Free The Compass by Deborah Radwan

future.”
    Yoshito continued. “That morning at the auditorium, we checked in and we were tagged along with our bags—like we were Christmas presents being delivered. Buses were waiting to take us away to Civilian Assembly Centers. These were holding places or temporary camps until we were moved to our permanent camp, what they called relocation centers. There were two camps in California; one in Manzanar and another in Tule Lake. Manzanar is the most famous and where we spent those years of our confinement. You cannot imagine, Rudy, how terrible it is to be surrounded by barbed wire fences, your personal freedom taken away because of your heritage. We were not spies. That is what happens when fear takes hold—mania takes over.”
    Rudy thought of his friends who belittled everyone, who wanted to control everything, take what they thought was rightfully theirs. Now that he heard these stories, it seemed like what was happening in his neighborhood and in his school today and that what pervaded his community was based on intolerance and fear.
    “Manzanar was in the middle of nowhere. Fifty miles from the Nevada border near Death Valley, about two hundred and twenty miles northeast of where we stand today. Go look for it on a map, and you will see it situated near a city called Independence. Ironic, isn’t it, that our internment was just seven miles from a place called Independence?” Yoshito shook his head sadly.
    He looked up at the sunshine and continued.
    “It was very hot in the summer, very cold in the winter. Desolate, just some leftover groves of trees, remnants of more fertile days of decades past. It was a desert; not like here where everywhere you look you see flowers and bushes and fruit trees. We did maintain a farm for the camp, but other than that, there was not the lush vegetation you see where we live today. What I remember most vividly was the dust and the sand; dust and sand everywhere. The dust storms were horrible, like tiny needles hitting your skin if you were outside. Even inside, the dust seemed to find its way through the cracks in the floorboards, crevices in the walls, and knots in the wood. It would settle in our hair and get into our bedding and clothes. It was everywhere. I think those sandy—brown-colored memories may be one reason why working in this garden has filled me with so much pleasure. It is green and alive. I can make the soil dark and rich with just a little effort on my part. I know my friend Jacob has told you that I hear plants speaking to me, yes?”
    Yoshito smiled and Rudy nodded, laughing to himself until Yoshito said, “It is true, Rudy. I do hear my plants speak to me. Oh, not conversation, but sometimes when I come out on a very hot day like to today, I will hear whispered murmuring, saying, ‘I’m thirsty.’ Other times when I come out and am watering the plants and the leaves are bobbing up and down, I hear them laughing as if they are crying for joy. It is a great honor that I am able to provide them that happiness and help them achieve their potential, which is to honor the Divine Creator with their great beauty.”
    Rudy was staring at Yoshito. He could tell he was serious—and he had to admit that he believed him. These were not the ravings of a crazy man. Yoshito was as solid and grounded as they came.
    “And I always welcome my plants into Eden and tell them how beautiful they are and how much they will love being here in this space, and I promise them I will be a good caretaker. I think they understand, just the way Ling understands when I talk to him. This garden, what you see, is so opposite of where I spent three very fundamental and life-changing years. I think for many years I felt as spiritually dried up as the hard, impenetrable soil I walked on. Then, as I started nurturing this space, I felt myself being nurtured. It has been very comforting and restorative for me. Do you understand, Rudy?”
    Rudy nodded. He really did understand. Something