“Okay. Another hard question here. What race do you boys call yourselves?”

“Caucasian,” said Amarjeet.

“Oriental,” said Ram.

“I’ll mark both,” said the man.

“We are not both,” said Amarjeet. Suddenly he felt an arm on his shoulder, a man’s face hovering beside his.

“How’s it going here, Howard?” the sheriff said in a friendly drawl. “Good to see foreigners register—even when they don’t have to fight—why, we want them to know how much we Americans appreciate that.” His voice was friendly, but Amarjeet could see the message being conveyed to the clerk.

“No sir, sheriff. Everybody’s getting along.”

“Exactly what President Wilson’s askin’ of us.”

“Don’t I know it!” The clerk looked at Amarjeet again. “I’ll put Hindu next to Oriental, so the men in Washington know what to do.” He nodded at them. “Those men in Washington know everything.”

Amarjeet and Ram exchanged a glance. In the next line, Nick Amsler had finished and stepped away.

“Oh. I forgot one up here,” the man said, peering through his reading glasses. “These blanks are hard to read. Alien status?”

“Yes,” answered Amarjeet.

The man marked it, then he read more off a booklet lying near him, then turned back to the blank: “But have you men”—he cleared his throat—“declared your intention to become a citizen?”

“No,” Ram said.

Amarjeet paused. “Does it make a difference?”

The man shrugged. “I think so.”

“No,” Amarjeet said, finally.

“That’s it,” the man said, turning the card toward Amarjeet. “Make your mark or sign your name—right here.”

Ram’s turn was faster. He added that he was married. He added that he was father to a son. “It’s a lot easier with the second one of you folks,” the man said. Ram signed quickly. “The medical examinations are at the Masonic Hall. You all have a good day now.”

“It does not matter if you were married or not,” Amarjeet said as they stepped outside. The sunlight hurt his eyes. “You are exempt because you never declared.”

“Never declared what?” asked Ram.

“You never filed any papers with the U.S. government to become a citizen. If you never do that, you don’t have to go fight in the war.”

“Ah,” said Ram. “Good.”

Amarjeet didn’t answer.

“Did you file such papers, Amarjeet?” Ram asked.

“No,” Amarjeet said. He did not add that, sometimes, he had wanted to.

THERE WAS A LINE at the Masonic Hall too; examinations occurred in the banquet hall and the lodge room upstairs. Ram and Amarjeet climbed these steps together, but at the top, they were taken to opposite sides of a cavernous room. Ram gave Amarjeet a look of impatience as they separated.

Curtains partitioned each exam stall. Ceiling fans spun overhead. Amarjeet’s stall was positioned next to a window, and bright sunlight slanted across the space. He could see Mount Signal in the distance. Three men in white lab coats stood waiting for him. As soon as he entered, their eyes rested on his dastar. “I suppose you’ll be claiming an exemption?” one of the men said.