Caged Eagles (5 page)

He nodded again. His expression remained calm and reassuring.

“A few men are going to send their families … wives and small children … down by train,” he said. “They will meet in Vancouver.”

“I don't want to go by train!” Midori exclaimed.

“I want to stay with everybody else!”

“Midori,” my mother hissed under her breath.

We all knew it wasn't her decision to make or even comment on.

“You will not be going by train,” my father said. “We are going down together. A family needs to be together.”

Midori smiled, pleased with the decision. If she only knew what this trip could possibly be like, she wouldn't be so happy.

In the distance I could see the faint outlines of the tall buildings that made up the skyline of Vancouver. I'd read that some of those buildings were over twenty stories tall. Looming behind the buildings were the mountains, which stood so many more times taller and wider and dwarfed the skyscrapers.

I'd always wanted to see Vancouver. I guess it's like my grandmother always says: “Beware of what you ask for, because you may get it.” This certainly wasn't the way I'd wanted or expected to see Vancouver, but then again, I couldn't complain. There'd been times on this trip when I didn't think we'd ever make it this far. It was almost over, but it had been without a doubt the longest and hardest two weeks of my life.

I knew how those buildings felt standing against the mountains, the feeling of being dwarfed. Our little boat had been nothing more than a speck on the ocean. Moving along with the other specks, sometimes towed by the navy frigates and sometimes chugging along under our own steam as we moved down the coast toward Vancouver.

We'd travel during the day, sometimes for fourteen hours and sometimes for only a few hours, depending on the distance between safe harbors. Each night we'd all put in at a protected spot along the coast, someplace where we could anchor out of the worst of the waves. There was small comfort in being a speck amongst many, tucked in with all the other boats. But I knew that no matter how many of us were there, we were all equally powerless. The same way we were powerless against the government.

Twice on the journey down we didn't leave our safe harbor in the morning. The wind and the waves were too strong and we stayed at anchor, bounced and buffeted by the storm, but safe … at least, safer than we would have been if we'd have put out to open ocean. Once we had to stay put for three nights, waiting for the weather to clear enough for us to make a break for the next safe haven.

I didn't know what was worse: staying at anchor, which meant having to stay on the boat one extra night; taking to the ocean and risking the elements; or finally getting to Vancouver to find out what they had planned for us next. All the options were bad.

I took a last breath of cool air and headed into the cabin. The door stuck a little — all the steam from the cooking had warped it slightly — and I gave it a big push to open it. I was immediately struck by both the heat and the smell. The heat I welcomed. The smell I didn't. The smell was a combina`tion of odors that swirled together into a pungent soup. It was the cooking — the last two weeks' worth of meals; the wisps of smoke that escaped from the little stove — we'd been forced to burn wood that was green or wet; the smell coming from us and our clothes — we hadn't been able to wash since we first took to the boats; and the sickening smell of the chamber pot.

“Food?” my mother asked as she extended a bowl toward me.

I wasn't hungry, but eating was one of the few ways to pass the time.

“Thank you,” I said as I took the bowl from her. I slumped down on a mattress beside Yuri, who was asleep. I started to scoop in the rice. It tasted good.

My mother gave me a big smile. Watching us eat was about the only thing that seemed to bring a smile to her face. Ever since we'd started down the coast there'd been something simmering or cooking on the fire. It was almost as if, because she couldn't make us our
regular
meals, she had to make up for it by making us
more
meals. There was a constant supply of food.

“It looks big,” Midori said as she stood staring out the front window at the approaching city.

I nodded my head. “I was just thinking about getting off the boat.”

“Me too,” she said, nodding her head. “I'm so tired of being trapped in this little cabin.” She paused. “Maybe I shouldn't be so eager,” she said quietly.

I knew what she meant. This was awful, but at least we knew it.

“Don't worry, everything is going to be okay,” I offered reassuringly, hoping she'd believe me, even though I didn't even believe myself.

She cast her eyes down and I instantly knew that she didn't really believe me either.

“Tadashi,” my father called.

Both my sister and I looked over at my father. I handed her my now empty bowl, rose to my feet and went to my father's side. Looking past him and through the windshield, I was shocked to see our position. We were closed in on all sides by the land — by the city. Wharves, warehouses and roads lined the waterfront, and behind them were tall buildings.

All around us were dozens of other fishing boats — the boats that were filled with our neighbors who had traveled with us down the coast. And as the waterway continued to narrow, the spaces between the boats became smaller.

I looked over at the closest boat and saw Toshio, another boy from my village, staring back at me through the window of his family's vessel. He nodded his head and I nodded back.

That was more than I would have expected from him. He and I didn't get along. Not ever, really, but things got much worse after the fist fight he had with Jed. Of course, it hadn't helped much that partway through that fight — when Toshio was winning — Midori had come up behind him and hit him in the back of the legs with a tree branch.

My father turned the wheel and we moved to the side. He throttled back the engine and the chugging of the motor died down to a dull rumble. Up ahead was a gigantic wharf that seemed to go on forever. All along the wharf were the fishing boats of our village, already tied up or in the process of docking. I took a deep breath. For better or worse, this part of the trip was finally over.

.4.

The sun came up and the first bright rays came through the windows and found me lying on my mattress on the floor. I could have rolled over and pulled the covers up over my head, but there wasn't any point. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. And besides, it wasn't like the light had woken me up anyway. My sleep had been so broken and interrupted and disturbed that I doubted I'd put together any more than fifteen consecutive minutes of sleep through the whole night. And while I was worried about what was going to happen next in our lives, it wasn't just worry that had kept me awake. It was the sounds of the night.

