The Purple Heart (22 page)

He watched his wife, and
saw her carefully helping Yoshi cut up his food. There were streaks of gray in
her hair, but it was still voluminous. She had put her hair up in a bun that
exposed her neck, and she still exhibited a delicate femininity. Her eyes were
still vibrant but had grown more caring from her life as a mother.

Mrs. Ito turned and caught
her husband gazing at her. She at first didn’t know what to think. It suddenly
reminded her of how he used to look at her when they were younger. She blushed
for a second and smiled back at her husband. He smiled back as she said to him,
“Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

Mr. Ito smiled back and
nodded silently. Then he cast one more look at his family as if it was for the
first time. They were indeed truly back in his life. He looked over at Hiroshi,
who was sitting next to his daughter. Hiroshi’s parents were sitting directly
in front of their only son, but Miho and Yuka separated him from them. But it
was Minami and Hiroshi who caught his attention. They were young and vibrant
and they seemed like a handsome couple. They were talking, giggling every now
and then and were continuously looking into each other’s eyes. He didn’t know
how serious the relationship was, but he found he didn’t fear it.

He liked Hiroshi a lot and
saw a lot of strength in him. He credited Hiroshi’s strength with helping him
break through the mental shackles that had held him back from reality. His
situation was not great but at least he was not alone anymore. Hiroshi also
reminded him of himself when he was younger. Before the war, he had been
relatively fit, being an active fisherman. He gently rubbed his right bicep and
noticed that it wasn’t as firm as it used to be. But he would change that by
exercising, he thought.

Mr. Ito then felt a gentle
prodding on his right hand from his wife and he turned to look at her.

“Your food is getting
cold,” she said gently. There was a slight hint of concern in her voice.

“I’ve missed you,” said Mr.
Ito.

Mrs. Ito was taken aback by
the suddenness of his compliment and could only smile back and blush. Mr. Ito
was happy knowing that he could still charm his wife. He reciprocated the
smile, something that he had not done in a long time, then went back to eating
his food. His appetite renewed, he ate voraciously.

But later that night, Mr.
Ito’s nightmares came back as the demons crawled back into his mind with a
vengeance. They were angry that he was able to avoid them the previous night
and were looking forward to playing with him once more. They encircled him as
he sat at a table with his wrists and ankles handcuffed. The faces of the
demons were horribly distorted as they spun around him, howling at him,
taunting him. Mr. Ito felt cold, but he was sweating at the same time, and the
howling was ringing incessantly in his head. He tried to cover up his ears but
the handcuffs prevented him from covering them simultaneously. He closed his
eyes to ward off the demons whose breath and spit he could feel on his skin. He
felt like he couldn’t tolerate the ordeal for a second longer when a sudden
silence fell over the room.

Mr. Ito slowly opened his
eyes and found himself in a familiar concrete walled room. There was
fluorescent lighting from above. A large mirror was in front of him on the
opposing wall. Then his eyes focused on the young man in front of him. He was a
man in his mid-twenties, with light brownish hair and a fair complexion. He was
clean-shaven and looked like your average white boy. He had on a military
uniform devoid of any rank or insignia. It was khaki and included a black tie
that was fastened to his shirt with a gold horizontal tiepin. He wasn’t looking
at Mr. Ito. Instead he was writing in a notebook. He continued to write a few
more sentences and then stopped. He slowly looked up with his hazel eyes and
stared at Mr. Ito who was also staring back at him quietly.

He tapped the end of the
ballpoint pen twice onto his notebook. The taps echoed throughout the room.
Then he straightened up. The rustle of his clothes seemed to be amplified and
when he pulled his chair up an inch, the scraping from the bottom of the steel
chair legs on the concrete floor echoed throughout the room.

“So Mr. Ito,” he said in a
firm voice as he stared straight at Mr. Ito. “Can you please tell me, how are
you helping the Japanese military?”

Mr. Ito cleared his throat.
He was no longer sweating and his clothes were dry. “As I’ve told you before, I
am a simple fisherman. I am not in contact with the Japanese military.”

“Again, Mr. Ito, how are
you helping the Japanese military?”

“As I’ve told you, I’m a
fisherman, that’s all,” Mr. Ito said firmly.

“Can you explain the radio
in your boat and how you used it to contact the Japanese military?”

“The radio is only for me
to stay in contact with my family and other fishermen,” replied Mr. Ito.

“So you do use your radio
to coordinate with other Japanese men while you’re at sea?”

“Yes.”

“So you do use it to
contact Japanese men of the enemy?”

“Yes…I mean no. I said
fishermen.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said but you
mixed up my words, I meant other Japanese fishermen,” Mr. Ito stammered as he
corrected himself.

“I don’t believe you,”
barked the interrogator.

“It’s the truth!” Mr. Ito
snapped back.

The interrogator remained
still and firmly spoke in a patronizing tone, “There is no need to shout, Mr.
Ito. I can hear you just fine.”

Mr. Ito regained his
composure and calmed down.

“That will be all today.
Unfortunately, we did not accomplish a lot today. You’re in denial about your
involvement with the Japanese military and your plans to bring down the
government of the United States of America.”

“I am not in denial! I am
innocent!” yelled Mr. Ito as the lights in the room flickered off and the
demons came back again, howling with their distorted faces and circling him.
The cold sweat came back and Mr. Ito buried his head into his chest and tried
to ignore the demons. He muttered under his breath, “No, no, no! I’m a good
American. I’m a good American.”

Then the demons vanished
and the interrogator was back. On the table was a pitcher of water and two
empty glasses. Mr. Ito looked up at the expressionless interrogator. The
interrogator poured water into the two glasses in a methodical fashion. He
extended one glass out to Mr. Ito and asked, “Water?”

