Last Days of Summer (22 page)

Teacher's Comments:

Three weeks ago we began reading
Julius Caesar
in class. Given the fact that, of all the Shakespearean heroes, this one actually
was
a Fascist, I had little hope of slipping it past Joseph without at least a preliminary filibuster. Naturally, I was somewhat startled when nothing of the kind occurred. In fact, he requested the “Friends, Romans and Countrymen” speech for his own and promptly delivered it with the kind of aplomb normally associated with the Barrymores (the sober ones). The applause that resulted was well-deserved, and when I complimented him on his performance, he replied. “Thank you, ma'am.” Thus emboldened, I even went so far as to compare some of Caesar's weaknesses to those of the current President of the United States—and when that too failed to elicit a rebuttal from Joseph, I merely assumed that I had lost my sanity. O, merry madness!

I suppose we have Rachel to thank for Joseph's abrupt turnabout. Simply put, they cannot keep their eyes off of one another—although Rachel has managed to preserve at least a few shreds of practiced indifference, like a tattered flag fluttering in the breeze. They generally utilize Study Hall to pass a series of covert notes back and forth to one another whenever they assume I am not looking. It's hard to tell from where I sit exactly what the score is—but I think Rachel is losing.

Janet Hicks

Parents' Comments:

Thank you for encouraging Joey to do well. We knew you would come around sooner or later.

What does
Mr
. Hicks do for a living, dear?

Ida Margolis

Dear Charlie,

Could you please read these and tell me what they mean? I tried to figure it out six different ways and I still can't.

Dear Rachel,

Your pupils are bluer than marbles, your skin is whiter than the dawn, and your hair is browner than a field that somebody just plowed.

Love,
Joey

Dear Joey,

That's disgusting. And stop it. I'm trying to study.

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

What if I asked you to go to the movies? Would you let me take you?

Joey

Dear Joey,

I don't know.
No. Besides, boys don't like Barbara Stanwyck and I do.

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I
love
Barbara Stanwyck. And I'm sorry about the time I threw the yellow snowball at you.

Joey

Dear Joey,

If you send me one more note. I'm going to tell Mrs. Hicks. But maybe.

Rachel

Maybe
what
? Maybe she'll tell Mrs. Hicks or maybe she'll go to the movies with me? And if she was really trying to study, how come she kept looking backwards to see if I was still writing to her?

This is a lot more complicated than I thought.

Joey

P.S. And Barbara Stanwyck is a pain in the ass. Maybe if somebody threw a pie in her face she would learn how to lighten up a little for Pete's sake.

P.S.2. I dressed up like a Western Union Boy and took a fake telegram to the Navy Yard so I could tell them I had a delivery for Leon Landey (a name I found in the Bronx Telephone Book). This time I was on the assembly line for 45 minutes before I got the boot. Know what? They even have
girls
working there.

Dear Romeo,

You do not even know what the word complicated means yet. Wait until she lets you hold her hand. Then you are going to need a road map and Craig's secret code book and a slide rule too.

This one is easy. What she is saying is “Your a pain in the ass but if you stop I will break your
fuckin neck.” The big clue is
I don't know.
This is her way of dropping the hook in the water. Do not bite it or she will pull you up by way of your nose. That reminds me—let Hazel pick the movie for you. Such ones as “Mr. Moto” and “Confessions of a Nazi Spy” and etc. will not do the trick this time.

And didn't I tell you not to try the colors until we had a chance to work on them? This is what you did wrong.

1. “Your pupils are bluer than marbles.” You make her sound like she has glass eye balls.
   
2. “Your skin is whiter than the dawn.” Dawn means sunrise. The sun is yellow. Does she have malaria????
   
3. “Your hair is browner than a field that somebody just plowed.” Know what makes it brown? Mud and cow shit. I am surprised she didn't stick a fountain pen in your ear.
   

It does not look like you did any damage (yet) but just in case, here is a list we can start with.

White: Clouds, stars, the moon and that bubble crap that comes on top of waves.

