“When we got to our barracks, we were told to play indoors with no explanation, as my father paced the floor and my mother sat quietly at the small table with my sister waiting for time to pass. As the afternoon and then evening progressed and the sky deepened, we did not light our oil lamp that night but went to bed uncommonly early with no dinner. Again, no explanation was provided, and before long, no explanation was needed. We heard large groups of people running past our door; they sounded angry. I remember being frightened and my sister crying in my mother’s arms as she tried to quiet and comfort her. My brother and I lay in bed shivering, with the blankets up to our chins; our eyes open wide, watching shadows race past our windows. My father’s look was all we needed to know that we should not be asking questions but remain quiet. I think it was the time I was most afraid. Not surprisingly, the riots did not have a good ending. Many people were in the hospital with gunshot wounds and two young men died. Such a shame.”
Yoshito paused and took a long draught of his tea. Rudy said nothing but waited. Yoshito leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Ling got up and moved toward him so that his head looked up between Yoshito’s legs. He motioned for Ling to sit in his lap, and he obliged, comfortably settling in his lap. As Yoshito stroked Ling’s back and then his chin, his face seemed to relax and a look of love settled lightly as he spoke endearments to Ling. Rudy was touched and wanted to console Yoshito the way Ling had. He wanted to do that for his friend.
“After the riots, things settled down into a more comfortable routine. There was a feeling of resignation around camp. While no one should ever be resigned to being captive, it did make for a less stressful life. It took a while for me to be unafraid, but after that first year, as the detainees changed, so did the camp. Things were being repaired and in working order. We started to go to school more regularly with real teachers; supplies were more accessible, and we were given privileges to go outside the gates of camp. We were also able to have more space to ourselves. Once the oaths were signed, people were able to relocate out of the camp to the Midwest or eastern coast if they had sponsors. Families began leaving, and the camps became less congested. Clubs were started, woman were getting their hair done, how-to classes of various hobbies popped up. Don’t get me wrong, Rudy, this was no resort. These improvements did not make what happened right or okay and did not balance the damage that was done.”
Rudy nodded he understood. Captivity like this was just wrong.
Yoshito continued. “I do believe that as children we could more easily adapt to this new lifestyle than our parents. After all, we didn’t understand the magnitude or the cost of what we left behind and didn’t know what it had taken to get there in the first place the way my mother and father did. I don’t think we understood the depth of the disenfranchisement and humiliation of being imprisoned because of the slant of our eyes, regardless if some of us were U.S. citizens, until we were older and witnessed the toll it took on my parents, read the history books, and finally understood what and why things had happened.
“This injustice and my response to its affects on me and my family is something I have struggled with all my life, Rudy. Many Japanese did not want to leave Manzanar when the order came that we could go home. Understandably, they were fearful of what they might find when they went home. I struggle to forgive the events that made my mother and father afraid to go home and then led us to what came later. It was a long time before things returned to something called normal. Once, when I was a teenager, I remember asking my father if I could go camping with my friend from school. My father looked at me confused, shaking his head, ‘What, you want to go to camp?’ I told him, ‘Camping in the woods with Eric and his family, you know, hiking, fishing?’ I could see understanding move across his face, his muscles relax, and the tension ease out of his body. ‘It’s just a camping trip; it’s okay,’ I replied. ‘Yes, okay,’ he said, as he put his hand to his face. I realized then how close that experience, that pain, was to the surface.
“My father never wanted to talk about it once we returned home. As I got older, I had some questions, wanted to discuss what had happened. My father would just calmly tell me, ‘That was in the past. There is no point in visiting that place again.’ And so whatever pain he still had, he carried it with him to his grave. I always regretted that I could not help relieve him of that burden.”
“What happened when you went home?” Rudy wanted to know.
“We were luckier than most. Our neighbors took care of the place, worked the land for the profits during our absence. We had our belongings returned that we had left with them, but it became apparent after two years back that my father’s heart was no longer in it. The house had bad memories, so he put the place up for sale, and within six months after that we relocated to Southern California. My father opened a dry cleaning business in the Fairfax district, and we had a good life for many years. It was different from farming, but that was one of the reasons my father liked it. He felt like he was truly starting fresh, and he was good at it. He took great pride in having repeat business and new customers referred to him from his existing customers. He gained a good reputation in the local community.”
“What happened to your brother and sister?” Rudy asked.
“Ah, that is more difficult. My brother never quite recovered from Manzanar. He buried his feelings down deep, and we did not know how deeply he was affected until he was out of college. My brother was never able to claim an identity. He was angry at being American, for the way he was treated; he was angry at the Japanese because their actions put the whole thing in motion. He hated his Japanese appearance, yet longed to belong to the culture that he was also proud of. Low self-esteem and searching for something that would anesthetize him from his confused feelings led him to a bad crowd. He became a drug addict, opium among others. By the time we found out, he was too far gone, and he had lost his job and most of his money. We tried many times to pull him out of the dark, deep well he was drowning in, but he would not take the ropes we would throw him. It was as if he wanted to just give up. My brother fought his demons all his adult life. By the time the drug culture of the sixties became mainstream, my brother had been doing them for years. He died at the peak of the drug era, at thirty-seven years of age. I’m afraid he was a willing victim, a poster boy for that time. My parents were devastated.”
