Things We Didn't Say Read online

  Dr. Sheridan Smythe

  Chair of the Modern

  Languages Department,

  University of Minnesota

  From Major J. E. Davies to Johanna Berglund

  January 24, 1944

  Dear Miss Berglund,

  A pleasure to meet you, even if that meeting is only by means of a stamp instead of a hearty handshake. Why, I feel as if I know you already from all of the impressive things I’ve heard about you—child prodigy, top of your class, entire translation of Dante’s Inferno submitted with your application to the university! It downright boggles me. Keep this up and someday you’ll be secretary of state, and I’ll be saluting you!

  By the time you receive this letter, my old friend Dr. Smythe should have presented you with the basics of our offer of employment as camp translator, but I wanted to write you myself to convey how essential you would be to our new camp’s function. Vital, in fact!

  We believe you to be not only an ideal candidate, but the ideal candidate. Why, you ask? We are running into a bit of—how should I phrase this?—an unanticipated public relations difficulty with Ironside Lake. The other camps in Iowa and Minnesota faced scrutiny upon their founding, but not the outright hostility we’re experiencing from the citizens of your hometown. It’s quite unprecedented! We are hoping that having you on our staff as a local girl made good—and the mayor’s daughter, no less—will bring them reassurance.

  While discussing this issue at the fort, one of our language-school instructors (from a military intelligence initiative—highly secretive, you understand) giving a report to my superior said he knew the very person for the job, qualified for the work in both skills and temperament. Namely, you! You must realize how this struck me. Two recommendations of the very same person for this translation position. An amazing godsend! Truly, it felt like the decision had been made for me. I trust you’ll come to the same conclusion.

  I must confess, when your parents and our language-school instructor alike assured me that “Jo Berglund” would be perfect for the job, I assumed that “Joe Berglund” was a man. It was only upon speaking with Smythe that I was informed of my mistake. Other camps are reluctant to bring female staff members into the post, even attempting to limit contact when POWs work at canneries alongside civilian women. However, I have heard nothing but praise of your character and abilities, and being a bit of a progressive, if I do say so myself, I do not anticipate any problems.

  Thank you once again for considering this position, and I look forward to hearing from you shortly!

  With Great Respect,

  Major J. E. Davies

  US Army, Fort Snelling

  From Johanna Berglund to Major J. E. Davies

  January 27, 1944

  Dear Major Davies,

  I have a friend who says it’s best to start out communications with a compliment when possible. So let me say that the Fort Snelling letterhead is appropriately impressive without being gaudy.

  On to the bad news. I regret that I must decline your offer of a translator position in Ironside Lake. Must emphatically decline.

  My program of study here at the University of Minnesota is much too demanding to allow for any break. I had intended to take summer courses as well, so it would be impossible for me to spend nine months in a prison camp. Besides that, the scholarship donor allowing me to be here would not look kindly on a long leave of absence.

  Peter Ito is quite right that I am qualified for the position. (I’m assuming he was the one who spoke to you.) Probably overqualified, since I am also fluent in French, Danish, Greek, and Latin and have begun studying Japanese. But I’m afraid you’ll need to find someone else. Might I recommend asking in New Weimar? It’s a forestry town, and most of their population emigrated from Germany only a generation or two back. I used to pick up phrases when my family stopped at a filling station on our annual trip to Duluth, which is what prompted my interest in the language.

  As for my being a godsend, I hope this won’t shake your faith, but God already sent me here. To Minneapolis. And here I will stay until I’ve gotten my degree and can start the work I’ve dreamed of all my life, hopefully in Oxford, England, and certainly not in Ironside Lake.

  Again, I appreciate being considered, and the stationery really is striking. I wish you all the best in finding a better-suited candidate.

  Sincerely,

  Johanna Berglund

  From Johanna Berglund to Peter Ito

  January 27, 1944

  Dear Peter,

  You’ve really done it this time. I can’t decide whether to upbraid you for your treachery or to thank you for the misplaced compliment. So I’ll do both, and you can decide which one I mean more.

  Why in heaven’s name did you make Major What’s-His-Name think I’m the perfect candidate for the translator position? Skills, I’ll grant you, though you’re taking my word on my fluency in German since you don’t speak anything beyond gesundheit and Sauerkraut. But temperament? Were you joking? You’re too kind to say it, but we both know I’m a disaster when it comes to relating to people, nothing at all like Olive or Mother or even my sister, Irene.

  It’s difficult even visiting Ironside Lake. Dad and Mother are happy to see me, of course, but I always time my visits so they fall over as few Sundays as possible. Church in a small town is more to see and be seen than it is to actually worship, and I’m no longer a precocious ten-year-old in a sailor dress, singing “Jesus Loves the Little Children.”

  Why were you even at Fort Snelling? I thought you’ve been so busy at the language school that you barely have time for sleep.

  Regardless, if the major contacts you again, tell him to go away. Or, since you probably wouldn’t be that blunt, change the subject. Or better yet, recommend someone else for the translator position. Anyone, in fact, who isn’t me.

