Caged Eagles (19 page)

“Not just cards. Dice is big, and some strange Japanese games that I don't understand. The only thing all the games have in common is that money and betting is involved.”

“He doesn't gamble either,” I said.

“Neither does mine. He says business is enough of a gamble. I'm going to see my dad. How about if we meet back here in about an hour?”

“We don't have to,” I said. “I can get back to the building by myself.”

“If you want to get back,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?” He couldn't want to leave the camp at night, could he?

“I'm going to sleep in the truck tonight. Do you want to come along?”

I didn't know what to say.

“That way you won't have to worry about waking up your family when you go back tonight. And, we can get an early start tomorrow.”

That did make sense.

“Well?” Sam asked.

I nodded my head. “See you in an hour.”

Sam smiled and then started off in one direction while I headed down another aisle. It was funny, but Sam had hardly left my sight when I began to feel uneasy.

Moving quietly, I started down an aisle toward where my father had told me his bunk was located.

While there were many bunks all made up but unoccupied, most were filled. Men were huddled under their covers, their faces often buried beneath the blankets as well. I was surprised, though, by how many men were in their beds but not asleep. They sat there on the edge of the bed, either reading in the dim light or simply staring silently into space.

I then wondered if maybe my father wouldn't be in his bunk, and I'd have to go searching for him. Or maybe he was there and was already asleep. Would it be right to wake him up?

And then I saw him. Up ahead, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was here and he was awake. I stopped just beside his bed. He was staring straight ahead. He hadn't even noticed that I was there.

“Father?” I asked quietly.

He turned and looked at me, his face showing his surprise. “Tadashi … why are you here? Is something wrong?” he asked in alarm, standing up.

“No, nothing. I just came to see you.”

He looked relieved as he sat back down on the edge of his bed. “You should not be here.”

“I just wanted to talk,” I said.

He gave me a questioning look.

“About what's happening. About where we're going,” I said.

“Who knows?”

“I heard some people have already been moved out,” I said.

“Some.”

“And that some are going to the abandoned mining towns and some families are going to Alberta.”

“Both,” he answered, without looking at me.

For the first time I noticed the smell of alcohol on my father's breath. Maybe he hadn't been gambling, but he had been drinking.

“But where are we going to go?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe our family goes to the mountains. Maybe I go to a work camp.”

“You mean you wouldn't be with us?” I questioned.

“Not all the time. I would come and visit.”

“But if we went to Alberta, couldn't we be together?”

I asked, repeating what I'd heard.

“Together, but not better. The fields, working sugar beets, is very hard. It would be better in the mountains. Better for the family. I'm not a farmer. I'm a fisherman … I was a fisherman.”

“You're still are a fisherman,” I said.

He shook his head slowly. “I am nothing,” he said softly. “Nothing.”

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't find any words.

“I was thinking about my boat,” he said.

“I heard the boats aren't far from here, up at the Annieville Dyke, about thirty miles away.”

“If it is there.”

“Why wouldn't it be?” I asked.

“Seventy boats were sunk … by accident … when they were moved up the river.”

“I'm sure our boat is fine!” I blurted out, although of course I couldn't possibly know anything.

“Maybe … maybe it would be better if it wasn't.

Maybe it would be better if it had sunk.”

“How can you say that?” I asked. Just how much had he had to drink?

“If it was gone, it would be over.”

“But we'll get it back … once things are over.”

“A few months, a few years being uncared for … what will it be like? Will it even float? Will I be able to fish?”

I hadn't thought of that.

“If I had known … I would have sunk the boat myself.”

“You can't mean that,” I said in disbelief.

He nodded his head. “Yes.”

“But the war can't last forever. Someday we'll get back our boat and we can fix it up and it'll be as good as ever,” I said.

“The war will end … but they may never return our boat,” my father said.

“I don't understand.”

My father didn't answer immediately. He took a deep breath. “Probably stories, probably rumors.”

“What are the rumors?” I asked.

“The boats, maybe other things, will be sold.”

“They can't just sell our things,” I said.

My father snorted. “They can do … whatever they wish … and we can do … nothing to stop it.”

“There's always rumors. They don't mean anything!” I snapped. “I've written to Jed. He can tell us about our house and —”

I stopped as I heard a rumble of conversation and shuffling of feet coming from up the aisle. My father had heard it as well and had turned to peer down the darkened aisle.

“Come,” he said, getting up and starting to walk.

Other men had either woken up or simply gotten out of their beds as well and were moving toward the commotion. There was a crowd of men gathered at the end of the aisle. We pushed into the back of it. Through their heads I saw RCMP officers, a half dozen of them, moving across the floor. I ducked down slightly, hiding behind my father, remembering that I shouldn't even be here.

Between two of the officers was a Japanese man.

Each of the officers held him by one arm, and as he passed I realized that he was in handcuffs! What had he done and what were they doing to him?

The crowd parted at the far end as two police officers pushed through, followed by the pair practically dragging the man between them, and then two other officers, one carrying a suitcase. They left the building.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

A man turned around. “Angler.”

“What's Angler?” I questioned.

“A camp in Ontario … northern Ontario,” he answered.

“Like here?” I asked.

He shook his head. “A prisoner-of-war camp.”

“The place where they put troublemakers, people who give them problems,” my father added.

“What did he do?”

“They caught him at the fence,” another man said.

“He was trying to escape?” I asked in amazement.

He shook his head. “Trying to get back in. He had been out for a few days.”

“But if he was trying to get back …” I let the sentence trail off.

