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Authors: Deborah Radwan
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Afterward, Rudy wiped the sweat with his shirttail while Yoshito bid him to sit for a while on a nearby stone and cool down. Instead of joining him, Yoshito grabbed an unusually heavy-looking rake and began raking the stones. Rudy wondered what was going on. Watching Yoshito drag the rake this way and that, he noticed that patterns began to slowly emerge—wavy and winding ridges and furrows gave the illusion of movement, of water. It was art like Rudy had never seen before. He sat mesmerized while Yoshito created a river of stone. It too was headed toward the water basin at the front of the yard. Here and there, Yoshito would stop and pull a wide comb out of his pocket and expertly drag the comb in a circle creating water droplets in the middle of the waves as if this river were caught in a rain shower.
Rudy sat there silently, watching the master move his rake back and forth, and when it was done, Rudy remarked, “It’s unbelievable.” He could not believe what had been created from small pebbles.
Yoshito smiled and said, “Yes, it is profound that even a seemingly dull, small pebble is really something beautiful by nature.” Yoshito put down the rake and joined Rudy in the shade on a nearby rock. “What do you see, Rudy?”
“I see a river heading toward your back door, and it’s raining.”
“You are a smart boy. How does it make you feel?”
“Relaxed… happy… cool.”
“Me, too. In this chaotic world, we must always look for ways to find peace inside.” For a minute, Yoshito seemed to be gathering his thoughts, looking across time and space.
“I promised you a story.”
Rudy nodded.
“I do not tell many people this story. It is not of a very happy time for me. But in other ways, it is very dear. I tell you because I trust you, Rudy. I think you are a good boy who will grow up to be a fine man. I think of you as a friend.”
Rudy was so touched by this. A friend. He hadn’t thought of these men as friends, but if truth be known, he had come to like them despite their age and oddities. He liked being thought of as a friend—Yoshito’s friend. Rudy remembered thinking of Yoshito as “the jap” and now regretted thinking of him in such a disrespectful way. This summer hadn’t been so bad after all. He had learned so much and found himself changing. He saw things, people differently.
Rudy looking embarrassed, but wanting Yoshito to know he was sincere, said, “I like you too—you, Frederick, and Jacob.”
“Never underestimate the power of friendship, Rudy. Aristotle once said that, ‘Without friends, no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.’ I think he was right. And so now I will confide my story to you, my friend.”
Rudy nodded to Yoshito who seemed to see something far and away out in a distance.
Chapter 9
“Do you remember hearing in your history class about Pearl Harbor being bombed during World War II? It happened on December 7, 1941. It must seem like a long time ago to you, long before you were born. But I was ten years old on that day. My family lived in Salinas, California. We were farmers. My father and mother were Issei , born in Japan and came to America as young children. I had an older brother who was twelve and a little sister who was seven. My first ten years were very happy. I did not know then about the anti-Japanese sentiment that had sprung up in the first forty years of the twentieth century, especially in California where 90 percent of Japanese immigrants settled. I did not understand that the world was poised to hate us after December 7. My father and mother were longtime residents, and my brother, sister, and I were born here, were citizens. People only saw the shape of our eyes, heard our name, and wanted to believe we were part of the conspiracy against this, our country. Some people called us a ‘dangerous element.’”
Yoshito shook his head, still in disbelief that people could feel that way.
“Like Frederick’s
Rudy sat there silently, watching the master move his rake back and forth, and when it was done, Rudy remarked, “It’s unbelievable.” He could not believe what had been created from small pebbles.
Yoshito smiled and said, “Yes, it is profound that even a seemingly dull, small pebble is really something beautiful by nature.” Yoshito put down the rake and joined Rudy in the shade on a nearby rock. “What do you see, Rudy?”
“I see a river heading toward your back door, and it’s raining.”
“You are a smart boy. How does it make you feel?”
“Relaxed… happy… cool.”
“Me, too. In this chaotic world, we must always look for ways to find peace inside.” For a minute, Yoshito seemed to be gathering his thoughts, looking across time and space.
“I promised you a story.”
Rudy nodded.
“I do not tell many people this story. It is not of a very happy time for me. But in other ways, it is very dear. I tell you because I trust you, Rudy. I think you are a good boy who will grow up to be a fine man. I think of you as a friend.”
Rudy was so touched by this. A friend. He hadn’t thought of these men as friends, but if truth be known, he had come to like them despite their age and oddities. He liked being thought of as a friend—Yoshito’s friend. Rudy remembered thinking of Yoshito as “the jap” and now regretted thinking of him in such a disrespectful way. This summer hadn’t been so bad after all. He had learned so much and found himself changing. He saw things, people differently.
Rudy looking embarrassed, but wanting Yoshito to know he was sincere, said, “I like you too—you, Frederick, and Jacob.”
“Never underestimate the power of friendship, Rudy. Aristotle once said that, ‘Without friends, no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.’ I think he was right. And so now I will confide my story to you, my friend.”
Rudy nodded to Yoshito who seemed to see something far and away out in a distance.
Chapter 9
“Do you remember hearing in your history class about Pearl Harbor being bombed during World War II? It happened on December 7, 1941. It must seem like a long time ago to you, long before you were born. But I was ten years old on that day. My family lived in Salinas, California. We were farmers. My father and mother were Issei , born in Japan and came to America as young children. I had an older brother who was twelve and a little sister who was seven. My first ten years were very happy. I did not know then about the anti-Japanese sentiment that had sprung up in the first forty years of the twentieth century, especially in California where 90 percent of Japanese immigrants settled. I did not understand that the world was poised to hate us after December 7. My father and mother were longtime residents, and my brother, sister, and I were born here, were citizens. People only saw the shape of our eyes, heard our name, and wanted to believe we were part of the conspiracy against this, our country. Some people called us a ‘dangerous element.’”
Yoshito shook his head, still in disbelief that people could feel that way.
“Like Frederick’s
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