Gina smiled at the silliness and slipped the card into the pocket of her dress.
Mr. Fugio continued in his boastful way. “You dance like Ginger Rogers. Would you like to meet her? When we get to Hollywood, I can arrange that.”
“You flatter me, sir. Of course I’d like to meet Ginger Rogers, but I’m happy enough here in little ole Manila.”
“Don’t be coy. Fame can be yours. Look at Baal-hamon, here.”
She smiled at Baal-hamon and received a scowl in return. He peered at her breasts with half-closed eyes. “I’d like to see you do a fan dance, like that woman Sally Rand.”
Gina’s hand flew to her chest as she half chortled and half gasped in surprise at the insinuation that she was a stripper. “Ah-ah . . .”
Mr. Fugio laughed loudly. “What do you expect from a kid?”
As if on cue, Julio began playing the theme song from Baal-hamon’s recent movie, and Gina silently thanked him for rescuing her from a sticky situation. She stood and announced Baal-hamon’s presence and led the audience in applause, knowing he and his entourage would return to Pearl Blue along with his many loyal followers.
She said goodbye and good luck to Baal-hamon and his hangers-on and joined Jonesy at the bar, where he was hunched over a plate of dim sum. She asked, “What you got there?”
He poked at one of the gelatinous dumplings with a small fork. “Chiu Chow, fun guo . . . shrimp, pork, and peanuts.” He picked up a talon-shaped body dripping with sauce and held it out to her. “Fung zao . . . steamed chicken feet. Want it? Dim sum’s meant to be shared.”
Gina ate the spongy-textured tidbit and licked the sweet soy sauce off her fingers. “What will we be reading in the morning paper?”
“Bad news or good?”
“It’s all bad, isn’t it?”
Jonesy’s chin jerked up in agreement, and he huddled close to her. “Lieutenant Stevenson and his guerrilla unit were captured yesterday. You familiar with them?”
Gina remembered the odd duck of a kid named Stevenson, who had shown up at Davy’s camp asking to see their leader. She’d laughed at him that day. “Lieutenant Robert Louis Stevenson. He recruited his ROTC schoolmates.”
“That’s him. They never set up a base camp, just kept moving from place to place giving the Japs shit. They were captured in a barrio near Angeles. The Kempeitai rounded up the local men, women, and children, hooded half, then shot one at a time until someone broke.” Jonesy talked while he devoured a dumpling. “It’s just one of their dirty little games.”
Gina knew the Kempeitai’s cruelty. Hearing it always sickened her.
A Japanese officer pushed his way to the bar and stood next to Gina. Her insides tensed, but she greeted him with a smile.
Jonesy stopped talking.
After the officer got his beer and left, Gina leaned closer to Jonesy and whispered, “I have a friend who needs something. I think you may be able to help. It’s hard to talk now. Can you stay until closing?”
“Yup. Got nothing to do but keep my eyes and ears open. Great hole-in-the-wall for intrigue, this place.”
Gina bristled. Hole-in-the-wall?
After closing, Gina turned off the neon sign and locked the door. She poured whiskey for Jonesy and mixed gin and vermouth for herself. Jonesy spun around on the barstool and surveyed the lit room. “I came here when it was Rosa’s. You’ve done a nice job cleaning this place up.”
Gina smirked. “You just called it a hole-in-the-wall.”
“Just an expression. I hang out in a lot of dives.”
“What do you think of our floor shows?”
“Too highbrow for me, but you’ve got an audience. I’ve heard you pack the place with the best and the brightest of Hirohito’s Imperial Navy. You must pull in a bundle.”
“It’s enough to buy groceries.” She took a cigarette from a pack on the bar. Jonesy lit it for her and one for himself. She said through a cloud of smoke, “Tell me your story.”
