The Red Kimono: A Novel

13. Nobu

Aswecelebrated,Papawasbeingtakenawaybystrangers.Washeevenaware of what was happening? Did he wonder why we were not there to protect him? So why did we celebrate? We told ourselves it was what Papa would want. First, we watched Sachi open the package that held her doll. For a little while, her smile made me forget all that had happened. Sachi gave Mama some stationery that she’d painted kimonos on. She said it was so Mama would have something pretty for her letters to Taro-nisan. She gave me this journal where I am writing now. I felt bad that I had no gift for her. How could we know that Papa would be taken the next morning? Last night when I took pictures with his camera, Mama said I looked like him. When she said that, something inside me yelled “No!” Something in her words almost swallowed me, as if they would chase away Papa’s spirit. Now, when I look in the mirror, all I see is Papa. I thought Joe and Terrence were my friends. I still don’t understand how they could beat up my father. Are we Japanese hated so much? And if they could forget we are friends, why can’t I, too, forget? Why did I hesitate to tell the police what happened at the park, like I was “ratting” on my friends? And why would I give a second thought to letting them sit in a jail cell over Christmas? Papa was like a shelter against the cold wind of hate that swirls around us. Now he’s gone and I shiver inside. Who will be our shelter now? Taro is gone. Will it be up to me? How can I be strong for Mama and Sachi? CHAPTER 13 Nobu JANUARY 2, 1942 Nobu picked up a towel and folded it. “I’m sure we’ll find him, Mama. Maybe now that the holidays are over we can talk to someone who can actually give us some information.” Mama didn’t look up, but kept folding laundry, as if the repetitive movement of picking up and folding, picking up and folding, was a The Red Kimono 55 meditation. She’d been too quiet in the days following Papa’s “abduction ,” and Nobu couldn’t decide if it was strength or stress that caused her silence. Was she thinking of ways to find him, to get him back? Or was she doing whatever she could to survive the adversity? “Mama?” At last she looked up, as if she’d just realized his presence. He searched the pile for a matching sock to the one he held. “I’ll call Representative Gearhart’s office on Monday. Maybe he can give me some information. Or, at least tell me who else I can call.” Mama nodded her head. “Hai.” Then, she went back to folding laundry. The doorbell rang. Sachi ran past the living room and into the foyer. “I’ll get it.” Nobu wondered who it would be on a Friday morning. They weren’t expecting anyone. “I’ll go see who it is,” he said, tossing the mismatched sock on the sofa. He turned the corner into the entry hall. Sachi stood in the open doorway and turned to Nobu when he approached. “I was just telling this man I’d better get someone else to sign for this,” she said. Nobu’s stomach sank. Western Union never brought good news. His hand shook as he signed for the telegram. Even the delivery man’s expression showed that he knew it was likely not good news. He nodded, backed away, then turned to leave. Nobu shut the door. Sachi stared up at him. “What is it?” What could he say to her? Stop it. Stop it. Sure, it’s probably bad news, but it doesn’t have to be the worst news. “Nobu?” Sachi’s eyes were wide with anticipation. “It’s a telegram for Mama. Go back to what you were doing. It doesn’t concern you.” He didn’t mean to sound heartless, but if it was bad news . . . the worst news . . . he was not ready to tell his little sister. Mama called from the living room. “Who is it, Nobu?” His heart stopped then pounded hard. “Go on, Sach. I’ll take this in to Mama.” “Oh, okay,” she said and returned to her bedroom. Nobu tore open the telegram. It was addressed to Mama, but he needed to read it first, in...