AFTER dinner in the evenings, the adults sat around the radio. Dolores mended socks and tears in clothing while she heard about the Women’s Air Raid Defense operating radar stations all over O‘ahu. They had new stations on Kaua‘i, atop Mt. Haleakala on Maui, and on the Big Island.
Other bits of life were changing, too. Meat and fish were shipped to soldiers, so Grandma Jessie’s stewpot became vegetables only. She tried to make it thick and hearty. Manolo’s brothers complained over lunch at Grandma Jessie’s big kitchen table, but never about the meal.
“The governor forbids withdrawing more than two hundred dollars a month from our bank accounts.” João said.
They talked politics and war. Dolores sent her girls outside to play with Rosa and her brothers. She couldn’t keep them innocent forever, but she wouldn’t encourage their education about the worst parts of life.
“When have you ever had two hundred dollars?” Frank scoffed. He rarely joined the family for lunch. Frank pointed his fork at his brother. “Bad enough we had to replace our currency with the ‘Hawaiian series’ money that’s stamped ‘Hawai‘i.’ They say if the Japs take a pile of US currency in a raid, they won’t be able to use it.”
“Stop it now,” Manolo told them, his dark eyes serious. He turned to Antonio, Alberto’s father. “You have a lot of Japanese friends in construction, right?”
Antonio nodded.
“They join up with Emmon’s battalion?”
“Most of them. Toro Ishikawa’s family volunteered for relocation.” Dolores gave him a puzzled look. “About forty Japanese families, exchanged for Americans living in Japan. They’re all volunteers, but it smacks of prisoner treatment.”
“They will live in Japan?” Ruth asked.
Antonio said, “Toro’s parents have family in Tokyo. They’ll be fine. Toro will miss Hawai‘i though. He grew up here.”
They considered this in silence. Dolores had met Toro Ishikawa a couple of times, a quick nod in passing, but it still seemed like a friend was being mistreated. No matter how afraid she became, she couldn’t reconcile Japanese bomber pilots with Japanese neighbors.
Rosa, Carmen, and Betty rushed into the kitchen. Their faces glowed with damp. “It’s raining and sunny, Grandma,” they said to Jessie. “Tell us the story again.”
Dolores opened her mouth to tell them not to bother her, but Grandma Jessie wiped her hands on her apron and gathered the girls close. They sat together at the kitchen table. The men moved aside to make room. “Well, there was a time when the sun didn’t shine in Hawai‘i. Not at all.”
The girls giggled. They loved this story and made her tell it every time it rained while the sun was out, which happened frequently in Honolulu. João and Manolo grinned. They loved it as much as the girls.
“The king of Tahiti took the Hawaiian sun, you see, and hid it in a cave on his island. He piled blocks of lava high to close up the entrance and ordered a bird to guard the cave. The people of Hawai‘i suffered without the sun and prayed for relief. One of the gods went to Tahiti and strangled that bird in its sleep.”
Her hands mimicked piling the blocks and strangling the bird. The little girls listened with rapt attention.
“The god removed the lava blocks and hurled the sun high into the sky over Hawai‘i.” The girls cheered. Grandma Jessie continued, “No enemy of the sun can reach him now. Even the rain can’t hide him for long. Remember, children, the sun conquers rain with liquid sunshine.”
“Liquid sunshine!” Rosa hollered, dragging Carmen back into the yard. Betty galloped after them.
Dolores stepped up to the sink and looked out the window. “There they go, playing in the liquid sunshine.”
Grandma Jessie laughed. “They’d never play in the rain if they were worried about getting wet. This way they can still have fun and the sun will dry them when the rain stops.”
Dolores looked at this amazing woman, sixty years old but stronger than all of them. She kept the ugly parts of the world away from her door. Jessie took care of those closest to her, of family. Of her. She didn’t need her long-absent husband to do it. Ruth had her mother’s strength, too. She continued to make a loving life for herself and her children without her husband. They’d done it with unwavering family support. Manolo’s family, not Dolores’s.
