Page 47 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

“I can’t say there’s any off the top of my head, but it does make me think about a fairy tale, which is similar to a myth,” she says.

“Which one?”

“ ‘Rumpelstiltskin.’ Do you know it? The miller had to learn an imp’s name to save his daughter, and Rumpelstiltskin said it every night around a fire in the woods. Learning his name was powerful and binding.”

“Yes…” I trail off, pondering. “It is similar.”

“I’ll let you know if I think of any others. By the way, I have an opportunity for you,” Mrs. Hata says. “I could use help in the library, and it might be good experience if you want to get a part-time job while you’re at college. Would you like to volunteer there after class?”

“A part-time job at college?” I pause. “Even if I graduate high school, colleges aren’t accepting students like me.”

“Have you heard of the National Japanese American Student Relocation Council?” Mrs. Hata is undeterred. “It’s a newly formed organization that’s exploring options for Japanese American students who wish to pursue higher education. I suggest staying the course so when the time comes you’ll be ready.”

When the time comes. People talk all the time about when we’ll get to go home, and the adults are always desperate for the newspapers so they can track the war. Some men in the kitchen have secretly wired a shortwave radio to get signals, and word of the broadcasts spread like wildfire. But even the best predictions say we’ll be here for another year or so. We’ve already been here for two months.

Time here is different. Minutes, hours, days. They take longer. A year back home would pass quickly, in tempo with life’s fast rhythms. But there is no rhythm at camp. There’s only one static note, and it stretches on and on.

“Yes, I’d like to volunteer at the library,” I say, and Mrs. Hata gives a nod, pleased with my response. I’m not just doing it to build work experience. I’ll do it to pass the time.

Class concludes shortly after, and I pick up my crate to carry home. My mind returns to Akira, Rumpelstiltskin, and rituals. Then I see someone I recognize. It’s Ren’s friend, the one with green eyes.

I can’t help myself. I catch up to him as he steps outside.

“Kai, right?” He’s in a different group than me in school, but I’ve heard others saying his name. He grins, as though he likes the sound of it. I’ve noticed that he sometimes wears a bandanna tied around his forehead, but he always takes it off for class.

“That’s right. You’re Ren’s girlfriend.” The grin becomes mischievous, and I have the sense he’s teasing Ren in absentia.

“Not quite.” I think about Ren’s sullen, sad eyes and how awful it was when he realized his father was dead. He seemed so angry, but it was a trapped anger, as though it had nowhere to go. “I was wondering how he is.”

“Oh, you know Ren,” Kai replies with a shrug, as though that explains everything.

“I’m not sure I do.” I think about how I messed everything up. I don’t know if Ren will give me another chance. I don’t think he gives them easily or often, if ever.

“Hey, you should come to the Star Festival tonight. Ren is going to be there.” I’m immediately excited. Otōsan loves Tanabata, and I do, too. Growing up, I always loved hearing the tragic and romantic tale behind it—about two lovers, Orihime and Hikoboshi, doomed and separated for eternity. They are only able to see each other once a year, when their stars align and they use the Milky Way as a bridge to reach each other. I could use a magical bridge just about now. One I could cross to find Ren on the other end.

Nervousness conflicts with desire. Kai continues, “He’s not the most festive type, but his sister is feeling better, so he’s gonna walk her over.”

“Emiko?”

“Yes.” His tone has an odd note, enough to make me survey him closer. There’s a defensiveness to it. He reminds me of Ren, who’s always protective of Emi and ready to shield her from any judgment. I like Kai more than I first did.

“I’m glad she’s feeling better.”

“Me too.” The grin returns. He doesn’t seem like the sort to ever stay down for long. “Main party is held at San-shi-en Garden, but some of the guys and I are gonna make a bonfire in the firebreak across the way. You in, Miss America?”

I smile, too. “I’ll see you then.”

San-shi-en Garden is one of the most beautiful spots in Manzanar. At this point, I dare say it’s more impressive than Griffith Park. Green grass runs up and down graduating slopes and a waterfall pours into the pond. Several festival lanterns light the area. Colorful streamers hang from young, newly planted saplings, and a bamboo wish tree is erected in the middle. Wishes, cut like tags, are tied to it.

Children, up past their bedtime, run around and adults laugh and talk. I told Mama I was going to the festival with a girl my age. After demanding the name of the girl—a generic name I made up on the spot—and making me promise to be home by ten, she finally agreed, and I felt like I could breathe.

Music fills the air. Instruments thrum. A guitar, a koto, a violin, a ukulele, and a shakuhachi play together. It sounds beautiful. Dancers perform the Tanabata Ondo on the grass, their movements graceful and their hands and heads moving in perfect unison.

I turn in a slow circle, mesmerized.

The light from the watchtower crashes through the area, but otherwise you can’t tell we’re imprisoned here. You’d almost think we were all home, celebrating in the streets of Little Tokyo.

Across the way, I see Kai’s bonfire. It’s paltry—nothing more than a small, very contained fire in a makeshift circle of rocks. I’m sure the guards would snuff out anything bigger. Everyone is terrified of fire because of the climate, and the wooden buildings are the equivalent of dry tinder. Back home, we used to have bonfires on the beach. The boys would feed it until it was a beacon of fire, reaching over eight feet tall. It would flicker and crack like a hungry, angry monster while the ocean roared, the flames licking the night sky and the waves forming ragged tendrils on the wet sand. I always felt so wildly alive there and protected, as though the fire monster could ward off the ancient beings deep within the sea.