“Well, no,” Theo admitted. “But I never thought that you’d make friends with a bona fide Jap, either.”
I opened my mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again. He made it sound like being friends with Takuma was a bad thing, but Takuma wasn’t bad, just different. Or were bad and different the same thing?
“He doesn’t belong here,” Theo said. “He’s not the same as we are, and deep down, I think you know that.”
He made another exit, and this time, I let him go. Theo might have thought that he knew what I believed, but how could he know that when I didn’t even know myself?
• • •
As soon as I got home, I told Mama about our conversation. I expected Theo’s words to plant the same seeds of doubt in Mama’s head, but she easily dismissed them. If Takuma didn’t fit in with the rest of us, it was only because he’d never had an American upbringing, and bringing up Americans was one of Mama’s specialties.
We were halfway through our dinner of waffles and pork links when Mama cleared her throat. Waiting for Daddy to get full on processed pork and maple syrup must have been part of her plan.
“It’s time to make a change,” she said.
Daddy looked up from his newspaper for the first time in a week. “It took longer than I thought it would, but you’ve finally come to your senses.” He wadded up the Times and checked his watch. “If we leave for Pasadena in the next ten or fifteen minutes, I can still make it back in time for Break the Bank.”
Mama shook her head. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
He considered that, then shrugged. “You can take him back yourself if you really feel that strongly.”
Mama clenched her teeth. “I don’t want to take him back. I want to take him to school.”
Daddy’s jaw actually dropped. I lost my grip on my utensils. I’d been about to gobble down my last bite of waffle, but Mama’s unforeseen announcement had nearly knocked me flat. It seemed like Mama had just told me that St. Jude wasn’t ready for the answers we’d been getting. If they hadn’t been ready then, what made them ready now?
Mama fiddled with her napkin. “I know you probably think I’m crazy, but I’ve given this a lot of thought. What’s done is done, and we can’t change it. But we can give this boy a life, a better life than the one he’s had.”
“He had a life!” Daddy replied, tightening his grip on his butter knife.
Mama’s eyes darkened. “No, Jed, he had a number in some awful man’s experiment, and that’s no life at all.”
Takuma had been eating pork links like they were about to be rationed, but Mama’s words made him miss a beat. He didn’t look up from his plate, but he did put down his utensils. He’d probably been listening all along, but now he wasn’t trying to hide it.
“He had a purpose,” Daddy said, “and we should let him get back to it before he can do any more damage.”
“What damage?” Mama asked.
Instead of answering, he aimed his fork in the direction of his dealership. “I’ve sold Greg Leavitt a new Ford every other year for the last twenty, but after you steamrollered his wife at that department store she runs, he’s probably never going to buy another car from me again if I can’t somehow convince him that that boy doesn’t belong to us.”
“Well, if he doesn’t belong to us, who does he belong to?” Mama asked.
“That crazy scientist!” he said, smacking the only bare spot on the table. The dishes rattled ominously. “We shouldn’t have to be responsible for another man’s mistake!”
His words nearly bowled me over. I thought Mama had said she couldn’t trust him with the truth. When had she broken our pact? The surprises just kept coming.
I must have made a face, because Mama ducked her head. “Don’t give me that look, Ella Mae. It’s not like you haven’t told anyone.” A single tear spilled down her cheek. “And for the record, I don’t think we’re responsible for Dr. Franks’s mistake so much as the life that it produced. He can rant and rave, but I won’t let him have Takuma. If some crazy German scientist brought my boy back to life, I’d hope that someone would look after him.”
Daddy relaxed a little. “I understand why you’re upset,” he said as he reached for her hand. “But he won’t replace the one we lost.”
Mama jerked out of his reach, but before she had a chance to answer, Takuma bolted to his feet. His face was red and splotchy, and as he bowed and mumbled “Are-ee-got-toe,” he backpedaled toward the door.
“What’s wrong, Takuma?” Mama asked.
