May 1942 - Settling In

Barrack 16 sat away from all the others, adding a little privacy but also more distance to any of the facilities. It was the only one with a raised walkway around it. There was a clump of trees off to one side and the grass between the building and the fence, no longer mowed, was quickly trampled as the children played on it. In one corner, another barrack was being built, squeezed in between the ones already there. There was a rumor that it might be a new mess hall, to take the pressure off the one near the grandstand and be closer to the people at the far end of the track compound. Other rumors said it would be a barrack to house people, just like the ones going up in the infield of the track. Soldiers patrolled the fence; young men who mostly didn't look old enough to be wearing a uniform and were often unsure why they were there. Some of them poked treats through the links for the children or talked to the girls bold enough to approach.

Kenshin proved to be a master scrounger in the first few days they were there. Somehow he came up with enough lumber and nails to build a short ramp for Tatsuya and the other little boys to access the urinal in the bathroom - and then nailed it to the floor so it wouldn't get carried away to another bathroom. He also built a lounge chair made of wooden slats for Masumi to sit on. It was tall enough that getting on and off it wasn't a problem for her, and sanded smooth so she wouldn't get any splinters. He set the slats of the lower back portion so that they curved to support her spine and the excess weight she carried, and it propped her feet up. Her ankles had begun to swell now that she was in the last month of the pregnancy and she was forced to do so much standing and walking. He'd move it to the small clump of trees in the morning, and she could sit while she sewed tiny clothes for the baby. He'd move it back to the base of the walkway near their stall in the evening. Many of the other women in the stable row often sat with her when they weren't waiting in line for something, doing their own hand work and gossiping. No one wanted to spend any more time than they had to in the stalls. With the growing warmth of the season, the smells were getting riper and more offensive.

The smallest children stayed closest to the group of mothers, carefully watched by all the women, and sharing – with greater or lesser grace – the toys available. The grade-school aged children mostly stayed within sight, but some would occasionally ask to visit friends in another barrack. Eventually, the asking stopped and they did as they pleased, relatively safe in the controlled environment. It wasn't long before most of the teenagers disappeared from parental control entirely, as they became more comfortable with their surroundings. The escalating breakdown in family structure was a frequent topic around the sewing circle, but no one had any effective ideas about how to stop it.

Masumi was happy her children stayed close. Tatsuya played with the other toddlers, sharing his ball easily, but not the carved wooden bear that Kenshin had given him on their third day at the track. It had been the half-carved figure he'd used to justify keeping his pocket knife, and he'd told Tatsuya all about grizzly bears when he'd gifted the boy with it. Since it was new, sharing was not an option to Tatsuya. Cho rarely mixed with the other children her age. She had renewed acquaintance with some of the girls she'd known in Japantown, but didn't seem inclined to play much with them. She would play with Tatsuya or sit next to Masumi's chair on one of the army blankets and practice sewing on scraps of cloth, but never had much to say and would simply shrug if someone suggested she play with the others.

The membership of the sewing circle fluctuated with whatever else needed doing, and several of the women, Yuki included, cheerfully added Masumi's laundry to their own, insisting that she shouldn't be waiting in line for a washtub to bend over in her condition. Tom had tried to do it, only to be badgered out of line and the laundry taken from him, as the women insisted that laundry was not a man's responsibility. Nonplussed, he had watched them slowly disappear into the laundry building, aware that the witnesses to the event were trying hard not to laugh out loud at him. He'd finally wandered away and gotten absorbed into a group of men determinedly building a garden in the center of the racetrack.

Everyone knew the relocation to the racetrack was temporary, but it didn't matter. There was nothing else to do and plenty of time, so the garden, complete with a pond, slowly began to take shape in an area not slated for more barracks. There were several dozen men involved, including Kisho and both his sons. The boys weren't entirely thrilled to be put to hard labor, but Kisho insisted it was good for them.

"Good for me, too," he confided to Kenshin, "Knowing those two aren't getting into trouble somewhere."