“Not much to tell. I’m native. Graduated from the University of Santo Tomas and joined the army. My unit was stationed in northern Luzon when MacArthur ordered the army to retreat to Bataan. I vacationed on Bataan when I was a kid, and I saw it for the trap it was. I slipped into the mountains. I guess technically I’m a deserter.” He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew it out his nose, squinting. “I came back to Manila just before the Japs’ big entry. I swore allegiance to their imperial asshole, and they kept me on at the newspaper. What they didn’t know is before they showed up, I smuggled out a new radio and replaced it with a junker from the storeroom.” He snickered, glanced at his drink, and pushed it away. “Too much of this. Got any water?”
At the mention of a radio, her heartbeat picked up a few thumps per minute. Out of habit, she played dumb as she poured a glass of water with ice and lemon. “You have a radio? You have a death wish?”
Jonesy shrugged. “The Nips have to find it first, and they won’t. It’s right under their noses.”
“How far does it reach?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Just am.”
“Australia. Sometimes San Francisco. It gives me a different perspective of what’s going on. Contrary to what you read in the rag I work for, the United States took the Mariana Islands. One by one they’re neutralizing Japanese bases in the Pacific. Did you read about it? I reported it in the Candor.”
“No. I didn’t see it.”
Jonesy thumped his knuckles on the counter. “Damn. And that’s my problem. There’s no circulation. The Candor should be all over Manila and in every prison camp and read by every guerrilla. I desperately need help with distribution.”
Gina was quick to pick up on his frustration. “And I know someone who desperately needs a radio.”
Jonesy’s stare was blank at first, and then he laughed. “Son of a bitch. You’re working with the guerrillas. I knew it. You are sharp, baby girl.”
Gina’s stare bored back into his. “As you might take notice, asshole, I’m not a baby girl.”
He laughed again. “Touché. I need to piss.” He left for the men’s room.
Gina debated how much she wanted to reveal to Jonesy. He was Filipino and knew the desires, customs, and habits of the people, plus he had contacts she didn’t and vice versa. Since he’d been vetted by those in the network, she felt he could be trusted. He liked his liquor, but he knew when to stop. When Jonesy returned, they both started talking at once.
“I can distribute—”
“Sorry, but I can’t give you a radio—”
“I didn’t figure you could. Do you have any components? My guys will take anything they can get.”
“That I can help you with.”
Gina bit on her lip. “There’s something else.”
“Your price comes high, baby . . . uhh, lovely lady. What is it?”
“I’d like you to listen around and tell me what rumors are in the air about us, you know, being friendly with the officers or whatever. There’s an admiral, Akia Tanaka. He’s become a fixture at Pearl Blue. He likes our programs, and I’ve let him use our side rooms for mah-jongg.”
Jonesy scratched the back of his head and grinned. “You getting involved?”
“I’m married.”
“Does that matter?”
“Of course it does. Keep it quiet. This world thinks I’m a widow. It’s important that I know what Admiral Tanaka is hearing. . . that’s all.”
Jonesy grabbed the whiskey he’d rejected earlier. “Deal. I’ll keep my ears open for rumors about Pearl Blue and gather up some radio parts. You help me increase the distribution of the Candor.”
They toasted to their new alliance.
He glanced at the clock. “Shit, it’s after midnight.”
Gina knew his concern. Booze and questioning at Fort Santiago were a dangerous combination. “You can stay here tonight.” She saw his grin. “Don’t get your hopes up. There’s a couch in the employee lounge. You’ll share it with Aleo t
he Cat.”
Chapter 25
ADMIRAL AKIA TANAKA
Visions of Gina enter my mind hourly and bring me moments of bliss. But as I look at my shrunken body and swollen feet, I feel uneasiness. How could she love . . . this?
—Ray Thorpe, Cabanatuan prison camp, October 1942–January 1944
Sometimes Gina needed to get away from the ringing phone, the clank of glassware as Eddie restocked and cleaned the bar, Julio and the band practicing a new arrangement, or the dancers working up a new routine. Outside Pearl Blue it was no better, with the shouts, whistles, honks, and sirens of crowds and traffic. At one time she had embraced the bustle of the city, but more often now she desired quiet and solitude. It was those times that Gina walked to Luneta Park and entered a different world, one of stretches of green grass, benches under massive bani trees, and the gentle lap of water on the shoreline of Manila Bay. Here, she could decompress, dream, and think.
