LITMIR.BIZ

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was in the air — a new spirit of risk and rebelliousness that accompanied fathers and elders being dragged off. You could feel it in the way many of the young people eyed each other adventurously and kissed right out in the open. It terrified folks of Aunt Tetsuko’s generation, who’d barely dared to glance at the opposite sex until proper introductions had been made.

      “He’s Dr. Takemitsu’s son. He’s taking care of me. I’m going to be his girl.”

      An exhausted laugh. “Baka! Stupid girl.”

      “Shush.”

      They had to be careful not to say anything too loudly because the flimsy partitions between apartments didn’t extend as high as the ceiling. Raised voices and grunts of all kinds could be heard; the creaking and moaning of young couples trying to have honeymoons went on and on all night. Lily didn’t want her news being broadcast across camp.

      She turned away and curled up on the bed, face to the wall. Her aunt’s dismissive words continued to gnaw at her. Who could deny that Kaz was chummy with Susie Tadashi and Kei Takahara and who knew who else? And Kei — with her chipmunk cheeks — wasn’t even pretty. But he’d taken their pictures, too. A whole album full of other girls. Although Lily tried to pretend it didn’t bother her, a lizard was scaling the walls of her stomach.

      Darkness fell like a shroud. Coldness seeped into her bones, a numbness that was almost comforting. Aunt Tetsuko was arguing with Uncle Mas in Japanese, her voice barely a crackle above the whoosh. Sand whipped up against the side of their quarters and rocks flew up, hit the walls, made them tremble. Through the cracks in the floorboards, a steady stream of fine white powder sprayed up, settling on everything. The air was soon thick as fog.

      A guard’s footsteps. His flashlight sent glitter over their window. In front of the barbed wire fence, just beyond the next barrack, the watchtower beamed down its Cyclops light, turning figure eights across the gusty ground.

      Frank Isaka’s back, everyone was saying, all in an uproar. Curious how the name of the president of the JACC — the very name once said with pride, with hope — now left a bitter taste in people’s mouths.

      Lily tried to stay aloof from all the gossip. It would blow over; it always did. People were being too harsh on Frank. When he came to give talks, she still liked his fresh-faced charisma, his self-assured voice. After hearing him talk, she always felt better, like she was protected, because she was nisei and the JACC would take care of her.

      She made her way to the area outside the largest mess hall, where a podium had been set up on a stage bearing the JACC banner. A sizable crowd had gathered, some faces surly, others bright and attentive.

      A few years ago, Frank first came to the community’s attention. Even in those early days he was fond of slogans. They stood him in good stead in the months leading up to the internment, as the government must have seen it would need some leader to convince the Japanese people to go peacefully. And how eloquently Frank delivered that message: Go calmly, without protest, without fuss. What were those snappy phrases he’d used over and over again? “The end justifies the means.” “The greatest good for the greatest number.” And in the vast land of America, the Japanese community proved but a small number indeed. At times, his speeches took on an apocalyptic fervour, as though he were a country preacher: “We know that our exodus will be a patriotic sacrifice, and what a sacrifice it will be. But the government should not fear any resistance on our part. Our people will go protesting only one thing — their patriotism to the United States flag…. We shall look at this movement as a grand adventure, of the order that our parents took in pioneering the new country, like the hardy souls of Biblical times….”

      His speech today, however, had a less upbeat tone. Frank was talking about how certain “seeds of bitterness” had been planted throughout the community by a handful of “bad apples,” who, out of nothing other than boredom and malice, had taken it upon themselves to “stir the pot” at every opportunity. Naturally, he didn’t want to say too much, preferring to talk around these “unfortunate incidents.”

      Of course, everyone knew what he was actually referring to.

      An image of Bob’s swollen face, the other day at the hospital, flashed in Lily’s mind.

      “It’s up to us to come together as a community, a family.” Frank’s arms rose in an expansive gesture. “Nisei, issei, kibei — we need to look beyond these superficial divisions. Only then will we win the respect of the American people.”

      A hush settled over the crowd. Some nisei nodded, their faces aglow, still convinced he was their prophet. Others muttered under their breath and some were hissing, softly at first, yet it grew louder, like steam escaping from a pot.

      “What d’you know about what we need to do?” someone shouted out. “You’re hardly even here. You’re off travelling the country making pretty speeches!”

      Frank pretended he hadn’t heard or maybe he really hadn’t. Nothing could penetrate his shell of confidence, his unbreakable smile.

      The photo showed a girl walking across a windy desert, her face hidden beneath a tangle of hair. Hair blending into ribbons of flying sand. Skin melting in the thick, shimmering heat.

      The picture didn’t at all match how Lily envisioned herself: if it was her, it also wasn’t her. Or it was one of the other hers. That faint kaleidoscope of shattered, other selves whirring along the edges of consciousness — so fast, so light, it was difficult to know if they existed at all.

      But Kaz said the picture was beautiful. It was hers to keep. More pictures followed. Her face caught in so many varied, fleeting expressions that never quite felt like her own.

      Other times, he gave her shots of the landscape: the sultry hor­izon, its mesmerizing flatness and sudden curves, mountains soaring up into the ink-washed sky.

      The camp got an order for camouflage nets, so a factory was built overnight.

      Lily and the other women were led into an open-air building, twenty feet high. From a massive stand, hemp nets flowed down — giant spiderwebs across the sky. Their task was to weave long scraps of green and beige fabric through the web in zigzag patterns.

      Her shoulders ached, her fingers cramped up. Hemp bits snowed down on her cheeks.

      “It’s crazy,” a girl named Sachi said under her breath. “We’re not loyal enough to walk in the street, but we’re good enough to take the jobs no one else wants?”

      “Just be glad you have a job,” Mrs. Okada said down the line.

      Silence fell over the group. Only the nisei were allowed to work in the net factory, and since their wages were the best in the camp, the issei folks were furious.

      Lily tried to focus on her work. A peculiar smell — as though someone had placed a penny in salt water — filled her nostrils. The skyline faded and fell away from her, a swoosh of blue.

      When she came to, she was lying on a bench and Mrs. Okada was stroking her forehead. She felt wasted, limp as an overboiled vegetable.

      Mrs. Okada and her daughter helped Lily to the doctor’s office. Dr. Takemitsu appeared startled but pleased to see them.

      “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a bother.”

      “You’re not meant to work so hard. You shouldn’t be in that factory. I’m going to get you a job in my hospital.”

      The nurse pressed a glass to Lily’s lips and the cool water rushed down her throat, cleansing away the dust and grime. She tried to keep her eyes open while the room spun gently.

      “Rest.” The doctor’s face turned fuzzy, a receding shadow.

      He was at her bedside when she awoke: the first thing she saw was the resemblance between father and son. Kaz had the same high cheekbones and slightly near-set eyes. The same stubborn lips. She could see how the years would add charcoal streaks and reconfigure his hairline. The thought of spending her life with him

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