Kenshin was enjoying getting to know them, as well as doing the work at hand. He hated being idle and there was too much opportunity for that. Kisho was as quiet and steady as his wife was gossipy and volatile. He thought much and said little, and if something was worthwhile, he worked at it until it was achieved. His older son, Daisuke, was a lot like him, although at sixteen, he still had enough boy in him to be up to some pranks. Hiroki, two years younger and more like his mother, was short-tempered and opinionated and more inclined to disappear during the course of the day. Not everyone considered his disappearances a bad thing.

Those not participating in the actual construction would watch from the grandstand, one of the few places that had some protection from the wind off the ocean and didn't smell like horses. Several times, Kenshin got the odd sensation of being watched by another Immortal, but the man was hard to spot. There were so many people sitting in the stands or passing by that the man blended with the crowd.

As they left the mess hall on their first Saturday after their arrival, a runner from the front gate stopped to tell Masumi that a Mr. Swindon was waiting in the visitation room to see her. Since Cho begged to be allowed to come along, and it was the first animation she'd shown since arrival, Masumi gave her permission. Kenshin cheerfully offered to take Tatsuya off her hands and the two boys headed off to check out the mud hole that Kenshin and Kisho insisted would eventually be a garden.

Todd Swindon looked a little ill at ease waiting in the big room at the top of the grandstand that had been set aside for visits from the outside. Masumi couldn't tell if it was because of the situation or the fact that he appeared to be carrying a purse. As she got closer, she could see it was a bulging tote bag. He set it on the floor and bowed to her as she approached, and she laughed and held her hands out to him.

"No need to be so formal. I am so happy to see you,"

"Not really sure what the protocol is for meeting sensei's wife without him present," Todd said gruffly. "You're looking none the worse for wear. Is it as bad as it seems from here?"

"It's certainly not as good as home, but we're doing okay. Shikata ga nai, you know – it can't be helped. It is good of you to come."

"How are you doing, little lady?" Todd asked, giving Cho's shoulder a squeeze.

"Okay," she said. "I miss being home, and class, and Daddy."

"It's tough, isn't it?" He gestured towards the tote bag. "I brought you some letters from the students and staff, and the wife packed along some treats for you. We heard they weren't really prepared for you here. We've all written letters, too, to the mayor, governor, General DeWitt…even the President. Don't know if it'll do any good, but we don't know until we try."

"We appreciate that. Please thank everyone for us."

They talked for a little while longer, with Todd filling Cho in on what had been going on with the children's class since she'd left it, and letting Masumi know what was going on in the community and the broader war news. There was no way, so far, of learning what was going on outside the camp. Then he left, with promises of future visits.

On the way back, Masumi stopped to see what was available in the little hospital quarters. Like everywhere else, people were lined up waiting, mostly with colds or intestinal disorders brought on by the primitive conditions. She saw only a couple nurses, who seemed somewhat bored by the line of patients and the requisite paperwork, but even so, she didn't want to disrupt them and ask questions. The doctor wasn't in sight. At least the hospital was in a wing under the grandstand and cleaner than the stables.

She and Cho headed back towards their stall, carrying the tote bag between them. They had to stop several times to rest. Between the weight of the bag and the awkward way they had to carry it, it wasn't an easy trip and they were happy to finally approach the building, angling to go around one end.

When they turned the corner and started down the row towards their stall, Masumi stopped abruptly, forcing Cho to stop also. She smiled at the sight before her. Kenshin was stretched out on the lounge, which had been moved out of the shade of the building, Tatsuya cradled against his chest to keep from falling off. Both were sound asleep. A few feet away, a woman sat sketching the scene, absorbed in her work.

After cautioning Cho to be quiet, the two approached slowly. The artist noticed them anyway, smiling as she looked up.

"I hope you don't mind," she said. "Your husband and son looked so cute together, I had to try to capture that. I'm Miné Okubo, your neighbor in stall 45."

"Oh, I don't mind," Masumi said, a little embarrassed. "I am Masumi Himura, this is Cho, and that little noise-maker is Tatsuya. My husband, Sasuke, is in a camp in Montana. This is his half-brother, actually, Tom Niitsu." She hated the lie about the relationship, but it was simpler and more socially acceptable than the truth.

