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Ana watched him walk around to the back of the car。 The raised trunk lid cut off her view。 She
heard the rattle of the rusty tin pails。 There were two distinct thumps as the heavy metal balls hit
the bottom of the pails。 The trunk lid closed； revealing Kestrel again。
Although color had been drained from the land； some light remained。 Ana saw Kestrel turn
away from the car； carrying one pail in his right hand。 He scrambled out of the ravine which hid
the car。 For a moment he was silhouetted against the blue…black sky； then he vanished。
Ana hesitated for only an instant before she got out of the car as silently as she could and
followed Kestrel。 She was worried by the change that had come over him since he had first
opened the trunk in the high Sierra pass。 Since that moment he had seemed to recede from her
like a dream； becoming more distant as the afternoon light had thickened into sunset。
Ana knew he was ill。 She wanted to help him； but did not know how。 He could be so remote；
folded in upon himself like the immaculate curves of a lotus bud； aware only of his own silent
center。
Yet when he had sensed her growing fear； he had gathered her into his arms； held her within his
silence like a precious memory。 She could not sit now and watch him walk alone into the night。
Sand and rocks turned beneath Ana’s feet。 Brittle brush caught the folds of the dress that was
bright red by day； black in the twilight。 Cautiously； she peered up over the edge of the ravine。
Thirty feet away； Kestrel waited； his face a distinct paleness against the dusk。 He was looking
toward her。 She realized that he had heard her follow him。 She shrank back； not wanting to face
his anger。 His footsteps approached； then stopped at the edge of the arroyo。
“I just wanted to help…” Ana’s voice thinned into silence。
Wordlessly； Kestrel set down the heavy pail。
“You’ve been so far away；” said Ana。 “I was afraid you would’t come back。”
Just as the silence became unbearable to Ana； Kestrel reached out to her； pulled her against him。
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His skin was cool； chilled by night closing swiftly around him。
Ana held on to him with surprising strength； understanding only that at this moment he needed
her warmth。 He kissed her very gently； and just as gently released her。
“If you must follow me；” he said； “you can bring the other bucket。”
“I’m sorry。 I’ll go back。 I’ll wait for you。”
“No； it’s better this way。 Bring the bucket。”
She turned away。
“Wait；” said Kestrel。 “In this you must obey me。 When you carry that bucket； do not come close
to the other bucket。 The buckets must not touch。”
“Yes。”
She scrambled back to the car； snatched up the handle of the pail and returned。 Kestrel had
climbed out of the ravine。 He pulled her up its crumbling side with an ease that belied sickness。
Thirty feet away from him； the other tin pail glowed faintly in the twilight。
“Wait here；” said Kestrel。 “When I pick up my pail； follow me。 When I walk； you walk。 When I
stop； you stop。 Don’t talk。 Sound carries far in this land。”
Ana followed Kestrel across a subtle rise in the desert floor。 The land looked flat； but was not。 It
was like an enormous rumpled sheet draped across the foot of the Sierras。
With each step the desert and the night closed more fully around her。 Her eyes continued to
adjust； finding illumination where she thought there was none。 Kestrel set down his pail and
walked back to Ana。
“Manzanar is just ahead；” he murmured。 “I’m going to bury the buckets before we go in。 When
we get through the fence； I’ll hide until you find your family。”
Kestrel dug in the sandy soil near the base of a clump of sagebrush； using one of the pails as a
shovel。 Each time the metal lip of the pail scraped over hidden rocks； Ana held her breath。
The*1 sounds seemed loud in the desert’s vast silence； as vivid as lightning at midnight。 Kestrel；
knowing that some noise was unavoidable； kept on digging。
He lowered the larger piece of uranium into the hole he had made。 Quickly； he shoved in a layer
of loose soil； tipped the bucket on its side in the hole； and filled both bucket and hole until only
a half…inch of metal pail poked above the sand to mark the burial place。 Thirty feet away； he
repeated the process with the smaller piece of uranium。
When Kestrel was finished； he selected three small branches from the litter at the base of the
sagebrush clump。 He used the branches as guides pointing from one piece of uranium to the
other。 The third branch he jammed into the lip of the rise。 Then he stood motionless；
memorizing landmarks that stood out of the increasing gloom。
The lights of Manzanar glowed more brightly with each moment； so close Ana thought she
could touch them。 It was an illusion fostered by clear air and her own anxiety； Manzanar’s outer
fence was a hundred yards away； the barracks several hundred yards beyond that。
“Come。”
Ana started at Kestrel’s voice so close to her ear。 Silently she followed him。 When they reached
the fence； Kestrel took a small pair of wire cutters from his pocket。 The cutters were suited
more for florists wire than Army fencing； but Kestrel was both strong and patient。 The wires
parted。
Kestrel guided Ana through； then pulled a tumbleweed over to conceal the break in the fence。
Ana waited； her heart beating so loudly that she could hear nothing else。
“This way；” breathed Kestrel。
He led her closer to the barracks lights。 As they approached the buildings； they heard voices
raised； people calling back and forth across the barracks rows。 The smell of a compost pile
replaced the astringent odor of sage。 A garden’s orderly rows marched toward the first building
a few hundred feet away。
Kestrel stopped。 Ana moved until she was so close that his breath warmed her lips。
“I’ll wait for you here；” said Kestrel。 His hands framed her face。 “If you aren’t alone； I must
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assume you are a prisoner。 I will kill whoever is with you； Ana。 Come alone if you can。”
Ana remembered Refugio’s swift death； but the memory had no impact。 She realized suddenly