Today Gina was deep in thought as she strolled along a path in the quieter area of the park away from the neoclassical government buildings and monuments that drew crowds. The shimmer of light through the trees and the crunch of gravel under her feet fostered relaxation. She filled her lungs with air, her chest expanding, and then blew the air out slowly and with it the tension her body greedily held. In a state of well-being she sat on a park bench next to a man reading a newspaper, it hiding his head and most of his body.
“Good morning,” she murmured.
The man lowered the paper and turned to look her way.
“Admiral Tanaka?”
“Signora?”
Without another word, he handed her the fashion section of the Washington Post and resumed his reading.
The Washington Post? She read of the latest fashion trends, which were all about creating an hourglass silhouette with padded shoulders, nipped-in waistlines, and skirts that covered the knee. More women were buying pants, this season also high waisted with a wide leg shape. Gina assessed the dress she was wearing, a shapeless number she’d purchased on sale at Heacock’s, thinking that maybe a belt would give her the nipped-in look coming in style.
She put the newspaper down and watched a doe and her spotted fawn foraging for berries under a bush and squirrels playing tag in the trees. She noticed the admiral watching too. “Admiral Tanaka, did you order the entertainment?”
“Yes, special for you. Do you come here often?”
“As often as I can get away. It’s close to Pearl Blue. I need to see the sky and the trees. It refreshes me. How about you?”
“It reminds me of home.” He folded the newspaper into a precise package and put it on the bench. “Would you like to walk with me?”
What would it hurt? It was just a walk in a public park, though she’d have to measure her words. “Certainly,” she said and stood and straightened the skirt of her dress. “And where is home?”
“Sometimes I wonder that myself. Tokyo. It’s where my family lives.”
They walked through a field of wild cosmos to a nearby pond and watched the ducks swimming among the lily pads and the turtles sunning on the pond’s edge. The admiral retrieved a handful of animal crackers from his pocket and threw one into the water. Three ducks paddled toward the floating cracker, and he threw another. Soon, six ducks were paddling within his throwing distance and then a dozen. He laughed and threw out the remainder in his hand.
“Do you have children?” Gina asked and saw a smile light up his face again. It was a handsome smile.
“Yes. Two boys. Riku is twelve years old. He’s quiet and studious. He’s away at school most of the year and just beginning to pull away from his mother. Soru just turned six, still a small child, but he’s a bit of a . . . what do you say . . . piston.”
Gina laughed. “Pistol.”
“Yes, a handful for his mother, but he’s bright. He’ll go far with a steady hand guiding him.”
“You must miss them, being so far away for so long.”
“I do, but we’re at war, and I owe a debt to my country. And you, Signora, what brought you to this beautiful island?”
She laughed. “A husband. What else? I was born in Milan but grew up in Canada. I met my husband there. He was an engineer and was offered a position at a diamond mine in the Sierra Madre. We thought it would be a great adventure. Unfortunately, it ended in tragedy. There was an accident, and he was killed.” She knitted her eyebrows appropriately, but her voice caught whenever she mentioned her fictional husband.
“I’m sorry. I can only imagine your sorrow. Do you have children?”
“No.” The denial stuck in her throat. “I’d like to have some someday, a girl for her daddy to spoil and a boy to carry on the family name.” How was it she lied so easily?
A Japanese family—father, mother, and two children—approached, and the admiral’s gaze followed them so longingly as they walked through the field of flowers that Gina wondered if he were visualizing his own family. He handed the children the remainder of the animal crackers in his pocket and then stood back to joyfully watch them feed the ducks.
They searched and found the path that meandered through a lush forested area, where Gina could hear nothing but birdcalls, winged flutters, and the rustle of leaves. The admiral stopped periodically to point out a rare plant or a beautifully flowering bush. The trees thinned, and they passed a playground where children were playing on the swings, seesaws, and a merry-go-round while parents and grandparents sat on benches sipping sodas.