"Really? Well, the family resemblance is really strong. Neither your husband or his brother will ever be able to deny that child is part of the family." She grinned. "Even if they might want to." It hadn't taken long for Tatsuya's two-year-old temper to become almost legendary.

Masumi winced, both embarrassed and intrigued by the woman's comments. "We're really sorry about that. It's bad enough being two, but it's worse when your whole world falls apart."

"Oh, I sympathize with him. In fact, I wish I could just pitch a temper tantrum every now and then, but I'm afraid at my age, it doesn't go over so well." She turned the sketch book so they could see it, since Cho was craning her neck to get a look at it. The drawing appeared complete; a nicely shaded work in pencil that showed none of the barracks or fences or guard towers. The setting could have been anywhere, since it was focused on the chair and its occupants. Whether she'd intended to add anything else, Masumi didn't know.

"Do you draw?" Miné asked Cho. "We're going to start an art school here. Professor Obata is organizing it."

"A little. Not that good. Do you think I could draw like that if I took classes at the school?" Cho asked hesitantly, touching the edge of the sketch pad. "My daddy can draw real good like that. I'd like to."

"With a lot of practice you could. When I was your age, I drew all the time. Taking classes helped me draw better." The artist, in her late twenties or early thirties, was kind and encouraging. Another thing Masumi liked was that she talked directly to Cho, instead of over her head to Masumi. Many adults tended to treat children as if they weren't there or weren't capable of rational thought, which annoyed Masumi. Certainly there was a time and a place for children to speak with adults, but they couldn't learn to do it properly if they were never given the opportunity. Miné was giving Cho the opportunity.

"Will you be there?"

"I'm going to be teaching, though I don't know what age group yet, or if it will be in pencil or ink or even painting. We're still getting it set up. And trying to find supplies."

While Cho and Miné chatted and looked at the other drawings in the woman's sketch pad, Masumi studied the two sleeping males. Despite the baby roundness of Tatsuya's face, Masumi began to pick out the things the artist had seen that she hadn't: the shape of eyes and brows, the angle of cheekbones, the line of the jaw, and the potential of a short, button nose to grow longer and straighter and maybe turn up slightly at the end. Sasuke's nose was like that too, wasn't it? It was almost six months since she'd seen him and she couldn't quite remember. And that thought almost made her cry.

"Mama, would I be able to take art lessons?" Cho asked. It was the first time she'd shown interest in anything in the camp.

"I don't see why not. You've always liked to draw."

"We'll put up notices at all the mess halls when we're ready to start."

"That's great. Thank you."

"Here, you should have this." Miné gently tore the sketch out of the pad.

"Oh, no, I couldn't. You worked so hard."

Miné smiled. "I insist. Send it to your husband, if you want. He must be lonely up there."

"That's a good idea; I think I will. Thank you."

Later, during dinner, she watched Kenshin's interaction with the children, but could discover no similarity with the way Sasuke acted. Kenshin was quieter, more guarded, and used different gestures. And trying to be subtle with him never worked; he always seemed to know. Catching her gaze, he lifted his eyebrows, silently inviting her to speak, but she just smiled and shook her head slightly. It must just all be her imagination.

That evening, she wrote to Sasuke:

Dear Husband,

I hope you are doing well. We are all fine here, avoiding most of the illness going on. That's a relief, as you know how cranky Tatsu-chan gets when he's sick, and his normal two-ness is quite enough to deal with right now. I am dealing with swelling ankles, but you know what it's like this close to the end – we've done this before. Tom has constructed a rather clever chair to help keep my feet up and Yuki and the other ladies are handling laundry, which is the worst chore. So mostly I just sit around with my feet propped up and making baby clothes until I have to get up and stand in line for something.

There is talk of an art school starting, and I hope they get it going soon. It is the only thing Cho seems interested in and she spends a lot of time moping around. Tom tried to get her to join him in a father-daughter baseball team, but you can imagine how well that went over. He only made the first mention of it tonight at dinner, and I suspect she hasn't heard the last of it from him.

