Caged Eagles (24 page)

“And boy hang by branch. Cannot go up or die.

Cannot go down or die. Looks beside. And he sees it.”

So there was going to be a happy ending — he was going to escape.

“Sees a strawberry.”

“A strawberry?” I questioned. How would that help?

“Big, fat, juicy strawberry. He reach out and grab strawberry and put in mouth.
Sooo
good,
sooo
tasty, better than ever.” She paused. “Now go sleep.”

“Go to sleep? You mean that's the end of the story?”

She nodded her head.

“But he's still hanging there, surrounded by tigers … he's going to die!”

“All will die. All.”

“But there has to be more …”

“Think,” she said softly. “Think.”

“I don't under —” I stopped as it suddenly hit me.

At least, I thought I understood. “The story isn't about death, but about life. The part between the tigers.

We're all going to die, but we have to enjoy whatever happens in between. Whether it's hanging from a branch or living in a cattle stall.”

I could see her smile in the dark. “Good night, my little boy.”

“Good night,” I answered.

I turned over and pressed my eyes tightly shut. She was old, and we all had to die. Of course, I knew that.

But, please, not here … please, not now, I prayed.

.18.

“So how long are you going to pretend to be sick?”

“Sam!” I called out as I got off my bed and stood up.

“They're letting me go today.”

“About time. I can't believe they kept you in here for three days,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I didn't even think you were that badly hurt.”

“Neither did I … at first,” I said, putting a hand on my still-taped side.

“Next time you're in a fight, try to hit them more with your fists, and
less
with your face and side.”

“I'll try to remember that.”

“Say, where's your grandmother?” Sam asked, gesturing to where her bed used to be.

“They let her go yesterday.”

“So she's better?” he asked.

“Still weak, but doing a lot better. She's holding down food and drinking.”

I think Sam liked my grandmother, and she liked him.

Whenever he'd dropped in to visit, they'd talk and she'd make a big fuss over him. He didn't have grandparents, so I think he found it different and maybe even a little embarrassing at first, but then he just liked it. The last visit, he'd spent more time talking to her than he did to me.

“Do you want me to wait around until they release you?” Sam asked.

“No, that's okay —”

Just then one of the nurses pushed through the curtain. “Hello, Tadashi.”

“Hi.”

“I see you have your friend here to escort you home.”

“I can go now?”

“Right now. We need the bed.”

“Great! I can be dressed and gone in ten minutes.”

She laughed. “It sounds like you didn't enjoy your stay.”

“No, I'm just happy to be better.”

“Dr. Izumi wants you to come back in three days to see him. But if you feel any back pain or start coughing badly, come back sooner, okay?”

“I will … for sure … and thanks, thanks for everything. I really appreciate what everybody did,” I said.

“That's quite all right,” she said, and smiled. “And do us all the favor, both of you, and don't go falling down any more stairs.”

“You can count on that!” I said.

“Weeeellllll,” Sam said, drawing the word out. “It all depends. Sometimes a set of stairs comes right up to you and you just don't have any choice but to go down them.”

“Try and take the elevator for a while,” she suggested.

“I'll try,” Sam agreed.

She left and I finished dressing and tying up my shoes.

I couldn't believe how happy I felt to be leaving. Strange, I was one of the few people in the whole place sleeping in a bed and I was glad to be going back to a mattress on the floor of a cattle stall. I guess what my grandmother always said was right — it didn't matter where you were as long as you were with your family.

“It's almost lunchtime,” Sam said. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Even better. Let's get to the mess hall.”

His answer made no sense, but it didn't matter much to me. I was just happy to be leaving, and my family might even be there now eating.

We left the infirmary and crossed over the park toward the mess.

“Did anybody ever question you about the fight?”

Sam asked.

“Well, Dr. Izumi said a few things, and both the nurses —”

“No, I mean like the soldiers or RCMP.”

“No, nobody like that,” I answered, with some alarm. “I didn't even know they'd heard about it.”

“Everybody heard about it. It was in the newspapers,” Sam said.

“You're joking, right?”

“No joke. There was an editorial in the paper about security in the park and how some of the Japanese had stormed the fence and attacked some innocent —”

“Innocent! They started it and —”

“And they're white,” Sam said, cutting me off. “Who do you think the newspapers and police are going to believe?”

I didn't answer, which of course said it all.

“The editorial went on about how there should be every effort made to relocate us as soon as possible and more security should be added so more whites don't get injured.”

“Some of them got injured?” I asked.

“Of course. A few of them limped away in a lot worse shape than you were in.”

“Did anybody question you?” I asked.

“Not me, but they did make some inquiries all around the park. They were sniffing around. I heard they were threatening to ship out to Angler anybody they found.”

“I guess we won't be going out again,” I said.

“No question about that. Even if we weren't caught, my father threatened to personally kill me if I even tried.” He paused. “That reminds me, what did your parents say about you going out of the park?”

“Not much. My father said we'd talk about it after I healed. So I guess I'm going to find out soon enough.”

I looked up ahead. “Look at that lineup!” I said to Sam. It extended right out the door of the mess hall.

“Yeah, it's been like that since supper yesterday.”

“Have that many more people arrived?” I asked.

“More every day. The number is up to almost three thousand five hundred.”

“Wow, that's a lot of people. Maybe we can come back later when the line has thinned out a bit,” I suggested.

“Don't worry, it'll move fast.”

“But I hate waiting in line, and I'm not even hungry.”

