The Purple Heart Read online

  The

  Purple Heart

  A Love Story

  By Vincent Yee

  Copyright © 2012 Vincent Yee

  All Rights Reserved. Published in the United States

  www.thepurpleheartbook.com

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9859320-0-8

  Kindle

  First Edition

  D E D I C A T I O N

  Dedicated to the Japanese American men, women and children who were imprisoned during World War II and to the heroic and courageous Japanese American soldiers of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and the 100th Infantry Battalion who received 9,486 Purple Hearts.

  Dedicated also to my parents and to my mother who told me to, “Do something creative.”

  C H A P T E R S

  O N E

  T W O

  T H R E E

  F O U R

  F I V E

  S I X

  S E V E N

  E I G H T

  N I N E

  T E N

  E L E V E N

  T W E L V E

  T H I R T E E N

  F O U R T E E N

  F I F T E E N

  S I X T E E N

  S E V E N T E E N

  E I G H T E E N

  N I N E T E E N

  T W E N T Y

  T W E N T Y O N E

  T W E N T Y T W O

  T W E N T Y T H R E E

  T W E N T Y F O U R

  T W E N T Y F I V E

  T W E N T Y S I X

  T W E N T Y S E V E N

  T W E N T Y E I G H T

  E P I L O G U E

  L O V E D T H E P U R P L E H E A R T ?

  O N E

  “Men died. A lot of men died,” said Joey as he held up his drawing of the slain men on the ground. The men were in green drab clothing and crimson splotches covered their chests. “My grandfather said that war is awful and too many men died. Including his best friend and he becomes really sad when he thinks about it.” He then pointed to another soldier in the middle of the drawing, who was lying on the ground with crayon red, splattered across his chest as another soldier, presumably, Joey’s grandfather, knelt by his side.

  A few soft gasps were let out before the classroom fell silent. Ms. Satoh stared solemnly at Joey, caught off guard by the horrific picture of war captured by a child’s crayon. Joey probably wasn’t even old enough to understand why men sometimes go to such extremes as war.

  Before the silence in the roomful of second graders became too awkward, Ms. Satoh asked, “And Joey, what war are you referring to?”

  Without hesitation, Joey stated, “World War II. It happened a long time ago. My grandfather is really old. He was part of an all-Japanese American team that fought against the Nazis. They were bad guys from Germany. My grandfather was one of the few who returned home alive.”

  It was what Ms. Satoh wanted to hear. For a moment, she reflected on her own grandfather, who also fought in the war. But he had died in the war. She then wondered amusingly how both she and Joey could be grandchildren of a generation of Japanese American men who fought in World War II. Was Joey’s grandfather very young? Did he marry much later in life, or was one of Joey’s parents the youngest of his grandfather’s children? She quickly snapped out of her brief reverie and addressed the class.

  “Thank you Joey, for the very detailed drawing and story. Well children, as you can see, Joey’s grandfather fought in a war that happened a long time ago.” Ms. Satoh glanced up at the classroom clock and saw that it was close to noon, and decided that it would be a good time for lunch.

  The children hastily got up from their seats and went to the back of the classroom to get their brown-paper-bagged lunches. Two of the children took up the duty of handing out the milk and juice cartons to the other children. As the children went about their way, Ms. Satoh looked in Joey’s direction and saw that he was standing by his desk as a few of his classmates came over to look at his drawing.

  For whatever reason, the drawing piqued Ms. Satoh’s curiosity. Her father always said her curiosity would get her into trouble. Her grandparents’ experience during World War II was rarely discussed, and was always dismissed as something that was better left in the past. It was forbidden to mention her grandfather, but she never really knew why.

  After lunch she let the kids into the schoolyard. As the last child exited out the door, Ms. Satoh waved to a fellow teacher and indicated that she would be out in a couple of minutes. The other teacher, Ms. Catherine Scarpelli, affectionately known as “Cat,” who taught another second-grade class adjacent to hers, nodded back. With that, she allowed the door to close and ward off the chilly spring air.

  Ms. Satoh quickly wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed the sides of her arms a few times to warm herself up. She quickly looked towards Joey’s desk and she quickly made her way there. She carefully knelt down over the drawing. It was a magnificent drawing for a second grader, she thought. The colors were vibrant and all the elements of the drawing were drawn to scale. Joey’s grandfather was in a green drab outfit as he knelt over a fallen soldier with a red splatter across his chest. The grandfather was applying a white bandage to the fallen soldier. To the left of them were other Japanese American soldiers, all lying on the ground, dead. It was sad, if not tragic. Joey even drew a blown-up machine gun bunker with dead Nazi soldiers lying about. Joey had scribbled a few words in the drawing and one of them was “Grandfather,” written next to the solider kneeling over the fallen soldier.

