Free Sophie and the Rising Sun by Augusta Trobaugh Page A

imagining himself and Sophie sitting together in the sunshine, while pearls washed up on lapping wavelets from the river and piled against their feet.
    “The Japanese,” she sputtered. “They’ve bombed Pearl Harbor.’’
    “Bombed?” He parroted the word, but even on his own tongue it made no sense.
    “Bombed our base in Hawaii. It’s terrible— a sneak attack! We’ll surely have war now!’’
    Mr. Oto began to gain the full measure of the words. The Japanese... bombed Hawaii? But why?
    “And,” Miss Anne was calmer now, but nonetheless serious, and she spoke slowly and with her hand on her chest. “One of the first things I thought about was that people will think you’re one of them!” She spat the word in disgust. “One of those nasty Japs! They won’t understand that you’re Chinese. I’m afraid, Mr. Oto!’’
    I must tell her, he thought—because he knew full well that she thought of him as being Chinese. Everyone in town thought of him that way— except Sophie! Sophie knew about his ancestry!
    That thought was a new and perhaps even more terrible shock than hearing about the bombing in the first place. Sophie! What would she think? Would she ever speak to him again? Would Sophie think of him now as nothing but a “nasty Jap”?
    Miss Anne was still speaking, but he couldn’t hear a single word she was saying. He could only study her face and watch her tight, angry mouth moving amidst a roaring in his ears that blotted out everything else.
    Sophie! I must find you and tell you that I am not one of those people who would do such a thing!
    But how? Would she even speak to him? Would she hate him? Would she turn her face away from him?
    Through his agonizing questions, Miss Anne’s voice slowly became audible again, but her words were like little feathers that simply floated down toward the horrible ache that filled the pit of his stomach and never quite reached it.
    “I’m afraid for you,” she repeated. “People will be infuriated about this! No telling what they will do... Oh, I have to get back to the radio. I have to find out what’s going on.”
    But still they stood, separated by the iron gate and with Miss Anne searching Mr. Oto’s face in a way he had never seen before. And he, for the first time, looked directly back at her with full, dark eyes that did not blink or turn away from her gaze.
    Because under all of the agony, a small flicker of rage had grown, a feeling so foreign to him that he didn’t even recognize it.
    His mouth opened almost involuntarily: “I... am... an... American.” He spoke the words carefully, as if he were afraid they would shatter. “I was born in this country, and I am loyal to it.”
    The strength of his voice surprised her, the words coming distinct and round, like cannonballs. So that she thought: Who is this man? This man who has taken tea right at my very own table?
    “I am an American,” he said again, only this time his voice was softer and strangely calm, and still those dark, earnest eyes seemed to bore into her very soul.
    For long, agonizing moments, they stood in the terrible silence, looking into each other’s eyes. Then finally, finally, Miss Anne spoke. “Yes,” she said simply. “Yes. You’re an American.”
    Her own words seemed to soothe her, and she took a deep breath. “I was just afraid, God forgive me. I was thinking that someone would come and take it all out on you—maybe a mob even, come and... hang... you, thinking that you were one of them! I tell you, people will be infuriated by this horrible and cowardly thing!’’
    “Thank you, Miss Anne, for worrying about me. But I am safe. I am an American.’’
    “But will you promise me that you’ll be careful?” she asked. “Some people may not understand that as well as I do.’’
    “I will be careful,” Mr. Oto assured her, bowing.
    “And that’s exactly what I mean,” she said in a voice so soft that he could hardly hear it.
    “What?”
    “The bowing