The Red Kimono: A Novel

38. Nobu

CHAPTER 38 Nobu SEPTEMBER 27, 1942 The train clacked and swayed through yellow summer heat that beat down from a cloudless blue sky. With windows to the outside world barely cracked open, the air was thick with the smell of too many people who hadn’t bathed in two days. Nobu rubbed his forehead. The attempt by some to use perfumes and colognes to mask their odors had given him a headache. But the sultry, heavy air in the train car was a sedative; the rhythm of the train a lullaby. Many slept. Those still awake fanned themselves with hats, a newspaper, whatever they could get their hands on to move the sticky air. Nobu listened to Sachi sleep, her gentle purr each time she breathed in and out. He brushed a wisp of damp hair off her forehead and watched tiny beads of sweat trickle off her nose. When she slept, her face was serene, like an angel. Such a change from the wicked glare she sometimes gave him, a reminder that she was still angry he told Mama about Sam. It didn’t matter to her that they would have had to leave Santa Anita whether or not Mama found out about Sam. And that wasn’t Nobu’s fault. He fanned his face with a ball cap. The heat made everybody a little grouchier, and he felt himself growing more hot and irritable with Sachi’s body stretched across his lap. Still, he was grateful for her slumber . She’d cried off and on since leaving Santa Anita two days before, and though he tried to blame it on the miserable conditions on the train, he knew it was because she missed Sam. He pulled his journal out of his satchel slowly, afraid of waking her. A tiny moan escaped her, and he froze. She rubbed her nose and returned to sleep again. He began to write. 142 JAN MORRILL September 27, 1942 Halfway to Arkansas. They told us it would take four days and we’ve been on this hot train for two. Seems like a week already. I never thought I would come to miss the stall at Santa Anita, but after being crammed in this cramped car for so long, I do. Therearesomekidsat theback of ourcarwho havebeenrowdy andscreaming since we left. Their parents don’t do anything to control them—they sleep all the time! But noisy as those brats are, it’s Sachi’s crying that bothers me most. She couldn’t know how hard it was for me to pull her away from Sam. Seeing her hands reach for him as I dragged her to the bus, I wanted to let her stay for one last hug. But the stares of those who waited told me to hurry. Their impatient faces scolded, “Can’t you control your little sister?” And Mama waited by the bus steps, trying to hide her embarrassment with a proud mask. She couldn’t hide the loss of face that shone in her eyes and tight lips. I was torn by what to do. Sachi was torn from Sam. Sometimes I’m hard on her, but if I don’t act hard I will seem weak. It would be easier for me to let her do whatever she wants, but then Mama would have to be the mean one. She has enough to worry about. Sachi blames me. She used to look up to me, now the only looks I get from her are angry ones. Kazu and his mother are on another car, somewhere near the back of the train. I’ve seen him a couple of times when the train stopped to let us get out and stretch. I wonder if he feels the same sense of obligation to his mother? Is it different for him, knowing one day his father will return, than it is for me, knowing Papa is dead? I haven’t asked Kazu this question. I don’t want to let him know my thoughts. I wonder what Arkansas will be like. If the countryside we have passed through is any indication, it will be in the middle of nowhere. No big cities since leaving California. Only a lot of empty space. Tiny little towns. Every time we pass through, the guards make us pull down the window shades. Is it because they do not want us to see out? Or is it because they do not want the residents of these...