Pierce's reply was expected. Standard issue. But the lack of rigidity in his manner was not. "I'm sure you understand, Mrs. Tebbe, there's a risky aura to Shinto practice, oriented to emperor worship as it is. A religious practice that deifies the leader of an enemy nation, innocent as that practice may be, could be misinterpreted in confines like these. And times like these. I sympathize with your frustration, but I have to officially support that policy. However...suppose a Shintoist family, or a group of friends, have a get-together to discuss... oh, say... comparative religion. Perhaps they study rituals that relate to that topic...on an academic level, of course."
He shrugged, and Doris understood. Given a viable way out, if no trouble came of it, he would look the other way. Okay. A good sign. There might be a difference or two between Pierce and Eshelmann after all.
She cleared her throat, relaxed a little and brought Pierce's attention back to the nearest block. "A block houses two-hundred-and-fifty. This one's mess hall is the structure on the east end. The residents there are some of the 'veterans' of the camp. They've been here since late May, early June, and have their recreation hall pretty well established."
"Where's the hospital?"
"That's the double-sized, two story 'tar' at the far side of the camp. Can you see it?"
"Yes, of course. The schools...?"
"Elementary and high are side-by-side at the southern end of the southern most block. I'm sorry, Captain, about that clumsy question, you being able to see. I didn't mean --"
"No offense taken, Mrs. Tebbe."
There was a moment of awkwardness, then Doris said, "Well, let's go for a walk around one of the blocks."
It might have seemed easy to use the standard, black sedan issued to her by the WRA. But it was bad judgment, the way Doris saw it, to drive into camp unless she had to cover a lot of ground in a small amount of time. Only WRA and military personnel were permitted to have motor vehicles. But even if it didn't make the Center red more conspicuous, driving was simply uncomfortable. The tires spewed suffocating, red clouds that engulfed the car in seconds.
As it was now, dust swirled with every step. She felt the grit in her mouth, all the damn, inescapable dust that was as much a part of her offices and tarpaper house as it was the evacuees'. She was more aware of it when she came into the camp, though; that, and the early morning quiet. But there was always a sense of quiet in the camp, even when the place bustled. It's the undercurrent, Doris thought, the disorientation of displacement mixed with the all-too-clear understanding of what's happening.
They walked past a few women doing the first sweep of the day, the dust billowing like smoke out their doors; past children dressed in fresh, crisp clothes already powdered with a light, reddish coating. Between two barracks, some men were picking pieces of lumber from one of the scrap piles; leftovers from camp construction.
"By tomorrow that lumber will be serviceable furniture," Doris explained when the captain asked. "Uncle Sam isn't providing much more than food and shelter yet. Presently there are four families to each barracks. They don't have much privacy, but we hope to build solid partitions between each family as soon as more materials come in. Right now, they have to make do by stringing blankets across rope. We're encouraging tree planting, flowers...but, of course, that's not uppermost in their minds at this stage. For the time being, they're just trying to get some sort of organization back into their lives."
"Do you have many professionals in the camp, Mrs. Tebbe? Doctors, professors...?"
"Some --"
"What are they doing now?"
"What everyone else is doing, Captain. A few have filled out applications to work in their fields, but really everyone is just trying to get settled."
"May I make a suggestion?"
She didn't want to say, yes, of course, but she did.
"You may consider encouraging the professionals to concentrate on career-related matters," the captain said. "Let the others take up what slack there might be while the professionals focus on the schools, hospital, what-have-you. Your residents are feeling pretty dazed by what's happened, I assume..."
"While you're at it, assume they're worried and bitter."
"Giving the professionals tasks equal to them might help diffuse some of that. They'll likely emerge as the leaders here. Getting them occupied as soon as you can might expedite organization."
Captain Pierce stopped and looked around. "Sad business. Sad, sad business," he said.
