“What are you doing?” Michiko asked, ignoring her aunt’s attempt at humour. She stared into the tub.
“Diapers,” her mother responded as she picked up the tin bucket at her feet and dribbled water down the side of the washboard. “We are washing Hiro’s diapers.”
Sadie threw in a large yellow brick of soap, but it did not sink to the bottom as Michiko expected. “The water is still cold,” Sadie complained as she swirled it around in the water. “We should have heated it longer.”
“We can do that tomorrow,” Eiko said. “Let’s get these done, or Hiro won’t have any diapers at all.”
Sadie took one of the diapers from the small basket on the ground. She plunged it in and out. Holding the yellow brick, she rubbed the two together. “Too bad you didn’t ship the washing machine,” she said as she plunged the diaper in again, “instead of the sewing machine.” She rubbed the diaper up and down the washboard, plunged it in once again and gave it a hard wring. Then she handed the white twist to Eiko.
Eiko plunged the diaper up and down in the bucket. She too gave it a hard wring. Then she walked to the rope and draped the diaper over it.
“Is Hiro awake?” she asked.
Michiko shook her head.
“I’ll go in,” Eiko said, removing her apron. “You can take over the rinsing.” She draped her apron over a branch.
Michiko couldn’t believe her ears. What did her mother want her to do?
Auntie Sadie held out the white twisted roll. “Come on,” she said. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Michiko put two fingers into the pail of water and quickly pulled them out. Aunt Sadie was right. The water was freezing.
“I can’t wash clothes in this skirt,” she complained. “I’m not even allowed to play in it. It’s for school.”
Sadie laughed aloud. “School?” she echoed. She tossed the diaper into the bucket. Then she grabbed her sister’s apron from the branch. “Raise your arms.”
Michiko obeyed.
Sadie wrapped the apron around her chest. She tied it at the back then in the front. “Put it in fast,” her aunt directed. Then her voice softened. “I know the water is cold.”
Michiko plunged in her hands. She swished the diaper about, then she pulled it up out of the water. She swished it around again. She thought her hands would turn blue, but they only went bright red. She held the diaper over the bucket and let it drip.
Her aunt snatched it up. She gave it a good hard twist, and water streamed out. Then she handed Michiko the twisted roll.
Michiko took it to the clothesline. She tried to arrange the diaper over the rope the same way as the one beside it. It almost fell into the dirt, but she caught it in time. She flipped it across the rope. Then she wrapped her hands in the hem of the apron and held them between her knees to warm them.
On the way back, Michiko stepped on the same stick, and it cracked again. The stick looked like a large fork. Michiko picked it up and stripped off the bark. She wiped it on her apron and stuck it in the pail, using it to swirl the diaper.
“Good thinking, princess,” her aunt complimented.
Michiko was hanging the third diaper when her mother came outside. Hiro stretched out his fat little hands. Michiko removed the apron and took him in her arms.
From her pocket, Michiko’s mother brought out a handful of wooden pegs. They reminded Michiko of tiny people without arms. Her mother pegged the diapers to the line.
“You keep Hiro entertained,” she mumbled past the peg in her mouth. “I’ll finish the washing.”
Michiko shifted her little brother to her hip and looked down into his chocolate brown eyes. “Well, Prince Hiro,” she cooed, “when will your royal baby carriage finally arrive?”
Hiro grinned and gurgled.
Michiko sidestepped the path that led to the small grey hut. The smell of lye and lime and the wooden bench with the round hole disgusted her. Last night was the first time she had ever used an outhouse. For once, Michiko wished she could wear diapers too.
She made her way down the rutted road, shifting her brother from one hip to the other. The weathered building at the bottom of the road reminded her of a barn, even though it wasn’t barn-like in shape.
Across the front of the building, the ghostly outline of two pink circles rested on a bed of pale green leaves. Scrawled across the front, the faint peeling letters spelled out the word “Apples”. A row of small square-paned windows, several panes broken, ran beneath. Short stubby planks covered some of the windows haphazardly. Skeletons of vines rattled against the flaking patches of grey wood.
The two large-planked doors stood ajar. Michiko gave one of them a push. It swung open with a creak, and she stepped into the shadowy space.
“Ooh,” Hiro cooed. His eyes widened.
Once her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Michiko could see long wooden benches against the walls. Broken wooden crates lay about an earth floor strewn with sawdust.
Michiko sniffed. She recognized the aroma. Apples, she thought, I can smell the apples.
The rays of sun streaming over her head rested on a new wall of yellow plywood. The sudden sound of several hammers pounding together startled her. Then the hammering stopped. Uncle Ted appeared from behind the wall.
“Well, well, well,” he said, slipping his hammer into his belt. “Look who’s come to visit.” He took Hiro from her arms.
“Thanks,” she said. “He’s heavy.” She wiggled her arms about.
“Hey, Tadishi,” Ted called out, “come and meet my sister’s kids.”
The man who stuck his head out from behind the partition was wearing a white bandana with a red circle across his forehead.
“Michiko,” Uncle Ted said, “this is Tadashi.”
Tadashi, wearing a white undershirt and khaki pants with a rope belt, stepped forward and gave her a slight nod.
“He used to work with me at the shipyard,” Ted explained. “He arrived from Japan recently,” he explained. Under his breath, he muttered, “Very bad timing.”
At first, Tadashi appeared to be the same age as Ted, but when he moved into the patch of sunlight, she noticed the shocks of grey hair above paper-thin eyelids that sagged and folded at the corners.
“What are you building?” she asked. She peeked around the corner but drew back suddenly. Behind the wall were two small metal bunks. The same rough grey blankets that she had on her bed were on these. Over one of them was the staring face of the Japanese Emperor Hirohito. If Sadie saw that, Michiko thought, she would rip it down, but she wasn’t sure why her aunt disliked him so much.
“Is this someone’s home?” She could see the top of a suitcase sticking out from under one of the beds. She had intruded. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“Sort of,” her uncle told her. “We live here, while we turn this place into barracks.”
“Barracks,” Michiko repeated. “What’s that?”
“A home for workers,” Ted told her. “We are going to fill the orchard with houses, and we need more than two men to do it.”
Michiko clasped her hands. They were going to build a neighbourhood. She had a vision of a street of houses like the ones in her neighbourhood.
“I’ll show you,” her uncle offered and led her to a wide