“I’m sorry, Yoshito. You must think of him a lot,” Rudy said, but it was more of a question.
“I do. I think about what his life would have been like if there had been no Manzanar. I think of the fun we had as boys before our world changed, and what it would have been like to have grown old together, reminiscing over more carefree memories. I think of his easy laugh, and I remember his great sensitivity. I think he must be happy now on the other side of the curtain.”
“And your sister?” Rudy hoped there was a better story about her.
“Ah, my dear sister Mae. She was a delicate and beautiful flower. She had great compassion and a great love for all of us. Not surprisingly, she became a nurse. Worked all her life helping others and took care of my parents when they became old and infirmed. She was generous of spirit, and I miss her a great deal.”
“What happened to her?” Rudy asked.
“She never married and lived with my parents until they died, and then continued to work in nursing. When she developed cancer over five years ago, she moved in with Grace and me and was with us the last few months of her life. Grace and she were good friends, and Grace took great care of her. We made her as comfortable as we could, and then one night while she was sleeping, she slipped to the other side to be with the rest of my family. My beloved Grace followed her three years later. So you see, Rudy, I am the last one left of my family. I think they are all waiting for me, but my time has not yet come. But one day, I will be reunited with all of them, and we will be happy together once again.”
There was an awkward s
ilence. Rudy felt so sad for his friend. How could he complain about his father not being in his life? At least he had his mother. He must remember to do something nice for her.
“In the meantime, we have this beautiful paradise which God and nature have rendered freely. We must always remember to give thanks for its beauty and for making us a part of its plan and for the friendships it has brought together.”
Rudy nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion. He didn’t want Yoshito to know that if he dared speak, surely his voice would crack, so he didn’t say anything more. His heart expanded as he considered all that had happened this summer. He wasn’t sure God existed, but he found himself giving thanks for the coolness of the shade and the warmth of the sun, for the soft gurgling of water and the rock paths that looked like rain on a river. He was suddenly aware that the colorful flowers, the fragrant roses, and full-bodied vegetables praised God too, just by being all they were created to be. He blessed the singing birds and the fluttering butterflies and the comfort of Ling who thought he was a gentle spirit. Most of all, he gave thanks for the rough and calloused hands of Jacob, Frederick, and Yoshito, that shaped and molded and toiled to care for the living things that shared this space with them. And even as he said these prayers, he understood and accepted that they had tended his heart too.
Chapter 10
Rudy’s mama silently marveled at how her son had changed during the summer as he walked through the door that evening. First of all, there was no slam! Then, as he walked by, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek! What miracles were occurring that hot summer she couldn’t even begin to understand, but she believed her prayers were being answered.
Rudy had changed on the outside and on the inside. Outwardly, he was taller, stood straighter, and was more muscular and tan with his usual look of distrust gone from his eyes. His body was beginning to change from a boy to a man. On the inside, her son had become more attentive, more inquisitive, asking her all kinds of questions at the dinner table. One night, Rudy asked, “What do you remember about the civil rights movement in the sixties?” Another night he asked if she knew anything about the Japanese internment camps. She gathered he was hearing things from Frederick, Jacob, and the other neighbor Yoshito. She wanted to encourage his questions but had to admit that she almost had to pull herself up off the floor a couple of times, so surprised was she at his curiosity and openness. Mealtime had gone from her trying to pry things from Rudy, to him peppering her with questions.
He was reading, too. One book only made him want to read another. He would study maps as well. She watched in amazement, praised God, and tried not to ask too many questions—she just wanted it to continue. She wondered if her son would revert to the quiet, angry, introverted boy once school began and he started spending time with those boys again. Each night when the house was quiet, she would continue her ritual of getting down on her knees and praying that God would guide her boy. Then she prayed for Jacob, Frederick, and Yoshito, too. Those men were just angels; there was no other explanation. What else could explain her son’s transformation? Lord, bless your angels that live in the three houses around the corner . . .
Chapter 11
The summer was two thirds of the way gone. It was mid-August, and it had been a hot summer. Rudy was finally feeling at home with these three men; he felt like he was almost one of them, one of their inner circle, a member of their family—like he belonged there. Still, there was always a remoteness or cautiousness from Jacob. Rudy wanted more than anything to break down the barrier that existed between them. They’d gotten off to a rocky start, but he wanted Jacob to know that he had changed. He wanted Jacob—yes, the old Jew man—to be his friend. He cringed recalling how he used to think of Jacob.
The day that things changed was another hot day, but considerably cooler in Jacob’s back yard. Still, pulling out that metal fence in the heat was hard and dirty work, but he’d found a rhythm to the digging and pulling, and it was coming easier now. Jacob would help dig now and again but mostly left Rudy to his own devises to pull out the fence after that initial blow-up they had had early on. Rudy felt comfortable now stopping occasionally for refreshment, seeking respite in the shadows and shade of trees.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, when Jacob called him over for some iced tea.
