Warriors in the Crossfire

by Nancy Bo Flood

  During the day, Anna Maria worked with our mother, sitting cross-legged, in the shade of a tall breadfruit tree, scraping coconut, preparing fresh thatch or, most often, weaving. They wove with a steady rhythm, bent over their work, their foreheads nearly touching, their black hair twisted in thick knots. They talked, laughing and nodding. What thoughts did they share?

  She had always cared about me. When I was little, she would search for me after I had received a harsh scolding. She would sit nearby and sing. She spoke to me—not with words, but with a glance, a slight smile, a raised eyebrow. When my pouting stopped, she would hand me a coconut shell filled with seawater to wash and cool my face.

  Weeks ago when our village celebrated Palm Sunday, her eyes had sparkled happily. Anna Maria had braided fronds for each of us to carry. She wore a white lace veil over her long black hair that fell down her back, past her hips, and she had tucked a bright red hibiscus behind her ear. She walked tall and proud, her hair loose, swaying with each step. During the entire procession to the church, she smiled at Ignacio. I could feel their longing as their eyes seemed to speak to each other. Would someone smile like that at me someday? When Ignacio teased her about how she liked showing off her hair, how it gleamed as it swayed, she frowned. He laughed, pretending to chase her. I pretended not to notice.

  A few days later, our church was closed. Mass was forbidden. Our priest and nuns were arrested. Ignacio was ordered to work in the cane fields. Each morning now he left before light. Every evening Anna Maria waited here for his return.

  Someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around.

  Wide, frightened eyes met mine.

  “Ako! What are you doing here? Your brother was supposed to meet me, not you. Not here! It’s too dangerous.”

  “Sh-sh-sh. We must whisper.” Ako stepped closer. In the moonlight I could barely see her round face, her serious mouth. Her chin trembled. “Soldiers are everywhere.” She pointed up the hill toward her home—square, cement, solid, and Japanese.

  “Where’s Kento?”

  She shook her head, “Too many soldiers guard our house tonight because of the new orders.”

  “What new orders?”

  She placed a parcel in my hand. “My mother sends rice. She says, ‘Remind Joseph, in our clan, if someone has food, everyone eats.’”

  “Ako, what orders?”

  “More soldiers have arrived.” She put her finger to her lips. “They watched me run to the beach. They think children know nothing about war.” She stood taller, pulled back her shoulders. “Girls can be soldiers, too.”

  “Ako, you must go home. Now!”

  She shook her head again. Her long braids whipped back and forth, each braid tied with a bright yellow ribbon. “Joseph, the cave is too dangerous.”

  “Cave? What cave? What are you talking about?”

  “Your father goes there—to the cave. My mother and I see him when we gather healing herbs on the hillside every morning before dawn. Your father often hurries through the jungle with bundles of coconuts.” Ako bowed. “Mother says many will run to the caves. Soldiers will shoot them. Please, Joseph, come to our house before bombs fall everywhere. Father has a safe place for us.”

  As soundlessly as she had appeared, she left. For a moment, I could see the reflection of moonlight on her yellow ribbons. Like pale butterflies, the ribbons danced … and then disappeared from sight.

  After my sister washed, she left the beach and walked toward home. I watched to be sure that no one came near, waited, then I also returned home. Everyone was sleeping; Taeyo now slept curled up next to his mother. But still no sign of Father and Ignacio. What were the men discussing so long? Rumors of fighting were flying like sparks through our village. I collapsed on my sleeping mat, closed my eyes, but could not rest, questions kept spinning. What orders? Why more soldiers? And what cave?

  JOURNEY

  Geckos chirped,

  Kingfishers squawked,

  Dogs barked.

  This is home.

  War cannot come here.

  Cannot.

  Someone was shaking me.

  I woke with a start. It was still dark.

  “Joseph, get up. Follow me.”

  I rolled over, confused.

  “Hurry. We must leave.” My father handed me a bowl of water. “We have a hard journey.”

  He waited as I gulped down the water and splashed the last of it on my face.

  “You are a good son, Joseph. Today you must learn quickly.”

  I pulled on a shirt and shorts and followed him out the door. We hurried away from the village, following the shoreline and then zigzagging up the cliffs. He picked his way up the steep slope, bent over, head down, keeping close to the thick brush, staying concealed. I mimicked his every move, struggling to keep up, determined to show him I could, and all the time wondering, where are we going?

  He kept climbing. He never glanced back to see if I followed. Even though I moved as silently as possible, he could hear me. We continued climbing away from our village, away from the sea. I hadn’t gone this way since the Japanese forbade us to go where they were digging foxholes or building thick-walled cement bunkers. Why would my father risk being sighted here and shot?

  We came to a shallow ravine. Soon the rainy season would turn this dry gully into a slick muddy wash. My father followed the ravine uphill, keeping his head lower than the grasses that lined each side. He signaled, frowning, never speaking: Stay lower. Don’t stop. Hurry. We continued climbing up and up. A few times he paused, surveyed the area we had crossed, and then continued.