  A tapping came from the window near the door that startled Ms. Satoh. Cat’s face was pressed right up against the window with one hand over her forehead to block out the glare of the sun. She waved invitingly over to Ms. Satoh, who realized she was neglecting her recess duties. Ms. Satoh placed the drawing back on top of Joey’s desk and straightened up while smoothing out her skirt. She quickly checked her waistline to make sure her white blouse was properly tucked in and adjusted her feet, as kneeling in her navy-colored pumps wasn’t all that comfortable. She grabbed her black coat, and exited into the schoolyard.

  Ms. Satoh walked into the brisk air that whisked about her prompting her to pull in the lapels of her coat around her neck. Her walk was brisk, reflecting her youthful poise, yet there was a distinct sense of authority appropriate for a teacher. As a young Japanese American woman, she wore only enough makeup to accentuate her natural beauty. Only her lipstick stood out and gave her a sense that she was older than she really was. Her beautiful almond eyes always seemed to glitter but also conveyed serious determination. Her shiny, shoulder-length hair bounced slightly with each step until finally she came right up to Cat.

  “Aiko! How can you leave me to watch over these little monsters all by myself?” Cat said sarcastically as she gave Aiko a quick hug.

  Cat was from New Jersey, and Aiko just loved her friend’s accent. It was a clear giveaway that she wasn’t from the D.C. area. Cat looked almost out of place with her red knitted turtleneck sweater and her black leather skirt whose hem was a few inches from her knees. Her fashionable black leather, calf-high, three-inch-heeled boot was more fitting for New York’s fashion scene than the stuffiness of the D.C. area. Gold hoop earrings dangled brilliantly from her ears. Her favorite below-the-waist-length leather jacket accentuated her figure, which she kept up with daily exercise. She held, in one hand, her usual Pellegrino sparkling water.

  They stood side by side watching the kids running along the playground, dangling precariously from steel apparatuses tha
t looked too dangerous for little kids to play on. Children were chasing each other as their laughter crackled through the air. The brisk spring air whisked around them like an invisible companion.

  Cat took a sip from her sparkling water. “Earth to Aiko, earth to Aiko.”

  Aiko looked startled, but turned to her friend, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted.”

  “What’s up, hon? Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t call last night?” asked Cat.

  Aiko smiled, “Oh, it’s not that, he called as usual,” and for a moment her eyes seemed to glisten. “Just something happened in class today that caught me off guard.”

  “I need sex, Aiko,” Cat said abruptly.

  Aiko laughed suddenly from her friend’s blunt comment. She could always count on her friend Cat to bring a sense of levity back to the conversation.

  “Cat!” exclaimed Aiko as she let out another laugh.

  Cat then began a monologue about the convenience of the birth control patch that she had recently started using. Soon enough, recess came to an end and as Aiko and Cat departed to gather up their children, Cat reminded Aiko of their dinner plans for that Friday night, and that she would come by to pick Aiko up at 6 P.M.

  Back in class, Aiko continued the class exercise by having all the students talk about their drawings. Though Aiko listened to each child intently, she couldn’t help but steal a few furtive glances in Joey’s direction as he continued to draw. Though she would have wanted him to pay attention to his classmates, she was hoping that he would draw more, and she wasn’t sure why.

  Toward the end of the day, the children began to gather their belongings as the long hand on the clock ticked closer to the end of the school day.

  “Children, you all did wonderfully today, especially with the drawings,” said Aiko. “For homework, I’d like each of you to write one page in your journal about your favorite part of the day. Also, we’ll continue with more drawings on Monday, so please leave your drawings in your desk.”

  It was Aiko’s clever plan to allow her to sneak a further peek at Joey’s drawing to see what else he may have drawn. How foolish, she thought, that she had to use such a ruse to sneak a peek at a second grader’s drawing.

  As the kids exited the classroom, Joey was the last one to file out, with his friends anxiously waiting for him outside. Joey had thick, straight, black, hair and luckily, he didn’t have the typical bowl cut so common among many young Asian American boys. He strode up cheerfully in his jeans, striped shirt, jean jacket and white sneakers. He was quite the handsome boy.

  “Bye-bye, Ms. Satoh!” said Joey. Aiko waved warmly at Joey, but she looked at him a little longer that day. That day was different. There was a connection between her and Joey, a common history. Though she had to laugh to herself at how much younger he was when she considered that they were probably both fourth-generation Japanese Americans, Yonsei.

  “Go on now, have a good weekend, Joey,” said Aiko with a smile.

  “You too, Ms. Satoh!” he answered as he shuffled out of the door. Aiko watched him leave with his friends, and she could only imagine what kind of mischief they would get into that afternoon.

  Aiko turned her head toward Joey’s desk and walked over to it. She moved his chair aside, knelt down behind his desk, and started to carefully riffle through it. The drawing was underneath another piece of drawing paper. She carefully removed it and placed it atop his desk.

  Aiko lowered herself onto her knees, lifting herself off her calves a bit, and propped her elbows onto Joey’s desk. Joey did indeed add a few more elements. He had added a second blown-up machine gun bunker and a tank. The treetops were dotted with several yellow and orange explosions. Joey had written at the top, “My Grandfather in the 442nd.” She finally came back to the most poignant image, the one of Joey’s grandfather. Her eyes then came across a phrase written underneath the fallen soldier, “Homerun.”

