Christian confirmed with a nod.
“I heard what happened,” she said, handing the sheets to another young woman who walked by. “I’m very sorry. But she probably wants some privacy right now. I know I would. I’m just finishing my shift. Why don’t you walk me to the swimming pool and then come back here? I bet the air will make you feel better.”
“The fresh Texas air?” asked Christian.
“It’s better than in here,” said the nurse. “Let’s talk about something else than all this. At least for a little while. Then when you feel better, you can come back and ask to see your mother.”
Not ignoring the fact that the nurse was very pretty, Christian nodded yes and together they walked out of the hospital.
“If you don’t mind, I have to stop at my house to get my bathing suit. I didn’t bring it to work today and I really want to swim before it’s too dark,” she said once the hospital was out of view.
“On the Japanese side?” said Christian, immediately realizing how stupid he sounded.
“Yes, of course,” the nurse said, laughing at him. “Are you afraid to go?”
“No,” said Christian, feeling foolish. “I’d be happy to walk you there.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you. I really am sorry for your mother. It’s terrible what happened.”
“Thank you,” said Christian, suddenly surprised by tears. He wiped them away, even more embarrassed.
“I think you have to cry when a baby dies. I’m sure I’ll cry, too, tonight when I’m alone. It’s awful,” she said sympathetically.
Christian looked at her and noticed how high and sharp her cheekbones were. It was probably what everyone noticed about her first. It would have given her a severe look if she hadn’t had such a pleasing face, softly curved at the jaw. He looked away before she noticed him staring and said, “Let’s, as you said, talk about something else for a little while.”
Realizing that she hadn’t introduced herself, the girl stopped and said, “I’m Emi Kato. It’s Emiko, actually, but everyone in America prefers to call me Emi. And I’m not a nurse. I’m just a nurse’s assistant. An aide. The seamstresses dress us up like nurses, I think because they’re bored.”
“Which do you prefer?” asked Christian. “Emiko or Emi?”
“Emi is fine,” she replied. “I’m trying to pretend I’m still living the same American life I was before I was fenced in here. The name Emi helps a little bit.”
They both paused as two guards walked past them, guns slung across their shoulders. It was anything but the same American life.
“Does your side have a piano?” Emi asked after a few minutes of walking in silence.
“A piano?” said Christian, surprised. “Why would we have a piano?”
“I thought maybe the German school would. Or the beer garden. I asked the Nisei girls—those are the second-generation Japanese girls—who go to the Federal School and they don’t have one there. I thought perhaps the Germans get preference for something like a piano.”
“Why would we get preference?” asked Christian, his voice catching as three Japanese children walked past them, but not before looking at him with surprise. Emi didn’t seem to notice.
“Because you seem more American to them. So maybe more worthy of a piano,” said Emi.
“Because we’re white? And that entitles us to music?”
“Do you have one or not?” she asked.
Christian looked down at her hands, which were long and slender. The hands of someone who had spent years of her life at a piano, he guessed. “No. Well, I don’t think so anyway. I’ve only been in school for two days and I don’t play, so I haven’t paid attention. But we don’t really have anything, do we, so why would we have a piano?”
“Morale, perhaps,” she said, pausing as an elderly woman said konbanwa, good evening, to her.
“I don’t think they care very much about our morale. Yours or mine,” Christian argued. “If they did, they wouldn’t have put us in a sandbox full of scorpions and sharpshooters.”
“Sharpshooters?” Emi asked, following Christian’s eyes up to the closest watchtower.
“Them,” he said pointing. They could make out two men in the tower waiting to see if one of the internees was stupid enough to run. “Sharp like accurate. So if we try to escape, they won’t miss when they shoot at us like dogs.”
“Let’s try to avoid that,” Emi said. “I think your mother has gone through enough.”
At the mention of Helene Lange, both were quiet again.
Christian finally said, “I’d like to hear you play the piano.”
“Then having a piano would help.”
“I’ll find one,” said Christian, realizing how Emi had gone from pretty to beautiful with every step. He looked at her hair, straight and clean despite the dust of the camp, and imagined running his hands through it. Then he imagined running his hands through it while she lay next to him. He stopped himself before he imagined anything further, embarrassed that such lustful thoughts could cut through his grief. “Were you interned before Crystal City?”
The wind had picked up and Emi was busy gathering her long hair to one side of her neck to keep it out of her eyes. Christian was already sure that if he could just watch Emi wrestle with the wind for the rest of his time in the camp, he would never get fence sickness.
“I’m not American. I’m Japanese,” she said after her hair had been tamed. “And my father is in the Foreign Service, so I was interned right after Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. My mother and I were in Seagoville, near Dallas. And before that, I suppose I was interned in a different, much more pleasant fashion.” She paused and looked up at the sunset, which was starting to spread all over the sky in a way that seemed unique to South Texas. “There was a piano and a group of talented musicians in that place,” Emi added. “And there was wonderful food. But that’s a story for another time.” They had reached what Christian imagined was Emi’s family bungalow. It wasn’t a double like his. Emi’s family had its own small space.
She was in and out in two minutes, but in those two minutes, the sun had turned from pink to red and was spreading like paint behind her little house.
“So. The piano,” she said, putting her bag over her shoulder and starting to walk again.
“I’d like it if you came over to our side,” Christian admitted. “I’d like to see you not play the piano, because I don’t think we have one.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Emi. “Watching someone not play the piano is just watching someone being alive.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad given what happened today,” said Christian. “Will you come and not play?”
“I won’t promise anything,” said Emi, turning the corner toward the big round swimming pool.
“That’s a promise in itself. To not promise anything.”
“Don’t try and trick me,” she said smiling. “Plus, it’s easier for a German boy to come to the Japanese side than it is for a Japanese girl to go to your side. And even harder for me since I’m not Issei or Nisei. I’m just passing through.”
“But you could try.”