Caged Eagles (20 page)

“I've heard of a couple of those. Do you know where they are?” I asked.

“In the interior, up in the mountains, is all I know.”

“I was thinking Alberta wouldn't be too bad,” I said.

“Then you're thinking wrong.”

“If it's so bad, why would anybody go there?” I questioned.

“Some are farmers or gardeners, so they want to do that sort of work.”

“Yeah, but at least everybody could be together,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Going to the mountains might mean the men going someplace else for at least part of the time. They're putting them on work crews to fix roads and bridges and things. Where is your family going?” I asked.

“Probably farther east. Maybe even Ontario.”

“I thought they were just sending prisoners out there.”

“That's northern Ontario. We'd go to Toronto.”

“Why would you want to do that?” I questioned. The farther away you went, the harder it would be to get back home.

“My father has some business connections out there.

They might even let him go out there to try to arrange things.”

“And you could do that? They'd let you just go and live in a house?”

“They don't have enough places to put us anyway, so if somebody can find a place for themselves that's outside of the restricted areas, then they don't care,” Sam explained.

“My father said that maybe it isn't the best place in the world to be, but it might be the least worst choice we get.”

We stood and watched as the trucks slowed down at the gate. A soldier walked first to one truck, and then to the other. The gate was raised and the trucks lumbered away. Wherever they were going, they were now gone from here at least. I'd have to talk to my father again about where we were going. Maybe he didn't know about going out east … it wouldn't be so bad either.

“Let's eat,” Sam said. “We better get in line before all the kids headed for school.”

We hurried off toward the mess hall. Entering, it was obvious that we were already too late. There was a fair-sized line, with lots of kids amongst those waiting to be served. More than half of the tables were already occupied. I looked around for my family. While I recognized a few people from my village, my family wasn't there. We both grabbed trays, plates and utensils. Despite the length of the line, I was surprised by how fast it was moving.

I looked way up ahead, trying to see what was for breakfast. I was hoping for eggs. I watched as the server scooped out a big spoonful of oatmeal. The old Japanese woman being offered the food shook her head and then turned her plate upside down. I guess it didn't look any better up close than it did from a distance.

She shuffled over to the second server and did exactly the same, refusing the food that was offered. Finally she moved to the next woman, and for the third time refused the food that was offered. She walked away, nothing on her tray but the overturned plate. Either the food was so awful she'd lost her appetite, or she wasn't hungry … but if she wasn't hungry, why did she wait in line in the first place?

Then I noticed that the man two back from her had passed by the first server without taking food. His plate was upside down as well. He too stopped at each server but refused the food that was offered. That was strange. I watched him walk away with his empty tray.

“Did you see —” I started to say.

“Yeah, I saw,” Sam said, cutting me off. “I just don't understand.”

Before we reached the front of the line, another halfdozen of the thirty people ahead of us did exactly the same thing. And as each left without food, they took a place at one of the tables, and sat silently staring off into the distance. That was even stranger. If they weren't going to eat anything, why didn't they just leave?

“Oatmeal?” the woman asked.

“I guess so,” I said hesitantly, looking closely to see if I could see why so many people had turned it down.

“Good!” she said as she spooned out a huge quantity that overflowed the bowl and splattered onto the tray.

“And for you too?' she asked Sam.

“Not for me,” Sam said as he took his bowl and turned it over.

I didn't know what shocked me more, Sam refusing food, or what he had just done with his bowl.

“Hummmp,” snorted the server. “Suit yourself.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked Sam out of the corner of my mouth as we shuffled forward.

“I don't like oatmeal.”

“But why did you turn your bowl over?”

“I saw the other people do it. Did you notice how angry that woman got?”

“It was hard not to —”

“Sam, are you part of this too?” It was Betsy, the woman who got Sam his newspapers. She was carrying a big, steaming pot of something.

“Part of what?” Sam asked.

“People refusing to eat.”

“We noticed. But why are they doing it?” Sam asked.

“It's a darn foolish idea that some darn foolish people are doing. Can you imagine, refusing to eat the food we prepare. Do either of you think this food is so bad?” she asked.

“Always tasted good to me,” Sam said. “I like the food here.”

His answer didn't surprise me, and it wasn't just that he was being polite. While people like my grandmother barely ate at all, Sam always went back for seconds of everything.

“We work darn hard preparing and baking and cooking and serving! Do you think it's easy making three meals a day for over three thousand people?”

“I'm sure it isn't,” I agreed. Were there really that many people here?

“And maybe it doesn't taste the same as if we were cooking for a few people around the table in our kitchen, but we try our best. First, it was just a few old ladies.”

She couldn't mean my grandmother. True, she only picked at her food, but she was still eating some of it.

“Now it seems like every meal there's more and more of them. They stand in line, refuse to take anything to eat, and then just go to the tables and sit there. Does that make any sense to either of you boys?” she asked loudly.

I was painfully aware that almost all the other sounds in the mess hall had stopped, and everybody — the people serving, those waiting in line and those already sitting down — was staring at us and listening. The line ahead of us had continued to move forward while we were holding up everybody else behind us.

“And do they think by not eating they'll get the food they want?” the woman continued. “Even if we wanted to, we couldn't get all those different foods. And rice … who eats rice for breakfast?”

“Well …” I started to answer.

“Let's keep things moving,” came an angry male voice.

I turned around to see a couple of soldiers striding across the floor toward us.

“Are these two causing you trouble?” one of the soldiers asked.

What two? Who was he talking about? He couldn't mean us, could he?

The soldiers stopped practically right on top of us, and my stomach did a flip.

