Chapter 1
Chapter One: Paternal Pedigree
Yuji Kinoshita 1918 San Francisco
I met Joseph on a windy afternoon in March. The most important day of my life.
It didn’t start out that way. I only just turned fifteen. Still a child, really. He was only ten. So young. He was an infant.
I knew him vaguely from school. A new kid. An immigrant from Italy, he didn’t speak any English. The other kids outright bullied him or ignored him, since he was so small and afraid. Kids are just animals, aren’t they? Smelling weakness from miles away and exploiting it whenever and however they could.
I knew from experience. Being Japanese in a mostly white school in North Beach, one of maybe ten in my school of four hundred. The Oriental school closed about eight years ago, but some families in our neighborhood still seemed shocked to realize their darling lads and lasses would sit next to Japanese kids from kindergarten to grade seven. Chinese and Korean kids were out of luck. Or maybe, maybe they were better off, having their own schools. They didn’t have friends in high places like we did, and the white schools were way nicer, but those schools didn’t come with the constant harassment mine did.
Anyways, this boy was kneeling in the grass at the park three of four blocks from school, blonde hair blowing in his face. Not someone I’d normally pay attention to.
I was almost ready to graduate, my parents and aunts and uncles already hunting high and low, looking for the best job I could get. I thought about attending high school, which seemed okay too. Higher learning meant a better paying job. Even a stupid kid like me knew that.
I wandered over when I saw what he was messing with. A kite. Seemed strange to see a white kid messing with a kite, a toy my Ojisan taught me to make and fly first when I was five.
“That’s wrong,” I said, toeing the kite with my shoe.
“Huh?”
I thought it likely he wasn’t all that intelligent. He was, but I just didn’t know it at the time.
I knelt down next to him, putting down my satchel. “What’s your name, kiddo?”
He blinked, and I felt bad. I’d forgotten he didn’t really know English.
I pointed to myself. “Me Yuji.” Pointed to my chest emphatically. “Yuji.” Then tapped his chest. “What’s your name?”
Understanding dawned.
“Joseph,” he said, sharing his name with me, with an accent that sounded…it sounded…
Looking back, that was the moment I was caught. When I found myself thinking about that boy in a way I wasn’t supposed to.
His voice, so beautiful. So soft and quiet. He reminded me of a bunny, they were everywhere here even in the big city. Soft blonde hair like downy fur. Huge trusting blue eyes.
“Help me?”
I guess he knew a little English after all.
We spent the afternoon together, fixing his kite, flying it. Laughing, trying to communicate, me teaching him English. He had a book in his own school bag, a thick journal where he’d pasted newspaper clippings of the Wright Brothers. Seemed like we had that in common. I loved hearing about those amazing men who’d figured out how to build flying machines.
We were inseparable after that. Sitting together during school breaks. Joseph lived in the building a few blocks from mine, so we walked to school together, ignoring the mean spirited looks from his family. Mine was more tolerant and we spent afternoons at my place, looking at books or just talking as Joseph steadily learned English. My ma would save and buy us a box of cracker jacks, which we ate one carmelly crunchy kernel at a time.
Or we’d roam the city, looking into big city windows, combing through the remains of the World’s Fair, or in the huge field, flying a succession of kites. Fishing off the wharf. Listening to everyone talk around us about the war across the world, so far away and unreal. Being best friends, despite the fact that he was five years younger than me. Despite the fact that he still only spoke a little English, a newcomer to California, and I was a tried and true American, no matter what I looked like or how different my name seemed to the other kids at school. My grandparents came here over sixty years ago. Our family had probably been here longer than most of them.
I felt better with Joseph, than I’d had with any of my friends before. We just…we just…clicked.
===
Edward Pomroy 1922 Lincoln, Nebraska
I covered my lips with my handkerchief. This place was dusty, dirty and sure to be overrun with vermin.
“Stay here, Edward. I’ll be back momentarily.” My father ordered, which was fine by me. I had absolutely no desire to move from the bench where I sat, in the lobby of a fairly dilapidated hotel next to the train station. .
I tried to close my eyes but the banging of construction surrounding me was incessant and unavoidable. Never in my life would I have dreamed I’d find myself in such a place, but this was where our train broke down unfortunately and we were forced to remain here until it was repaired.
“Watch it, kid!” A loud cry shook me from my reverie.
And my immediate field of vision was filled with the form of a man’s chest, as he grabbed me unceremoniously and dragged me five feet, both of us crashing to the floor that was covered by a rather ratty green rug of dubious cleanliness.
From the cradle of his arms, I saw that where I sat seconds before, a large sandbag, bigger than myself, punched through the bench. A mishap from the balcony above me apparently undergoing remodeling of some sort, the source of the noise.
“You okay?”
“Thank you,” I said as civilly as one can, laying on the floor in another man’s arms, just shy from avoiding certain death.
“You are definitely welcome.” He sounded almost as disturbed as me. “I thought you were for sure a goner.”
“I’m…I’m in one piece, I believe.” I sat up gingerly and looked at my savior.
And found myself staring uncomfortably before averting my eyes.
He couldn’t be more than twenty to my fourteen. Tall, dark yellow hair, brown eyes. Rugged. A little dirty, true, but somehow..somehow it didn’t bother me. His long sleeves folded up to his just below his elbows, exposing muscled forearms. A barely there stubble of beard and mustache. Aged, bib overalls that could not conceal a broad chest that narrowed down into a strong waist, and long lean legs.
