Butterfly's Shadow - Lee Langley [71]
Once again she was losing the sense of it.
‘A number for what?’
‘For transportation. When he reports, he’ll be registered, numbered and tagged—’
‘Tagged?’
‘He’ll need a shipping label.’
‘What is he – a parcel? What d’you mean, shipping label? Where’s he supposed to be going?’
‘Ma’am, he’ll be put on board the bus or train to one of the temporary detention stations . . .’ He paused, adjusting his words. ‘To a residential centre, I should say.’
Nancy felt a freezing in her blood; her brain seemed out of reach, she found it impossible to bring appropriate logic to bear on the situation.
She stammered, ‘Joey can’t go, he has a college field trip coming up.’
The man handed her a flimsy leaflet. ‘Not any more, he don’t. Here’s where he has to go. Like the rest of the Japs.’
He added, ‘You could say he’s already broken the law, not registering like he should.’
Nancy, puzzled, said, ‘So you don’t go knocking on everyone’s door, to check. How did you know there was a – resident alien here?’
‘A neighbour gave us the information.’
He looked up and saw her face. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’
She closed the door and went slowly back into the sitting room, holding the leaflet, carefully, as if it were a dangerous object, which of course she realised it was.
Her father was in his chair at the kitchen table. He had an open atlas before him while he waited for his breakfast, though his eyesight prevented him from doing much more than poring over the pages with a magnifying glass, searching for a crescent-shaped scattering of islands in the Pacific Ocean.
‘Nancy? Was that someone at the door?’
She saw how frail he looked. She and her parents had swapped roles in this bitter comedy they were living through: it seemed she was now the guardian and source of reassurance.
She said briskly, ‘There’s obviously been some administrative mistake. It seems Joey is expected to register as a –’ Pause. ‘A resident alien.’
She made no mention of transportation or detention camps. Still, he looked concerned.
‘I could make some calls for you, try and find out more.’
‘It’s okay, dad, I’ll talk to Harry in the office; we’ll sort it out.’
She tapped the leaflet with her unpainted nails. ‘This can’t be right.’
In the office she debated how to handle the subject. She had never deliberately concealed Joey’s background; it had simply not come up. So now she kept things impersonal; took soundings. They were all good, hard-working Democrats, concerned with liberty and justice, surely this went against all they stood for? Where did this idea come from anyway? Finally she raised it with her boss.
‘Harry? This . . . Executive Order – 9066. It can’t be legal, surely?’
He was brisk. ‘Entirely. What it really means is that anyone considered to constitute a danger must vacate their home –’
‘So – what, some kid with maybe a Japanese mother is dangerous?’
‘After Pearl Harbor anyone with Japanese connections is considered a threat – a possible spy. I was talking to a guy in the San Francisco office yesterday; he’s on the board of governors of a Catholic orphanage. The Father who runs the place called up the State Department, got through to some guy in Relocation and told him they have children of Japanese ancestry, some half Japanese, others one-fourth or less. So he says to this Major Bendetsen, sarcastically, “which children should I send?” And the guy says “Any that have one drop of Japanese blood in ’em.” I guess this will affect around a hundred thousand people.’
Nancy stared at him. ‘Who signed this thing, this order? Who the hell approved this document that’s putting innocent people in prison?’
‘Well, the President, of course.’
‘Roosevelt?’
‘Strictly between you and me,’ he said, ‘I hear the White House is panic-stricken, Eleanor’s in a rage about the whole thing but they’re stuck with it. Security. Safety of the Nation.’
He became aware of her distress. ‘Nancy? What is it?’
‘My son –’ Her voice had gone dangerously high. She stopped. For the first time she was not at ease here, not safe; a line had been