TWENTY-TWO
San Francisco 1942
Over the next weeks, Governor Emmons thwarted the efforts of Navy Secretary Paul Knox, who wanted to remove all Japanese from Hawai‘i because of the possibility of sabotage. Even so, the president’s executive order sent almost a thousand Japanese Hawaiians to detention camps on the mainland. Sand Island, on Oahu, received more Japanese internees. When the authorities came for Yoshiko and her husband, Alberto went outside to protest.
“Her boys are in Emmon’s labor battalion,” he told the officers.
“We know that, sir. They’ve been picked up.”
Yoshiko collapsed in tears. Grandma Jessie, who had followed Alberto into the yard, went to her neighbor’s side to comfort her. Yoshiko’s husband stared at the police in shock.
Honolulu’s tension grew. Something had to break. Dolores must keep her girls safe. Bouts of panic fanned the fear inside her. More and more, she considered living and protecting her children without Manolo’s family. In that scenario, friends became critical. Her best friend had always been Maria. After she married Manolo, Dolores had felt the need to make it work and show Maria she’d been wrong. When Maria’s concerns proved valid, Dolores had been too embarrassed to call her. Using the attack as an excuse, she mustered her courage and called.
“Dolores! So wonderful to hear from you.”
Dolores’s anxiety melted away. “Are you all right? All of you?”
“None of us hurt,” Maria said. “Just shaken up. It was a terrible thing.”
“That it was.” They were silent for a moment with memories too raw to share.
“Peter put our names on an evacuation list right away,” Maria said. Her voice shook.
“Evacuation? Where will you go?”
“California. He’ll join us when he can.”
“But you don’t know anyone in California. What will you do?”
Maria hesitated. “I don’t know, Dolores. The army wants its dependents off the island.”
“My brother is in California. He’s asked me to come,” Dolores said.
“Evacuation is a choice for you. Will you go?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a big step. Send your address to Ruth when you settle in. Ruth can send it to me if I go to the mainland, too. We can stay in touch that way.”
“Be safe, Dolores. Keep aloha in your heart.”
“I will, and you do the same.” Dolores hung up but kept her hand on the receiver for a long moment as if reluctant to break contact with Maria. Evacuations were a mess. The army, the navy, and the steamship company took names of women and children who wanted to evacuate. The army and navy wanted to force dependents to go, but many didn’t want to leave. To make matters worse, Hawaiian residents stuck on the mainland were not allowed to come home.
Ruth said she would join the Women’s Air Raid Defense and learn to man a radar station. She was glad she hadn’t when, before dawn on March 5, Japanese planes approached Hawai‘i once more. The Kaua‘i Air Raid Defense station picked them up and sent out an alert. The family rushed for the shelter once more, instantly wide awake and fearing the worst. Sleepy children clung to them as they waited by the radio. Dolores focused on Carmen’s head, heavy against her shoulder, and on Betty’s legs as she kicked and squirmed to get off her mother’s lap. Carmen was old enough to know what they were hiding from, and her face paled. Dolores squeezed her hand and held it tight. The moon was dark tonight, hidden by clouds, and a steady rain pattered on the shelter doors above their heads.
“Where’s Manolo?” Ruth whispered, her lips in a tight line.
Dolores shook her head. She didn’t know. William and Winona, both teenagers now, sat with ten-year
-old Rosa between them. Ruth hovered over them.
The Japanese planes eluded Honolulu’s radar. When bombs shook the earth, they didn’t hit their shelter. The radio called the planes “flying boats” and claimed they couldn’t see their target either. Two bombs hit at the harbor entrance, and a couple hit inland. No ships in the harbor were damaged.
No ships damaged, but her body could contain no more fear. On March 5, Dolores wrote to her brother.
Dear Paul,
It’s been a hectic three months. I only want my daughters to be safe, and it seems they will not be so in Honolulu. I hope your invitation to California is still open as I plan to come as soon as I can.
Your sister,
Dolores
Ruth attempted to dissuade her. “You hardly know your brother. Family is here, Dolores. We look out for each other.”
“Now, Ruth,” Manolo said, “ship passages are hard to come by. If hunting for one keeps Dolores’s fears tamped down, we should encourage her.”
“That’s not much support,” Dolores said, stung.
“What if she finds spots on a ship?” Ruth asked.
“Then it will be a grand adventure,” Manolo said with a grin. He was humoring her. Dolores ignored him.
