I’ll take a last-snow bet of March 8 and hope I’m wrong and all the snow melts tomorrow, never to return. For most of the boys, the novelty of snow has worn off—there are few of the joyful frolics we saw in our first several inches. But some of them still like the excuse for a prank. I caught one student slipping an icicle down another’s shirt during class one morning. The poor fellow tried not to react, but his squirming couldn’t be contained, and when he untucked his shirt and the melting shard fell to the floor, the classroom dissolved into laughter. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.
Have I mentioned I’m still mad the training school moved from San Francisco to Minneapolis? I don’t know what they were thinking, bringing a bunch of Californians and Hawaiians to this frozen meat locker. Even under three layers of sweaters, I feel like a sirloin packed in ice. How do you stand it?
Your friend,
Peter
P.S. Only you would have an appendix instead of a usual P.S. Are you going to start footnoting your letters too?
P.P.S. Terry Tanabe, the icicle culprit above, went to the Nisei USO club last weekend and reported that the senior hostess asked about you, wondering why her favorite summertime junior hostess suddenly disappeared. She still doesn’t realize you only crashed the USO club because you wanted to learn Japanese, does she? I figured it out right away, for the record. All I wanted was a game of Ping-Pong, and instead, the girl on the other side of the net kept missing the ball, firing linguistic questions at me between serves. How did you get away with that for three full months without being found out?
From Johanna to Peter
February 3, 1944
Dear Peter,
I promise I’ll think about the position.
There. I thought about it. For a good ten seconds. And then put it right back in my mental files where it belongs, alphabetized somewhere between Never and Not a chance.
Well, it’s about time the army deigns to adequately equip you for your work. You’d think they’d prefer we lose the war in the Pacific, the way they’ve dallied on training your linguists. I’m glad to hear the new students will live up to your expectations, particularly since you’ve only got six months to turn them out as experts. See, that’s an example of the stress that accompanies the more “practical” applications of language study. I could never do what you do, and I don’t intend to, no matter how many exclamation marks Major J. E. Davies fires at me.
As for the USO, now that I’m sure you won’t turn me in, I’ll confess: I forged a badge with a stencil patterned off a brochure requesting I apply as a junior hostess. I didn’t have time for letters of recommendation and interviews when there were only three summer months before the start of the term. So I pinned that false badge to my blouse, then marched up to the club and distracted Mrs. Murray by responding in Japanese the first few times she greeted me (the only phrases I knew, and badly pronounced, I found out later). She was delighted to have a fluent speaker at the club, thinking it would make her Senior Hostess of the Year, I suppose.1
It was good of you to give me lessons, though, when you were surrounded by books and study the rest of the week. I still have those first kanji you penciled in on a napkin pressed in my Naganuma Reader. Duplicitous means or no, what would I have done if I’d never met you? One chance glance at a newspaper article to see that a Nisei USO was starting up in the Cities, and I found the luckiest choice of Ping-Pong partner I could have made.2
March 8? You’re a hopeless optimist. I’m calling April 2, and not a day earlier. Loser has to buy malts once it’s warm enough to ingest something frozen, which will be at least June.
Jo
1 She was under the impression that my parents were missionaries for a decade in Nagasaki, though I swear I never said so. Not directly, anyway.
2 Before you criticize me for faking my hostess role, remember, you were patronizing the USO as a civilian instructor, completely nonmilitary, which is against USO rules.
From Major Davies to Johanna
February 1, 1944
Dear Miss Berglund,
Thank you for taking the time to write back so promptly. The fort’s stationery also appreciates the compliment, I’m sure.
I’m sorry you felt you should decline our offer, but allow me to present you a few details that might change your mind.
We have already investigated the option of hiring a translator from New Weimar but have encountered two obstacles: First, we can obtain B-level gas rations for a translator, but most residents of New Weimar don’t have access to a car or the desire to make a daily forty-five-minute round trip, which would make transportation difficult.
Second, the citizens of Ironside Lake are not—how should I put this?—especially in favor of bringing outsiders, particular those of recent German extraction, into their fair town. This point was emphasized to me quite clearly at my visit there only a few days ago, and we promised to honor those concerns, baseless as we believe them to be.
As one of Ironside Lake’s own people, you will be trusted, and your assistance will help us to build goodwill with the community. Think of all the good you can do! Why, if my own daughter were presented with such a chance to serve her country, she would be packing her bags immediately!
This is the sort of opportunity any language student should be deeply grateful for, particularly a woman who seeks independence and respect in her field.
Take a few days to think about it. I can’t emphasize enough how important this is.
With Great Respect,
Major J. E. Davies
US Army, Fort Snelling
From Johanna to Major Davies
February 4, 1944
Dear Major Davies,
I’m sorry if my last letter gave the impression that there might be room to persuade me, because it was not my intent. I won’t be any help at all for good relations with Ironside Lake. Persuasion, you might have guessed by now, is not my gift. I do love words. I memorize them and enjoy finding the exact way to translate them to accurately communicate the author’s meaning . . . but I am not good at putting words together on my own, especially when speaking to people.
I can assure you that I’d be no help with your public relations efforts. No doubt the people of Ironside Lake are as glad to be rid of me as I am to be gone.
Keep up the good work. I’m sure you’ll find just the person you need for the job, but I’m sorry to say that it isn’t me.
Johanna Berglund
From Mrs. Berglund to Johanna
February 2, 1944
Dearest Jo,
Now, dear, you know how I feel about your sarcasm. People around here are very upset by all this talk of prisoners of war, and the weight of it is falling on your father. Of course, it’s our duty to make the best of it, but it’s much easier for you to laugh from the safe distance of the city when it doesn’t affect your life—at least not yet.
Construction on the prison camp is almost finished, as the men will be arriving at the beginning of next month. I’ll admit to driving by it once so I could take a peek. Most of it looked rather ordinary—same old paint-peeling CCC buildings and wide stretches of tramped-down dirt—but that hideous barbed-wire fence! It made me shudder. I’m glad they have it, of course, but Ironside Lake has always been a safe place, and now it seems less so. Politics aside, that’s how I feel, and I can’t help but say it.