Mr. Ito looked around for a
moment. He stared back at the calm interrogator and nervously reached out with
his handcuffed hands toward the glass. The interrogator encouraged Mr. Ito to
take it. He gingerly wrapped his fingers around the glass and drew it closer to
him. He looked cautiously at the interrogator and then looked down into the
glass as he brought it to his mouth. The eyeball stared up at Mr. Ito as it
floated in the glass.

The glass slipped out of
his hands, spilling its contents all over his lap and shattering onto the
floor. Mr. Ito bolted up and away from the chair.

“What’s wrong?” asked the
interrogator.

Mr. Ito looked up at the
interrogator with a frenzied look and was about to say something when he
noticed two glasses of water on the table and the half-empty glass water
pitcher. He looked down at the floor. There was no shattered glass or spilled
water. Then he looked down at his own pants, and they were dry as well.

The interrogator coaxed Mr.
Ito back to his seat. Mr. Ito hesitantly slid onto the cold steel of the chair
and sat there nervously as he began to shake his right leg.

“Have something to drink,
Mr. Ito,” the interrogator said.

“No!” said Mr. Ito as he
looked nervously about the table. “It’s okay.”

“Suit yourself,” the
interrogator replied. He looked at Mr. Ito cautiously. Then he clicked the top
of his pen and scribbled something into his notebook. “Will not eat or drink.”

The interrogator looked
back up and continued, “We made good progress yesterday; you admitted to being
a Japanese spy.”

Mr. Ito looked up
immediately and in a defensive tone stated, “I am no such thing, I never said
that.”

The interrogator simply
looked at Mr. Ito, then uttered a laugh. “That’s right. I’m sorry. It was the
other Japanese man who admitted to being a Japanese spy. He admitted the truth
much faster because he felt guilty about all the innocent American lives that
were lost. Especially when we told him about all the children that was killed
by the Japanese. Such a tragic thing. But for you, it’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m telling you the
truth!” shouted Mr. Ito.

Then the interrogator stood
up and slammed the palms of his hands onto the table causing it to shake
suddenly. He hovered over Mr. Ito who lurched back into his chair.

“No! I tell you what the
truth is!” He glared back at Mr. Ito.

The lights suddenly went
out once more as the swirling demons once again danced around Mr. Ito, taunting
him as their voices grew ever more incoherent. Mr. Ito gripped the cold steel
bottom of his chair and tensed up his entire body while he sunk his head into
his chest. He closed his eyes and shut them as hard as he could. But he
couldn’t ignore the howls as it pierced his very being. Then it was silent
again and the lights came back on.

Mr. Ito looked up and once
again saw the interrogator. Mr. Ito slowly straightened up and looked back at
his tormentor.

“Why did you leave Japan?”
asked the interrogator.

“I wanted a new life for
myself and my wife.”

“A new life…as spies for
the Japanese government?”

“No, I told you, I’m a
simple fisherman.”

“Why were you then, one of
the only fishermen out on the day of Pearl Harbor at such an early hour?”

“I had a hunch there would
be a good catch, and I was right.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“It’s not?” asked Mr. Ito
with some self-doubt.

“No, in fact you woke up
early to contact the Japanese army to give them intelligence on the California
coastline.”

“I did no such thing!”
stammered Mr. Ito.

“No you did! You did do
such a thing. It’s the reason why you and the other Japanese fisherman gave
your fishing boats Japanese names so that the Japanese navy could distinguish
which boats belonged to the Japanese spies they sent to the mighty United
States of America.”

“That’s not true! It’s
simply a name…” Mr. Ito struggled to defend himself.

“What did I tell you about
the truth? What did I tell you about the truth?” asked the interrogator as he
slammed down on the table with both fists every time he spoke the word “truth.”

Mr. Ito did not answer him.
For the first time in his life, he was scared. His eyes darted quickly to the
floor.

“Are you Japanese?” asked
the interrogator in a calm even voice.

“Yes.”

“So you’re a spy for the
Japanese military,” said the interrogator in a matter of fact manner.

Mr. Ito shook his head,
feeling as if he’d answered the question a thousand times, exhaled and spoke,
“No, I’m from Japan and live in America.”

“But simply because you
live here does not mean you’re not Japanese,” stated the interrogator.

“I will always be Japanese
but I’m an American now…”

“No, you’re not an American.
You’re Japanese. Japanese people cannot become American.”

“But my children are
American!” blurted out an insistent Mr. Ito.

The interrogator paused and
gazed back at Mr. Ito. “No, they’re Japanese too.”

“No, my children were born
in America; they are American! It says so in your Constitution,” as Mr. Ito
yelled back vociferously.

“No Mr. Ito, they will
never become American…”

“Then they are Japanese
Americans!”

The interrogator shot back,
“There is no such thing. They can’t be both.”

“Yes they can, my children
are Japanese Americans,” he repeated as tears of frustration began to stream
down from his face.

“There’s no such thing.
You’re making things up again, Mr. Ito,” said the interrogator.

The room went pitch black
once more. The faces of the demons took on a more ghoulish look with reddish
eyes and a skin color that was a greenish and yellowish tint that did not seem
human. The persistent howling penetrated Mr. Ito’s very essence, sending
shivers along his skin. Mr. Ito sank into his chair and shook his head back and
forth as sweat splashed from his forehead. He began to utter out the word “No!”
repeatedly but it was drowned out by the howling demons. Then the lights came
back on and the concrete room reappeared.

The interrogator appeared
calmly at the table with his hands folded on his closed notebook.

“Mr. Ito,” began the
interrogator. “We have not received any letters from your wife or your
children. I know it must be difficult. Truly difficult to accept that they have
forsaken you. Seeing that they are probably spies themselves, they have
probably given up all hope on you. They must think you must have betrayed the
Japanese to us. They know you would do this because you are a weak man.”