“We must keep ourselves hydrated in this heat. Come, come and rest; you are getting close to the end, but those last few feet of fence won’t go anywhere while you sit for a minute,” Jacob bid and Rudy obeyed, glad to rest and wipe away the sweat that poured profusely off his brow. He watched Jacob pour the amber liquid, heard the ice cubes clink as they hit the glass, and thought it was a beautiful sound when you were thirsty.
“I sure have enjoyed working with you this summer, Jacob. I didn’t think I would, but I have. I’ve learned a lot, and I have enjoyed getting to know Frederick and Yoshito—and you. Now it’s almost at an end.” Rudy trailed off. Jacob looked at him with a startled expression. He smiled.
“When you first arrived, I didn’t think you could put two words together. Thought you had quite a chip on your shoulder. I knew you didn’t want to be here with us old men, eh? But you fooled me. You have been a hard worker and a good boy. Yes, you fooled an old fool. Frederick said I should give you a chance; he saw something in you.”
Rudy smiled. “I’m glad he convinced you. Truthfully, Jacob, I don’t know that I would have given me a chance either. But, I was a different kid then.” He looked at Jacob, hoping he recognized it, looking for affirmation.
When he didn’t see it, Rudy’s voice became more serious. “Hey, Jacob, do you believe me? I want you to trust me now.”
Jacob stopped. “What does my young Goliath mean, do I believe you?”
Rudy shook his head. “Sometimes I feel you are far away, or that when you do look at me, you don’t quite know what to think of me. I guess I want you to see that I’ve changed. I want your approval.” Jacob was surprised by this.
“You don’t need my approval, Rudy. I am just an old man who sits in a garden, waiting for time to pass.”
“I want it though. It’s been the toughest to earn. I guess your approval would make me feel like we had turned a corner; like we both had changed from the beginning of the summer. I know I wasn’t very nice when I started working here. I’m sorry about blowing up at you that time. I was just mad.”
Jacob thought on this. Perhaps it was time to open up and trust this young boy, and share a bit of his story with Rudy. It’s true; he did seem like a different boy.
After a long pause, Jacob replied, “I will tell you something, Rudy, that I never thought I would tell anyone. That makes you special. When I used to see and hear you around the streets with those friends of yours, saw the way you looked at me and called me Jew man, among other things…”
Rudy committed to himself in that moment that those boys were not his friends anymore. Never did he want to be identified with them again. Embarrassed, Rudy began, “Jacob, I’m… I’m so sorry. I was so stupid…”
Jacob put up his hand and stopped him, and leaning in, said quietly, as if telling a secret, “I used to see in you the German soldiers that terrorized my family when I was a boy. I was afraid of you, you and those boys. Can you imagine an old man like me, scared of some kids on bikes?” Jacob’s voice quivered as he waved Rudy away. Embarrassed, he started to cry. Rudy was ashamed that his actions could have frightened this old, harmless man to the point of tears. Rudy wanted to comfort Jacob but didn’t know how.
“Jacob, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it—I was…” Rudy struggled for the word Frederick had used to describe the men that killed his father. “Ignorant! I just wanted to fit in.” But he knew now that those boys were cruel, and he had been too when he was with them, to Jacob, the boy in the park, the store owner, and others. He went over and knelt down on the ground next to Jacob’s chair and put his arm around his
back.
“What a silly old man I am, crying over a few mean boys. You must forgive me.”
“It’s okay, Jacob, really. I would never hurt you; you’ve got to believe that. Forgive me, Jacob. I’m so sorry.” Rudy was now close to tears, his voice trembling. He had never asked for forgiveness from anyone.
Jacob looked up, and for the first time, really looked into Rudy’s eyes and saw that they did not contain the hardness of the soldiers of war. They were young and frightened, and he saw sorrow, too. Jacob patted Rudy on the cheek and said, “Yes, I believe you, Rudy, and I trust you too, my young friend. I think you are a good boy.”
And then Jacob allowed himself something that he hadn’t in years: to be hugged and to hug back. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be embraced. How long had it been since someone had hugged him and he had returned it?
After a few minutes gathering themselves, Jacob cleared his throat and stood up, but Rudy bravely asked, “What did the German solders do to you and your family? Can you talk about it?”
Jacob walked over to the fence that had mostly fallen over, yet a few yards still remained. He touched it as it hung limply into Frederick’s yard. The fence was almost down. Perhaps it was time to speak of that awful period in his life, expel some demons. He took in a deep breath and turned to look into the face of a boy who was not a German soldier. It was the face of Rudy, a boy he had come to care about a great deal despite himself; and it was Rudy who looked back. Jacob came back to the table, sat down, and said a prayer to her for the words and the strength to tell his story.
Chapter 12
“I was almost ten the year the Nazi party came into power. It was 1933. Seems like a long time ago to a boy of your age, but not so long ago to me. Sometimes it seems like the images are so far away, and other times when I wake up, it takes me a minute to realize I am not back there. That time was the beginning of much pain and tragedy for my family and for our Jewish community.”
The Compass Page 7
