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  Ann raised one eyebrow. Resisting Moira’s tirade, she drew her legs into her nightgown and kept her eyes on the Examiner article about the Germans moving through Greece. ‘Well, don’t worry, honey, sometimes it doesn’t look like you’ve been here at all.’ Silly even to respond when Moira was in a mood. Ann had to admit she, herself, had been in a mood this week too — because of Mama’s illness and because of Herb going off to Europe. She was going to miss him.

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Moira. OK, maybe she skipped an occasional spot. But she was damned if she was going to pin her heart on Mother’s brand of fastidiousness. After twenty years of marriage, what did she have — a spotless house. Moira wanted a man easy about the state of the place — was this Randy? — somebody who understood her acting career, who loved her for her spirit and not for the speed of her mop. ‘What are you getting at? I work hard around here.’

  ‘Fighting, fighting in a house of women?’ Wanda looked up from her True Confessions, pretending alarm.

  ‘Well, we hardly see each other any more,’ Moira said sadly.

  ‘Come again?’ asked Teddy, returning from the kitchen with an orange and a cup of coffee. Her back tightened as it always did with arguing in the house.

  ‘Except on Saturday morning.’ Moira hated herself for whining. ‘I mean during the week Wanda and Ann creep out at some unearthly hour.’

  ‘We’re lucky to have wages.’ Ann sat back, grateful yet again for her typing job at the college.

  ‘You make us sound like burglars.’ Wanda flapped the magazine down on the couch beside her. ‘I can’t help it that the cannery starts early.’ She wanted to say that it was about the only place in town hiring Oriental bookkeepers. Of course the girls knew all about this. The point was to reach a broader audience with her articles. Lately she had felt too defeated to think much about writing.

  ‘I’m not blaming anybody.’ Moira opened her arms wide and flicked the dust cloth as if it were a lace handkerchief. ‘It’s just that I don’t get home between the office and little theatre rehearsals. Teddy is never around between the Emporium and her family and the Bertolis.’

  ‘So what are you getting at?’ asked Ann, now thoroughly distracted from the newspaper. Her voice was harsher than she intended, but Moira was infuriating. ‘We’re not married to each other. We don’t have any vows of forever and ever.’

  Teddy stared at Ann. She was probably tied in knots about her mother being in that horrible hospital.

  ‘All I’m trying to say is that if we can’t see each other during the week, then everything will come out on Saturday mornings,’ sighed Moira.

  Teddy and Wanda frowned at each other and shrugged.

  ‘I mean four people living together are bound to get on each other’s nerves. We need to talk about what’s bothering us.’

  Wanda thought how her mother would cringe at Moira’s intensity, how she had taught her daughter to show restraint, uchiki na josei.

  ‘OK, honey, take a seat.’ Ann closed down her cigarette against the green glass ashtray. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  Moira slumped on the arm of the couch.

  They waited.

  Finally Teddy asked, ‘What happened with that visit John Randolph made from LA? Didn’t he come to Pan-O-Rama and wasn’t he going to take you out to lunch and discover you?’

  ‘Yes, I remember now,’ said Wanda. ‘It must have been yesterday. That’s why you borrowed my scarlet hat with the veil. How did it go?’ Despite her amazement at Moira’s ego, she believed her friend had the talent and the will to succeed. Why hadn’t she thought to ask yesterday? Wanda considered how Moira was the only one of them without a family in town. Maybe that’s why she relied so heavily on the girls. Besides, it wasn’t too much to expect friends to follow the most important thing in your life.

  ‘Miserably.’ Moira collapsed on the couch. ‘I sat outside J.D.’s office all morning looking like Jean Harlow warmed over — answering phones, directing stuntmen to the back lot, doing my fabulous receptionist routine, wondering whether J.D. was going to introduce me to Randolph before lunch or whether he was going to pick me up on their way to Nikko’s. Well, two hours of the damn conference passed and finally a buzz came over the intercom. I was completely unnerved because how could I go in there when I had chewed off all my lipstick? I started to pick up Wanda’s hat and then remembered I hadn’t even answered the buzzer. It was J.D. all right and he said, hold all calls for the afternoon and could I send out for hamburgers — four rare hamburgers.’