Doris had to admit, the tone of his voice seemed genuine. So did the concern in his face. And his advice was sound, if obvious. She was already working on that angle, though she hadn't particularly thought about the professionals as leaders.
But she doubted the captain understood the opposing dynamics of the camp: the Nisei, Japanese-Americans, and the Issei, the Japanese Nationals. Already there was tension growing between the older generations in the camp -Issei, mostly - and their Nisei counterparts, virtually all in their twenties or younger.
Balancing two traditions was tricky enough in normal times, let alone these. And the tension was only made worse by the lack of middle-aged men, who were taken practically en masse to the nearest federal prisons months before the Relocation. With rare exception, none had yet been transferred. There were the women of the camp, of course, mostly the wives or relatives of the absent men. But to even consider women as social leaders would be anathema to the Issei, especially the eldest among them. Without the middle generation of men, the very young and the very old had few mediators.
"Your suggestion is sound to you or me, Captain, but the evacuees see leadership in a different way."
The captain shrugged and Doris cursed herself. Why hadn't she just said that she appreciated his suggestion and left it at that? She was already forgetting the commitment she had made to herself to get on well with Captain Pierce. Now here she was shooting down a simple suggestion when a plain sure, thanks would do.
"Let's head back," she said. "I've got a file load to clear before the new evacuees come in. I'm sure you do, too."
They began walking back toward the hill and the captain asked pleasantly enough, "So give me an example of a typical day for the C.A., Mrs. Tebbe."
Thank God, yes, let's move on to a little trivia. "Well, the relocation is too new for there to be any typical days, just yet. But, administrative tedium's already arrived. This morning, I'll be issuing permission to Block Three to create a small ornamental pond. Decision like that mean the world to them in a wasteland like this. And several blocks want to begin vegetable gardens. You know what some of the evacuees are saying, don't you? Especially the Issei population. They're saying the government is planning to manipulate the food supply of the camps."
"They've said that to you?"
"To me? Don't be silly."
"Good Lord. Where did they get that idea? Wild rumors don't make things easier ..."
"They know what's going on outside these confines, Captain. The Center canteens sell plenty of newspapers. And it's not as if one 'rumor' hasn't already proven true, is it? Remember that plan to allow resettlement inland, away from the coast? Instead here they are, American citizen and foreign national alike."
At the door, Doris offered her hand. "Thank you for coming, Captain." She wanted him out of there. Too much work to do, too much wasted time touring him around.
Captain Pierce took her hand in a firm shake. "Mrs. Tebbe, I'd like to be frank about something, if I may."
Now what? "Always. Please."
"I know this is a difficult responsibility. I admire you for requesting this duty, particularly because of your gender. By your manner, you've made it clear that you disapprove of Relocation. I appreciate how you feel, but we both know it's necessary. I think we both know, as well, that there will be officers and administrators who'll abuse their positions during the Relocation. But I feel that you and I are like-minded enough to see that Tulenar and its assembly center will be run without prejudice."
A stony silence piled up between them. Doris surprised herself by keeping her tone even when she said, "Well, me too, Captain. But I'm not doing much about it by standing here. If you'll excuse me..."
/ / / /
The half-moon rose in the east, translucent against the sky as it chased the sun, red and raw-looking, into the western mountains. There was a twenty-minute break in the madness of the day, and Doris was flinging arrows at her target. She wasn't doing a very good job. Harriet Haku cleared her throat as she walked up behind her.
"Thanks for the warning, Harriet."
"I just wanted to let you know I was heading back."
Heading back. Harriet never called the barracks "home." Doris turned to her secretary.
"Anything new I should know?"
"Not really," Harriet replied. "I put a reminder on your desk about Block Four. They've chosen a manager and he wants to see you after Ten's council meeting tonight."
"I remember."