  Within an hour we were halfway up this steep rugged side of the island, the western shoulder of Mount Tapotchau. Night’s darkness changed to the colorless gray of predawn. The ravine ended, and two paths branched in opposite directions. One path veered north, a path I now recognized. Father and I had hiked that way on a journey across the island’s entire length. That path wound upward through sugarcane fields until it reached the island’s most northern point. There a flat grassy savanna led to cliffs that plunged straight down hundreds of feet.

  At the edge of that cliff my father and I had stood side by side and stared down at that murderous drop to jagged rocks and a frothing ocean. I shivered, remembering Father’s warning: “Don’t ever come to these cliffs again, Joseph. Older boys sneak away to hunt here. Don’t be tempted. This is a place of death. Listen to the wind, to White Woman’s hungry scream.” He pointed at several pairs of fairy terns swooping up and down the precipice’s sheer face. “See, they call to the lost souls who forever search for home.”

  Below us huge swells swept in and burst into sprays of white as they crashed against black boulders. Pools of foam swirled, disappeared; another swell swept across the surface.

  No, I never wanted to return to that terrible place.

  The other trail joined the village path that led across the island’s southern shoulder. One dry season Ignacio and I had taken it to the top of Mount Tapotchau. That was before Ignacio became my sister’s husband, when he told me about luus, the game of finding someone to love, of how he had chased and captured my sister, and during the night that followed, they had talked and laughed, teased and chased some more and decided to marry. I blushed even now remembering.

  My father didn’t take either path. He headed straight up through the jungle. Thick vines looped and crisscrossed everywhere, growing over everything, suffocating trees, turning them into green headless monsters. We climbed over knife-sharp rock, pushed our way through thorny bushes. My feet burned. My arms and legs were covered with red welts. Even my chest hurt from wanting more breath. Where were we going?

  Father stopped.

  What? I signaled. He didn’t answer; he stood and listened.

  I smelled the water before I saw it. We pushed through a screen of vegetation. This is why we had stopped here. Water trickled from the rocks and pooled in a bed of green moss.

  “Remember this place, Joseph. Thirst kills. Water is life
. This is the only water near the cave.” He searched my face. “Do you understand?”

  What cave? What am I supposed to understand? But I didn’t ask. I dipped my fingers in the pool and touched them to my lips.

  “Drink, Joseph. Drink your fill.”

  He didn’t need to ask again. I cupped my hands and gulped mouthful after mouthful.

  My father drank, nodded to me, then pushed back the ferns and vines and continued up, even faster than before. At first my legs refused to move. Where were we going?

  Father paused when we reached a narrow footpath that continued across the face of a crumbling limestone cliff. We stayed low, picked our way across, all the time staying hidden behind a veil of hanging vines. Past the cliff, the path opened into a small niche. Here we stopped. A hibiscus bush grew in one corner. Its red blossoms faced a beam of sunlight that broke through the curtain of green. Beautiful red flowers blooming in a place like this. What was wrong with me? I wanted to cry! Sweat covered my back, dripped down my face, and stung my eyes. Mosquitoes whined. Black flies buzzed and bit. I didn’t care. I sat, staring at the delicate red blossoms. Then I realized the buzzing was not from flies. Overhead an airplane circled.

  Down! Father signaled. We rolled under some vines, stayed facedown. Something touched my skin. A spider tiptoed up my arm. I closed my mind to everything but this spider and watched as its iridescent colors—green, blue, red—shimmered in the shifting splashes of sunlight. The spider scurried off a fingertip and was gone.

  Silence. The plane was gone. My father sat up. His eyes searched every direction. Finally he spoke. “When the fighting begins, Joseph, hide our family in this cave.”

  I scrambled to my feet. What was he talking about? Had Father lost his mind? Behind me the cliff loomed straight up. Below us lay a jungle of green. There was no cave.

  “Joseph, bring them here. Ignore what others say.”

  His words made no sense. Even if there was a cave, how could I ever bring them here—my mother who walked with back bent, and my sister heavy with the fullness of a child growing, and little Taeyo? My father and I had barely made it up the steep slope, pushing through walls of jungle.

  How could I ever find this place? I shook my head, stared out over the steep green slope, wishing I could see the ocean, hear the surf, sounds and smells that meant home.

  The sky had become a hot, bright blue. A fruit dove sang a morning song. Its mate answered. I saw their bright orange-red plumage as they chased between treetops. My father also stared toward an unseeable ocean as if trying to make a difficult decision. He turned toward me. His face softened as he spoke.

  “Joseph, this cave has hidden our people during times of war. Bring our family here. Promise you will do this.”

  Many times my father had come home exhausted, but he’d never looked like this—resigned … defeated. When had he become so old?

  Salty winds from the sea swept up the hillside, cooling our faces, shaking the treetops. Bamboo clattered below us. My father’s eyes searched each shadow.

  “I may not be able to help you.”