  ‘Oh, hon, I am sorry,’ Ann said, reaching for her cigarettes and then drawing back abruptly.

  ‘Maybe next time,’ said Wanda, patting Moira’s shoulder.

  ‘But I’ve been waiting so long for this time! A whole year as Ever-Ready Receptionist at sleek and shoddy Pan-O-Rama Studios and I’ve never come close to that break J.D. promised me.’

  ‘There’s time yet,’ said Teddy, sliding her coffee in front of Moira. At moments like this she was grateful not to have wild ambitions like the other girls. She enjoyed her job at the store, liked the people and the pace.

  ‘That’s what Randy said. He kept trying to reassure me last night.’

  ‘Good,’ smiled Ann.

  ‘But, well, I’m not getting any younger.’ Moira sipped the hot, black liquid, indifferent to their laughter. ‘I’m almost twenty-two. For an actress every day counts.’ She thought about her mother immigrating as a young bride in steerage at eighteen; bearing a child at nineteen; losing her husband at twenty; remarrying at twenty-one. What had she done with her own life?

  ‘At least you’re working in the right field,’ said Wanda. ‘What does keeping books in a cannery have to do with being a journalist?’

  Moira nodded reluctantly. Wanda was right; she was fortunate in a way. But she was so frustrated. The other girls seemed to have natural stores of patience, but when she tried having faith and letting go of expectations, she felt as if she were drowning.

  ‘The way I see it,’ drawled Teddy, ‘we’re all lucky to have jobs. Look at what our parents went through.’

  ‘Then look at what we’re going to go through in the war,’ Ann said abruptly.

  Turning to Wanda’s surprised look, Ann said, ‘Oh, it’s Mama again. They had to strap her down yesterday, like an animal.’

  ‘No, Ann.’ Moira stood and took her hand.

  ‘She’s been having these nightmares — visions she calls them — about the old country. All her brothers and sisters killed. It does no good to show her Uncle Aaron’s letter saying everyone is fine. “Dead,” she lies there yelling with her eyes shut. “All dead.” Then she screams the names of relatives I’ve never heard of.’

  Wanda bowed her head in her hands.

  ‘It must be so hard for you,’ Teddy said.

  ‘For Papa.’ Ann fought back the tears. ‘He sits there every day watching her, apologizing. “I should not have taken you away, Dvora.” He thinks she’s crazy.’

  Wanda watched Ann’s face. ‘And you don’t,’ she said gently. You had to be careful with Ann. It was hard to tell which was more powerful, the love for her mother or the fear of her. ‘You think she’s some kind of prophet.’

  Ann scrutinized her friend’s face for doubt. Finding only concern, she answered, ‘Who knows? Who in hell knows what is going on? Can you understand the reports from Germany? Seems to me there’s a lot of censorship for a war America isn’t fighting.’

  Wanda was always taken aback by Ann’s unmeasured cynicism about Roosevelt. For Oriental immigrants, who were unredeemably alien, who could not get citizenship, there was no room for public complaint.

  Ann continued, ‘I’d like to believe that Churchill will buffer England against the German assault. I’d like to believe that my Uncle Aaron is right about the family being safe, but …’

  ‘Yes.’ Teddy stared at her empty cup, �
��Everybody’s got their blood up. My brothers are talking about enlisting. Even Hank with the baby and all. Mom’s going nuts. And look at the newspapers and magazines. The covers of Ann’s Newsweek have planes and tanks almost every week now.’

  ‘Men,’ muttered Wanda, unravelling the pink tassel on her sleeve. ‘Wars are always designed by men and the results are mended by women.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Moira, distressed because Wanda was usually on her side, defending men against Ann’s fury and Teddy’s indifference. ‘Whatever happens will affect us all.’

  ‘But not in the same way,’ Wanda answered urgently. ‘We’re not chomping at the bit, like Teddy said about her brothers. Did you hear that talk between Howard and Randy last week — both of them dying to strut forth and gut the Krauts?’

  ‘I think they’re brave,’ said Moira. ‘It’s not easy on them. Randy is scared and I’m sure Howard is — but they’re going to fight to defend us.’

