Weedflower (13 page)

S
UMIKO READ IN THE
C
HRONICLE
THAT
P
OSTON
was the only
Nikkei
relocation center administered by the Office of Indian Affairs. Maybe that was why security seemed rather lax here. Supposedly the other relocation centers were run by the War Relocation Authority. The camps for Issei like Jiichan and Uncle were run by the Department of Justice and were more like prisons.

Before long you could do many things in the town of Poston that you could do in any town. You could sit at the movies (if you’d made your own chair), get a job cooking food (at a mess hall), drive a truck (but not too far), build buildings (only in the
camp), dig irrigation ditches, build basketball courts or baseball diamonds, play on a baseball or basketball team, farm, deliver mail, work at a store, fight fires, join the government, join a gang, and join clubs. Working at least kept you busy, even though you got paid much less than you would make outside for the same work. Some camp residents kept busy running for office and fighting over political control of the camps. Ultimately, the white administration made the major decisions, but the residents also got a say.

Every day the
Chronicle
told of dances in the block recreation halls; new clubs or classes for gardening, sewing, learning English, and many other subjects; tournaments for marbles, basketball, baseball, and other sports; job offers; elections and meetings; items for sale; and so on.

One thing the newspaper didn’t cover was the war. Nobody had the least idea who was winning. Some people thought Japan was winning, and others thought the United States was winning. One man whom nobody listened to much said that the war in Europe was just as important as the war in the Pacific. But nobody talked much about Germany. It was always Japan this and Japan that. Ichiro said the government didn’t want them knowing anything about what was going on in the war.

The grown-ups in camp complained all the time about how wild the kids were getting. Sachi and some other girls sometimes stole candy bars from the canteen.
And some of the boys had stolen a pig and put it in an
inu
’s barrack. Sumiko had seen them giggling maniacally as they ran through camp carrying the squealing animal.

The camp was hot and awful and ugly and boring, but because it was “permanent,” Sumiko started to get used to it. And she found she kind of liked being bad. She wasn’t
bad
bad, but when she didn’t feel like it, she didn’t sit with Auntie and Tak-Tak during meals. And she stayed out late a few times, just sitting around with Sachi and the other kids. Some of them smoked, but the one time she tried it, she got so sick, two boys needed to carry her home.

One day as Sumiko walked with Sachi, her friend suddenly cried out, “Now!” She fell upon the vegetable garden they had been walking by and began pulling up carrots.

“What are we doing?” Sumiko cried out.

Sachi ran off calling back, “Goody Two-shoes!”

Sumiko knew how good fresh carrots tasted, but still, it was wrong to steal them like that.

Sumiko walked alone back to her barrack. Nobody was around. Even Mr. Moto had gone somewhere. But she noticed a letter for herself from Uncle on the tablecloth.

Sumiko,

I am writing this for Jiichan. He said to tell you he can’t write himself because he is very busy, as he says you must be. (He says not to tell you that he is being sarcastic.) He says he knows you are not becoming
namakemono.
He says he hopes you are behaving well and doing whatever your aunt tells you. He hopes you have started a garden that would make him proud
.

We are well enough here in North Dakota. It’s already [this part was censored]. By the way, please thank your aunt for the socks she managed to send. I hate to ask for more, since I know conditions cannot [censored]. But can you please tell Auntie that if she finds money to spare, we will need better boots and Jiichan would like a better coat. Tell her not to worry if she cannot find the money
.

Please take care. We may be moved to
[censored].

Oh, and Jiichan says to send you the enclosed blank sheet of paper. He says there must be a paper shortage in Poston, since you are using old newspapers to write on. He says he wonders where your aunt is getting the blank paper she writes to us on
.

Much love,

Uncle Hatsumi

Sumiko tucked the letter in her luggage.
Namakemono
meant “lazybones.” She didn’t think she was a lazybones. It was just that there was nothing to do. The letter didn’t make her feel like working. It made her feel tired. She lay down on her cot. Her uncle and grandfather would die of cold, and she would die of heat. And then, she believed, the rest of America would be satisfied.

