His days as a farmer were over; he knew that now. He spent his time playing go with Etsuko or sitting outside in the shade, Snowball dozing in his lap, watching the passing parade of other people’s lives—like so many Issei men with too much time and no work to do. His small smile belied the sorrow in his eyes. Ruth saw this and ached for him, for all he had lost—his farm, his livelihood, his role as provider. It made her angry; it made her want to weep. The sturdy oak was now old and bending in the wind.
Chapter 10
Heat lightning lit up night skies above the Sierra as crisscrossing searchlight beams from the eight guard towers spun a luminous spiderweb across the darkened camp. Eluding that web were six men wearing dark blue Navy peacoats, black caps pulled down low, black scarves obscuring all but their eyes—and carrying wooden clubs as they approached Fred Tayama’s apartment in Block 28.
It was eight o’clock in the evening on Saturday, December 5, 1942. Tayama had just returned—with permission of the administration—from the national JACL convention in Salt Lake City and was stretched out on his bed, working on a speech, when there was a rapping on the door. Expecting a friend, he called out, “Come in.” The door banged open and the six masked men burst in, three rushing to each side of his bed. One of them began beating Tayama in the head with his club while the others pummeled his body and legs. Despite the drubbing he was taking, Tayama somehow managed to roll out of bed, scramble to his feet, and grab a chair, using it as a weapon to defend himself.
Outside, a little girl saw the fight through the open door and screamed. Tayama’s assailants panicked and fled back into the dark pockets of the camp. A neighbor called for an ambulance, and Fred Tayama, blood trickling from his scalp, had just enough time to consider himself lucky before he collapsed.
* * *
Three blocks away, in Block 31, Ruth heard the ambulance’s siren as it arrived at Block 28—and by the time Tayama was on his way to the hospital, word of the attack had spread, like ripples in a koi pond, throughout camp. There was shock, but no overwhelming sympathy, for the injured man. Tayama was widely disliked at Manzanar; he was seen as an inu, an informer and collaborator with the camp administration. Just recently, it was said, he had met with the FBI, and a short time later an internee at Manzanar, viewed as an “agitator,” had been arrested and spirited away.
Ruth didn’t know Tayama but hoped he would be all right. At the moment her hands were full caring for Donnie, Peggy, and Frank, all of whom shared the same winter cold and fever. Frank’s cough was so bad that Dr. Goto had prescribed him cough syrup with codeine.
Around ten o’clock that evening there was a knock on the door. It was Ralph, standing on the doorstep, looking unusually sober. “Can I come in?”
“Why would you want to? Everyone’s sick.”
“I promise not to breathe.” He stepped inside as Ruth closed the door. “Tayama’s okay. He’s got a bunch of bruises and lacerations, but he’ll be fine.”
The children were sleeping and Ruth motioned Ralph to the other side of the apartment, where Frank was sitting on his cot. “Keep your voice low,” she said, “I don’t want the kids hearing this if they wake up.”
“Who”—Frank coughed mid-question—“assaulted him?”
“The MPs have arrested Harry Ueno. Tayama claims he can identify him as one of his attackers. Says he recognized Harry’s eyes.”
Harry Ueno had recently become quite the folk hero in camp when he accused an administration official and the chief steward of stealing war-rationed sugar and meat—rarer than gold and intended for the residents—to sell on the black market. The FBI even came to investigate, giving the official a grilling he could not have appreciated even though ultimately no charges were brought.
Frank was doubtful about the assault charges. “I’ve met Harry a few times. He’s always seemed sincerely concerned about the welfare of the evacuees.”
“He is,” Ralph said, “but he also thinks Japan is going to win the war and probably expects them to pin a medal on him when they ‘liberate’ Manzanar.”
“But why would Harry attack Tayama?” Ruth asked.
“Rumor is the men were members of the Blood Brothers and they were pissed off Tayama had introduced a motion at the JACL convention urging the U.S. government to draft Nisei men into the Army.”
“What!” Ruth was taken aback. “Who gave him the right to do that? As if he speaks for everyone at Manzanar?”
“Ah, you begin to perceive the problem. Even worse, the motion passed. Well, if I get drafted, it’s not like the housing’s going to be any different,” Ralph added with a halfhearted smile. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you to stick close to home tonight—the camp is even more tense than usual.”
“So much for our plans to go out jitterbugging,” Frank said hoarsely.
“Sorry, twinkletoes,” Ruth said, “the only items on your dance card tonight are aspirin and sleep.”
He nodded. “Thank God tomorrow’s Sunday.”
* * *
But it was far from a peaceable Sunday, despite an almost unnatural calm that morning, broken only by the seven o’clock mess hall bells. Ruth—up half the night tending to the kids—slept right through breakfast, as did Frank, so her parents brought them back some fish, rice, and coffee. “Did you hear anything more about the attack last night?” Ruth asked her father.
“Ueno has been taken to jail in the town of Independence,” Taizo told her. “People are very angry about this, they think he is being punished for—Okāsan, what is the phrase in English?”
“‘Blowing the whistle.’ On the administration’s theft of meat and sugar. They believe that is really why he was removed from camp.”
The children woke up coughing and Ruth had no more time for camp politics until ten o’clock, when she was surprised to hear the mess hall bells ringing—too late for breakfast, too early for lunch. She assumed a meeting was being called to discuss the jailing of Harry Ueno.
Then, at eleven-fifteen, all the lunch bells in camp began ringing forty-five minutes earlier than usual. Ruth had just warmed up some Campbell’s chicken soup for Frank, Peggy, and Donnie; Frank felt well enough to look after the kids and told her, “Go get a good meal for yourself.” She pecked him on the cheek and left for lunch with her parents.
When they entered the mess hall Ruth saw Jiro and Nishi eating alone at a table and knew better than to approach them with Taizo there. Jiro had decided that peace in the family was best served if he and Nishi ate their meals apart from the rest of the family. Ruth had not been able to dissuade him from this view and his absence at the table saddened her.
They were, however, joined by Ralph, who confirmed that there had been a meeting to discuss the arrest of Harry Ueno: “A Committee of Five was appointed to demand that Harry be returned to camp. If not, there was talk of a camp-wide mess hall strike. There’s going to be a second meeting at one—that’s why lunch was called early today, to allow for bigger attendance.”
“You are going to this meeting?” Etsuko said.
“As a reporter. For the paper.”
“Is that wise?” Taizo asked. “Wasn’t one of your coworkers on the newspaper assaulted not long ago?”
“Joe Blamey, yeah, he was beaten up by some pro-Axis teenagers, but they were just stupid kids.”
“Just be careful, Ralph, okay?” Ruth asked.