  ‘Well, what do you think women will do if we have a war?’ asked

  Teddy. She imagined them all working together somehow, rolling bandages, knitting socks. Of course she could never voice this silly, sentimental notion and she dismissed the reassurance it provided.

  Ann stared out the front window. ‘Pick up the pieces.’

  ‘We don’t have to be passive,’ said Wanda.

  ‘I’m not talking about passivity,’ answered Ann.

  Moira interrupted. ‘We’ll do what our mothers did in the other war. Work in defense industries, support the troops.’ She thought of how Mother said that despite the cold and hunger in Scotland, their sense of purpose made the war days some of the best in her life. Daddy never spoke about the war.

  ‘Or we’ll expose the lies.’ Wanda was beginning to wonder if they had four soliloquies proceeding here. ‘As a journalist I’d show who profits from these murders; it’s not the ordinary people.’

  ‘Don’t be naive.’ Ann lit another Camel. ‘There are censors in this country, you know. Where do you think you can publish subversion anyway?’

  ‘Where there’s a will,’ said Teddy.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Moira shook her head at Teddy and backed away from the smoke.

  ‘Well, there’s one thing we don’t have to worry about,’ Wanda said. ‘Women don’t get drafted.’

  Chapter Six

  Summer 1941, San Francisco

  GERMANS INVADE USSR

  AMERICANS FREEZE JAPANESE ASSETS

  ROOSEVELT AND CHURCHILL PROCLAIM

  ATLANTIC CHARTER

  TEDDY LAY BACK ON THE couch drinking a beer and enjoying the warm Sunday afternoon. The house had lasted two years, she mused, no reason it would ever have to end. Hot and dry, she had spent the afternoon vacuuming and was content to deserve her beer, listening to the sounds of the three other women. Wanda’s radio murmured ‘Fibber McGee and Molly’ through the floorboards. Ann sang in the kitchen, stopping in mid phrase, probably to check the lasagne ingredients and then resuming, ‘I’m in the mood for …’, partial, still, to the Glenn Miller arrangements. From the yard below, Teddy could hear the irregular chomp-clip-chomp of the shears. She restrained herself from rushing aid to Moira who would prune her thumb as likely as the ivy.

  Teddy stretched the length of the elephant couch and wondered if she had ever felt this happy. Maybe there had been times when she was very young in Fortun, before the depression dried their hopes into old bones, before Amanda got polio and Pop, spent in a craziness about how to manage bills, decided there was bound to be magic in San Francisco. Yes, they had some grand times in Fortun, like that blackberry summer when she thought she might turn into a pie or that autumn the whole family rode in the truck to Oklahoma City to celebrate Mom and Pop’s twentieth anniversary. Mom still had a glow to her cheeks then. And Pop walked with a swagger, no hint of the flab of more recent years. But Teddy remembered that by the time she was thirteen the family was cracking from high debts and short tempers. San Francisco seemed the only direction — perhaps because it was on the edge.

  Sometimes Teddy reckoned she could recall every hour of that long cross-country journey. She liked to run it through in sequence, like still photographs, like a prayer. She closed her eyes now and saw the dry, gold grass growing flat against wide, blue skies. As they drove west towards Texas, the soil became redder. Tumbleweed lazed across the road. She saw signs for ‘Ho-Made Food’ and ‘Cheap Lodging’, but the Fieldings camped out the whole way and what had begun as an adventure turned into hardship even for the younger children. There were more hills as you got to Texas. Hank wanted to visit Dallas and Houston, however they were slicing quickly across the panhandle, driving straight into the sunset every night. Teddy’s favorite state was New Mexico, with its wide, open starkness. The colors were more gentle there and the contours more dramatic, mountains like points chiselled into the sky. Sante Fe was a pretty town built around a square where traders sold their goods. So high up, Teddy could hardly breathe sometimes. Mom was interested in the Navajos and Hopis, who seemed different from the Cherokees in Oklahoma. She even convinced her husband to stop at the Hubble Trading Post, but they couldn’t afford any of the bright rugs or bracelets. Teddy made a resolution to take Mom back one day. In Arizona, Teddy imagined the green hills curling inward, like bears snuggling at night. Pop refused to take them to the Grand Canyon, but they met travellers who told stories about the huge natural carvings miles down into the earth. What Teddy remembered most about Arizona was the desert, the dry heat and the thousands of cacti poking through the dust. California was surprising at first. She had anticipated sun and ocean immediately; instead they drove for miles through a relentless fog until they spotted the orange groves and grape vines of the San Joaquin Valley. ‘California,’ Hank shouted, as if he were a gold panner. ‘Eureka.’

