Page 25 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Loud laughter cuts through the garden. I look up, wiping newly sprung sweat from my forehead. Four young men wearing black bandannas, hachimaki-style, saunter into the garden. Someone beyond them catches my eye. I stop in my tracks.

There he is.

It’s the man in the blue kimono, except today he’s wearing Western clothes—fancy suit pants with an undershirt, making him simultaneously look like he’s off to an important business meeting and about to take a nap. His shadow, though, is behaving properly for once. The man cuts away. I abandon the pickax and start after him.

One of the young men steps in front of me, so suddenly that I almost run into him. I attempt to duck around him, but he moves with me, blocking me again. The man disappears from view. I bite back a curse and stop. I can tell this jerk-off with the bandanna wants something.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Everything about him exudes energy. He begins circling me, investigating me from every side. I don’t answer. Last time I took up with guys like this it ended…very badly. Han’nin. I hear the word—criminal—in Mr. Nomura’s voice. It suddenly occurs to me that he hasn’t said it since we arrived, but it doesn’t matter. Just the sight of these guys and their matching black bandannas and stance puts me on edge.

“Eh, J-man, maybe he’s issei,” jerk-off number two interjects. For whatever reason, this makes them burst into laughter, though all it means is first-generation Japanese immigrant, as opposed to nisei, which is second.

“You don’t understand me?” the first one—J-man?—demands. He takes a step toward me. There’s enough aggression in it to make me meet his gaze. “Fresh off the boat? Anata wa eigo o hanashimasu ka?”

“Actually,” I say tonelessly, “I don’t speak Japanese.”

“Oh, so now he deigns to talk to us.” Triumphantly, the guy crosses his arms. “What’s with the tough-guy act?”

“Tough-guy act?” I arch an eyebrow. “Isn’t that all of you? Nice bandannas.”

“Dragon! I’ve been looking for you!” Kai suddenly bounds across the garden to us. I’m happy to see him, but then I pause. He has a black bandanna tied around his forehead, too. “J-man, this is Ren, my buddy. I can vouch for him. He’s the real deal. Ren, this is James.”

James glances narrowly from Kai to me. He stares hard at me, trying to get me to crumble. Then he extends his hand.

“We can always use another,” he says. “If Kai here says you’re in, you’re in.”

“I’m good,” I say, refusing to take his hand. “Thanks, though. Never really was one for bandannas…J-man, did you say your name is?”

“Ren’s joking.” Kai nudges me hard in the ribs. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

At first, it looks like James isn’t going. Then he mutters under his breath and nods to his three stooges. They take off, laughing and joking again. Before they leave the garden, James looks over his shoulder at me, points to his bandanna, and points at me. A bold smile flashes across his lips as though he knows something I don’t. Then he’s gone.

“What’s up?” I ask Kai, eyeing his bandanna. A sheepish expression crosses Kai’s face. “Is that your new baseball team?”

“No.” The sheepishness disappears, replaced by the sort of defiant look you give a parent. “We’re a crew. We’re organizing.”

“Kai, you didn’t even organize your sock drawer back home. What the hell would you be organizing here?” Kai has always been well-liked, from being on the baseball team to being homecoming king, so I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s found a new friend group. But it doesn’t seem like they’re just sitting around talking about girls or drinking booze, which people have been distilling in secret. From my take of the situation, they’re angry and want to do something about it. “Does your dad know you’re skipping school to hang out with those guys? What about the baseball team you wanted to start?”

“I want to do that, too, but I just met J-man and he told me a bunch of stuff,” Kai says, defiance now firmly in place on his face. “Don’t you realize that the wages we’re supposedly entitled to get are half what they promised? What’s more, they’re trying to turn us against each other and keep us weak.” As he talks, Kai becomes more animated. He’s always been a passionate guy, and his words pour easily from him. “They’re bribing our own and making us traitors.”

I rub my hand across my forehead. I get it. Kai’s grievances are probably all accurate. But I can’t fathom a world in which Kai or anyone else here will stop anything. That’s the thing about having been beaten by life long ago. You get to skip the cotton-candy idealism. You know the best thing to do is keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your hands busy.

Because at the end of the day, you don’t know who your worst enemy is—them or you.

“Just don’t get into trouble, okay?” I sigh.

“Well, if I do, I’ll need you there to get me out of it.” Kai flashes one of his dazzling smiles, the ones that always got teachers to round up his grades and girls to ask for rides in Delilah. “Join us, Dragon. We need you. We’re going to break up the council meetings. Make them face us and answer for everything.”

“It’s not for me, Tiger.” I mean it. Breaking up council meetings sounds like a great way to get separated from everyone and sent to Tule Lake. “And it shouldn’t be for you, either. You should go to school.” I’m acutely aware that I sound like Mr. Nomura or Dr. Suzuki and don’t love it. But while I’ve written myself off a long time ago, I believe in Kai. “You have a future, once all this is behind us. A good one.”

“Yeah, one predetermined by my dad.” A fretful frown settles on Kai’s face. “Medical school and marriage to an issei.”

“Hey, there’s worse things than becoming a doctor.” I’m not so dumb as to think it’s easy being Kai. But I’m also aware it’s probably a damn lot easier than being me. His path is set. All he needs to do is stroll down it. “Think of all the Cadillacs you’ll be able to buy.”

The man in charge notices us talking and comes over to us. He wags his finger at me and then points out of the garden.

“Too much talking,” a woman calls, interpreting for him. “You go.”

“Sorry.” I reach for the pickax. “Sorry. I’m working.”