Sumiko tried to lie there and feel lazy but finally she got up and drew all of her six dollars from under the mattress and left it on the table with Uncle’s letter and a note to Auntie, telling her to use the money for the coat and boots. The heat that day was astounding. She fell asleep, and when she woke up, the money, the letter, and the note were gone. But TakTak was waiting for her to wake up.

“I’m bored,” he said. “Why can’t we go to summer school?”

Sumiko had always felt school took her away from the farm. But now she wished they would start a school in camp soon. There were rumors that schools would be built and that schoolbooks and teachers would arrive eventually, but nothing ever happened.

“Where are your new friends who play marbles?” Sumiko asked.

“They say I’m not good enough to play with them.”

“Oh.” Tak-Tak seemed awfully pathetic when he was bored. “All right, let’s go see what Sachi is doing.”

But Sachi wasn’t home. So Sumiko decided to take her brother to the bean fields. A cook gave them two precious cups of ice; and they walked down to the fields. Sumiko brought a pencil and her receipt book.

When they got to the bean tunnels, Sumiko checked for snakes before they slipped under the vines. Tak-Tak sucked on his ice while she made out a couple of receipts. One dollar for roses. Two dollars for arrangement. Someday when she ran out of pages in the book, she planned to erase everything and start over again. But writing out receipts wasn’t as much fun as it once had been, when she’d really believed she might own a flower shop one day. So she set the book aside and lay on her back chewing ice. She could see bits of the blue sky through the vines.

Suddenly she became aware of someone else in the tunnel. She shot up. Tak-Tak was staring at the Indian boy, Frank. He was chewing gum again, and he still wore a scarf around his head. Sumiko knew Sachi had lied about the finger boiling, but she still felt scared of this boy.

He peered into Tak-Tak’s cup.

“What is that?”

Tak-Tak just stared at him. “It’s ice,” said Sumiko.

Frank blew a bubble and popped it. “They give
you
ice?” he said.

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“I’m not the one who bombed Pearl Harbor.”

“You killed Custer,” she shot back. She’d learned that in school.

He blew another bubble and popped it. “Don’t think you can insult me, ’cause you can’t.” He glanced with interest at Sumiko’s cup but then pulled aside some vines to peer outside. “Who’s in charge of the irrigation?”

“An engineer.”

“Jap?”

She frowned. “We don’t use that word.” Then she didn’t feel scared of Frank any longer but, rather, annoyed. She answered his question anyway. “The man in charge is white.”

He looked at her coldly. Then he seemed to soften, but just a bit. Sumiko saw him glance again at her cup.

“Haven’t you seen ice before?” she asked.

“Of course I have.” He laughed at the stupidity of her question.

Sumiko sipped at some of the melting ice. He watched intently. “Well, why are you staring, then?” she said.

“I’m not.”

Tak-Tak said, “He can have mine.”

Frank turned to Tak-Tak and said, surprisingly gently, “No.” He pulled a piece of gum from his pocket and threw it to Tak-Tak. Tak-Tak smiled.

To Sumiko, Frank said, “You know anything about the irrigation?”

“My cousin’s pouring concrete for the main ditch. They’re extending it.”

“Really? You from a farm family?”

“Yes, we grew flowers.”

“Flowers?”
he said. He seemed surprised, even disdainful.

“Uh-huh. You know, like they sell at the store.”

“You can make a living from that?” he asked dubiously.

“Of course. What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never thought of flowers growing on a farm. Why didn’t you grow food?”

She hesitated. “Do you really want to know?” Before her camp experiences nobody had asked her many questions about her family.

He seemed confused. “Of course I want to know. That’s why I asked.”

Weil! Sumiko scarcely knew where to start. From when Uncle was a boy? From Uncle’s wedding day? She had heard the story many times.