He shrugged. “That's the punishment for going over the fence.”

Or for going under the fence, I thought. What could have happened to me and Sam if we had been caught? What would happen if we were caught tomorrow? Maybe we shouldn't go, shouldn't risk it for a letter. But maybe we should.

.15.

I opened an eye and then instantly closed it again, shielding my face from the bright sunshine that was streaming through the windshield of the truck. Sam was still asleep at the other end of the seat, snoring away. Somehow during the night he'd managed to take all the blanket. I stretched and yawned loudly. There was a fresh breeze blowing in through the open windows. It smelled good … fresh … so much better than the air in the stalls. Despite being cramped up on the seat, I'd slept better than I had since we arrived at Hastings Park … better than I'd slept since we left home … maybe even better than I'd slept for a few weeks at home before we left. I didn't know why I'd waited so long to come here to sleep, but I had a pretty good idea where I wanted to sleep tonight.

“Good morning,” Sam said.

I was startled. I hadn't realized he was awake. “Good morning.”

Sam stretched. “Sleep good?”

“I had a little trouble getting to sleep,” I admitted, “but once I drifted off I slept like a log.”

“Let's go to the mess hall. We can eat, throw some water on our faces and head out — that is, if you're still interested.”

Sam and his father had been in another part of the crowd last night watching as the RCMP led the man away in handcuffs. We'd talked about what had happened. It certainly raised doubts in my mind, but they were more than outweighed by my need to know — even more so after my conversation with my father. Working at the base, Jed might know more than just what was happening with our house.

“I still want to go out … but I'm not really hungry,” I said.

“Funny, me neither.”

“You?” I asked in amazement.

“It happens. But I think I should force myself to have a meal,” Sam said with a smile. “So let's just stop off and have a quick bite.”

“That would be okay.”

“But just a quick bite. We have to leave before one of us gets smart enough to change his mind.”

“I didn't think you had any doubts,” I said in amazement.

“You'd have to be an idiot not to have any doubts.

Especially after last night. It's different hearing about people getting caught and then seeing somebody who did get caught.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I can't very well let you go out there alone. Besides, I think these buttons are the ace in the hole we need to get away with it.” Sam paused. “Here, take one and slip it in your pocket,” he said, handing it to me.

I looked at the button. “I Am Chinese.” What would my father think about me wearing this … actually, I knew what he'd think. He'd be almost as upset about me pretending to be Chinese as he would be if he knew I was sneaking out of the park. I stuffed it into my pocket.

“Do up the windows,” Sam said.

I did up one window while he rolled the blanket into a rough ball and stuffed it behind the seat. I put the pillows back there as well, while Sam did up the other window. He then opened the door and climbed out. I followed behind him and closed the door as quietly as possible. We weaved through the vehicles, aiming away from the grandstand where the guards would be sitting.

“Here, this will hold you until we get to the mess hall,” Sam said as he handed me a candy bar.

“Thanks, but I'm not that hungry, remember?”

“This isn't about hungry, this is about tasty. Eat it.”

I ripped open the top with my teeth and took a bite.

It was sweet and sticky and partly melted. The cab of the truck was cooler than the building, but had still been hot enough to melt the candy to the wrapper.

Wordlessly we moved along the path. There was dew on the grass and we moved silently across the meadow. For a few seconds I couldn't see guards or fence or buildings or gate. Then I caught sight of the fence off to the left that marked the end of our world. Following along it with my eye I could see the gate. The wooden railings were down to stop vehicles, not that anybody was trying to come or go at this early hour of the morning. The only movement was on the street paralleling the fence. It seemed like there was always traffic there.

We cut off away from the fence. I felt a sense of relief moving farther away. Our path was leading us right by the Forum, the school. It was still too early for any of the children to have arrived, but I saw that the windows and doors were wide open. And as we got closer a woman appeared, broom in hand, sweeping dirt out of one of the doors. A billow of dust rose up into the air.

“I'm surprised my sister isn't lined up waiting to go in,” Sam said.

“Yours too? My sisters loved it!”

“The way she talked was like she had been at a party instead of at school. Go figure,” Sam said.

My attention was suddenly caught by the sound of a truck. A big army vehicle, the type that had brought us here, rumbled noisily around one of the buildings.

It was quickly followed by a second one. It was slowly bumping along the path, coming straight toward us.

“Maybe going out to pick up more people,” I said.

“Could be. I hear there's over three thousand people here now.”

“But I thought some had left already,” I questioned.

“Some did, but more came. Those stalls were only open for a few hours.”

We stepped well off the path to let the trucks pass.

The first one moved by and I saw that it wasn't empty.

The metal tailgate was up, but the back flap was open to reveal faces, Japanese faces, peering out the back.

“They must be leaving … but why so early?” I questioned.

“Maybe they need the space or maybe because they're sending them so far away,” Sam said.

“Do you think they're going to the mountains?” I asked as the second truck passed by, revealing more faces.

“Maybe even to Alberta.”

“To the fields,” I said.

“Three days by truck to get there, I heard.”

“That would be awful. It was bad enough being bounced around in the back of the truck the few miles from the docks to here,” I said.

“And it's not like they're going to some Garden of Eden. My father said they were being put right in the fields to plant sugar beets. He says it's one of the worst jobs in the world, but they can always use another Japanese diesel.”

“What's that?”

“A Jap with a wheelbarrow. Has your family decided where they want to go?”

“Decided? I think maybe the mountains. My father still hasn't decided.”

“Then it could be New Denver, or Slocan or Tashme.”