Page 35 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Mama stands, does a few stretches in her slip dress. A lipstick appears out of her pocket. She puts it on without needing a mirror, slicking it over her chapped lips. For a moment, she wavers, looking at me. We’ve spent more time together here than we did in the months before the bombing of Pearl Harbor, but it’s like we don’t know what to say to each other. Or how. Only that we hold the same knowledge. Emi is sick. The fancy politician’s wife wants her baby. We’re as screwed as we’ve ever been. Finally, all she says is “We’ll bring you back some food.” She offers Emi the lipstick and she takes it, puts it on with the same proficiency. Then, with matching red lips, they interlace arms and leave.

I sit down on the edge of my bed, realizing with alarm that I’ve been left alone with Mr. Nomura. I’m grateful he’s helping us, but my nerves are already frayed and I feel the way I did at my court dates, standing before the glaring judge in his black robe. Mr. Nomura should make a club with Mrs. Aratani, Mr. Bowerstone, Dr. Suzuki, and the judge so they can all talk shit about me.

“You need to take care of your arm,” Mr. Nomura says sternly.

“Yes, sir,” I say. As if in agreement with Mr. Nomura, my shoulder twinges in pain, and my anger returns. I’m angry at Mr. Nomura. I’m angry at Mrs. Aratani. I’m angry at Boser for slapping me and the fact that I couldn’t sock his lights out in retaliation.

Most of all, I’m angry at Violet.

I mean, she could’ve told her mother we were friends. Something. Anything. Instead, she portrayed me like a love-starved puppy desperate for her attention.

Damn it. Maybe that’s why I’m so angry—because it’s too close to the truth. I did want her attention. I wanted it a lot. And she knew it.

“Staring and doing nothing isn’t good for chi,” Mr. Nomura suddenly says. He motions to me. “Come. Sit.” Between two fingers, he holds an origami rose. “Make.”

“Make origami?” I’d rather put my fingers in the mouth of a snapping turtle than sit across from Mr. Nomura, much less learn anything from him.

“Hai, hai.”

I pause. My hand drifts to my fox. I think about how Boser looked at it. Wanted it. I hadn’t thought about it before, but maybe the fox could be a bargaining chip. Both Boser and Akira seem pretty interested in it. I could play both sides and pray to high heaven one of them works out.

“Okay if I try something else?”

There’s a dinner knife atop Mama’s suitcase that she smuggled in from the mess hall. I pick it up. One of the crates has a loose board. I splinter it off. Mr. Nomura watches but doesn’t say anything. I settle down on my cot and start whittling. Hurts my shoulder, hurts my hand. Don’t stop, though.

“What happened to your face?” Mr. Nomura suddenly asks.

“My face?”

“There’s a mark.” I don’t answer, and he doesn’t press it. Instead, he says, “Dr. Suzuki asked about Kai. He’s worried about him and his new friends.”

“Yeah?” I focus on driving the blade around the hunk of wood. If Mr. Nomura thinks I’m about to tattle on Kai, he’s got another think coming. I agree with Dr. Suzuki—Kai is hanging out with the wrong guys and being an idiot—but no one will ever hear it from me.

“Maybe you should go to school. Keep an eye on Kai for Dr. Suzuki.”

“Like a snitch?” I snap. I’m surprised when Mr. Nomura’s mouth twitches in a smile. He nods, like I’ve made a fair point.

My gaze tugs to his uniform. I wonder why he’s still wearing it. Only people who see it are us. But I heard he was nominated as our representative for the JACL or something. Probably because he looks so official.

He gets up, walks to the table we’ve pieced together out of more crates, and puts the origami rose atop it. Carefully, he begins another origami. We sit in silence. It’s strange. I’ve always avoided Mr. Nomura, but as we work with our hands together, I think he might be on to something. I focus on my blade sliding through the wood.

It’s almost enough to ease my anger at Violet.

But not quite.

Chapter Ten

Violet

Dear Otōsan,

Today was terrible. I tromped all over the camp looking for a working washroom for our laundry. My dresses are depressed, dusty, and dirty. I’m determined to revive them. After a good amount of time, Mama found me and was terribly annoyed that I hadn’t gotten the laundry done. She’s been in rare form. Remember the friend I told you about? His name is Ren. But don’t worry! I haven’t fallen head over heels in love or anything ridiculous, which is what Mama accuses me of. Honestly, she treats me like a child, but I’m not a child. I don’t think anyone is, here. Even the children don’t seem to be.

Goodness, I’m sounding melancholy, aren’t I! It’s just been a long day. Oh—remember the man in blue? Well, it’s confirmed. He’s a god, Otōsan. His name is Akira. It’s funny, I always knew the magic in the deer was real, but somehow as I got older its realness dimmed. How strange that I feel as though I’ve grown up, yet the presence of magic has brought me back to my childhood. Maybe that’s the growing up you always talked about. Learning you don’t know anything.

I’m going to have tea with Akira tomorrow. Maybe he can help me, us. If he can, best believe I’ll make certain he does. I won’t ask for flowers. I’ll ask for you.

Love you always,