Like most boys his age, Henry liked girls a lot more than he could bring himself to admit--or actually show to anyone, especially around other boys, who all tried to act cool, as if girls were some strange new species. So, while he did what came naturally, trying his best to show indifference, he was secretly elated to have a friendly face in the kitchen. "I'm Henry Lee. From South King Street."
The peculiar girl whispered, "I'm Keiko."
Henry wondered why he hadn't seen her around the neighborhood before; maybe her family had just come over. "What kind of name is Kay-Ko?"
There was a pause. Then the lunch bell rang. Doors were slamming down the hall.
She took her long black hair in equal handfuls and tied it with a ribbon. "Keiko Okabe," she said, tying on her apron and waiting for a reaction.
Henry was dumbfounded. She was Japanese. With her hair pulled back, he could see it clearly. And she looked embarrassed. What was she doing here?
The sum total of Henry's Japanese friends happened to be a number that rhymed with hero. His father wouldn't allow it. He was a Chinese nationalist and had been quite a firebrand in his day, according to Henry's mother. In his early teens, his father had played host to the famed revolutionary Dr. Sun Yat-sen when he visited Seattle to raise money to help the fledgling Kuomintang army fight the Manchus. First through war bonds, then he'd helped them open up an actual office. Imagine that, an office for the Chinese army,
right down the street. It was there that Henry's father kept busy raising thousands of dollars to fight the Japanese back home. His home, not mine, Henry thought. The attack on Pearl Harbor had been terrible and unexpected, sure, but it paled when compared with the bombings of Shanghai or the sacking of Nanjing-- according to his father anyway.
Henry, on the other hand, couldn't even find Nanjing on a map.
But he still didn't have a single Japanese friend, even though there were twice as many Japanese as Chinese kids his age, and they lived just a few streets over. Henry caught himself staring at Keiko, whose nervous eyes seemed to recognize his reaction.
"I'm American," she offered in defense.
He didn't know what to say, so he focused on the hordes of hungry kids who were coming. "We'd better get busy."
They took the lids off their steamer trays, recoiling at the smell, looking at each other in disgust. Inside was a brown, spaghetti-like mess. Keiko looked like she wanted to throw up. Henry, who was used to the putrid stench, didn't even flinch. He simply showed her how to dish it up with an old ice-cream scoop as freckled boys in crew cuts, even the younger ones, said, "Look, the Chink brought his girlfriend" and "More chop suey please!"
At the most they taunted, at the least they sneered and glared suspiciously. Henry kept silent, angry and embarrassed as always, but pretending he didn't understand. A lie he wished he believed--if only in self-defense. Keiko followed suit. For thirty minutes they stood side by side, occasionally looking at each other, smirking as they served up extra-large helpings of Mrs. Beatty's rat-scrabble slop to the boys who teased them the most, or the red-haired girl who pulled at the corners of her eyes and made a hideous bucktoothed face.
"Look, they don't even speak English!" she squealed.
He and Keiko smiled at each other until the last child was served and all the trays and pans were washed and put away. Then they ate their lunch, together, splitting a can of pears in the storage room.
Henry thought the pears tasted especially good that day.
The Walk Home
(1942)
A week after Keiko arrived, Henry had settled into a new routine. They'd have lunch together, then meet by the janitor's closet after school for the second part of their work duties. Side by side they'd clean the chalkboards, empty wastebaskets, and pound erasers behind the school on an old stump. It wasn't bad. Having Keiko around cut the work he'd previously been doing in half, and he enjoyed the company--even if she was Japanese. Besides, all the work after school gave the other kids plenty of time to get on their bikes or their buses and be on their way long before he stepped out onto the school yard.
That was how it was supposed to work.
But today as he held the door for Keiko when they left the building, Chaz was standing at the bottom of the steps. He must have missed his bus, Henry thought. Or maybe he'd sensed a murmur of happiness since Keiko had arrived. Just a glance, or a smile between them. Even if he is here to show me up, Henry thought, that's fine, as long as he doesn't hurt her.
He and Keiko walked down the steps and past Chaz, Henry on the inside, putting himself between her and the bully. As they descended, Henry became all too aware that his nemesis was a whole foot taller than either one of them.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Chaz should have been in a higher grade, but he'd been held back-- twice. Henry had long suspected he'd failed on purpose so he could continue to lord over his sixth-grade kingdom. Why give that up to be an eighth-grade nobody?
"I said, Where do you think you're going--Jap lover?"
Keiko was about to speak when Henry shot her a look, put his arm around her, and kept her walking.
Chaz stepped in front of them. "I know you understand every word I'm saying, I've seen you two talking after class."
"So?" Henry said.
"So." Chaz grabbed him by his collar and jerked him up to his chest, so close Henry could smell his lunch--onions and powdered milk, still ripe on his breath. "How about I make it so you can't talk anymore? How would you like that?"
"Stop it!" Keiko shouted. "Let him go!"
"Leave the kid alone, Charlie," Mrs. Beatty interrupted, walking down the steps, lighting a cigarette. Judging by her nonchalance, Henry figured she was used to Chaz's lapses in behavior.
"My name is Chaz."
"Well, Chaz honey, if you hurt that kid, you're going to be taking his place in the kitchen, you understand me?" She said it in a way that almost sounded like she cared.
Almost. The hard look on her face put just enough doubt in Chaz's mind. He let go, shoving Henry to the ground-- but not before ripping the button that read "I am Chinese"
off Henry's shirt, leaving a small tear. Chaz pinned it on his own collar and gave Henry a bucktoothed smile before finally wandering off, presumably to find other kids to rough up.
Keiko helped Henry up, handing him his books. When he turned to thank Mrs.
Beatty, she was well on her way. Not even a good-bye. Thanks anyway. Did she care about playground bullying, or was she just protecting her kitchen help? Henry couldn't tell. He dusted off the seat of his pants and wiped the thought from his mind.
After their week in the kitchen together, he hadn't thought he could actually feel any more frustration or embarrassment. What a surprise. But if Keiko thought less of him after their run-in with Chaz, it certainly didn't show. She even touched his hand, offering hers as they walked, but he ignored it. He wasn't really shy around girls. A Japanese girl, though, that was a red flag. Or a white flag with a big red sun on it, as it were. My father would fall over dead, he thought. And in town, someone would see us.