Red: A cherry is the best, but that has a whole other meaning we will talk about when your a little older. For now use ruby.

Brown: Chestnut ponys.

Yellow: I one time tried “egg yoke” on Hazel and it started a big fight that ended with me getting locked out of the apartment. But later she told me that girls are suckers for buttercups, so I guess this is from the horse's mouth.

Purple: A tough one. Try tulips or some other damn flower. They are all the same anyway.

Green: Most green things will only piss her off, such as frogs and boogies and etc. Grass is okay but you have to do something with it first. Like “grass after it got rained on”.

Blue: Sky and oceans.

Black: The only things I can think of are “the night” and “a well-digger's asshole”. So stay away from black. It can only get you in trouble.

Orange: You will not need this one on account of she is not suppose to have anything on her body that is orange. If she does then make sure she goes to a doctor.

We have been on maneuvers for 5 days in a row now and we are really turning into a crack outfit.
They will not tell us where we are going after here on account of what if one of us knows Hirohoto and spills the beans at dinner with him. But since we keep practicing landing on beaches from Higgens boats and taking cover, you do not have to have ½ a brain to know that it will be the S. Pacific. Unless Germany just got an ocean that nobody told us about.

They finally gave us 24, so me and Stuke used ours by going to L.A. First we ate dinner at the Pig N Whistle and then we went to a place called The Hollywood Canteen where only service men are allowed inside and you get to dance with movie stars who also make sandwiches for you. Stuke got asked to mambo by Carol Lombard but instead of saying yes The Tough Guy fainted on the floor. They had to sit him up in a corner and put smelly things under his nose until he woke up—but as soon as he saw that the one who was waving the smelly things was Lucille Ball he was out cold again. I knew it. All talk and no action.

Charlie

P.S. Promotions are next week. Stuke thinks he is going to make Sgt. and I'm not. It better not happen. He would be the first noncom to get his ass kicked by a private and have to say thank you for it.

P.S.2. Your still cooking something up, aren't you? Whatever it is, do it and get it over with. I cannot live like this.

P.S.3. Bringing up the yellow snowball was just about the dumbest thing you ever did in your life. Remember that they always keep score about such things—and at the rate your going, she will probably not let you kiss her until your 32.

Alexander Hamilton Junior High School

To:
All Eighth Graders

From:
Mrs. Hicks

Re:
Vacation Assignment

The robins are chirping again, and it's time for another stab at “How I Spent My Spring Vacation”. Perhaps it will come as a surprise, but I don't like reading them any more than you like writing them. However, the Board of Education insists. Papers should be 200 words in length and ready to turn in the day after vacation.

See if you can spend a little time doing something unusual; maybe it will make your compositions more fun to write. I doubt it—but it's worth a try.

Have a safe two weeks.

Mrs. Hicks

Dear Rachel,

How about if we got married? Bet that would make a heck of a composition, huh?

Love,
Joey

Dear Joey,

Leave me alone. And stop saying you love me.

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

But I do. “O, how ripe in show thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!”
Midsummer Night's Dream
. You can even have my kingdom.

Joey

Dear Joey,

I don't want it.

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Can I at least take you to see
Mrs. Miniver
? Please, please?

Joey

Dear Joey,

I can't. We're going to Atlantic Beach for two weeks. We rent a house there every year. But you can write to me.

Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Smokes, what am I supposed to do all by myself?

Joey

Dear Joey,

You heard Mrs. Hicks. Think of something unusual.

Rachel

Dear Joey-San,

I'm in a concentration camp. This isn't a joke. First the FBI put my father under hack because they said his tomato plants in the back yard pointed to an airplane factory, and then they arrested my uncle for being president of the Santa Monica
kenjin-kai
which they said was getting ready to bomb Washington or some other kind of bullshit. Know what a
kenjin-kai
is? A bunch of old men who talk about radishes and play shogi. After that they gave us 24 hours to get rid of everything we owned except what we could carry, including my Mom's 200-year-old china (which went for two bits a plate) and my aunt's hotel. She had to sell the lease to some old fart for $750 even
though her and my uncle put over $150,000 into it. Then they took us to a stall at the Santa Anita racetrack and made us stay there for three days (without cleaning the crap out first) until they had enough busses to take us to camp. So unless they decide to shoot us next, this is my address.

