Finally, after they had all passed the questioning process and had their belongings pawed through, they were led on board the ship. At the train station, Emi and her mother were told they would have to share a cabin on the Gripsholm with another mother and daughter coming from Crystal City. All four would sleep on bunk beds, the younger women on top. Emi and Keiko knew of the other women from the camp, but they weren’t friendly with them. They certainly would be by the time they disembarked, thought Emi, when she saw the size of their cabin.
She and her mother started to unpack as best they could in the tight quarters and when their cabin mates walked in—Chiyo Kuriyama and her daughter, Naoko—they exchanged pleasantries before Emi’s mother excused herself to the deck. Naoko, who was as petite as Keiko, followed her out, saying she too was feeling claustrophobic. Emi hoped that Naoko’s mother would follow and that she could be alone in the room for just a few minutes. But Chiyo sat down on her bunk, her trousers wet at the bottom, and watched Emi unpack more of her things. They made small talk, much to Emi’s annoyance, and then Chiyo, apparently unable to resist, brought up Christian Lange.
“I heard about you and that foreign boy,” she said, as Emi folded and refolded the same dress.
“What do you mean you ‘heard about me and that foreign boy’?” Emi said defensively, not turning around to look at her. Her mother had said that she and Christian were the talk of the camp, but even if that was true, it was so impertinent to relay the gossip back to its subject. Japanese women may have gossiped behind closed doors, but they always took pains to hide their rudeness. This Chiyo, thought Emi, must have been in America too long.
“You two weren’t very subtle, were you?” Chiyo said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. It was cut to the chin in a blunt, practical style. “He was just a baby, too. I understand you were bored in that place, we all were, but I doubt your relationship with that child is something your father would be happy to hear about.”
“On what occasion would my father hear about my friendship with an American boy?” Emi said with a cold stare. “Are you planning on speaking to him? Because I’m sure he doesn’t have the time to speak to you. He’s working right under the foreign minister now. He’s extremely busy.”
“I’m well aware, Emiko-san,” Chiyo said haughtily. “You and your mother did such a good job advertising your so-called high position all through the camp for the last few months. But circumstances change during war. The rich aren’t so rich anymore. The important not so important. You’ll see when we get back. Your life won’t be the way it was.”
“Of course it won’t,” said Emi, although she was starting to feel she might be as na?ve about the state of Japan as her mother was. “None of our lives will be.”
“I would be more careful if I were you,” Chiyo warned. “An unmarried woman of twenty-one. Keep acting as you are and you will remain unmarried. Or worse. You know what I’m speaking about. Now that would bring such shame on your honorable family.”
“You’re not me,” Emi said. “And I certainly am not seeking your advice. Thank you. I’m going to join my mother now.”
She didn’t bother to bow goodbye, instead reaching for the door and pulling it shut loudly behind her.
Despite what women like Chiyo expected of her, what her parents sometimes expected of her, Emi knew she would never become a subservient married woman. She was going to be as interesting as the world would let her, even if it meant dealing with the scorn of women like Chiyo.
Being interesting to Emi used to mean excelling at everything in her grasp—school, languages, love, the piano. She knew she would never play in sold-out concert halls—Japanese women never did—but she was good enough to play somewhere, elsewhere. For so many years, the world had felt open to her. But with the war, all of that had changed. There weren’t pianos to play, or languages to learn, but she still knew she wanted to be more than just another submissive woman supporting the empire. Even in wartime Tokyo, there must be some way that she could do things differently.
When Emi reached the deck, she took a moment to savor the breeze, so welcome after her months in the blazing heat, then set out to find her mother. The ship had just pulled away from the dock, but the deck wasn’t crowded. The passengers hadn’t bothered to gather there since they didn’t have anyone to wave goodbye to. Even the strangers on the dock seemed happy to see them go.
Emi spotted her mother leaning against the south railing, once again holding food. She offered some to Emi when she came up. “Gohan taberu?” her mother asked, pointing to the dish of rice leftover from the train.
“I can’t have anymore,” said Emi, holding her stomach.
Keiko finished eating, and they both watched the New York skyline receding. “I never want to see this version of America again,” said Keiko.
“I’m sorry I got so sick. You should have gone back with father in ’42,” Emi replied, switching back into English.
“Nihongo o hanashite, Emiko,” said her mother, reminding her to speak Japanese as they had been doing since they left Crystal City.
Emi closed her eyes and let the ocean spray hit her face. She thought of all the sea crossings she’d made in her life. How lucky she had been—and then how unlucky. And now, would she be lucky or unlucky in Japan? Each time she and her family returned to Tokyo after one of her father’s assignments, she felt a certain calming of heart, and she had come to realize she enjoyed the periods between assignments as much as the assignments themselves. Japan would always be home. But now home felt anything but calming.
“Are you thinking of him?” asked her mother, breaking into her reverie.
“Of Christian? No,” said Emi. “I was, earlier, when I was downstairs with that woman. I can’t say I like her much. She’s very rude.”
“I didn’t mean Christian,” said Keiko. “I was speaking of Leo. You once said that you would never be on a boat again and not think of Leo Hartmann.”
“Did I say that?” Emi asked. She remembered her voyage from Vienna back to Tokyo, crying in her mother’s arms. That long journey was haunted by Leo. “Well, he was—is—someone who gets inside your head.”
“Or your heart,” said Keiko, patting her shoulder and leaving her daughter alone with her memories.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 15
EMI KATO
SEPTEMBER 1937