I had become more than used to the noises of the boat — sounds of rubbing ropes, water and waves, and creaking boards. What I wasn't accustomed to were the sounds of the city that surrounded us. There seemed to be a constant rumble that filled the air: car engines softly purring, the deep growl of trucks, the occasional backfire of a motor, military airplanes with their landing lights glowing in the darkened sky as they roared overhead, and the long, low, call of ships' horns, announcing their locations as they passed each other in the dark and foggy narrows.

I'd drift off for a few minutes then be awoken by one of the sounds. Sometimes I'd just lay there listening. Other times I'd be so startled that I'd sit bolt upright. And twice I got right up and, carefully stepping around the sleeping members of my family, went over and stood by the windows, looking out, trying to attach a sight to the sound.

The planes were easily visible — actually, impossible to miss — as they glided across the night sky, their lights blazing out a path for them to follow as they passed overhead and then touched down, somewhere just out of sight, but not far away. The sources of all the other sounds were lost from view, hidden by the buildings, darkness and fog.

I'd heard that fear heightens your senses. I didn't know for sure, but it did seem like every little noise registered deep inside my skull.

My father provided his own background noise — a high-pitched whistling sound as he breathed in and out in his sleep. He always seemed to sleep solidly through the night. The first few nights on board, the sound had disturbed me, annoyed me. Now it wasn't just that it didn't bother me anymore, but that I found it reassuring. The whistling made me feel better, safer, knowing he was close. It was good to know he was right there when I woke in the middle of the night, in the pitch black, and for a few brief seconds couldn't remember where I was. Or, worse still, woke up and knew exactly where I was.

Both my mother and grandmother were light sleepers and I was sure that they would have been woken up last night too. But neither got up or moved around or even made any sounds. They wouldn't have wanted to risk waking anybody up.

Once, just as I was getting ready to climb back under the covers after gazing out the window, I was startled to see Yuri sitting up in bed, staring at me. Just enough light trickled into the boat from the lampposts on the wharf for me to see her. Silently she waved to me and then held aloft two of her dolls. I saw a smile crease her face, white teeth glowing in the dim light, and couldn't help but smile myself. I gestured for her to stuff the dolls back under the covers and she instantly responded.

That certainly wasn't the first time she'd flashed the dolls or said something to me when she thought nobody else was around. She tried to be subtle, but she was only seven years old, and wasn't so good at keeping secrets. I knew my grandmother was aware of the dolls and suspected my parents knew as well. But I also knew that if things weren't too obvious — if she didn't pull them out right in front of my father's eyes, so that everybody would know he'd been disobeyed — he might just pretend he didn't know they were there. That way we were all okay.

My father yawned loudly, sat up and stretched his arms. That was the signal to everybody that the day had begun. Instantly my mother got to her feet and began to prepare morning tea. Midori was soon at her side to help, and even my grandmother got up on unsteady feet and went to offer assistance.

Activity had also started on the wharf. A half a dozen men, a couple of whom I knew, were gathered together, talking and smoking cigarettes. My father had noticed them as well. He pulled on his jacket and went over to the door, removed his slippers and put on his boots.

“Tadashi,” he said, motioning to me with his hand. “Come.”

I didn't need any further encouragement. I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on as I rushed over to the door. I kicked off my slippers and pushed my feet into my boots. I didn't even bother to tie them up, just stuffed the long laces back into the boots. Opening the door, I was hit with a blast of cold air. The bright sunlight, which had already burnt off the fog from the night, had fooled me into thinking it was much warmer than it was. I buttoned up my jacket quickly as I crossed the deck of the boat and bounded up onto the wharf.

My father had already joined the group of men and I quietly glided up behind them. There was an argument going on between two of the men, and I was even more determined to be silent.

“So we're here! What now?” one of the men demanded. He wasn't from our village and I didn't know his name. He was younger than the other men, maybe closer in age to me then he was to my father.

“You have to be patient,” one of the others, an older man named Tanaka, said quietly.

“I'm tired of being patient!” he snapped angrily.

“Patience is for old women! I want to know what they have planned for us next!”

“Mind your words,” Mr. Tanaka said angrily. “You're so young you still have eggshell stuck to your bottom!”

The man's face flashed with anger as the others laughed at the joke made at his expense. He looked like he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Young people had no right to speak disrespectfully to their elders. Still, I wanted to know the same thing — what now?

“We all want to know the next step,” my father interjected, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “But getting angry, especially at each other, will not help.” Although the words were said quietly, they were said in that tone of voice that I knew meant business.

The younger man opened his mouth like he was going to blurt something out, but again thought better of it. “Yes,” he said softly, looking down at the ground.

“We're all upset,” Mr. Tanaka added. “We all want to know the answer to the question you've asked. But we must wait.”

The group became silent. I imagined that each man was thinking about the possible answers — what was going to be happening to us and how long we'd have to wait to find out. They started talking in Japanese, discussing the weather and what sort of day it was going to be. I listened in for a while. The younger man, the one who had been so angry, spoke Japanese, but not very well. He continually threw in English words, or the wrong endings to words. Lots of Japanese his age didn't speak Japanese that well. My Japanese was better than his.

My parents, like most Japanese parents, insisted that we all spoke Japanese in the home. But I guess because I was in a village where everyone was Japanese, we also spoke it when we were outside, talking to the neighbors or playing with the other kids.

Not that my Japanese was perfect. Sometimes I found myself having to work harder to understand things when the older Japanese spoke. It wasn't just the dialect, or the words, but the way they put those words together.

Two of the men dropped their cigarette butts to the ground and stubbed them out with their boots. They immediately lit up two more cigarettes. A cigarette was offered to my father, which he declined. He didn't smoke. I decided I'd wait a few minutes, to be polite, and then head back to the boat. There was nobody here who knew anything, and I'd only come out so eagerly hoping somebody had some information.