  Aiko’s jaw dropped, “Oh my God, that’s my grandfather.”

  T W O

  As Aiko walked home that day, something that she normally would not do as she usually took the Metro, her mind was in a quiet frenzy. As a child, one of the things about her mysterious grandfather that did leak out was that his nickname was “Home Run.” Her thoughts were scattered about, bouncing from one mental topic to another. Was Joey’s picture a pure coincidence? Was there any truth to his picture? Did Joey’s grandfather know her grandfather? The plain truth of the matter was that she just didn’t know.

  Before she knew it, she was already walking up the steps to her apartment. She was startled by the realization that she was already home and disappointed at the same time, as she hoped that the long walk would give her mind more time to sort things out. It did not. She shook off her momentary sense of bewilderment and decided to ponder the thoughts later. She had a whole weekend to think about it. She didn’t know if that was a good thing, since it would be two whole days before she would see Joey again. But she had decided to do at least one thing, dreaded as it may seem: She was going to call her father later that night.

  Aiko jiggled the key into the keyhole to coax the lock to turn properly. She walked up the flight of steps to the second floor, where her little sphere of the world was. Again, she fumbled with the lock to her apartment until the tired old lock finally gave way and allowed the door to swing open on hinges that yearned for some oil.

  She entered the large living room with a bay window overlooking the street and flung her coat and purse onto the hallway chair, stepped out of her pumps, as she took her workbag with her. The adjoining dining room had a table cluttered with stacks of schoolwork that usually forced her to eat in the kitchen.

  She headed to the bookcases where she eyed her target. It was resting horizontally on the top shelf. She dropped her bag to the side, placed the fingertips of her left hand on one of the shelves to steady herself and then reaching upward on her tiptoes, she used her fingertips to nudge the thick photo album onto her hand.

  Grabbing her bag with one hand and balancing the album in the other, she made her way to the coffee table and laid everything out. Her mind was racing. The thoughts she momentarily brushed aside rushed back in like an open floodgate. What was she going to find, or would she find anything? Her family rarely talked about her grandfather, and it was always a taboo topic, always changed or stopped in its tracks with a stern look from her father. But that day the stern look of her father wasn’t there to stop her curiosity. Rather, it was reignited by a child’s drawing.

  She sat on her knees on the floor, between the sofa and the coffee table. It was one of her favorite places for sitting, a place and position she used a lot in her own quiet time. It was only half past three, more than enough time before she had to meet Cat.

  She pulled the album toward her and carefully removed a folded piece of paper from her bag. It was Joey’s drawing, which she conveniently copied using the school’s color copier. She reexamined the drawing further, taking in the entire drawing once again. A sudden sense of sadness fell over her, since the scene presumably showed her grandfather lying on the ground, bleeding, as he was killed. She didn’t know if he died quickly or whether or not he was in pain. But it consoled her that he wasn’t alone, since Joey’s grandfather was trying to apply a bandage. She remembered what Joey said earlier that day: “My grandfather said that war is awful and too many men died. Including his best friend, and he becomes really sad when he thinks about it.” Was her grandfather Joey’s grandfather’s best friend? If so, then maybe he knew what happened to him in the war and why her grandfather was such a family secret.

  She touched the drawing of her grandfather with her fingertips, almost wanting to make a connection, to feel the last moments of the grandfather she never knew. But she then conceded some doubt that the fallen soldier may not even be her grandfather but she wanted it to be, so badly. She carefully placed the drawing aside, and brushed back her hair. The album was bounded leather, with the Japanese character for “family” etched into i
t, something her mother and grandmother had made together for her when she left for college.

  Without further hesitation, Aiko began slowly flipping through the pages. The photos were of her family from her childhood all the way up to her high school graduation. The photos brought a smile to her face. But it wasn’t until toward the end of the album where the photos that may begin to unravel her family mystery could be found. Or so she hoped. One was a picture of her grandmother with Aiko’s father standing behind her, with his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. Other family members flanked them on each side. Aiko’s father was an only child, born during the Japanese American internment.

  Then a picture of a wooden barrack, set back against a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire appeared. It was part of her history as a Japanese American. Japanese Americans were thrown into wartime suspicion as collaborators with the imperial army of Japan after it bombed Pearl Harbor more than sixty years ago.

  A few more pages documented the daily life at the internment camp until they gave way to only pictures of the abandoned internment camp. There was even a picture of a baseball diamond, which gave Aiko fleeting hope that she might at least catch one picture of her grandfather, but there was none. She flipped the page once more and came upon a picture of a younger woman, probably in her early twenties. She donned an old-fashioned hairstyle but very feminine for that time. Her cheeks and her eyes were full of life. Aiko realized that the photo was of her grandmother. She was awestruck at her grandmother’s classic beauty. There were additional photos where her grandmother was with her own parents, Aiko’s great-grandparents. Aiko then saw her grandmother holding a little baby, and she knew that the baby was her father.