  Being an Okie in San Francisco was worse than being a sharecropper’s daughter in Fortun. At least in Oklahoma everyone was eating dust and, if you had to swallow more than the neighbors, it wasn’t your fault. In California, Okie meant parasite, meant vagabond tramp, meant funny accent and queer clothes. First it hit Pop’s pride, then his nerve. He had no steady job for months. Had to watch Mom take in laundry and Hank and Arthur forget school for construction work. Compared to some, their family was blessed. When Pop’s friend finally got him a spot in the shipyard, Pop was accustomed to days spent half time at the bar and half time in bed. Now Teddy wondered how he sobered up for shifts. But he did. What with all of them pitching in some way, there was enough to go around.

  Teddy took another swig of beer, parched just remembering her housecleaning schedule after high school classes. But Mom insisted on school — almost pushed her — because one of her kids was going to graduate. Teddy had astonished both of them by winning the church scholarship. Now she felt she had used it well, really applying herself at Tracey and getting a decent job at the Emporium. She managed to send a little money home every week. Pop accepted it. ‘Just for the meantime, just till I’m back on my feet.’ Hank had barked, ‘When Teddy has already filled your shoes?’ Lucky for Hank, Pop was half way through his bottle because if he had been sober that would have been the last crack from the boy for a long while.

  Teddy surveyed the living room and pondered just why she loved this house. It was more than a refuge from the crowd at home. She relished the evenness of life here, the way they were equally responsible for the rent and the cleaning and each other. Of course everyone had her little faults — Moira’s temper, for instance, and Ann’s sharpness — yet they seemed to balance each other, more than she had ever known in her family and more than she could imagine in a marriage. Marriage, she couldn’t picture it — doing her ‘partner’s’ housework. Lunatic arrangement.

  ‘What are the choices, the alternatives?’ Wanda asked. Angela Bertoli demanded. Ann sighed. Various options crossed Teddy’s mind. Always she gave the same answer, ‘This house is one cho
ice, for now.’

  Upstairs, Wanda tried to concentrate on her sewing and to follow the argument between Fibber and Molly, but all she could think about was Howard’s story of the ‘Yellow Peril’ letter and her mother’s notions of returning to Japan. Mama’s parents were failing now, and she worried about the war growing in the Pacific. Besides, she knew how proud Americans were and she did not want to be an enemy stranded here. Wanda didn’t want to believe in war, however, she knew her mother was right. They who were being treated like threats, were themselves being terrorized! Everyone knew about the arson at Fukahara’s orchard in Fresno last month. And the FBI were investigating Buddhist priests because the temples received money for Japan. Now Howard, himself, had got an anonymous letter. ‘We’re watching you, Yellow Peril.’ A warning? A joke? Howard shrugged it off, but Wanda was more cautious.

  At the cannery, too, she felt strange. Orders had declined in the past two months. And last week a FBI agent phoned to say he would come for a ‘routine check’ of the accounts. Since then, Wanda had hardly been able to sleep. All right, it would be rough here, but Mama was mad to talk about Japan. She was so Americanized that it would be worse for her there. And what about her children? Betty and Howard and herself were neither Japanese nor American now. Would she leave her children in ‘enemy hands’? Papa, predictably, would not consider leaving. Somehow his fierceness frightened Wanda more than her mother’s determination. Rarely was there such a serious rift between her parents. Mama ruled the house while Papa supported them in his own idiosyncratic way. Wanda had never before seen them argue as they had last Sunday at supper.

  ‘Miné, I cannot imagine …’

  ‘Of course you cannot imagine,’ Mama had scolded him. ‘Your imagination is spent on other things, like political injustice and talk of Emma Goldman. Workers’ rights and birth control. See where it got her. Deported. Perhaps we’ll be lucky enough to get deported.’