Julie Otsuka - When the Emperor Was Divine

Table of Contents

This book is for my parents
and in memory of Toyoko H. Nozaka

Acclaim for Julie Otsukas

WHEN THE EMPEROR WAS DIVINE

Exceptional.... Otsuka skillfully dramatizes a world suddenly foreign.... [Her] incantatory, unsentimental prose is the books greatest strength. The New Yorker

Spare, incisive.... The mood of the novel tensely reflects the protagonists emotional state: calm surfaces above, turmoil just beneath. The Boston Globe

A timely examination of mass hysteria in troubled times.... Otsuka combines interesting facts and tragic emotions with a steady, pragmatic hand. The Oregonian

Prose so cool and precise that its impossible not to believe what [Otsuka] tells us or to see clearly what she wants us to see.... A gem of a book and one of the most vivid history lessons youll ever learn. USA Today

With a matter-of-fact brilliance, and a poise as prominent in the protagonist as it is in the writing, When the Emperor WasDivine is a novel about loyalty, about identity, and about being other in America during uncertain times. Nathan Englander, author of For the Relief of Unbearable Urges

Shockingly brilliant.... It will make you gasp.... Undoubtedly one of the most effective, memorable books to deal with the internment crisis.... The maturity of Otsukas... prose is astonishing. The Bloomsbury Review

The novels voice is as hushed as a whisper.... An exquisite debut... potent, spare, crystalline. O, The Oprah Magazine

At once delicately poetic and unstintingly unsentimental. St. Petersburg Times

Her voice never falters, equally adept at capturing horrific necessity and accidental beauty. Her unsung prisoners of war contend with multiple front lines, and enemies who wear the faces of neighbors and friends. It only takes a few pages to join their cause, but by the time you finish this exceptional debut, you will recognize that their struggle has always been yours. Colson Whitehead, author of John Henry Days

Heartbreaking.... A crystalline account. The Seattle Post-Intelligencer

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to Nicole Aragi, who so patiently waited, and to
Jordan Pavlin, for her editorial insight and care. Thank you, also,
to Maureen Howard, for her early encouragement and support.

EVACUATION ORDER NO. 19

The sign had appeared overnight. On billboards and trees and the backs of the bus-stop benches. It hung in the window of Woolworths. It hung by the entrance to the YMCA. It was stapled to the door of the municipal court and nailed, at eye level, to every telephone pole along University Avenue. The woman was returning a book to the library when she saw the sign in a post office window. It was a sunny day in Berkeley in the spring of 1942 and she was wearing new glasses and could see everything clearly for the first time in weeks. She no longer had to squint but she squinted out of habit anyway. She read the sign from top to bottom and then, still squinting, she took out a pen and read the sign from top to bottom again. The print was small and dark. Some of it was tiny. She wrote down a few words on the back of a bank receipt, then turned around and went home and began to pack.

When the overdue notice from the library arrived in the mail nine days later she still had not finished packing. The children had just left for school and boxes and suitcases were scattered across the floor of the house. She tossed the envelope into the nearest suitcase and walked out the door.

Outside the sun was warm and the palm fronds were clacking idly against the side of the house. She pulled on her white silk gloves and began to walk east on Ashby. She crossed California Street and bought several bars of Lux soap and a large jar of face cream at the Rumford Pharmacy. She passed the thrift shop and the boarded-up grocery but saw no one she knew on the sidewalk. At the newsstand on the corner of Grove she bought a copy of the Berkeley Gazette. She scanned the headlines quickly. The Burma Road had been severed and one of the Dionne quintupletsYvonnewas still recovering from an ear operation. Sugar rationing would begin on Tuesday. She folded the paper in half but was careful not to let the ink darken her gloves.

At Lundys Hardware she stopped and looked at the display of victory garden shovels in the window. They were well-made shovels with sturdy metal handles and she thought, for a moment, of buying onethe price was right and she did not like to pass up a bargain. Then she remembered that she already had a shovel at home in the shed. In fact, she had two. She did not need a third. She smoothed down her dress and went into the store.

Nice glasses, Joe Lundy said the moment she walked through the door.

You think? she asked. Im not used to them yet. She picked up a hammer and gripped the handle firmly. Do you have anything bigger? she asked. Joe Lundy said that what she had in her hand was the biggest hammer he had. She put the hammer back on the rack.

Hows your roof holding out? he asked her.

I think the shingles are rotting. It just sprung another leak.

Its been a wet year.

The woman nodded. But weve had some nice days. She walked past the venetian blinds and the blackout shades to the back of the store. She picked out two rolls of tape and a ball of twine and brought them back to the register. Every time it rains I have to set out the bucket, she said. She put down two quarters on the counter.

Nothing wrong with a bucket, said Joe Lundy. He pushed the quarters back toward her across the counter but he did not look at her. You can pay me later, he said. Then he began to wipe the side of the register with a rag. There was a dark stain there that would not go away.

I can pay you now, said the woman.

Dont worry about it, said Joe Lundy. He reached into his shirt pocket and gave her two caramel candies wrapped in gold foil. For the children, he said. She slipped the caramels into her purse but left the money. She thanked him for the candy and walked out of the store.

Thats a nice red dress, he called out after her.

She turned around and squinted at him over the top of her glasses. Thank you, she said. Thank you, Joe. Then the door slammed behind her and she was alone on the sidewalk and she realized that in all the years she had been going to Joe Lundys store she had never before called him by his name. Joe. It sounded strange to her. Wrong, almost. But she had said it. She had said it out loud. She wished she had said it earlier.

She wiped her forehead with her handkerchief. The sun was bright and she did not like to sweat in public. She took off her glasses and crossed to the shady side of the street. At the corner of Shattuck she took the streetcar downtown. She got off at Kittredge and went into J. F. Hinks department store and asked the salesman if they had any duffel bags but they did not, they were all sold out. He had sold the last one a half-hour ago. He suggested she try J. C. Penneys but they were sold out of duffel bags there too. They were sold out of duffel bags all over town.

WHEN SHE GOT HOME the woman took off her red dress and put on her faded blue oneher housedress. She twisted her hair up into a bun and put on an old pair of comfortable shoes. She had to finish packing. She rolled up the Oriental rug in the living room. She took down the mirrors. She took down the curtains and shades. She carried the tiny bonsai tree out into the yard and set it down on the grass beneath the eaves where it would not get too much shade or too much sun but just the right amount of each. She brought the wind-up Victrola and the Westminster chime clock downstairs to the basement.