“Some navy ships are taking passengers,” Dolores said, determined to persist in her efforts.
“Yes, you go check that out,” her husband said as he turned away. His distracted tone made it clear he thought she would reconsider.
Navy dependents had three different locations where they could put their names on a list for evacuation. Non-dependent civilians were told to register at the Honolulu Gas Company. After Dolores did that, she went to Castle & Cooke, another navy registration location, and registered there, too. She was told to be ready at a moment’s notice. To protect the convoys, departure dates were not announced ahead of time. Dolores packed a suitcase for herself and one for the girls.
In May, Governor Emmons assembled the Hundredth Infantry Battalion from the island’s Japanese men, which included Yoshiko’s three sons. He sent them from Sand Island to the mainland for training. Their motto was “Remember Pearl Harbor.” That was for the mainlanders. Islanders didn’t need a motto for remembrance.
In Dolores’s kitchen on a balmy spring night, Ruth and Dolores were sipping glasses of wine and talking quietly so as not to wake the sleeping children. The moon bathed the yard in silver and prompted spiritual conversation.
“Love is a crazy thing,” Ruth began. “It begins with physical attraction. I mean, you have to think he’s cute, right?”
Dolores laughed. “I first saw Manolo at Hanauma Bay. He was soaking wet and smiling. Salt spray covered his glasses.”
“Ah, so he was in his element.” Ruth smiled. “But you have to get to know a man to love him. You need matching dreams and desires.”
“I don’t know,” Dolores protested. “Can’t you support each other’s dreams if they are different?”
“I don’t know.” Ruth contemplated the moon. “I’ve never had that experience.”
Dolores considered Manolo. What were his dreams? At one time, he’d dreamed of being her husband and father of her children, the man of their house. And twelve years into their marriage they still lived in one of his mother’s houses. Dolores dreamed of keeping her children safe. Manolo must agree even if he didn’t discuss it with her. “So physical love and mental love. It seems there should be more.”
Ruth waved at the moon-silvered yard. “A man I love must have the same spiritual beliefs. He has to believe in heaven, and God’s love.”
Dolores nodded. “So we’ve got it all figured out!”
“But our marriages were disasters.”
Surprised, Dolores didn’t respond right away. Charles had left Ruth although they never divorced.
“Come on, Dolores, we both know your marriage is no marriage.”
Dolores sipped her wine.
“You picked the wrong Medeiros boy,” Ruth said. “The best choice for you isn’t a Medeiros at all, is it?”
“What do you mean?” She knew though. Alberto’s mother may be a Medeiros, but he was a Rodrigues. “Ruth, we can’t discuss this.”
“Avoiding it won’t make it go away,” Ruth said.
Dolores didn’t respond. Alberto didn’t seem to have a darker side. Because she was married, she could never discover the depth of her true feelings for Alberto. Or his for her.
Ruth’s open conversation solidified Dolores’s resolve to leave the island. She made the rounds of evacuation agencies, asking about her status. Dolores wasn’t pregnant or infirm, and she didn’t have a job critical to the war effort. She wasn’t a tourist, nor did she have a large number of children. That put her at the bottom of the priority lists. Thousands were ahead of her.
At the beginning of June, the Japanese attacked Midway, and fresh panic broke out in Honolulu. Thousands more changed their mind and registered to evacuate. At last the phone call came. She was told, “Be at the dock by nine o’clock in the morning.” Less than twelve hours’ notice. Her first call was to Alberto. He left work immediately and came to her.
“We’re leaving,” she said. The words left a hollow place inside her. They seemed so final, so irrevocable.
“Oh, querida, yo’ passage come! When?”
“Tomorrow morning. Alberto, I have to go, but I’m scared.”
“Yo’ scared ta stay and scared ta go, ya? I get it. Yo’ a strong woman, Dolores. Yo’ survive, and yo’ do what’s best fo’ your girls. Men no being evacuated. Manolo follow yo’ later?”
“I called you first. He doesn’t know yet. He didn’t think I could find three passages, so I don’t think he’s made any plans. Who knows when he’ll be able to follow, anyway?”
“You go ta Paul?” Alberto knew all about her brother’s offer.
“Living with Sofia can’t be worse than living with Manolo.” Her attempt at humor sounded flat, but Alberto laughed.