We got a visit from Todd Swindon today, and that perked her up a bit. All the kids sent her letters. Some of your adult students sent me letters, too, to let me know they are petitioning the government for your release and giving me encouragement. They are the best people! They also sent fruit and cookies, which we are sharing with some of the neighbors. We all share things here, and it turns into a little party every time someone gets something from outside.

I am enclosing a picture one of our neighbors drew. She is quite talented, as you can see, and she caught "the boys" at a perfect moment. Tom was embarrassed when I showed it to him later. Those two get on pretty well together. Tom carved Tatsu-chan a bear out of wood and now Tatsu-chan pesters him for more bear stories – and I'm sure most of them are made-up, although he says some are Indian legends. He's a good story-teller - you remember. He even gets Cho interested, though she pretends not to be listening. I'm not sure why. And he draws in the other neighboring children, too, rather like a child-magnet. They all gather around him in the evening and he tells stories before bedtime.

Well, I should go, as I've rattled on for a while and I really need to turn the light off. It's getting late and there aren't too many still on. Tom would probably like to go to bed and I am sitting in the front room of the stall while I do this. He is on the walkway outside, whittling again now that all the children have gone to bed. It will probably be a new animal. Tatsuya is asleep on the cot next to me – the boys have the front room – but a little light doesn't bother him when he finally gives in to sleep, as you know. Please remember that we love you and miss you and are waiting impatiently until we see you again.

Your loving wife, Masumi

Before she sealed the envelope, she folded up the picture, a note from Cho, and some scribbles from Tatsuya and sent them all along to him.

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They'd gotten into the dinner line near Yuki and her family and had found room to sit down and eat together, although everyone had to be conservative with their elbows. They had stopped the ritual of itadakimatsu shortly after coming to Tanforan. There was no one to thank, and it was hard to be thankful for the food. The quality was still generally poor, the quantity depended on one's timing in reaching the counter, and the menu items rarely what any of them would have willfully chosen. Kenshin kept alive the tradition of asking what was beautiful and what they could be thankful for, and they included the Fukuzaki family whenever they sat near them. This time, when it was Kenshin's turn to name something to be thankful for, he smiled and responded:

"Being part of a family. If I hadn't found you, I'd have been stuck in bachelor quarters with three hundred of my closest strangers."

The response elicited laughter down the table. The bachelors were in a partitioned portion of the main floor beneath the grandstand, but since the partitions didn't go all the way to the ceiling, they were visible from some of the upper level walkways. They dressed, undressed, slept, or otherwise whiled away their time in regimented rows of cots all under the public eye. It wasn't a situation to be envied.

"At least it would smell better," said Hiroki, sitting on Kenshin's right.

"Three hundred men all in the same room? I humbly beg to differ," Yuki said. "I only have to deal with three of you and it's bad enough."

"Especially not with you there, Bro'. You're worse than the horses," Daisuke retorted from across the table. The two boys had the back room of their stall. Kisho and Yuki had taken the front room in order to have more control of their comings and goings. They insisted the boys be in at a certain hour and that they eat dinner with the family, which was more control than many parents had over their teenagers. Both boys obeyed because it had only taken one incident of Yuki coming after them to reinforce the discipline.

"You need to shower more often," Daisuke continued.

"I don't like standing in line…"

"Hey, hey, not appropriate for the dinner table," Kisho broke in calmly. "Try to act a little civilized, okay? We haven't been here long enough for everyone here to think badly of us yet. Let's give them a little more time."