“Are-ee-got-toe,” he replied. He was less than a foot from the threshold.
When I realized what his intentions were, I yelled, “Takuma, stop!”
It surprised me when he did.
I stuck both hands on my hips. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
“Go,” was all he said. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
It felt like an unseen hand reached into my chest and squeezed. Renegade tears spilled down my cheeks, but I paid them no heed. I’d thought that I was ready for life to go back to normal, but apparently, I wasn’t ready for a life without Takuma. If Theo had planted seeds of doubt, Takuma had plucked them back out. I didn’t want him to go away. What if someone awful found him? Or what if someone took him in and he forgot all about me?
“No, you can’t go,” I croaked.
He dragged a hand under his nose, then sneaked a peek at Mama and Daddy. Daddy unfurled his newspaper with a vicious flick, but Mama smiled back.
“Stay,” she told Takuma. “It won’t be like this forever.”
Takuma smiled shyly, then swiftly went back to his seat. After drying my cheeks off on a towel, I carefully went back to mine. Mama seemed so certain that things were going to get better. I only hoped she wasn’t saying that to convince herself.
• • •
We left for school in the Studebaker bright and early Thursday morning, so I didn’t get a chance to stick my tongue out at Theo, but that was probably just as well. I wasn’t ready to see him again, not even through a window.
The mood in the car shifted from anxiety to anticipation, then back to anxiety. If Daddy had blown up at the mere mention of the word “school,” then what would Miss Shepherd do when we actually tried to enroll him? At least Mama had made sure that Takuma looked his very best. She’d found him a pair of pants and an old shirt that had been too big for Daniel, then slicked his hair back like James Dean’s. A few bits had escaped the pound of Brylcreem she’d employed, but on the whole, he looked respectable (if a little out of style).
Still, I shifted awkwardly when we pulled up to the school. It was a vast, two-story building whose only match for age or size was the old adobe church. As I climbed out of the car, I felt a bit like Wyatt Earp as he’d scrambled off his horse at that ill-fated corral.
I sneaked a peek at Mama. “You think this is gonna work?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” she said.
I tightened my grip on my lunch pail. “We are right, aren’t we, Mama?”
She half smiled, half sighed. “I’m not sure of most things, sweetness, but I am sure of this.”
That was good enough for me. I linked elbows with Takuma, and Mama linked elbows with me. Their proximity gave me the confidence to march across the parking lot, but as soon as the door clanked shut behind us, my confidence drained out my toes.
I’d attended the St. Jude School for Boys and Girls for the last seven years, but I’d never been inside at such an early time of day. Somehow, I’d never noticed that the ceilings were two stories high or that it smelled faintly of Clorox, as if the janitor had just cleaned up someone’s mess.
Takuma stuck to me like a dead bug stuck to flypaper, but I didn’t mind. When he unlinked his elbow and draped his arm around my neck, I hesitated for a moment, then circled mine around his waist.
&
nbsp; When we reached the office, Mama opened the door, then froze. Miss Shepherd had clearly spotted us, since she was gawking at Takuma like he was a three-headed sheep. But Miss Shepherd wasn’t the only one. Mr. Lloyd was hovering behind her.
As his name implied, Mr. Lloyd was Walter’s daddy, with a temperament to match. He must have become a principal because he liked being a bully.
“Good morning,” Mama said as she dragged us into the office.
Mr. Lloyd didn’t respond, just stared at us over his coffee, which was frozen halfway to his mouth.
Miss Shepherd dropped her folders and grabbed the pen behind her ear. “Good morning, Mrs. Higbee. Is there something we can do for you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mama said. “I’d like to enroll a new student.”
Miss Shepherd’s gaze darted to Takuma, then darted away. Mr. Lloyd jolted so violently that his coffee slopped out of his mug, instantly soaking through the pages of Miss Shepherd’s steno pad.
Miss Shepherd plucked a form out of her desk. “Then I need his name and date of birth, and if you happen to have a transcript, we’d like a copy of that, too.”
