JOHN
John slowed down to turn right onto the road that led to the tower just as Frank’s car stopped at the intersection. Frank hung his head out the window and yelled, “See you, Kawai!”
John honked twice in response and continued past them. He was late to the group, too late, and for that, Caroline would give him a lecture about commitment. He didn’t need a lecture. His dad gave him the same one each week. Work hard. Make money. Go to school. Become something other than a man who reeks of fish.
John didn’t mind the work with his dad. He liked listening to the older men and their stories of Japan. One day he hoped to see it. His mother told him that the coastline, from Big Sur up to Monterey, reminded her of her home when she was little. That’s why they’d settled there. That and the abalone.
John started diving three years ago. It was dangerous work. To get the really big marine snails, you had to go deep. You could drown if you weren’t careful. John learned by watching his dad, who always did everything with a slow, measured patience, and tried his best to do things in the same careful way.
Except when he was on the baseball field. There, John was explosive. The fastest on the team, known for making the most steals into home plate.
The only thing John wanted to do—more than anything—was play baseball. His plan was to play in college, and afterward, maybe join a team in Hawaii or one of the Nisei teams like the Fresno All-Stars—made up of players whose parents had emigrated here from Japan. John’s eyes were on Satoshi “Fibber” Hirayama who had just signed with the St. Louis Browns. If Jackie Robinson could break the color barrier, why couldn’t the Japanese be next? John knew it was only a matter of time. And he was poised to be one of the pioneers.
Eleanor came around the corner on her bike. This time John stopped and Eleanor rode up to his window. She placed her hand on the frame, remained on the bike, and smiled at him.
“Hey, Eleanor.”
“Hey,” she said, a little out of breath.
“You leaving?” he asked.
“Yeah. Gotta get home early today.”
“See anything in the tower?” he asked.
“One small plane. But we got him.” She gave a little salute. “Nothing gets past these eyes. Caroline, Bunny, and Teddy are still there, finishing out the shift.” She cocked her head to the side. “Why’re you so late?”
He shrugged. “Just stuff.” He didn’t want to get into the details of how he’d had to help his dad.
“Stuff, hmm. Well, see you,” she said.
“All right,” he said. “Be safe.”
She laughed. “You’re the one who needs safety.”
“Ha, Caroline’s in a mood?”
“Maybe.” She grinned. “Bye!”
She pedaled away. John watched as she stood up to get some momentum for the slight hill, then rounded to the right and out of his sight. He got the odd feeling like he should go after her, follow her, just to make sure she’d get home all right. But the thought passed just as quickly as it came, replaced by Caroline waiting for him up in the tower. She’d be angry, but that was okay. Any feeling from her beyond indifference was okay with him.
When he got to the tower, he parked the truck on the side of the road, looked up, and saw Caroline. She didn’t look down at him, even though he knew she knew he was there.
Girls.
He shook his head. He didn’t have time for them. They were also bad luck in baseball. Once Antonio Casalero got a girlfriend last year, his pitches were all off. Coach benched him for most of the second half of the season. And Caroline, well, her family probably wouldn’t be too keen on her being with him anyway. He was Nisei, second-generation Japanese, and she was . . . he didn’t know exactly—maybe a little Irish, English, some kind of European mix—but definitely not Japanese. He also knew that his parents wouldn’t approve either. They wanted him to marry a Japanese girl. Teddy, even though he was Italian, and Sicilian at that, would have better luck with Caroline.
Teddy had all the luck. Always. John was grateful that Teddy stuck to basketball and didn’t join the baseball team. At least there, John didn’t have to compete with his best friend like he felt he had to in everything else. Teddy had an ease with people. He was liked, respected. No one expected him to make himself smaller or move out of the way when he entered a room. Even though their fathers shared the same blue-collar work, Teddy fared much better out in the real world. He looked like the perfect All-American guy with his good looks, light skin, Caucasian features, and loads of confidence. John felt like he lived in Teddy’s shadow, and not by choice. Somehow he’d been placed there. And now it had been so long, he didn’t know how to get out.
Just last week they’d been walking past a couple of guys waiting at the bus stop. One of them said something under his breath. Jap. It wasn’t the first time John had heard the slur, nor would it be the last. It wasn’t that it didn’t bother John, but he knew that if he threw away his time and anger on every prejudiced person out there, all he would ever do is fight. But Teddy, Teddy stepped in and called the man out, walked up to him, got in his face. They were about to come to blows, but one of the others at the bus stop convinced his friend to back off. John had just stood there, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.
“Why’d you let him talk to you that way?” Teddy had asked when they were walking away.
John tried to unstick his mouth. How could he tell Teddy he’d been embarrassed by his friend’s actions? That all he did was draw more attention. What did that solve? It wasn’t going to change the man’s mind about Japanese people. John’s father taught him that violence was never the solution. Violence only guaranteed more violence. It took a stronger man to create peace. John could have pinned the guy if he would have taken a swing at him; he’d taken judo for years. But even the translation of judo—“the gentle way”—implied nonviolence. A keeping the peace. Not the first move in a conflict.
There were those at school whose prejudice leaked from time to time, spilling out through comments about his eyes or the food he brought for lunch—visible signs that he was different than them. There were other Japanese residents in town, had been for many years, but they were in the minority. And even more so now because not all the Japanese had moved back to their California homes after the camps were closed.
John knew he wasn’t fully American in the eyes of some. Those who equated “American” with a white European ancestry. For them, John would never be American enough no matter how he dressed, spoke, or prayed to their God.
But there were many who accepted him and his family just as they were. And for that, John was grateful. Teddy’s family was one.