Title – No Quiet Water
Author – Shirley Miller Kamada
Genre – Historical Fiction
Publisher – Black Rose Writing
Book Blurb –
NO QUIET WATER follows 10-year-old Fumio and his family as they are forced to leave their home, farm, and their dog Flyer, while they are escorted into an internment camp. Within the harsh conditions of the camps, Fumio learns what it means to endure while discovering a new world of possibility and belonging. When waiting becomes unbearable, Flyer sets out on his own, seeking to rejoin his family.
Excerpt –
Wearing an unpleasant smile, the soldier pulled from the duffel a clean
white handkerchief in which Fumio had wrapped three True Line writing pencils. Two were nearly new, one was merely a stub with a worn-down pink eraser. In the small bundle, also, were Fumio’s much-prized drawing pencil and the kneadable eraser Jacob had given him. The young private loosened a corner of the handkerchief and the stubby yellow pencil fell back into the duffel. Then, smirking, he flicked his wrist and snapped the handkerchief hard.
As Fumio watched, the newest of the True Lines, his drawing pencil, and the eraser hit the ground, bounced, and ricocheted out of sight.
“Stop tha—!” his father began but snuffed the demand. These were pencils, after all. Fumio understood this was not the time, nor was there sufficient reason, for conflict.
The soldier plunged his hand into the duffel again and rummaged through its contents. He held up a schoolbook, Fumio’s fifth-grade
arithmetic text, then shoved it back, deep into the bag.
At the bottom of the duffel, the soldier’s fingers must have closed on the soft disarray of Suzey Belle’s hair. His fist jerked upward, and he yowled. The doll whipped into the air and one little shoe flew off.
Kimiko cried out at the sight of Suzey Belle. When the shoe struck the ground not far from the young soldier’s feet, the three-year-old burst free of Fumio’s hold, her hands outstretched.
At the charge of the tiny tot, the soldier spat, “Stay back!” Kimiko surged onward, but Fumio lunged for her, caught the hem of her dress, and drew her near.
His mother rushed forward and pulled both her children into her encircling arms. Fumio’s father stepped up beside her, reached down, and lifted the sobbing Kimiko.
Maybe it was unusual for a ten-year-old boy to carry a doll in his duffel bag, but his sister had been sad to leave one of her beloved dolls behind and the remedy was simple. He retrieved the second doll, buried his baseball mitt in the carton bound for the Whitlock attic, and tucked the doll into his bag where his mitt had been.
Fumio’s eyes shifted to the ground. He caught sight of one of his pencils and took a half-step toward it.
“That’s far enough,” the private snarled. “This is your bag, boy?”
All that Fumio had been taught by his parents and grandfather came to mind. Do not boldly meet the eyes of your elders. Do not speak except to answer a question or obey a command. Fumio nodded, his gaze landing slightly to the side of the man’s face.
“Look at me, kid!” the soldier barked. “Do you expect me to believe a boy your age would bring a doll to this rodeo? ”He turned to the other soldier. “That don’t seem right, does it, Dub? What do you think about that?”
“I don’t know, Stanley. I guess I had a doll when I was—” He bit off the words, shrugged again.
“You don’t say.” The private laughed. “A doll, huh? Well, okay, maybe you did. But in this particular situation, I gotta believe there is contraband hidden inside this doll.” He pinned Fumio with a look. “What is it, kid? A camera? A short-wave radio? Some other kind of spy gear? Spill it!”
Fumio shook his head.
“Not gonna own up to it, huh?” The soldier lifted the doll to his own eye level and announced, “Well, I know how to find out!” Pulling a large knife from its sheath, he turned to watch Fumio while drawing back his arm, then slowly advancing the blade directly toward Suzey Belle.
Fumio’s ears began to ring. His field of vision blurred. Actions slowed. He’d known this feeling before—submerged in the community pool on a dare to see how long he could hold his breath, and again on the day the bombs fell on Pearl Harbor.
“Forbearance, Fumio,” his mother had murmured after the dark-suited agents took away the cookbook her great-aunt had given her. Confiscated, they’d called it.
“Forbearance!” his father had urged when they found that the fragile catch on his grandfather’s ancient footlocker had been broken by an FBI agent during the search of the Miyota property.
But now, Fumio cast aside the manner of a child toward an elder, even though this one wore a uniform and held a big, sharp knife. He was tired, the ride had been long, and this was too much. “No!” he shouted. “No! Don’t you hurt my little sister’s doll!” And, again, “No!”
A voice rang out. A woman’s voice demanded, “Stop that! Stand down,
soldier!”
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub) –
Author Biography –
Shirley Miller Kamada is a former educator, education director, and bookstore owner. No Quiet Water is her first novel and was inspired by her husband, Jimmy Kamada, who was born in Camp Minidoka just before it closed.
Social Media Links –
Website: ShirleyMillerKamada.com
Facebook: Shirley Miller Kamada | Facebook
Twitter: @shirleymkamada
Instagram: shirleymkamadaauthor