“Like I said, that's good that you're not hungry.”

“You want to explain to me how not being hungry is good?” I asked.

“You'll see.”

I would have pressed Sam for an answer, but I knew him well enough to know there was no point. At least he was right about the line; it did seem to be moving very quickly. We were almost inside the mess hall already. I wondered if they'd made some changes to accommodate the extra people since I was in the infirmary. They must have added more servers or be doing something different to explain the speed. Of course, looking back I could see that it was a good thing we were moving quickly because the line behind us was growing even more rapidly than we were moving forward.

“I wonder what they're serving for lunch,” I said.

“It doesn't matter,” Sam replied.

“Why doesn't it matter?”

“You'll see,” Sam answered with a smile.

I was becoming much more than a little bit curious.

Between Sam not answering questions and him practically pushing me into the mess hall to begin with, there must be something worth seeing.

“Here,” Sam said, passing me a tray.

“Thanks.”

I grabbed a bowl and plate and put them on my tray. The bins holding spoons and forks were empty.

“There are no utensils,” I said.

Sam shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

“What do you —” I stopped myself as Sam started to chuckle to himself.

I craned my head around to try to see to the front of the line. I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

I caught glimpses of the women behind the counter — there didn't seem to be any more of them than before — they were standing there with their arms folded across their chests and … they didn't seem to be serving anybody, just standing there.

I turned my attention to where everybody was sitting. There didn't seem to be an empty seat. People were crowded around the tables, and … strange, nobody seemed to be talking, they were just sitting there silently staring ahead … nobody seemed to be eating! In front of each person there was a tray, and on the tray was an overturned bowl or plate. I scanned row after row. There was no food! Nobody was eating!

“I said you'd see,” Sam said, realizing by my expression that I'd finally caught on.

“There's not a person in the whole hall eating!” I said in amazement.

“There's not a person in the whole park who's eating from the mess. Not one,” Sam said. “It's a food strike.”

“But how?”

“It all started with those old people. They refused to eat, protesting that they wanted proper food, maybe even Japanese food.”

“Protesting like we saw the other day — the day we left the park?”

“Yeah, it had been going on for a few days already at that time. But then some other people our age joined in … I was one of the first,” Sam said, beaming.

“And then some other people joined in, and then our leaders, people like Mr. Wakabayashi, organized it so that everybody in the whole park got involved, starting with supper yesterday. Isn't it amazing!”

“But people have to eat!” I protested.

“Some people haven't stopped. They've set up a special place where the old people can get some food, mainly rice and other Japanese stuff. And of course anybody who's sick and in the infirmary is still eating.”

“Like me. Is that why I didn't know about this?”

Sam nodded his head. We were almost at the front of the line. Sam put down his tray on the ledge and then noisily slammed his plate and bowl upside down.

I did the same, except not as dramatically. We slid the trays past the silent and sullen serving women.

Overflowing bins of steaming potatoes and tomato soup and buns stared up at us. I still wasn't even hungry, but I couldn't help thinking that things did smell good.

We came to the end and picked up our empty trays.

There now wasn't even a single seat to be seen, and we joined a line of people leaning against the far wall. I looked around for my parents or sisters. I didn't see them.

“A place will soon open up for us to sit,” Sam said.

No sooner had he finished his sentence than the people at a whole long row of tables at the back of the hall stood up and started to move away. We took seats at one of the vacated tables.

“So we just sit here and look at our plates?” I asked.

“For fifteen minutes. We sit for fifteen minutes and then we go. That's what everybody is doing.”

“Wouldn't it be easier if we just didn't show up at all?” I suggested.

“Easier for them, maybe. It isn't a protest unless they can see you, and they can't see you if you don't come.”

I guess that made sense.

For the first time I also noticed something else.

There were soldiers positioned around the mess hall. I counted them … ten of them.

“Sam, do you know why there are soldiers here?” I asked.

“They were here at breakfast this morning. I think we have them worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“They're scared that the food strike might turn into something more.”

“Something more? Like what?”

“I don't know. Maybe a food riot. There's a lot of anger pinned inside this fence.”

“I know, but …”

“But ever ybody's too Japanese,” Sam said, completing my thought.

“Yeah.”

“A few days ago I would have agreed with you. Now I'm not so sure. Something could happen.”

“Maybe. But how long can this go on? People need to eat.”

“We will eat. Everybody is having supper tonight.”

“And that's the end of the food strike?”

“No. Like you said, people need to eat, but there'll be another strike at lunch or maybe breakfast the next day. It'll be a surprise announcement.”

“Why a surprise?”

“So that they have to bring in food and prepare each meal. So that they don't know when we're going to stop eating. To take control,” Sam explained.

“And we'll just keep doing that?” I asked.

“Until they give in to the demands.”

“What demands?”

“For better food,” Sam said. “Maybe even Japanese food.”

“But you don't even like Japanese food,” I said.

“No, I don't,” Sam answered. “But you know what I like even less? Being told what I have to do or what I have to eat … and I think other people are getting tired of it too.”

.19.

“There's no reason to be nervous,” Sam said as we walked.

“I'm not nervous … well, not very nervous.”

“You're just going to pick up a letter.”

“I know, and I should be happy.” My name had been posted on the board amongst those people who had received mail. It meant I had to go to the main administration building.

“It has to be from your friend, right?” Sam asked.

“I can't think of anybody else who'd be sending me mail.”