  This was my parents’ idea; I’m sure of it. Mother is always writing me teary, guilt-inducing letters about how empty the house seems now that Irene’s married and I’m off at school, when they probably barely noticed me when I was there. Even Dad never fully approved of the linguistics program, although I do think he admired the way I gathered the money for it. I know he and Mother would be perfectly happy if I came back to Ironside Lake, got swept off my feet by an industrious banker’s son like Irene did, and gave up this nonsense of Oxford altogether.

  I’ve spent all evening working on a tactful reply to the major, and now writing to you. Consequently, my poor volume of Ovid is entirely neglected in the corner. Real life is dreadfully tedious, the way it interrupts reading.

  But enough about me and my woes. Are you finding teaching these new recruits any easier?

  Your friend,

  Jo

  Appendix: Would you like to make a bet on when the last snow will be? I’m not as much of a weakling as you when it comes to winter, but even I might sing for joy and toss my gloves in a bonfire once it gets to fifty degrees for the first time.

  From Peter to Johanna

  January 31, 1944

  Dear Jo,

  You’re a regular prophet. Major Davies did seek me out again, asking about you. I had to interrupt my class to run to the office to take his call, and the first words of it were, “Mr. Ito, why didn’t you tell me that Berglund girl was so blasted difficult?” Only he didn’t use blasted.

  Honestly, Jo, what did you say to him?

  What’s so bad about taking a semester off, two at most, to use the skills you’re learning? I know you dream of a life in England translating Beowulf and the tragedies of Euripides, but in case you haven’t tuned in to the radio lately, the Germans are trying to bomb it into oblivion. Even if you finish your bachelor’s, you won’t be able to get over there just now.

  But I shouldn’t be too hard on you. Probably everyone else is saying the same sort of thing, and I know you love your cozy apartment and teakettle and study desk in the Modern Language section of the library. I want you to be happy, Jo. But at least think about it.

  On how I came to be speaking with Major Davies: Great news, there’s so much interest from Nisei around the country in joining our training school that they’re considering moving the program to Fort Snelling. Now that some of our graduates have gone into the field and proven themselves, it’s starting to dawn on the military brass that our true loyalty is to America, not Japan. (Which is exactly what we’ve been telling them all along.) It would mean a lot to get official recognition instead of being segregated away at the slipshod facilities here. We’re at full enrollment—over a thousand now—and bursting at the seams. Since all the bunks are taken, some of the boys are sleeping on mattresses on the floor.

  The latest new arrivals are a younger crowd, averaging around twenty. All of them are eager to learn, though it’s interesting interacting with the Hawaiian students, who speak a different dialect of English. The government finally allowed them to apply, and we’ve got the cream of the crop from the hundreds who did.

  Most of the mainland students signed up primarily to get out of the internment camps, but they work hard, knowing time is short and there’s a huge demand for translators in the Pacific. We’ve even caught a few studying in the privy after ten o’clock, since it’s the only building with a lit bulb after lights-out.

  The trouble is, we had to lower our requirements to fill our quota, from high-school equivalency to third grade, so our Beginning level is much more crowded than Middle and Advanced. At least total immersion seems to be helping them. (Did I tell you I dream in Japanese now? I sometimes have to struggle for the right English word when writing to you.)

  There still aren’t quite enough instructors for the number of students we have, so the hours are long. Most of us aren’t Ivy League faculty, for sure—there was a reason I was studying accounting at the University of California—but we have good motivation to learn quickly so we can teach the students army jargon, cryptology, basic military tactics and maneuvers, and, hardest of all, cursive. (I’m not joking. Most of them have never seen writing in sousho before, much less tried to read it. Very difficult to master. That’s why I haven’t showed it to you yet.)

  I’ll take a last-snow bet of March 8 and hope I’m wrong and all the snow melts tomorrow, never to return. For most of the boys, the novelty of snow has worn off—there are few of the joyful frolics we saw in our first several inches. But some of them still like the excuse for a prank. I caught one student slipping an icicle down another’s shirt during class one morning. The poor fellow tried not to react, but his squirming couldn’t be contained, and when he untucked his shirt and the melting shard fell to the floor, the classroom dissolved into laughter. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.

  Have I mentioned I’m still mad the training school moved from San Francisco to Minneapolis? I don’t know what they were thinking, bringing a bunch of Californians and Hawaiians to this frozen meat locker. Even under three layers of sweaters, I feel like a sirloin packed in ice. How do you stand it?

  Your friend,

  Peter

  P.S. Only you would have an appendix instead of a usual P.S. Are you going to start footnoting your letters too?

  P.P.S. Terry Tanabe, the icicle culprit above, went to the Nisei USO club last weekend and reported that the senior hostess asked about you, wondering why her favorite summertime junior hostess suddenly disappeared. She still doesn’t realize you only crashed the USO club because you wanted to learn Japanese, does she? I figured it out right away, for the record. All I wanted was a game of Ping-Pong, and instead, the girl on the other side of the net kept missing the ball, firing linguistic questions at me between serves. How did you get away with that for three full months without being found out?

  From Johanna to Peter

  February 3, 1944

  Dear Peter,

  I promise I’ll think about the position.