“Tito Mano has his demons, ya?” he said.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Dolores said. “I will miss you, Alberto.”
“Querida, the sun desert the island when ya go. You be my heart. No forget dat. Never.”
Alberto took her in his arms and held her close. Electricity tingled along her body. She pulled away and looked into his eyes until his lips brushed hers. Then she closed her eyes and surrendered to the feelings she’d denied so long.
ON June 22, 1942, Dolores and her daughters prepared to board the USS Republic. It was a navy troop transport ship, not a passenger liner, but it was going to San Francisco with families who wanted out of Hawai‘i. Carmen gripped Betty’s hand, and Dolores had Carmen’s. Summer breezes played with their skirts and twisted the girls’ dresses around their legs. Manolo drove his wife to the dock.
“This is foolish, Dolores,” he said yet again.
“Too many people want to leave Honolulu,” she said. “I can’t risk losing this opportunity.”
“When will you be home?”
She couldn’t have this conversation. Alberto’s farewell the night before still sang in her heart. “The convoy will crisscross the ocean. It’ll take longer than the usual six days. I should be home in ten days or so.”
His jaw set as he understood. “Sofia will make you miserable. Paul’s place is not your home.”
“There is no reason for me to come back to Honolulu.”
“I don’t know how long it will take to sell all our belongings and join you,” he said. Men were not yet being allowed on evacuation ships. He was just laying groundwork for later excuses.
“Take your time. We’ll be fine.” Dolores turned away. “Come on girls. How exciting this will be!” She carried her suitcase and held Carmen’s hand. Carmen had the girls’ suitcase. At six, Betty was responsible enough to follow her mother. At least Dolores hoped so. She was anxious to leave. In California, her family would be safe. In California, she would be safe.
Dolores didn’t look back
as they walked up the gangplank. Below them, the lower decks received cargo. An armed soldier led chained men on board. Prisoners? Dolores frowned.
On deck, one sailor stepped forward. He found them two beds together in a cabin intended for two that now held eight bunk beds.
“I want to sleep on the top,” Betty announced.
“You and Carmen will share the top bunk. I’ll sleep on the bottom.” The cheerful tone Dolores tried to set dissipated as she shoved their two suitcases under the bottom bunk. She understood now why that was all they could bring. Taking the folded blankets stacked on the bed, she made up the two bunks so others would know those were taken. She was doing this. She was setting off on a voyage all alone. She longed for Alberto with a physical pain that caused her to gasp. She forced a smile on her face and took her daughters by the hand. “Come on girls, let’s go explore.”
“Mama, I’m dizzy,” Carmen complained.
“Dizzy?” Was it the ship’s gentle rocking? Without sight, Carmen’s equilibrium couldn’t adjust. “You can lie down once we are underway.”
Carmen put on a braver smile than her mother’s.
“Here, Carmen, this helps.” Betty handed her sister the rabbit’s foot Dolores had given her.
Dolores smiled.
Carmen pulled her own rabbit’s foot out of her pocket and gave Betty’s back. “Grandma Jessie said to hold them tight when we were scared, and they will bring us luck.”
“Rabbit’s feet are very good luck.” Dolores took Carmen’s empty hand and walked up to the deck. She looked back and smiled encouragement at Betty.
The ship was utilitarian gray and full of uniformed sailors. Three years earlier Dolores had set sail with Manolo for the World’s Fair. She remembered the color and joy and elegance of that departure, making this one seem even grayer. Dolores was more disturbed than she cared to admit that she had no lei to toss toward Diamond Head.
She stood at the railing and watched the islands fade into the distance, wondering if leaving Hawai‘i meant leaving aloha behind. She’d miss Grandma Jessie’s calm strength and Ruth’s unwavering support. Maria had been her rock for as long as she could remember, always as close as the phone. These women had shared so much, taught her so much. Dolores’s thoughts drifted to Noelani, who had loved her in her own way. Guilt stabbed Dolores. She’d been awful to Noelani. As long as she could, she put off thinking about Manolo and Alberto. They would both follow her in spirit, one restraining her with fear and one encouraging her with love. If only the right one would follow her in person to California.
The Aloha Spirit Page 22