This Light Between Us: A Novel of World War II
It isn’t until the third and last sergeant speaks that things change. Everyone noticed this sergeant almost as soon as he’d stepped into the mess hall.
His name is Ben Kuroki. A chiseled, handsome Japanese American with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a steady, no-nonsense gaze. Intelligent eyes. Unlike the other three, he doesn’t speak loudly. He doesn’t ingratiate. His voice is soft, not with timidity but with an easy confidence. Like he doesn’t have anything left to prove. He tells them he is from Hershey, a small town in Nebraska, and that he grew up on a farm. He doesn’t make any cheesy jokes about being a farm boy. He tells them Pearl Harbor was the worst day of his life, that he vomited three times that day and punched a hole in his bedroom wall.
Everyone leans forward to hear more, Alex included. Arms unfold.
He tells them shortly after Pearl Harbor, he ran to the recruitment center to enlist. He was rejected. He went to another recruitment center. This time, he got in.
“How?” someone shouts from the back. “Japanese Americans weren’t allowed to enlist.”
Sergeant Kuroki turns his eyes slowly toward the back of the hall like he has all the time in the world. Even though there’re hundreds inside, his eyes lock in on the person who spoke.
“Two reasons,” he says, his voice as quiet and authoritative as before. But now with an uptick of humor. “One: I had a greedy recruiter. He got two bucks for each soldier recruited. He didn’t care that I was Japanese American.”
Laughter.
“Two: he wrote me down as Polish. He said ‘Kuroki’ sounded Polish enough. And it worked.”
More laughter, louder.
“And that’s how I got processed. How I got to fight in Europe. How I became an aerial gunner.”
“You fought in the skies?” someone asks.
“And then some. I was a dorsal turret gunner on a B-24 Liberator. Which means I sat in a glass bubble on the underside of the plane. Completely visible, completely vulnerable. And in that confined space, in that glass eye, I saw the world. I shot down Nazis.”
The audience is hushed with awe.
“That was one of the most dangerous assignments. It was no desk job. And I flew over thirty combat missions.” He grins, the first time a smile cracks his lips. “And the only reason why I’m here talking to you chumps and not flying the skies over Europe is because on my last mission I got hit by Nazi flak. Trust me on this one, I’d rather be shooting down Nazi planes than looking at your ugly mugs.”
More laughter.
“It’s the best job in the world, let me tell you. With the best of company. Because those soldiers in the plane with you? They’re more than just soldiers. More than just friends. They’re your brothers. When you fight in tight quarters, their lives in your hands, your life in theirs—you become family. You learn that sweat and blood and tears are the same color, no matter where you’re from. Our left waist gunner was Irish, our bombardier German, our tunnel gunner Jewish. And I’m Japanese. But you know what? No one cared. When you’re under fire, no one cares about the color of skin. You’re all American. You’re fighting for each other. You’re fighting for your country. And you realize, man, there ain’t no other place you want to be.”
The room is quiet and full of beating hearts.
Kuroki scans the crowd, slowly taking in each face. “I got into the army and flew the skies and killed Nazis because of a greedy recruiter and under a Polish name. But you won’t need to. You can get in as Japanese American. You can get in as you. You get in because America wants you. Because America needs you.” He turns to look through the windows, stares at the barbed fences, the barren landscape. “You’re all stuck here. Doing nothing. Waiting for your life to restart. I say: See the world. Go to the beaches of Greece, the farmlands of Italy, the cobblestone streets of France. And fight for America. Fight for your friends, fight for your family, fight for your mother, fight for your father, fight for freedom.” He pauses, gazes steadily at them. “How can you not?”
He steps back. The room is silent.
The white lieutenant steps forward. “Thank you, Sergeant Karaki.”
“You mean ‘Kuroki,’” someone from the crowd says. “Jeez.”
“Yes, Kuraki. That’s what I said.” The lieutenant turns red. “I’ll now field any questions you may have.”
The questions come quickly: when and where and how to enlist, where they will be fighting, fairly standard questions—
Alex suddenly finds himself raising his arm. And asking a question he didn’t know, until now, has been burning inside him. “If I enlist, will that help my father?”
Every head turns to look at him.
“Tell me about your father,” the lieutenant says.
“He’s at Crystal City, Texas. In the prison there.”
“You mean the internment camp.”
“Like there’s a difference!” someone yells, to cheers.
“If I fight for America,” Alex shouts over the jeers, “will that get him released? Will they finally let him join us here?”
The room falls quiet. Alex isn’t the only one who wants to know.
The lieutenant licks his lips, as if sensing an opening. “Of course,” he says. “You fight for America, and America will reward you. You show you love America, and America will love you right on back.” He steps toward Alex. “If you enlist I’ll personally see to it that your father gets brought here.” The sergeants behind him are silent, their eyebrows slightly pulled together. “And that goes for all of you,” the lieutenant says. “Any other questions?”
“Why are we getting lumped together?”
The lieutenant swivels his head to the back corner. “Excuse me?”
“Why a segregated unit? Why can’t we fight in a regular unit?”
The lieutenant has a prepared answer. “This is a favor to you people. It’s great for publicity, see. The story will practically write itself, how you’re all true, real Americans, giving your blood, sweat, and tears to this country. It’ll play great before the cameras, all you folks together showcasing your patriotism.”
“Is there a segregated German or Italian American unit?”
The lieutenant cocks his head to the side. “No.”
“Then why—”
“Next question,” the lieutenant says, ticked off, in full military mode now.
“I got one,” someone says. Alex’s breath catches short and sharp. He recognizes the voice.
Frank stands up in the middle of the crowded room. “My father’s done nothing wrong, but he’s in jail. My mother’s done nothing wrong, and she’s behind a barbed-wire fence. I’ve done nothing wrong, and look at me. Tell me why I should fight for a country’s that treated us like common criminals when our only crime was to dream the dreams America promised. Tell me why I should—how’d you put it?—oh yeah, give my blood, sweat, and tears to a country that’s screwed us over royally.”
The sergeant speaks in a scolding tone. “This is your chance to prove yourself. To show that you’re really an American—”
“I am an American! Why should I have to prove it?” His face is scarlet now. “And how do I know that after the war you won’t take away my citizenship? That you won’t take our family’s farm, our land?”
The lieutenant looks smug. “Don’t you worry about that. The Fourteenth Amendment will protect you. The Fourteenth Amendment, in case you don’t know, guarantees that no law shall—”
“Abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” Frank stares at the lieutenant. “That Fourteenth Amendment, you mean?”
The lieutenant stares back with hard, cold eyes.
Frank continues. “The same Fourteenth Amendment that did such a dandy job in protecting me from being thrown into this camp like a common criminal? That same Fourteenth Amendment? Gee, I feel so safe now.?
??
The lieutenant sniffs with contempt. “Don’t quite know what you’re getting at. Why don’t you sit down, son.”
“I may be jumping to conclusions but I’m pretty sure I’m not your son.”
“Next question.”
A barrage of questions are yelled out. The lieutenant has lost control. MPs step in and escort the recruitment team away.
* * *
Alex leaves the mess hall as it explodes into bedlam. Two blocks later, a cold wind whistles into his ears but he barely hears it. The lieutenant’s words are echoing in his head. If you enlist I’ll personally see to it that your father gets brought here. Alex had gone to the meeting without the slightest intention of enlisting. But the lieutenant’s promise has got him suddenly, almost reluctantly, thinking.
Walking past Block 18, Alex hears someone calling after him.
“Yo, Alex,” Frank says, giving him a friendly thump on the back. “Can you believe that bull?”