“I’m surprised that made it past the censors,” said Emi, knowing her mother was right.
“I’m sure they let in letters that seemed disparaging to Japan.”
“But Father is loyal to Japan. He’s working for the Foreign Ministry.”
“Of course he’s loyal, as we must be,” said Keiko just above a whisper. “But you know your father. He will question everything, though he always wants what’s best for our country.”
“And not for the West,” said Emi, trying to move ahead of a group of particularly slow women.
“The West is behind us now,” said Keiko. “No longer a part of us. I am sure we will see much anti-Western propaganda at home, especially against America and England. For some of the diplomats, for you, that hatred may be hard to comprehend, but we must simply ignore it.” Emi was about to protest but her mother interrupted her. “Instead of arguing, how about we try to get off this boat and never set foot on it again.”
Emi shook her head in agreement and together the Katos walked down the metal plank to the dock, not bothering to turn around to see the ship one last time, and were instantly absorbed into the chaos. Despite the jostling and shoving of the crowd, Emi and Keiko stayed side by side, their angular bodies pressed together, weary legs braced, looking out for Norio Kato.
“There!” cried Emi after ten minutes battling the crowd. She pointed to where she’d spotted her father’s profile. She had inherited her height from him and he stood half a head above the men around him. “Otōsan! Otōsan!” she called before realizing that everyone was screaming the Japanese word for father. “Vater!” she called instead, using the German word. “Vater Kato!” He heard it the third time, then spun round and saw them, his expression changing quickly from confusion to joy.
“There you are!” he exclaimed, reaching them first. “My family!” He gave his daughter a long hug and kissed his wife’s head, making a happy humming sound as his lips touched her. Though public affection was not at all the norm in Japan, especially on such solemn occasions, Norio Kato had lived abroad for so long that different instincts guided him in emotional moments. Emi threw her arms around her father, not caring about any sort of cultural norms, and laid her face on his shoulder, something she hadn’t done since they were all together in West Virginia in 1942.
“Father!” she said after she’d pulled away. “You look gaunt! Where is your belly?”
“Gone,” said Norio, opening his coat buttons and showing off his flat stomach. “It looks better, doesn’t it? Nothing like war to help take the pounds off a man. I’ve been trying to lose them since we left Austria.” He sighed and helped his wife and daughter find their things, before going to reserve a taxi. “It’s been a very difficult year,” he said when he came back. “And Tokyo, you’ll see, it’s not the same.”
He smiled, his cheekbones newly sharp, and commented that he wasn’t the only one who looked as if he could use a good meal.
“The boat was dreadful,” said Emi when they were in the car. She tied her hair back with the twine she had been using on the boat. “Like an animal transport. I’ve been sleeping on straw, Father, like a goat. I can’t wait for my bed.”
“You do still have a bed,” said Norio. “But I’m afraid we don’t have much else. We are all on rations here, as I’m sure you’ve heard,” Norio warned.
“We’ve been told,” said Keiko, “but what does that mean? What are they rationing? It can’t be all the food?”
“What it means is that you won’t ever eat enough to stay full. The fish especially is severely rationed. Mostly we eat dried squid. The rice ration is shrinking every month and things like sugar and vegetables have to be purchased on the black market, which as a diplomat I should not be touching.”
“But are you?” whispered Emi.
“Of course,” said Norio. “While I can. I don’t want my women to starve.”
“But aren’t there other ways? Don’t we have any money left?” asked Emi, surprised.
“We do. But it doesn’t make much of a difference here now if you have money. There is just a shortage of food. Money won’t make it grow.”
As her first week in Tokyo sped by, Emi remained glued to her parents, staying by her father’s side when he was home, which was only late at night, and spending her days in the kitchen and running errands in the nearly empty shops with her mother.
They were in the only house that Emi remembered living in in Tokyo. When she was a baby, they had lived in a smaller house, but ever since she was a mobile toddler and Norio’s career felt more certain, they had lived in the spacious house in Azabu. Before they had been stationed abroad, it had been decorated in a typically Japanese style, with tatami floor mats, low tables, and futons. But after the family’s four years in England, the house had changed. They slept on tall Western beds and brought back much of the furniture and art they had amassed in Europe. It continued to gain European influences with every one of Norio’s postings, Emi and Keiko insisting that they could never leave anything behind.
The Kato women had not been to their house in Tokyo since before they’d left for Washington at the end of 1939. And still, they had only been in the city for a few months after arriving from Vienna. When Emi first walked through the door of the two-story wooden house, the smell of her childhood shocked her. As it was only her father there for the last year, she was sure that it would smell differently, but somehow, the scent of her past had permeated the rooms. Besides the smell, it looked quite the same, though with much less furniture, and Emi wondered if her father hadn’t sold some of it in the years they were away. Her room, she was happy to see, with her large Western bed and deep purple quilt, was untouched. Right on her glass side table, where it was when she left, was a photograph of her and Leo at Prater amusement park, the Ferris wheel right behind them.
To her surprise, the picture made her think not of Leo, but of Christian. She did not have a photo with him, as cameras were forbidden in the internment camp. She would have to think of his face every day, so that she’d never forget it. Emi was happy that her father hadn’t changed too much since he came back in 1942. But the house felt a little too still. As if only one or two rooms were lived in. He had a cook that made him every meal and another woman who kept the house tidy, but they too, it seemed, barely stepped through the parts of the house that were Keiko and Emi’s domain.