Ahead, Gina saw the majestic shores of Manila Bay, the sunshine on the water sparkling like diamonds. At a kiosk nearby, the admiral purchased two sodas, and they sat on a bench that overlooked the water, the breeze off the bay refreshingly cool after their walk.
Feeling emboldened by the admiral’s friendly manner, Gina said, “Besides the banter at Pearl Blue, I’ve never talked to an admiral in the Japanese Imperial Navy. You’re very impressive, sir. You do know that?”
The admiral blushed and grinned. She could see he was pleased, and she, encouraged by his acceptance of her flattery, pushed a little further. “Tell me something about yourself.”
She learned that he was the third son of seven children, his father an intermediate-rank samurai. He’d had a happy, though strict, upbringing. As a young man, he had been adopted by the childless Tanaka family to carry on their rank and name.
“You were adopted as a young man?” Gina reiterated, not sure she’d heard right.
“It’s a common practice. I was given opportunities I never would have had, and my adoptive parents’ legacy stayed intact. Through their contacts, I was able to study at Harvard University and work as a naval attaché in Washington, DC.”
A Harvard graduate and a naval attaché; it accounted for the Washington Post and his Americanized ways. “How long were you in the US?”
“Five years. Three at Harvard studying business and mechanical engineering and two in Washington, DC. It’s a beautiful country, the United States. I traveled a lot while I was there. Unfortunately, my country doesn’t realize the vastness of our adversary’s resources. We should have dealt more terrific blows early in the war to deplete them. Maybe they would have then negotiated to end it.”
Gina felt her jaw clench and her breathing quicken at the thought of her beloved homeland being annihilated for what end besides greed, an ugly human condition never to be overcome even by love and shared values?
He looked off into the distance. “Unfortunately, we awoke a great sleeping giant. The sneak attack on Pearl Harbor spurred the US to revenge. I doubt Japan can hold on another year.” The sadness in his voice revealed his yearning for home and his great love for his country.
A sheen rose on Gina’s cheeks. She left the bench and walked to the water’s edge. She wondered if he realized the importance of what he had just told her and if he would remember later and regret it. Or was he naive enough to think her a safe confidante? She doubted that. Maybe the information was already widely known. Or maybe this w
as a test . . . too heartfelt, though; it didn’t feel like a test.
He joined her at the water’s edge.
She turned toward him. “It’s not what I read in the newspapers, sir. Japan is stripping the islands they capture of their natural resources, and she is stronger for it. I think your assessment is overly negative.”
Seemingly pulling out of his funk, he grinned. “My wife says that about me all the time. Come—let’s take the path along the bay back to the city.”
The long view of the bay had always been a stunning sight to behold, with sunsets so magnificent they took on an aura of the surreal. She and Ray had spent many an evening on their lanai, basking in the beauty while sharing the day’s events. Gina squelched the urge to try to glimpse the red roof of her house just behind her and up a hill. Instead she looked outward to the water. “Which one of those many ships is yours, Admiral? Impress me.”
He didn’t immediately answer, like he was trying to formulate what to say. “None, unfortunately. My ship is in repair at Cavite. It will be there awhile.”
Gina clamped her jaws shut, remembering what she’d read in the Candor about gruesome fighting and heavy casualties in the Marshall Islands. It was hard to cheer on the good old USA when the admiral walking beside her might be mourning his lost men. She squelched her impulses and said instead, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Japanese planes roared overhead so low that Gina clapped her hands over her ears and ducked her head. “I’ll never get used to that!” she shouted.
“What?” the admiral said just as a volleyball flew at his face. On reflex, he slapped at the ball, sending it into the water.
Two teens were right behind it. “Sorry, Mister,” one yelled as he passed by; the other yelled, “Shit.” On returning, the ball and the teens were black with oil. A rope of seaweed trailed from one’s ankle.
If she squinted, Gina could just see the top of a submerged tanker and the Rorschach-like image its bleeding crude left on the water’s surface drifting toward the shore. The admiral bent to pick up a dead bird blackened with slick, and he flung it as hard as he could into the brine.
Along the Broken Bay Page 24