Doris had a good, professional relationship with Harriet, one of the "older" Nisei, in her late twenties. But the distance was always there between them. Now she looked at Harriet's features, those of her heritage and those that were uniquely her own. Her face was more triangular than round. Her cheekbones were set unusually high. The faint lines at her eyes would someday be crow's feet. Her forehead was broad and small. Harriet was looking back just as frankly.
"Something else before I go?"
"No, Harriet, thanks. Sorry." She rubbed her eyes. "My spark plugs aren't all firing right now."
"Good night."
What had she tried to see in Harriet's face, just then? Maybe nothing. Doris felt more tired than usual, and she knew part of it was disappointment. Things were already edgy between her and the new C.O. She would be lying to herself if she didn't own up to how badly she'd handled things, but ...
Necessary. He'd called the Relocation necessary. Damn. He was just another military man, after all. She had really hoped he might be a different animal.
Chapter 3
Lakeside Post Assembly Center
Evening. Second Quarter Moon.
Max sat in the dark in Eshelmann's little cabin, eyes closed, glasses perched on the easy chair's arm. The house didn't feel like home yet. It still held the scents of Eshelmann.
He was thinking about the long day he'd just spent. He had awoken full of enthusiasm, but that enthusiasm had taken some hits once he'd begun the tour with Doris Tebbe. Civilians and military. Oil and water. Who the hell thought up the grand idea of having the Army run the assembly centers and a civilian council run the camps? It was a bad arrangement. The Relocation would go more smoothly if it were fish or fowl, but not both.
He put his glasses back on, rose and went to the kitchen for a beer. He reached into the Frigidaire, popped the bottle cap at the wall-mounted opener and drank a quarter of the brew in one gulp, knowing his inner argument was a pointless one. The Army was here, the War Relocation Authority was here and that was that. He moved through the little cabin's rooms, feeling Eshelmann everywhere.
How did things go so wrong so fast between Doris Tebbe and him? She sure as hell didn't try very hard to things easier. She was pissed from the moment he walked up behind her while she was at her archery.
"Screwed up right at the get-go," he said to himself.
Of course, her attitude had a lot to do with how she obviously felt about the Relocation. She didn't simply dislike it, she was opposed to it. Grudgingly, he had to give her credit for the conviction he saw in her small, cool eyes. Especially since she wanted an appointment as a center administrator. Bet she had to fight tooth and nail for it, considering her views and her sex. There was a lot to admire about a woman like that, rather he liked her or not.
He smiled a little, remembering how she bristled when he called the Relocation necessary. Yeah, that one was his fault. He could have waited a day or two before delivering his little speech, but he was eager to test the waters. One way or the other, it had to be said. She had to know where he stood on the matter. The Relocation was necessary.
He thought about the newspapers and the official reports, warning of the dangers of subversive activity near coastal military installations. He thought of the accounts of angry, fear-struck Americans taking the war out on other Americans who happened to have yellow skin and almond eyes. He remembered a newspaper picture of the San Francisco Chinese with large lapel buttons reading "I AM CHINESE," hoping avoid being spat on or molested. He took four more gulps, finishing off the beer.
He thought of the anguished faces of the transferees as they boarded the buses that morning at the assembly center. They knew less about their destination, Tulenar, than Max did. He doubted there would be a single subversive in twenty busloads of Nisei and Issei; a true fifth columnist, the favored term these days for a disloyalist. One whose heart beats for Japan. One who might be willing to work subtly, seditiously for the sake of the emperor.
But that one possibility did exist, whether Max doubted it or not. And that one, theoretical subversive was dooming the whole coastal population of Japanese and their North American children -from southern California to northern Canada- to barbed wire and dormitories for as long as the war might last. Prison. Mrs. Tebbe no doubt thought of Tulenar as a prison, and she was right. Life was detestable at times like these. And there wasn't a goddamned thing a man could do about it.
He walked out the front door and stood on the little porch. The scent of the house's wood ambled past his nose. Tomorrow he'd try to find the time to unpack some of his personal things, spruce up the rooms, add some comforts.