Kenshin had felt the other Immortal enter the building somewhere behind them. They hadn't met face-to-face yet. He sensed hesitation in the other's ki on the rare occasions they'd been near each other and he thought the other man was scoping him out, trying to figure out who and how strong he was before approaching. It rang warning bells in his head. If the other man had any intent to be friendly, he'd have approached openly. But surely, he wouldn't start anything in the crowded mess hall. Kenshin kept his senses open, but appeared relaxed and took part in the conversations crisscrossing the table as they discussed the new art school Mr. Obata was trying to organize, the baseball teams that were forming, and other things that were becoming daily life at Tanforan. He tried again to get Cho to agree to play baseball with him, and the older boys assisted in the cajolery since baseball was their passion, but Cho just shook her head mutely and picked at her stew. It was hard to track exactly where the man was in the press of bodies around and between the closely set tables. He was ready for something; he just wasn't sure what it would be when it hit.

Yuki's boys were discussing with increasing imagination, despite Kisho's admonishment, just what, exactly, the meat in the supposedly beef stew had been in a former life when Kenshin felt a congealed, lukewarm mass of it suddenly slide down his neck, accompanied by the clatter of a tin plate and cutlery hitting the floor and a sudden malicious spike from the ki he'd been trying to track. He hadn't realized it was so close behind him, which showed the man had some skill at masking it. Hiroki was already coming off the bench when Kenshin clamped a hand onto his shoulder and held him down under the pretext of turning to look.

"Oh, so very sorry. Someone bumped my elbow." The voice was accented and the apologetic tone so patently false that Kenshin figured the man needed to go to remedial sincerity lessons.

"No big deal; I needed to shower after dinner anyway," Kenshin said, keeping a grip on Hiroki, who looked ready to explode.

"I am Imao Hosokawa. Not the best way to meet, neh?" He smiled, showing crooked, slightly yellow teeth.

"Not really. I'm Tom Niitsu." He would have offered a hand to shake, just for appearances, but one was still occupied in keeping Hiroki in his seat and it was too awkward in this position to offer the other.

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kenshin asked levelly, aware of the people around them.

"Oh, I thought you were Himura."

"That's my half-brother's family." 'And you'd better leave them alone, you bastard,' he added mentally. 'I know what you're doing.'

"Ah. Well, nice to meet you. Sorry again." Hosokawa gave him a slight bow and a cheery wave, and pushed off through the crowd.

"That's a piece of work," Kisho muttered as Kenshin turned back to his companions.

"How could you let him get away with that?" Hiroki exploded as the pressure on his shoulder eased.

"Should I have started a fight, Hiroki?" Kenshin asked mildly. "Here in the middle of the mess hall, with all these people around? They would have gotten hurt."

"But it was rude, what he did. He did it on purpose!"

"Why would he do it on purpose?" Yuki asked reasonably, but her son wasn't listening.

"Perhaps," was Kenshin's reply to the boy. "Should I meet rudeness with violence? Should I hurt children and old people with my anger? Sometimes it's better not to be too fond of one's pride, especially when others can be hurt."

"So you let him dump all over you and let everyone see you shamed."

"Am I? Is it shameful to hold one's temper or to give the benefit of doubt or to protect those weaker than oneself? I have never thought so. Maybe some day you will learn that lesson, too." Kenshin shifted his gaze to the others at the table as he stood up. "If you will excuse me, I'm going to line up for a shower. The stew feels no better than it tastes."

As he left, he could hear Yuki give in to the temptation to discipline her son. He'd felt her temper building as the boy argued with him. But of the other Immortal, he felt nothing. He'd gone to some other part of the camp where neither Immortal awareness nor ki could find him.

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Several times in the next week, Masumi checked at the hospital building to see if she could get a room nearby, at least, if not a pass to go to a hospital in San Bruno or San Mateo to have the baby. Each time, the reply was the same: no one went to the hospital unless it were a life and death situation, and there were too many sick people in the track's infirmary to let a pregnant woman take up space until her baby came.

"I just can't believe they expect me to walk a quarter mile or more around that track while I'm in labor," she said wearily in Japanese to Yumi one morning as they enjoyed a cup of tea from Yumi's hot pot. They were sitting on the raised walkway around the stable on chairs Kisho had cobbled together out of lumber scrounged from the barrack building projects around them. Speaking in Japanese kept potentially delicate subjects from reaching childish ears. Tatsuya played on the dirt at the base of the walkway, a fat little netsuke-style deer that Tom had carved for him trundling happily through the weeds with the wooden bear as he pushed them along. Masumi didn't want to think of what else might be there in the dirt. It couldn't be worse than their stall, anyway. Cho sat on the edge of the walkway, her legs idly swinging over the side as she stitched together a couple squares of material. Masumi had decided that as long as she had an interest in sewing, Cho could learn to make a quilt like western pioneer girls did.