When she tried to hand the form to Mama, Mr. Lloyd intercepted it. “Regrettably,” he said, setting his coffee on the steno pad, “the St. Jude School for Boys and Girls is quite full at the moment.”
Mama snatched the form out of his hands. “You must have an extra desk somewhere.”
Mr. Lloyd snatched it right back and tore it down the middle. “No,” he said, “we don’t.”
Mama rolled her eyes. “He barely takes up any space.”
“And his English is improving every day,” I said. “In fact, just yesterday, he strung two whole words together!”
I decided not to mention that one of them was Japanese, but apparently, it wouldn’t have mattered. Mr. Lloyd wasn’t impressed.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a fake smile, “but with the new move-ins we’ve had lately, we simply don’t have any room.”
“What new move-ins?” I replied. “The last new move-ins were the Higginbottoms, and he died two months later!”
Mr. Lloyd scowled. “Hold your tongue! Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to speak ill of the dead?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to speak ill of the living?”
Mr. Lloyd set his sights on Mama. “Are you just going to stand there while your daughter says such things?”
“No, I’m gonna stand here until you enroll this boy in school.”
Mr. Lloyd stuck out his stomach, which was impressive not just for its size but for its resemblance to an inner tube. “Then you’re going to stand there for an awfully long time, because the St. Jude School for Boys and Girls refuses to accept him. We may not have all the resources at the disposal of the city schools, but we pride ourselves on the education we can and do provide, and we can’t provide that education if there are opponents in the classroom.”
“The war’s over,” Mama said. “Or hasn’t anyone told you?”
Mr. Lloyd’s lip curled. “Some wars never end.”
Takuma might not have understood every word that they’d exchanged, but he knew fighting words when he heard them. Still, he didn’t raise his fists, just stuck out his chest. It was even more impressive than Mr. Lloyd’s stomach.
Miss Shepherd shuffled through her folders. “There’s a colored school in Santa Ana. If you’d like, Mrs. Higbee, I can get the address for you.”
Mama raised her eyebrows. “You expect us to drive to Santa Ana when there’s a decent school right here?”
Mr. Lloyd grinned wickedly. “You know what they say, Anna—separate but equal.”
Mama’s eyebrows drooped, and Mr. Lloyd’s smile turned smug. He obviously thought he’d won, but she was just getting warmed up. Red-hot rage crept up her neck, but just before she blew her lid, Takuma touched her arm. He might as well have pricked her with a pin.
“Well, then,” she said, deflating, “I guess we’ll just be on our way.”
Mr. Lloyd held up his coffee. “We wish you the best of luck.”
“Sure you do,” she muttered as she headed for the door.
I thought Takuma would go with her, since he was clinging to her arm, but Mama was too quick for him. When he could no longer hold on, he teetered, then went down.
Mr. Lloyd chuckled. “If this is his idea of a protest, he needs to work on his technique.”
Mama didn’t comment, just grabbed Takuma’s arm and helped him to his feet. She pressed her lips into a line as she gave him a once-over, but when I tried to ask her what was wrong, she cut me off with a sharp look.
Mr. Lloyd glanced at his watch. “You’d better take him out the back. I don’t want him to scare the children.”
“We don’t scare that easily,” I said, blowing a string of hair out of my face.
Mr. Lloyd just stood there watching, but instead of getting mad, I cringed. A month ago, I might have stared at a Japanese man, too. Now it shamed me to think that I’d ever been that person.
17
I tried to wheedle Mama into taking me home, too, but she flatly refused. My education had to count for two, so I’d better make the most of it. Her declaration was so stirring it almost made me want to try.
After dinner, me and Takuma traded more words in the living room. I would have preferred the peace and quiet of our platform in the trees, but after Takuma took that tumble, staying on solid ground seemed safer.
Or at least that was what I thought until Daddy showed up.
