Then one night as she was tucking him into his Army cot in their one-room barrack, Kiku looked up at her and abruptly announced, “I’ve had a really good time here, but now I’m ready to go home!” Chizu felt tears well up in her eyes. “Oh no,” she thought, “I knew this was going to happen eventually…now what do I tell him?”
“We can’t go home just yet,” she said gently while looking into his expectant eyes, hoping to soothe his anxieties.
“Why not?” he pressed. Chizu had to smile. Her boy was not one to be put off.
“Some people don’t think we’re Americans. They look at us and only see our Japanese faces,” she tried to explain.
“But I’m an American. I salute the flag every day in Miss Yamauchi’s class,” he declared proudly.
“Yes, I know,” she grinned at her little rascal and hugged him close. “I’m sure we’ll go home before too long,” she promised. “Now, go to bed and don’t worry. I love you!”
But when snow fell in Topaz, they were still there.
Kiku was a best friend to my husband and me for the last 30 years of his life. He shared so many memories, including those of Topaz. A post script on “Genga” his Christmas angel: his mother asked why she had dark hair instead of golden like so many pictures of angels. He explained to her that his angel was like all the girls that lived in Topaz, and therefore should have the same black straight hair. Ed never held a grudge against the US where he’d been born. He served a long career in the US Air Force, and retired as a Lt. Colonel. He and his parents were great Americans.
Thank you for sharing your memories of Kiku, Jane. It always enriches a story to learn something of the people in other aspects of their lives, outside of the Topaz experience.