The woman looked at her with eyes like black ice, said bluntly, “I refuse to raise children in a concentration camp,” and walked out.
Was it the bitterness in her voice or her use of the words “concentration camp” that so disconcerted Ruth?
She picked up her mail—a postcard from Stanley informing her that he and his family had been transferred to the relocation center at Minidoka, Idaho—and stepped outside. Still thinking of the woman’s words, Ruth started to cross the street and nearly collided with Ralph, on his way to work at the Free Press across the street.
“Sis!” he said. “Hey, take it easy, you’ll mow somebody down!”
“Sorry.” Ruth laughed in chagrin and noticed that Ralph was not alone; with him was a Nisei woman in her late twenties, her hair pulled back in a bun, wearing glasses and a man’s shirt, tails out, over her khaki pants. She was puffing away on a Lucky Strike. Despite herself, Ruth was shocked: hardly any Nisei women smoked cigarettes, much less in public.
“Ruth, this is the editor of the Free Press, Chiye Mori. Boss, this is my sister, Ruth Harada.”
Miss Mori—Chiye—extended a hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Ruth said. “Ralph’s family is honored that he’s working at the Free Press.”
“Well,” Chiye said with a chuckle, “it’s free in the sense that it doesn’t cost anything, I guess. But we do our best. How are you and your family settling in here at Manzanar?”
“Oh, it’s … fine. But the … atmosphere is a bit different from Tanforan.”
“Yeah, the atmosphere has way more sand in it,” Ralph joked.
“You seem disturbed by something, Mrs. Harada,” Chiye noted.
Ruth told them about her encounter with the Black Dragons—she was hesitant to discuss the delicate matter of the woman and her condoms—and Chiye nodded knowingly. “You’ve arrived at a tense time for Manzanar, Mrs. Harada. There’s a lot of conflict and distrust these days, even between Nisei and Issei—the elders feel that their traditional authority is being undermined by the young Nisei leaders, and the Nisei—”
“Sis,” Ralph jumped in, “why don’t I swing by your barrack after lunch? When I have more time to talk?”
“Sure, that would be swell,” Ruth said, aware of the uncharacteristic gravity in his tone. “Good meeting you, Miss Mori.”
“You too, Mrs. Harada.”
Ruth walked home along A Street, trying to puzzle out what Miss Mori had meant and why Ralph seemed so anxious to cut off the conversation. Passing the intersection with Fourth Street, she received yet another shock.
“Miaow?”
Ruth stopped short. Had she really heard that, or just imagined it?
“Miaoowww…”
No, it was real—and coming from somewhere up Fourth Street. Ruth followed the plaintive little cries to the corner of Block 19.
Leaning up against a garbage can was a small cat.
No—a kitten. Brown—or maybe white; it was covered in dust—no more than four or five weeks old.
But this was impossible—pets were prohibited in the camps. Was this a stray? Where did it come from, in the middle of the Mojave Desert?
“Oh, you poor baby,” she said. Its big green eyes—almost comically too large for its head—gazed up at her with part fear, part supplication.
“Miaowww?”
Ruth bent down and gently picked up the kitten. She cradled it in the crook of her left arm while she stroked its head with her right hand. It purred faintly and Ruth’s heart melted. She didn’t give a damn if it was prohibited—she hadn’t been able to save Slugger, but she could save this sweet baby. “It’s okay, honey, you’re safe now.”
She turned with the cat in her arms—only to flinch at the sight of a Nisei policeman standing about six feet away, watching her.
Her heart quickened; she prepared herself to run if necessary. But the officer made no move, just said, “S’okay, ma’am. We get these all the time. Sometimes they wander in from Lone Pine or Independence. That a kitten?”
“Yes,” Ruth said, uncertain of where this was going.
“Somebody probably dumped a litter on the side of the road.”
Ruth was aghast. “People do that?”
“They dumped us on the side of the road, didn’t they?” he said mordantly. “Cute little guy—or is it a girl?”
“Girl, I think. Hard to tell at this age.”
“She looks thirsty. Better take her home and give her some water.”
“But … I thought dogs and cats weren’t allowed here.”
“Officially, no. Unofficially—cat? What cat?”
He tossed her a grin and walked casually away.
Ruth felt a thrill of relief. She gazed into the kitten’s beseeching eyes and suddenly everything she had been worrying about dwindled in significance. She hurried home, where she filled a teacup with water from the outside tap. The cat lapped it up as if she hadn’t had a drop in days. Ruth took some dried tuna she’d bought at the canteen, let it soak in water to soften up, and offered a little piece of it in the palm of her hand. The kitten sniffed it—then quickly gobbled it up. Ruth smiled at the familiar sandpapery feel of her tongue on her skin. She fed her a little more tuna.
Sated, the cat lay on the floor and dozed, her chest rising and falling as she slept. Ruth was smitten.
Fortunately, when Frank came home around one o’clock—he was working first shift in the kitchen—he too fell in love with the ball of fluff. “What’s a little angel like her doing in a place like this?”
“Abandoned. I’ve been brushing her with a fine comb. She was covered with fleas.”
“We’ll need to order cat food and flea powder from the Sears catalog,” he said, and with that, the cat was a member of the family.
When she picked up Donnie and Peggy from nursery school, Ruth told them that there was a surprise waiting for them. They tried guessing all the way home, but their wildest guesses did not anticipate a tiny white kitten padding around the apartment, exploring her new surroundings.
“Oooh! A kitty, a kitty!” Peggy cooed.
“Can we pet him?” Donnie asked eagerly.
“Her. Yes, but you have to be gentle and not frighten her.”
Ruth picked up the kitten and the kids gently stroked her back. She immediately began purring like a well-tuned car engine.
“What’s her name?” Peggy asked.
“I thought maybe you and Donnie could pick one for her.”
“She’s like Mary’s lamb,” Peggy said. “White as snow!”
“Like a big snowball!” Donnie said.
“Snowball. That sounds good.”
“Snowball,” Donnie addressed the cat sweetly, “you sure are cute.”
“I love her so much, Mommy, can we keep her?” Peggy implored.
“You bet,” Ruth said. “But it’s our little secret, okay? Except for family.”
Frank smiled, thinking: A snowball in hell, how appropriate. But the happiness on his children’s faces was lovely to see, and it wasn’t just them; he saw the tenderness in Ruth’s eyes and knew this filled a void in her as well.
* * *