The Murder of Manzanar

We drove past a barbed-wire fence, through a gate, and into an open space where trunks and sacks and packages had been dumped from the baggage trucks that drove out ahead of us. Inside the bus no one stirred. No one waved or spoke, they all just stared out the windows, ominously silent. Arriving at Manzanar had its toll on all of us. The children were happy the bus ride was over, after being antsy. I was concerned. How were we expected to start over? I was having enough trouble with the new baby. Being thrown into poverty didn’t help much.
When Manzanar first opened all the Japs were thrown in, expected to adjust to the style of living. Food was canned and plain. The barracks were simple, and did not protect us well from the various forms of weather. The most common of these were sandstorms. Every morning, I awoke to the baby crying, and a thin layer of fine orange dust covering every surface.
One morning, I woke to the baby and began to stumble out of bed. But the lifeless body caught my eye.

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