"It would certainly make the baby come faster," Yumi said. "Walking is good for that."

"I'd probably have it in the middle of the track. Maybe that's what they're hoping for, so I wouldn't need any time in a bed. Just pop it out halfway there, bring it the rest of the way for a check-up, and go back to my stall. Problem solved."

"The problem would be better solved if they'd let more of the midwives help," Yumi shrugged. "But they won't. Over a hundred qualified midwives in this camp and they only take help from one or two of them. Only American certified doctors and nurses allowed. Feh!" She split the rest of the tea in the pot between their two cups. "They need the help, but they won't allow it. Strange people."

"Good morning, Ladies," Kenshin said, coming up the walkway with his shower bag in his hand and a damp towel hung around his neck. His hair was still spiky with dampness and falling into his eyes, looking redder than usual.

"You were up early this morning," Masumi said in English, smiling.

"Yeah, you didn't have breakfast with us," Cho said, sounding a little hurt.

"Sorry about that. I thought I'd go for a run on the track and get some exercise, and then I had to wait for a shower. You wouldn't have had an appetite for breakfast if I hadn't showered."

"It's oatmeal," Yuki said, making a face. "Hard to work up an appetite for that."

"You're probably too late now, Tom."

"Oh, that's all right, Masumi. I'll just grab a handful of nuts and I think we still have an apple or two left from those that Mr. Swindon brought. I'll be fine." Kenshin spread the towel over the walkway rail to dry and ducked into their stall, emerging a few minutes later with an apple in one hand and trickling nuts into his mouth out of the other.

"Hey," he said, swallowing and nudging Cho with his toe. "The notices about the art school are up. We can go over and register you for something." He turned to Masumi. "It's twenty-five cents for children and fifty for adults. That's pretty reasonable. I can walk over with her."

"Let me get you the quarter, then," Masumi said, setting down her cup and preparing to get up.

"No, don't get up. I'll handle it. You can pay me back later if you want. You know, you should be sitting on the lounge with your feet up."

"Yes, I know, but it's too far from the hot pot and tea is a necessity."

"Excuses, excuses. Come on, Cho. Set that in the stall and let's go."

"Um, I don't want to anymore." Cho was looking determinedly at her needle, as if setting each stitch perfectly was the only thing that mattered.

"Why not?" Masumi asked, surprised. "You were excited about it when Miss Okubo told us about it."

Cho shrugged. "I just don't want to," she said lamely.

Kenshin looked at her for a long moment, head tipped to one side, considering as he bit into his apple. He chewed, swallowed, and said, "Well I'm going to go without you, then."

"You're going to sign up for art class?" Cho asked, finally looking up.

"You bet. I've never had too much chance for formal lessons, although I don't do so bad when it comes to sketching garden plans, and those ink drawings in my living room didn't turn out too bad. Still, there's always room to learn, and I can't grub in the mud every day. We've got so many men working on that garden in the infield now that we're getting in each other's way. We're going to have to make it bigger."

"You did the ink painting on your fireplace? That was really good." Cho looked impressed.

"No, I didn't do that one; one of my teachers did. I did the little ones on the other wall, using a pen, not a brush."

Cho looked at him blankly, obviously not remembering.

"They were above the sword. You probably didn't notice them since you were riveted by it." He tugged teasingly on her ponytail. "So, I'm going to go see if I can learn something else. Or something better."

"Like drawing with a pencil?"

"Maybe." He looked at the apple core in his hand. "Too bad we don't still have horses around. I'll have to find a garbage can. There's probably one on the way. Well, ta-ta, ladies, I'll be back in a bit." He started down the walkway.

