By Shizuye Takashima
When Shizuye Takashima, "Shichan" as she used to be known as, was once 11 years previous, her whole global replaced eternally. As a Japanese-Canadian in 1941, she was once between millions of individuals compelled from their houses and despatched to stay in internment camps within the Canadian Rockies. even supposing none have been convicted of any crime, they have been thought of the enemy as the nation was once at conflict with Japan. during this actual tale of unhappiness and pleasure, Shichan remembers her existence within the days top as much as her family's compelled flow to the camp, her worry, anger, and frustration because the struggle drags on, and the amazing joys within the camp: a Kabuki play, vacation celebrations, and the ever present fantastic thing about the stars.
From the alternate Paperback edition.
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Additional info for A Child in Prison Camp
The teacher commands. I sit on the steps outside the school trying not to laugh. Then I hear the door open once more. I turn. It is the boy who shares my desk. The door slams behind him, too. Silence. He sits beside me on the narrow steps, he smiles, squints his dark eyes. “Teachers are funny people. What were you daydreaming about? ” I tell him, “Marco Polo. Can you imagine if I came down the streets with all my camels and servants, with jewels and bells. It’s so lovely. I wish I could travel.
I sit up with a start. I feel the cold air. It is so very cold. Our stove must have gone out! I crawl back into bed, I try to move my pillow. It is stuck again to the damp, cold walls. ” It is Yuki. She nudges my feet. Then I remember I had told her I’d get up early and go to Communion with her. The seven-thirty service. I slowly re-open my eyes. It is still dark. I crawl out of our bunkbed. Everyone is still asleep. We step outside. The snow is fresh, but not too deep. The early morning light is gently beginning to show.
He and mother always treat me special, I guess because I’m the youngest and not as strong as Yuki. She doesn’t mind; she knows I love her. I watch my father cook and I listen. The old song sounds full of joy…. Father ties a towel around his head. Mother hands him a bowl. He raises his arm, dances around. He is graceful as he waves his arm and bowl in time with the music. We all laugh. Mr. Kono joins him and sings. It is an old folk song. Mother claps her hands in time with the rhythm. She is looking at my slippers, the ones David sent us for Christmas.
A Child in Prison Camp by Shizuye Takashima