“Not these two; we were just talking,” Betsy explained. “They're here to eat, not cause trouble … not like some people!” she said loudly.

“Yeah, we're just eating,” I said anxiously, holding my tray up for them to see the pile of oatmeal, to confirm my words.

“Then get moving, you're holding up the line,” the older of the two ordered.

“Come on, Sam,” I said, nudging him forward.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I've suddenly lost my appetite.”

He turned to one of the soldiers. “Here, take this,”

Sam said, and he handed the man his tray, turned and walked away.

The soldier looked shocked as he stood there holding Sam's tray. He was only slightly less surprised than me, though.

“Ummm … I'm not that hungry either,” I said as I placed my tray on top of Sam's.

“Thanks … thanks a lot,” I mumbled.

Before the soldier could even react, I had turned and run after Sam. Every eye in the whole place was on me as I quickly picked my way through the crowd.

Sam was already outside before I caught up to him.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. “You like the food here.”

“Maybe I do, but I don't like being ordered around by a couple of old donkeys who think they're so important because they're carrying guns!”

Sam pulled out a package of gum, unwrapped a piece and stuffed it in his mouth, adding to the wad he was already working.

“You got the letter?” he asked.

“Right here,” I answered, tapping my pants pocket.

“Then let's go.”

I scouted up and down the fence as Sam slipped underneath the wire. There were no guards, nothing to be seen except for the cars flying by on the road.

Sam stood up and dusted himself off. I dropped to my knees, spun over onto my back and pulled myself under. I quickly got back to my feet. There was a gap in the traffic in both directions — there didn't seem to be nearly as many cars as the last time — and we raced across the street, not even stopping when we reached the other side. We kept moving, trotting along at a fair pace, until we reached the little side street we'd been on when we snuck out the first time. Feeling safer, we started walking.

“We better put on our buttons,” Sam said as he pulled his out of his pocket.

I did the same. Carefully I pinned it on my shirt. “I Am Chinese.”

“How far do we have to go to mail the letter?” I asked.

“I don't know this part of the city very well, but there should be either a post office or a letter box not too far away. Let's go down this way.”

We turned onto a smaller street that ran parallel to the major road.

“Wouldn't it be better if we were out on the big street … you know, more chance of there being a mailbox?”

I asked.

“Better chance of seeing one, but a better chance of being seen. I figure we go a few blocks on this street before we head back out to the busier one. Make sense?”

“Perfect.”

“Just relax, and just remember, act like we belong here.”

“I'll remember, but I don't think there's any way I'm going to relax until we get back under that fence.”

This street wasn't nearly as busy, but there was still a lot of activity. Aside from the occasional car, there were people sitting on their porches or working on their lawns and gardens. At two houses there were men in their driveways, hose in hand, washing their cars. On several occasions we saw people on the sidewalk up ahead, coming toward us, and we crossed to the other side of the street.

I tried not to make eye contact with any of the people we passed. I just looked straight ahead, hoping they didn't notice us but certain that we were being watched by everybody we came near.

At first I thought it was just my imagination, but there really did seem to be an awful lot of people around.

There were so many more people than the first time we — wait a second, today was Saturday! Of course there were more people out! That also explained why there were so many fewer cars on the street outside the park.

Having traveled five or six blocks, Sam turned us back onto the main street. Looking back, I could just make out what looked like the corner of the park. It would be good to get it completely out of sight — of course, that also meant we had to travel farther back before we were safe.

I looked up. A man and a woman were coming down the sidewalk in our direction. She was pushing a stroller and he had a black dog on a leash. As we got closer, the man shortened his hold on the dog's leash and shifted him over to the other side. I was grateful for that. I didn't like dogs very much. I made way for them by moving slightly off the sidewalk and onto the grass. Sam stepped out onto the edge of the road.

“Hello,” I said as we passed.

“Um, yeah, hi,” the man answered hesitantly.

There, that wasn't so bad — “Why did you do that?” Sam hissed at me out of the corner of his mouth.

“Do what?”

“Talk to them.”

“I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Don't be friendly, be Chinese.”

“Come on, Chinese people must say hello.”

“Not to white people they don't,” Sam said.

“But there are some Chinese families in Rupert, a couple of the kids are in my school, and they talk to —”

“This isn't Prince Rupert. I don't know what goes on up there, but down here everybody keeps to their own kind.”

“Then what do you think I should do when we pass people?”

“Keep your head down and look at your feet,” Sam said. “We want them to see your button, not your face.”

“Why don't we cross over to the other side instead?”

I suggested.

“It's too busy to keep zigzagging back and forth.”

Of course, Sam was right. The street was becoming much busier. The houses had started to give way to small stores, and there were many people out on the street.

Right up ahead, the traffic was stopped at a light. The cross street held even more traffic than the one we were walking along.

“I know where we are now. There's a post office a couple of blocks down this way,” Sam said quietly. “And Tadashi … keep your mouth closed.”

I wasn't planning on arguing with that. I'd keep my mouth shut and my eyes open, but looking down at the ground. We came to a stop and waited for the light to change.

A young woman with three children stopped beside us as we waited. I glanced at them carefully out of the corner of my eye so as not to be seen looking. My attention was caught by the sound of a vehicle gearing down and the squeaking of brakes. I had a rush of fear as a large, olive-colored truck stopped right beside us. It was unmistakably an army vehicle, probably coming from the park. Had we been discovered? Had it come for us? Were they looking for us? The light changed, and in a cloud of exhaust smoke and a grinding of gears, the truck started off. With that my heart started beating again.