  There. I thought about it. For a good ten seconds. And then put it right back in my mental files where it belongs, alphabetized somewhere between Never and Not a chance.

  Well, it’s about time the army deigns to adequately equip you for your work. You’d think they’d prefer we lose the war in the Pacific, the way they’ve dallied on training your linguists. I’m glad to hear the new students will live up to your expectations, particularly since you’ve only got six months to turn them out as experts. See, that’s an example of the stress that accompanies the more “practical” applications of language study. I could never do what you do, and I don’t intend to, no matter how many exclamation marks Major J. E. Davies fires at me.

  As for the USO, now that I’m sure you won’t turn me in, I’ll confess: I forged a badge with a stencil patterned off a brochure requesting I apply as a junior hostess. I didn’t have time for letters of recommendation and interviews when there were only three summer months before the start of the term. So I pinned that false badge to my blouse, then marched up to the club and distracted Mrs. Murray by responding in Japanese the first few times she greeted me (the only phrases I knew, and badly pronounced, I found out later). She was delighted to have a fluent speaker at the club, thinking it would make her Senior Hostess of the Year, I suppose.1

  It was good of you to give me lessons, though, when you were surrounded by books and study the rest of the week. I still have those first kanji you penciled in on a napkin pressed in my Naganuma Reader. Duplicitous means or no, what would I have done if I’d never met you? One chance glance at a newspaper article to see that a Nisei USO was starting up in the Cities, and I found the luckiest choice of Ping-Pong partner I could have made.2

  March 8? You’re a hopeless optimist. I’m calling April 2, and not a day earlier. Loser has to buy malts once it’s warm enough to ingest something frozen, which will be at least June.

  Jo

  1 She was under the impression that my parents were missionaries for a decade in Nagasaki, though I swear I never said so. Not directly, anyway.

  2 Before you criticize me for faking my hostess role, remember, you were patronizing the USO as a civilian instructor, completely nonmilitary, which is against USO rules.

  From Major Davies to Johanna

  February 1, 1944

  Dear Miss Berglund,

  Thank you for taking the time to write back so promptly. The fort’s stationery also appreciates the compliment, I’m sure.

  I’m sorry you felt you should decline our offer, but allow me to present you a few details that might change your mind.

  We have already investigated the option of hiring a translator from New Weimar but have encountered two obstacles: First, we can obtain B-level gas rations for a translator, but most residents of New Weimar don’t have access to a car or the desire to make a daily forty-five-minute round trip, which would make transportation difficult.

  Second, the citizens of Ironside Lake are not—how should I put this?—especially in favor of bringing outsiders, particular those of recent German extraction, into their fair town. This point was emphasized to me quite clearly at my visit there only a few days ago, and we promised to honor those concerns, baseless as we believe them to be.

  As one of Ironside Lake’s own people, you will be trusted, and your assistance will help us to build goodwill with the community. Think of all the good you can do! Why, if my own daughter were presented with such a chance to serve her country, she would be packing her bags immediately!

  This is the sort of opportunity any language student should be deeply grateful for, particularly a woman who seeks independence and respect in her field.

  Take a few days to think about it. I can’t emphasize enough how important this is.

  With Great Respect,

  Major J. E. Davies

  US Army, Fort Snelling

  From Johanna to Major Davies

  February 4, 1944

  Dear Major Davies,

  I’m sorry if my last letter gave the impression that there might be room to persuade me, because it was not my intent. I won’t be any help at all for good relations with Ironside Lake. Persuasion, you might have guessed by now, is not my gift. I do love words. I memorize them and enjoy finding the exact way to translate them to accurately communicate the author’s meaning . . . but I am not good at putting words together on my own, especially when speaking to people.

  I can assure you that I’d be no help with your public relations efforts. No doubt the people of Ironside Lake are as glad to be rid of me as I am to be gone.

  Keep up the good work. I’m sure you’ll find just the person you need for the job, but I’m sorry to say that it isn’t me.

  Johanna Berglund

  From Mrs. Berglund to Johanna

  February 2, 1944

  Dearest Jo,

  Now, dear, you know how I feel about your sarcasm. People around here are very upset by all this talk of prisoners of war, and the weight of it is falling on your father. Of course, it’s our duty to make the best of it, but it’s much easier for you to laugh from the safe distance of the city when it doesn’t affect your life—at least not yet.

  Construction on the prison camp is almost finished, as the men will be arriving at the beginning of next month. I’ll admit to driving by it once so I could take a peek. Most of it looked rather ordinary—same old paint-peeling CCC buildings and wide stretches of tramped-down dirt—but that hideous barbed-wire fence! It made me shudder. I’m glad they have it, of course, but Ironside Lake has always been a safe place, and now it seems less so. Politics aside, that’s how I feel, and I can’t help but say it.

  As to Anders’s sermon, he didn’t mention a word about it. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but please don’t demean his faithful service to our community by implying that was cowardly of him. I’ve always said the church doesn’t need to interfere in every civil squabble. A pastor must concern himself with heavenly things, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only member of Immanuel Lutheran Church who found last Sunday’s message on the Babylonian captivity very uplifting.