“Before my uncle got married,” she said, “he was living in a boardinghouse for bachelors from Fukushima Prefecture in Japan. Prefectures are like states. Anyway, another bachelor who had decided to return to Fukushima asked whether my uncle wanted to marry
his sister, who was born in the United States.” Sumiko took a breath. Frank looked like he was still listening, so she continued. “The bachelor had been using hired help to run a flower farm, which my uncle could take over if he married this man’s sister. So Uncle said yes, and then he married Auntie and took over the flower farm.”

Tak-Tak pulled on Frank’s shirt. Frank looked at him. “My sister talks a lot sometimes,” he said.

Frank smiled. “Yes, she does.” He turned to Sumiko. “I wouldn’t mind meeting your cousin who’s working on the irrigation. My brothers want to farm someday. Some of the reservation is irrigated, but our land isn’t yet.”

Sumiko didn’t reply. She didn’t know if she was allowed to talk to an Indian. Maybe her cousins would be mad at her. Ichiro had such a bad temper, maybe he would throw something against the wall if he found out.

“You’re not supposed to be on camp, are you?” she asked.

“I came with my uncle. He delivers supplies.”

“Do you have an icebox?” said Tak-Tak suddenly.

Frank blew another bubble and popped it. “Yes, but there’s no ice in it at the moment.”

“How come?” said Tak-Tak.

Frank ignored him and stretched his back.

“Are you poor?” said Tak-Tak.

“Takao!” said Sumiko. “That’s rude!”

But instead of turning on Tak-Tak, Frank snapped at Sumiko. “They take our land and put you on it. They give you electricity. They give you ice. I found a sandwich one of you threw on the road.” He glared at her.

Sumiko felt anger rise in herself. “We didn’t ask to be here. It wasn’t my sandwich!”

Frank’s eyes cooled off a bit. But he pushed through the bean plants, and Sumiko watched him run off.

“He liked me,” said Tak-Tak. “But not you. Doesn’t he have electricity?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not.” Sumiko watched as Frank disappeared in the distance. Her family was poor, but they had electricity. “He must have electricity,” she finally declared. “We have it, and we’re practically in jail.”

18

B
ACK AT THE BARRACK THAT EVENING AS
S
UMIKO
lounged around inside, Mr. Moto called out to her. “I have an announcement, Sumiko!”

She rushed out—anything was more exciting than lying around the barrack fending off the ultimate boredom. He stood by his plot of land holding a handful of droopy bean cuttings as if he were holding gold.

“Shouldn’t those be in water?” she asked.

“That’s why I need your help! You know all about farming!”

“You want me to help?” Sumiko’s heart actually pounded, kind of like when she had gotten that birthday party invitation.

He handed her half the cuttings. “I’ll tell you what. You plant these, and I’ll plant the rest, and we’ll have a contest to see who can grow the most beans! I’ll do the hardest labor, and you provide the expertise. And you can plant all the flowers you have room for.” A section of dirt just for herself! Mr. Moto’s face lit up as he continued. “A nursery owner from outside camp donated some trees to the camp. I’m going to try to get one of those for our garden.”

Mr. Moto had gathered rocks and more hardened wood from the mountains. He planned to use the wood to carve a statue of a samurai. That evening Sumiko drew diagrams planning her section of garden. She drew and drew. Meanwhile, Mr. Moto moved the rocks from here to there and there to here, trying to decide where they looked best. Then Sumiko threw away the diagrams and decided just to plant a profusion of flowers. She lugged bucket after bucket of water from the latrine to make it easier for Mr. Moto to dig into the hard ground.

As they worked, though, something started to bother her. Maybe she should politely tell him that the desert sun might kill their cuttings. But he must know that. Anybody would know a thing like that! Wouldn’t they? She didn’t want to embarrass him by telling him something he should have known already. But the more she didn’t speak, the more she wanted to speak. Finally she told Mr. Moto, “It’ll be too sunny
for the plants! We need to cover them with cheesecloth.”