I’d never thought of Daddy as an especially large man, but his surly silence filled the archway. Takuma leaped to his feet as soon as he spotted Daddy, but I folded my arms across my chest and hunkered down in his armchair.
“Did you need something?” I asked.
“Dragnet’s on,” he said. “Or have you already forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I replied. “But in case you haven’t noticed, me and Takuma are busy.”
“Well, then, you’d better go and be busy somewhere else, because I’m going to watch.”
I stuck out my chin. “We can watch, too, can’t we?”
Daddy shook his head. “You heard your mother. No more Dragnet.”
“But you let me watch two weeks ago!”
“Sorry,” Daddy said, “but that was then, and this is now.” He picked me up as easily as if I were a feather. “So if you’ll take our guest and go, I’d be much obliged.”
Takuma headed for the door, but I folded my arms across my chest.
“You can’t just send us away. We have rights, you know!”
Daddy’s forehead wrinkled, but Takuma said, “Go, Ella Mae.”
“No, I won’t go!” I said. I meant it to sound obstinate, but it came out like a sob. “I’m the official tuner!”
I expected him to ground me, but he just stood there, almost crying. Daddy never cried, so this was something to write home about, but before I had a chance to ask why his tear ducts were malfunctioning, Mama burst into the room.
“What’s goin’ on?” she asked. Her cheeks were streaked with flour, and she was carrying a half-made pie crust.
“Daddy’s watchin’ Dragnet, and he won’t let us stay!”
Mama’s gaze flitted to Takuma, then lingered on Daddy. She must have concluded that his tear ducts were malfunctioning, too, because she rubbed her neck and said, “Ella Mae, just leave him be.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the doorbell cut me off.
Mama motioned toward the entryway. “Please get the door,” she told me.
Reluctantly, I got the door. I expected it to be a salesman—they always had some new elixir that they wanted us to buy—but it was only Gracie. Her gleaming bicycle was propped against our not-white picket fence.
“What are you do
in’ here?” I asked.
“Hello, Ella Mae,” she said, craning her neck to see around me. “I heard about what happened in the office before school, so I thought I’d pedal over and offer my assistance . . .”
She trailed off when Takuma made an overdue appearance. Her face flushed red, but not like Daddy’s.
“Excuse me,” Gracie said. “It wasn’t my intention to intrude. Miss Shepherd made it sound like you were planning to homeschool, and I thought you might be able to use another teacher.”
I started to close the door. “Sorry, but we don’t need your help.”
Mama caught it with her foot. “On the contrary,” she said, “we need all the help that we can get.”
Gracie beamed. “Thank you, Auntie Anna.”
“No, thank you,” Mama said, bumping me out of the way. She drew Gracie into the house and turned her to face Takuma. “Gracie, this is Takuma. Takuma, this is Gracie.”
I knotted my arms across my chest. “There’s no sense introducin’ ’em, since they’re just gonna ignore each other—”
“Pleased to meet you,” Gracie said as she extended her hand.
I gaped at Gracie’s hand, but he clasped it in both of his and pressed his forehead to her palm. They stayed in this position for an uncomfortable amount of time, until I was forced to intervene.
“All right, that’s enough,” I said.
Mama smiled. “Ella Mae, why don’t you fill Gracie in on your teaching methods?”
I checked the living room, but Sergeant Friday was already halfway through his monologue, so I led them into the kitchen.
Gracie sat in Mama’s chair. “Which curriculum have you been using?”
I scuffed my foot. “Oh, well, we haven’t been usin’ a curriculum.” The word tasted funny in my mouth, like I was eating Miss Fightmaster’s lunch. “We’ve just been tellin’ stories, tradin’ words.”
“Storytelling is an art form,” Gracie said, “and there’s something to be said for unstructured learning, but if we want proven results, we’ll have to use a proven system.”
She went on, of course, but I stopped paying attention. I wasn’t interested in proven systems so much as being with Takuma, laughing at jokes and telling stories, but something told me that those days were about to be a distant memory.
The Sound of Life and Everything Page 10