Craig Nakamura
Manzanar War Relocation Center
Block 28, Barracks 3, Apt. 2
Manzanar, California

It looks like a damn Army base here except with barb wire sticking you in the ass every time you turn around. There's about 100 long brown barrackses split up into apartments (that are maybe the size of our closets back in Brooklyn), and five of us are supposed to sleep in each one. Smokes, the walls don't even go up to the ceiling and you can practically hear the other three families we're sharing the joint with—especially the Fukudas. They have a 16-year-old named Kenji who calls me Puppet and an 11-year-old named Ichi who's weirder than you and me put together. He thinks he's the Hardy Boys. Both of them. And by the way. the bathroom is two blocks away and you have to wait in line to get in, even if you have the squirts.

Joey-San, do you think maybe Charlie could do something to get us out of here? Or at least find out where they're keeping Pop and Uncle Mits? I don't want to piss him off or anything, but he's the only famous person I know. You can even tell him
I'm sorry I traded 6 of his baseball cards for one of Durocher.

Your yellow friend,
Craig

P.S. Whatever you do, don't put “Top Secret” when you write back. It can only get us in more trouble. They already took away my Shadow's Secret Code Book to see if there were any troop movements in it. Swear to God.

P.S.2. We found a rat under the oil-burner in our apartment. Kenji named it Earl Warren. Then he called me Puppet again.

P.S.3. But they have baseball teams here. The San Pedro Gophers are letting me play with them because I'm so short that the other pitchers don't know where my strike zone is. Guess where they put me? Third base. Banks can eat his heart out.

P.S.4. Tell your Mom and Aunt Carrie I said Hi.

And Rachel and Mrs. Hicks and anybody else we know except Mrs. Aubaugh (unless she wants to lend me her leg so we can torpedo our way out of this place).

T
HE
W
HITE
H
OUSE

Dear Joey:

Thank you for your most recent letter. I wish there were an easy answer, but there isn't.

Craig will be quite safe at Manzanar—safer perhaps than on the city's streets, where attacks against innocent and loyal Japanese-Americans have reached inexcusable proportions.

I hope you will reconsider your feelings toward President Roosevelt. Dedicated friends are difficult for him to come by these days, and you have been among the most faithful. Try to remember that the right decisions are not always the popular ones—and only history can judge whether we have made a fitting choice or a regrettable mistake.

Cordially as always,
Stephen T. Early
Press Secretary

Dear Goodlookin',

You'd better consider this a Joey Alert because something is definitely brewing. I haven't been able to get two words out of him all week, and you know that spells Big Trouble. Then this morning I telephoned to find out if he wanted to learn a new routine with me, but Aunt Carrie said he'd gone on a field trip to Delaware with some of his classmates. Apparently she's unaware that there's nothing to
see
in Delaware, or else she wouldn't have fallen for it. (I certainly didn't.) So keep your ear to the ground, Big Boy—because I'm a little worried about him.

Cole Porter stopped by the club yesterday to play one of my new songs from
Something for the Boys
. He calls it “By The Miss-iss-iss-iss-iss-iss-iss-iss-inewah” and I'm not making this up. Only Cole could concoct a title like that and get away with it—anybody else would have been hatched up on sight. I put it into the act during the second show tonight and it brought down the house. Wait 'til Merman gets wind of this. She thinks that Cole Porter is her personal poodle, and she hates it when he pees on the other side of the street. (Of course, they haven't exactly offered me the leash yet, but Cole says it's in the bag.)

I miss looking at you while you sleep. Come to think of it, I miss looking at you, period.

All my love,
-Mrs. H-

P.S. I managed to swing two weeks off at the end of the month and I intend to spend both of them hanging around your neck. So you'd better tell the Marines not to expect you for dinner. And if they give you a hard time, I'll set them straight. Who else is a bigger pain in the ass than I am?