"Wait!" Cho exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "I'll come with you. Mama, can I go with him and sign up for a class?"

"Of course you can. I was hoping you would."

"Wait, Uncle Tom!" She ran into their stall to put her sewing away while the adults shared conspiratorial smiles.

"Ready?" he asked as she dashed out again clattered down the walkway to where he was waiting at the end.

"Yep!"

"All right, then, let's go."

She grabbed his free hand and he waved the apple core at Masumi and Yuki as they set off.

Yuki shook her head. "He can make her do anything, can't he?"

"Pretty close. If he wasn't such a good man, I'd worry, but I don't worry about him with these two. Aside from the occasional spitting hand shake, that is, which is disgusting but not harmful. He treats them like they're his own. And I am very lucky to have him help out through this whole thing, with Sasuke away. I don't know how I would have done it."

"It's good of him to help out when you haven't known him long. He seems like a fine man, although Kisho says he dyes his hair. I guess the men would know, with the way the showers are set up," Yuki said with a wink. "And he has a lot of scars. Of course no one will ask."

"Sasuke said Tom told him he got into a lot of fights as a teenager. That would explain the scars, maybe."

"It would explain the dye, too. Kisho says his hair is much brighter red. That would be reason enough to be picked on and have to fight. Well, he kept Hiroki out of one the other night and talked some sense to him, so maybe he has learned his lesson. And if he can pass any of it on to my younger son, I will be grateful."

"It must have been difficult to grow up with a mixed heritage, especially in America where you get such a mixed message about it. On the one hand America is a melting pot and it should be okay but on the other, there is much segregation and racism. How can a child like that know where they belong? I am happy that he has somehow worked it out and is comfortable with himself."

"But…if he is mixed heritage and his father was Niitsu and his mother went back to Japan to remarry like you said, where does the mix come in?" Yuki asked, brow crinkled as she tried to puzzle it out.

"Umm, grandmother, I think," Masumi said, thinking quickly. "I don't know for sure. All I know is what Sasuke told me and I think that's what it was."

"Well, he's certainly got the best of the mix, hasn't he?" Yuki said, and laughed. "Looks and a steady personality. He'll have the single girls flocking around him in no time. We'll have to pick a good one for him."

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Author Notes:

Miné Okubo and Chiura Obata were real people.

Chiura. Obata was born and trained as a painter in Japan, immigrating to the US to become acquainted with a wider world than what he found in his native country. He called the environment "this great nature" and his reverence for it and connection with it shows in his art. A trip to Yosemite in 1927 produced great inspiration and an incredible body of work. He returned to Japan shortly afterwards to work on a wood block print project that lasted almost a decade. Then he returned to the US and became a professor of art at UC-Berkeley. Shortly after he and his wife Haruko were interned in 1942, he devised the art school as a way to give people something to do. His art schools at Tanforan and Topaz lasted as long as the camps did – even after he left - and offered classes to 600 students in 17 fields.

Miné Okubo had earned her Master's degree in fine art and was traveling in Europe on a scholarship when WWII broke out. All her friends encouraged her to go home to America where she "would be safe". Between that and her mother's poor health, she decided to cut the scholarship tour short and come home. Hers was the last boat out of Bordeaux. Her mother passed away shortly after she got home, and she moved away from the rest of the family to join a younger brother in Berkeley. They had to fight to stay together as a family (with family quarters) instead of being considered two bachelors in community quarters during the relocation. Her book, Citizen 13660, details in pictures and spare, elegant words what life in camp was like. She stayed two years, documenting it all. Whether she is a relation to Lord Okubo, who is assassinated under Shishio's order in the Rurouni Kenshin series, I do not know. He was a real person, too, whom Watsuki-sensei incorporated to add realism to his work. Wouldn't that be a heck of a tie-in for this author!

On a different note, can anyone out there tell me what it means then a document goes into negative numbers under the "Life" column? I have several that have, but they're still available to be read and there's no explanation that I can find for what that's all about. Information from more knowledgeable minds is sought. Thanks!

twp