was just different. He didnât talk much and when he did it was almost always in Japanese.
And he always seemed to be scowling. My mother said that it must have been hard for him to leave Japan at fifteen, and how would I feel if I had to move so far away and leave all my friends behind. Back then I didnât understand how it would feel. Now I knew too well. Still, before he came I got along pretty good with everybody.
It was strange, but living in a village so small, where everybody knew each other, meant that while people may not have been family, they were a lot more than just neighbors. You knew everything there was to know about them, and they knew everything about you. There werenât many secrets in a village the size of ours. And, of course, all special occasions, from births to weddings to deaths, were shared with everybody.
I gently put down the sewing machine in our corner of the truck. It was now one of four machines in the back of the truck, one for each family whose possessions had to be put in this one vehicle. Of course, it had been no surprise that each family had selected this as one of the possessions that had first come on their boat and now was designated important enough for the truck. Every Japanese woman had a sewing machine. The sounds of sewing â the whirring of the wheel and the rhythmic pumping of the foot pedal, punctuated by the tapping of the needle through the material â marked a Japanese home as much as the smell of Japanese cooking.
It wasnât just my mother who knew her way around a sewing machine. All the other woman in the village were experts as well. Little girls learned from their mothers, whoâd learned from their mothers. Midori was already pretty skilled, and even Yuri had started to sew clothing ⦠mainly for her dollies â¦
I had to smile. It was so much nicer to see Yuri holding them instead of having them secreted away. It also felt like a load had been lifted from my shoulders. I knew she should have her dolls with her, but Iâd felt guilty the whole way for defying my father. I didnât like going against him like that. After all, he was my father and deserved my respect.
I leaped down from the truck. It was a long way to the ground. My grandmother and all the other old folks would have trouble getting up into the back of the truck. Maybe there was some way to put some boxes or something on the ground to make it easier.
âCome on, and quit lolligagging!â yelled out an angry voice.
I turned around. There was a soldier, who couldnât have been that much older than me, standing in front of a group of old women from our village. There were four or five of them, and Iâd noticed them standing off to the side, talking, watching. A couple of them were old, even older than my grandmother, and not able to help any more than by offering words of encouragement to others as weâd been loading.
âCome on, get moving, thereâs no time to waste here!â the young soldier bellowed. âYouâre blocking the wharf!â
The old women looked perplexed. Not only didnât they understand what he was saying, or what he meant, but they were confused by his tone of voice.
âDonât you speak any English?â He held up his hand and pointed to his watch. âTicky, ticky ⦠timeâs wasting ⦠move!â he said, making a shooing gesture.
A couple muttered something in Japanese, too quietly for me to hear, but didnât move. They had no idea what he was trying to say to them, and it would have been rude to just walk away. The soldier walked even closer to them, until he was standing over top of them.
âMove!â he bellowed.
I couldnât just stand and watch. I had to explain. âThey donât understand ââ
âLeave alone!â
I heard the voice at the same instant I saw the person speaking. It was Toshio. His arms were full, but despite the load he
And he always seemed to be scowling. My mother said that it must have been hard for him to leave Japan at fifteen, and how would I feel if I had to move so far away and leave all my friends behind. Back then I didnât understand how it would feel. Now I knew too well. Still, before he came I got along pretty good with everybody.
It was strange, but living in a village so small, where everybody knew each other, meant that while people may not have been family, they were a lot more than just neighbors. You knew everything there was to know about them, and they knew everything about you. There werenât many secrets in a village the size of ours. And, of course, all special occasions, from births to weddings to deaths, were shared with everybody.
I gently put down the sewing machine in our corner of the truck. It was now one of four machines in the back of the truck, one for each family whose possessions had to be put in this one vehicle. Of course, it had been no surprise that each family had selected this as one of the possessions that had first come on their boat and now was designated important enough for the truck. Every Japanese woman had a sewing machine. The sounds of sewing â the whirring of the wheel and the rhythmic pumping of the foot pedal, punctuated by the tapping of the needle through the material â marked a Japanese home as much as the smell of Japanese cooking.
It wasnât just my mother who knew her way around a sewing machine. All the other woman in the village were experts as well. Little girls learned from their mothers, whoâd learned from their mothers. Midori was already pretty skilled, and even Yuri had started to sew clothing ⦠mainly for her dollies â¦
I had to smile. It was so much nicer to see Yuri holding them instead of having them secreted away. It also felt like a load had been lifted from my shoulders. I knew she should have her dolls with her, but Iâd felt guilty the whole way for defying my father. I didnât like going against him like that. After all, he was my father and deserved my respect.
I leaped down from the truck. It was a long way to the ground. My grandmother and all the other old folks would have trouble getting up into the back of the truck. Maybe there was some way to put some boxes or something on the ground to make it easier.
âCome on, and quit lolligagging!â yelled out an angry voice.
I turned around. There was a soldier, who couldnât have been that much older than me, standing in front of a group of old women from our village. There were four or five of them, and Iâd noticed them standing off to the side, talking, watching. A couple of them were old, even older than my grandmother, and not able to help any more than by offering words of encouragement to others as weâd been loading.
âCome on, get moving, thereâs no time to waste here!â the young soldier bellowed. âYouâre blocking the wharf!â
The old women looked perplexed. Not only didnât they understand what he was saying, or what he meant, but they were confused by his tone of voice.
âDonât you speak any English?â He held up his hand and pointed to his watch. âTicky, ticky ⦠timeâs wasting ⦠move!â he said, making a shooing gesture.
A couple muttered something in Japanese, too quietly for me to hear, but didnât move. They had no idea what he was trying to say to them, and it would have been rude to just walk away. The soldier walked even closer to them, until he was standing over top of them.
âMove!â he bellowed.
I couldnât just stand and watch. I had to explain. âThey donât understand ââ
âLeave alone!â
I heard the voice at the same instant I saw the person speaking. It was Toshio. His arms were full, but despite the load he
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