that she did not care who Kestrel had killed； or that he might kill again。 She buried her face
against his neck。
“Just be here when I come back；” she whispered fiercely。 “Nothing else matters。”
Kestrel smiled against the silky coolness of her hair。 “You’re becoming more Japanese；” he
whispered。 “Now if you could only learn obedience…。”
Ana laughed softly。 Her lips brushed his； then she slipped from his arms into the impersonal
embrace of night。
Manzanar
40 Hours After Trinity
Ana walked between rows of plywood and tarpaper barracks； looking for “apartment” number
39A。 All around her； people hurried through the night； pushed by the wind that was as much a
part of Manzanar as the blowing sand。 Several times she was frightened by the sight of uniforms；
only to realize that they were worn by Nisei soldiers on leave； visiting their families in Manzanar。
At first Ana kept her head down； avoiding direct glances。 Then she realized that the camp was
too big for a strange Japanese to be noticed。 What was one more among Manzanar’s thousands？
She found apartment 39A at the end of a long barracks row； facing the Sierras。 The public
washrooms were nearby； and the fence was only a short distance。
Reluctantly； Ana faced the barracks where her father and mother lived。 She hoped that her
brother was still in Italy。 She did not want to argue about loyalty tonight。 Nor did she want to
confront her sad； worn father。 For a moment she considered going directly to Masataka Oshiga；
her father’s uncle。 It was Masataka who had given her money and a letter of introduction to
Takagura Omi in Juarez。 But it was also Masataka who had helped her brother enlist in the
American Army。 Masataka was like a weaver； knotting up the disparate threads of the American
Japanese communities； carrying messages between families torn apart by war。 Japanese loyalists
and Americans alike claimed Masataka as their own。
Ana did not know where the truth of Masataka’s loyalty was。 All she knew was that he had
helped her； and Takagura trusted him in many things。 But Masataka was traditional； he would
expect her to go to her father first。 If she did not； Masataka would simply ignore her。
Cold wind rocked Ana； deciding her。 She took the three stairs in a rush； opened the door and
stepped inside before she could change her mind。 The wind snatched the door out of her fingers
and slammed it shut behind her。
Startled； an old man looked up from his chair。 For a long moment he and Ana stared at each
other。
“Ana！ Where did you come from？ What are you doing here？”
He spoke the inelegant Japanese she still heard in her dreams。 She looked at him with a familiar
mixture of anger and love。 He was small； worn away to bones； hands knotted by a lifetime of
labor。
“Ana？” said her mother； rising from a floor cushion。 “I was just writing to you！ What –？”
“Listen。 Both of you。 No one knows I’m here。 I’ve brought a – friend。 He’s sick。 He needs a
place to stay for a few days。”
“The hospital will – “ began her mother。
“No！ No one must know he’s here。 It will just be for a few days； until he’s better。” And； added
Ana silently； until Takagura can arrange a safe passage south for Kestrel and the odd； heavy
metal he guarded so carefully。 She looked at her father。 “He’s weak。 Surely you can give shelter
to a weak friend？”
“Is he Takagura Omi’s friend？”
Ana hesitated； then decided on the truth。 “Yes。 He is a samurai。 A true Japanese！”
Her father’s expression became closed。 She watched； wanting to scream at him as she had done
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years ago； when the relocation orders had been signed and he had obeyed without even arguing。
“Then he is America’s enemy；” said her father。
“He’s too sick to be anyone’s enemy。” Ana turned toward her mother； but she looked away；
waiting for her husband’s decision。 “Just a few days；” Ana said。 “No one will know。 Please！ He’s
outside and it’s cold。 He needs help！”
“All right。” Her father’s voice was rough。 “Bring him in out of the wind。 But no promises；
daughter。 We have much to talk about。”
Manzanar
40 Hours 20 Minutes After Trinity
The black desert night was crisscrossed by golden rectangles of light from barracks windows。
After 9：00 A。M。 most of the inhabitants of Manzanur stayed inside。
Vanessa buttoned her dark jacket against the wind and set off between two rows of barracks。
Conversations among the people still outside gusted with the wind； words in Japanese and
English； but nothing that had any meaning to her。 By the time conversation reached her； it had
been shredded by the wind。 Each time she tracked the sounds to a group of people； the
conversation died。
“Good evening；” said Vanessa； coming up to a group of two men and a woman。 “I’m Vanessa
Lyons； from the British Broadcasting Company。 I believe Colonel Mahan made an
announcement to the camp about me earlier this evening。”
The three people bowed politely。 There was a murmur of low…voiced greetings。
“Have you been in Manzanar since it was built？”
No one answered。 The three people bowed again； but said nothing。 If they understood English；
they did not reveal it。
“Where did you live before？”
The Japanese bowed to Vanessa and silently walked away。
The next group she approached did not speak English either。 They listened to her； bowed
politely and melted into the darkness with more bows and apologies。 Vanessa tried several other
groups with no better luck。 The Japanese had built their own society in Manzanar； closed and
circumspect； all but impenetrable。 It would take time and luck to find an inmate who would help
her。
Impatience and anxiety tightened the lines of her mouth。 If anyone should decide to do more
than a cursory check on her BBC credentials； she would have a lot of explanations to make。 She
had to find the Oshiga apartment before that happened。
Finally she tried a group of four boys； all in their early teens； all with the casual mannerisms of
Americans。
“Good evening；” said Vanessa； smiling brilliantly。 “I’m Miss Lyons of the British Broadcasting
Company。 I’m supposed to interview the Oshiga family； but I’ve lost my way。”
“Which Oshiga family？” a