your next visit.”
Immediately the pressure was released and Reg was patting her coat gently. Lucy felt a tear roll down her cheek, splashing to the ground, where she imagined it would freeze by morning. She wanted to rub her nose on her sleeve, but didn’t dare move.
“You’ll tell her,” Reg said softly, and he and Van Dorn began backing away. “Go on home now.”
Then they were gone. She heard their footfalls behind her but did not dare turn around to see which way they went. She waited until it was silent, the only sound the rushing of the wind, and then she walked home as fast as her trembling legs could carry her.
* * *
Miyako’s face, when Lucy repeated the message, went blank.
Lucy could see the toll the past few months had taken on her mother, the fine lines and dark smudges around her mouth and eyes. It was as though she were no longer living, but a life-size porcelain figurine.
She cupped Lucy’s face in her hand, just firmly enough to force her to meet her gaze. “Did they touch you?”
“Yes,” Lucy said, remembering the astonishing force of Reg’s forefinger and thumb digging into her flesh through her coat and sweater. “I mean no.”
Miyako stared at her for a long time but asked no further questions. When she finally let go of Lucy’s face, she touched her three times: on the bridge of her nose, on her lips and on her chin; and then she drew several strands of Lucy’s hair through her fine fingers. Lucy, unaccustomed to such tender gestures, stood frozen.
“You’re cursed, just like me,” Miyako whispered. “But I will fix this.”
After a final caress she went back to her side of the room and began to undress. Within moments she was in her bed, the covers pulled up over her head, while Lucy wondered where in her body the curse was hidden and when it would fight its way out.
15
December came. There was trouble in the camp between the older Issei—those born in Japan—and the next-generation Nisei. Many of the old people still wore the stunned expressions that they’d arrived with, unable to speak enough English to communicate with the Caucasian staff. Some of the younger men were anxious to join the service, to prove their loyalty—but others were driven by darker impulses: resentment over their incarceration, over the loss of their property and livelihood, over educations interrupted and voices ignored. There were clashes over loyalty and duty, fights and accusations and simmering tempers.
Lucy, increasingly lonely, immersed herself in her schoolwork. It came easily to her, and it helped her to ignore the chaos around her, to temper the loss of Jessie and her worries about her increasingly distant and frail mother. Her marks were high; her teacher often singled her out for praise, holding her papers up for the other students to see, but Lucy’s pride was dampened by the distraction of the turmoil all around the camp.
Nothing got resolved. Tempers flared and fights broke out and one night the military police surged inside the gates to quell a riot. Lucy stayed inside her room with her mother, while outside the shouting grew deafening and something—a stone, an ax—struck the side of the building. Their neighbors were out there, the men and boys from their block, while inside the women comforted the children and clutched broomsticks and paring knives and prayed the conflict would not reach inside. Lucy pressed her hands over her ears, shut her eyes and wondered what Jessie was doing, if he was outside in the melee, if he would have the sense to stay out of the worst of it or if he would welcome the chance to fight.
By the next morning, one young man had been killed, and an eerie sense of calm descended on the camp. The wind kicked up and dust blew through the abandoned streets. Finally, it was time for breakfast, and people ventured from their barracks, heads down and hurrying. The staff were already out in force, patrolling the streets, posted at the auditorium and rec halls to prevent another round of fighting from breaking out. News traveled slowly at first, building to a crescendo inside the mess halls.
Lucy ate by herself amid the din. When a sudden hush fell, she looked up from her cereal and saw that Reg Forrest had entered the room. He’d evidently been pressed into service to help keep the peace, and he wore one of the MP’s pressed uniform shirts. A