I swallowed convulsively, wiping my mouth. Blinking rapidly.
My eyes widening enormously when he leaned over and brushed tears I didn’t realize were there off my cheeks with his thumb.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. Don’t worry kid. You’re okay,” he murmured, patting my knee, then helping me to stand up. “What’s your name? You from the train? Got your folks around here?”
I cleared my throat, and breathed in before answering. “Yes, from the train. My name is Edward.”
“I’m Charles. I guess we’re linked forever now, Edward. You and me.”
“What?” I hardly knew what to say when he put his arm around me, patting me campionably on my shoulder.
“You ever hear that before? I saved your life, so somewhere down the line, you’ll save mine, or something. Or something like, I’m responsible for you now, forever, in this life and the next.”
“No. No I never heard that…but…I…that’s…I’m sorry?” Again, not sure what to say, tongue tied in such an absurd way, standing so close to this creature that I couldn’t stop staring at.
“Edward. For heaven’s sake, what in the world is going on here?”
My father learned of what happened, from some hotel employee, and rushed to see to my safety. He was a stern and cold man, but still, I appreciated that he’d run when he’d learned I almost died. It was surprising, but quite nice, actually. To know he cared.
“This is Charles, Father. He…” I gestured to the sandbag and the broken bench. “He.. saved me.”
I never thought I’d see my father’s face that ashen gray. He hugged me, strangely, a gesture we’d rarely shared, before he turned to Charles.
“Young man, please, if you’re free, please do join us for dinner. As one measure of my thanks. I’ve arranged a room here, and they will be bringing a meal there in just under three quarters of an hour. Are you free?”
It seemed he was.
=
I tried not to listen. But it was difficult. Despite how old and run down this place seemed to me, it was fully equipped with modern in door plumbing and even featured a shower device, as we had in our home back in California. I hadn’t realized such a place in the middle of the country, basically the middle of nowhere, would have such a sophisticated device.
Which was currently employed by an assuredly naked Charles, washing up before dinner. He was… probably unused to it, as he was in the bathing room for far longer than I would have deemed possible. I could… hear him… splashing and…the sound of his .. hands on his flesh. Cleaning himself. Using soap on his… bare arms, and legs, and chest and….
Perhaps it would be best if I leave the change of clothes here, on the floor near the door and…
Then, it was too late.
He stepped into the room, a towel around his waist, his only covering. Another in his hand. Giving me time to burn the image of him into my brain, as I passed him the new clothes we’d had brought to the room. A serviceable pair of pants and shirt. Nothing too fancy. Something he could use again.
“Thank you, Edward.” Sitting on the bed, and toweling his hair. Long wet strands darkly golden, dripping down, moisture flowing past his chin to wet his neck and chest.
“You’re welcome,” I croaked. Then I decided I needed to leave and quite quickly. Something strange was happening to my body, and I needed to conceal it before Charles realized the perverse effect he was having on me. “Dinner is ready. Come and join us in the other room, when you’re dressed, of course.”
And I fled, trying not to trip on my own feet.
The rest of the evening went as well as could be expected. Charles was a good guest and my father a fine host. We ate cold chicken, roast potatoes, and buttered peas. We learned my hero was a foreman at the nearby sugar beet processing factory. A surprising title for someone so young, but there was a dearth of able bodied men returning from the war. Leaving positions open for the small population of boys too young for enlistment, but who came of age just as the battles ended.
I could tell my father was impressed. As was I. Unlike other men of his station, he seemed well mannered and intelligent. Respectful at all times, without being servile, a disgusting manner we’d observed all too often on this journey.
Through the meal we shared, or rather, my father shared a little about our lumber company in Crescent City, California; I was too busy trying to eat without choking as I watched Charles’ Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed copious amounts of water. He seemed rather taken with the idea of our life along the coast, amidst the soaring redwoods.
“If you ever decide to leave Nebraska, and come out west, I promise you good employment. Write down your address and leave it, if you would please, and accept mine. Please let me know if there’s anything I can ever do for you. You saved my son’s life. I will not forget it.”
My father ended the meal and shook Charles’ hand, before retiring to the other room.
I walked him down the stairs and to the lobby, strangely quiet. The construction of course stopped for the evening, but I would have imagined the lobby would still hold some life. But no. It was silent and deserted.
We stood a little awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what I should say, how to let Charles know that I was grateful for his help, and … that I…I don’t…that…
“Thank you, Edward, for such a nice night. Food here isn’t so bad, is it?” I could tell he was attempting a conversation which was kind, seeing me so tongue tied.
“It wasn’t horrible,” I conceded, although it was not quite to my liking, the chicken rather dry and the peas terribly overcooked.
He nodded, and looked around the lobby. “Well, then, I guess I’ll say good night. Safe journey back to California.” A nice pat on my shoulder, but I couldn’t leave it at that. What should I say??
“Don’t forget, we’re connected. You said it. You saved me. We’ll meet again.” I smiled, hoping I didn’t look a fool since my heart was hammering in my chest.
“I hope so, Edward.” He leaned over and mussed up my hair, and I chuckled half heartedly, for once completely unconcerned about my appearance, only feeling the warmth of his hand on my skull.
And then he was gone.
I slowly went upstairs, dragging my feet, feeling strangely, bereft.
Until I realized he’d left behind his work clothes.
Later the next day, when our train pulled away from the station, leaving Nebraska and Charles behind, I comforted myself with the knowledge that his shirt was carefully folded and hidden in my luggage.
