’s back and she responded instinctively by arching her back as the thudding pain took hold. But Mrs. Ito didn’t give Minami a chance to think about the pain and dragged her along.

  The shouts from the townsfolk had started earlier as they were walking home from the local fishing cannery where they had taken up work. A middle-aged woman glared at them from across the street and yelled out, “Burn in hell you goddamn Japs!” At first, Minami and her mother simply ignored the woman, but her outburst encouraged others. Another man yelled out, “Go back to where you fucking came from!” A teenaged girl, feeling the boiling emotions, screamed, “I hope you all die! You dirty Japs!” Feeling emboldened, the townspeople gave chase.

  Minami and her mother quickened their pace and rounded the corner just as another glass bottle shattered to pieces on the pavement.

  The angry townsfolk soon gave up their chase but Minami and her mother, both gasping for air as their hearts pounded furiously within their chests, continued to race home. When they reached the metal fence surrounding their front yard, Minami’s mother struggled with the latch on the fence as tears of fear clouded her vision. Minami choked back her tears and held onto her mother’s arms until finally she managed to swing the fence open, allowing the two of them to race up the path to the front door of their house. Her mother fumbled for her keys and ev
en though Minami knew no one had followed them, she turned her head to look down the street and continued pounding on the door. Miho heard her mother’s and sister’s frantic shouts and raced to open the door allowing them to enter as the door slammed shut.

  As the weeks went on, Minami’s mother held up well despite the uncertainty of her husband’s whereabouts and the anger that erupted within the community. She knew she had to be strong for the family’s sake. Holding the family together was her priority. They may have taken her husband away, but they were not going to take away her strength and commitment to her family. Other wives weren’t as strong. Mrs. Yasuda burst into the Ito’s kitchen one early evening shouting hysterically how they had just taken her husband and oldest son away.

  But the growing anger from the community started to take on a more frightening tone. Japanese Americans were accosted in the streets. There were rumors of mobs taking their own action against some Japanese Americans. Stores owned by Japanese Americans were vandalized and bricks with frightening notes like “Die Japs!” were thrown through the homes of some Japanese American families. People within the community who appealed for calm were labeled traitors and “Jap lovers.” Their views, no matter how correct, became overshadowed by the growing hate for the Japanese. If you weren’t anti-Jap, then you weren’t American, and no one wanted to be labeled that.

  It was on a Saturday when a letter came. Minami came rushing in through the front door after checking the mailbox waving a letter in her hand. “Mom!” she shouted in the hallway. Her mother appeared at the end of the hallway. “It’s a letter from Dad!”

  When the word “Dad” echoed throughout the house, Minami’s mother and Miho quickly came down the hallway from the kitchen, with Yuka and Yoshi bounding down the stairs. Minami eagerly handed the letter to her anxious mother. Minami’s mother quickly sat down at the end of the stairs as her children gathered around. “What does it say, Mommy?” Yoshi asked.