  “But, Father—”

  “No. Listen. We have little time.” He pointed to the top of the cliff behind us. “The cave is up there. As soon as I am certain no one has followed us, we will climb to it.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Remember the turtle, Joseph. When the shark smells blood, he attacks. The turtle pulls in his head, waits … survives. Joseph, survive. Bring our family here.”

  “But Kento’s family can help us. They know where—”

  “Don’t trust anyone, Joseph! If Kento is forced to choose, will he choose our family or his? Taeyo or Ako? If the Japanese lose, they will destroy everyone just like they killed all the Koreans and Okinawans on Tinian. Even their own they will kill. Their code of honor demands this. Don’t run to them for protection. Small fish that hide with the big ones are eaten.”

  “The Japanese are powerful. Kento says they cannot lose.”

  “Bring our family here, Joseph.”

  My father reached for the lowest limb of an old massive breadfruit tree, then scrambled from branch to branch until he disappeared into the leafy canopy. I followed. Halfway up the tree, cooler air rustled through the leaves. My father pushed aside a young branch; I stared at two flat slabs of stone that bordered a wide entrance. Rancid air hit my face. Several bats flew out. A black rat scrambled back into the shadows. I shuddered, then crawled in.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw more. The cave was large, nearly the size of our hut. Piles of supplies were stacked along the walls: green coconuts, sugarcane, tinned meat, even bottles and gourds filled with water. How many trips had my father taken to bring all this here?

  “Everything you will need is here. Food for one week and water, if you ration carefully. A rock at the back covers a pit toilet. Keep it covered so the smell doesn’t draw attention.” My father nodded. “Sit down, Joseph, listen carefully.” He reached behind one of the stacks of cane and slipped out his prize machete. “Now this is yours. A true warrior protects. I give it to you to safeguard our family, to find food. Tonight I must leave.”

  “Leave? Tonight? What are you talking about? We need you. We—”

  “Imperial orders, delivered last night during the celebration. All adult men must go to the airfield to clear rocks for the new runways.”

  Everything started spinning. Leave? My father leave? To carry buckets of rock at the airfield in the hot sun? Cutting cane in the fields was killing Ignacio, and he was much younger than my father.

  “I will go in your place.”

  My father placed his hands on my shoulders. “Such young shoulders for this difficult task.” He breathed deeply, “My warrior son, protect our family. Use your head. Trees that bend survive the typhoon; those that resist, shatter.”

  “Please don’t leave. Hide here.”

  He handed me a thick stalk of sugarcane. “Chew slowly. The sweetness soothes. If I am not with the other men, the soldiers will search our village, find that I am missing, and then punish our family. When the bombs begin to fall, bring our family here. This place has been our family’s refuge for generations of ancestors. Wars have washed over our island like typhoons. Spanish, Germans, the Japanese, soon the Americans. Soldiers come, fight their battles, then leave. We are the ones who remain, if we hide and wait.”

  “Father—”

  “My son, the Americans will invade. Our people mean nothing to either side, minnows caught in a crossfire.” He paused. “Survive, Joseph. See this cave in your mind. See it, and it will lead you here.

  “War is coming. Both armies will fight until many have died, American and Japanese. Who will win the battles? I do not know. The Japanese are proud. Their obedience to their Emperor is total. They will be ordered to sacrifice everything for victory. Or everything because of defeat. Their lives, their people. Even their children. Joseph, even us. No place will be safe, Joseph.”

  “What about you and Ignacio?”

  “When the rains begin, we will escape and look for you here.” He turned his machete around so the handle faced me. “Leave this here. When you go out to hunt, blacken the blade so it does not reflect anything, not even the moonlight. Use it as a true warrior—to protect, never in haste.”

  “I don’t know. …”

  “Sometimes you won’t know.” My father did not hurry his words. He spoke as if the two of us were in our canoe, paddling out to sea with a whole day to sail and look for turtle. “Listen, Joseph. Listen from within.”

  We left the cave. At the base of the tree, my father studied the ground looking for signs of anyone who may have followed us. He whispered, “Return to the ravine and follow it home. I will make a false trail. Go now.”

  “Disobey those orders, Father. Hide here.”

  “I cannot, Joseph. Our people have survived many generations. We watch, wait out the storm and do not fight the current’s flow. Hide, Joseph, and survive.�
� My father looked at me with eyes so tender I wanted to weep. “Joseph, remember the dance, and you will be able to fly. Remember the sea, and you will again dream. Remember the turtle, Joseph, and you will know how to wait.”

  He turned to the north, slipped through the bushes, and was gone.

  I scrambled down the hillside, pushed through walls of foliage. Sweat stung the angry cuts that crisscrossed my arms.

  How could I ever find my way back? I tried to pay attention to everything. That rock where I turned—how was it different from the others? Which tree signaled to veer south rather than continue straight down?

  A distant droning grew louder. High above, planes flew in close formation, slips of silver like fairy terns. But these silver birds were not a welcome omen.

  I pushed through more jungle, tripped and fell, digging my fingers into the rocky soil.

  See this cave in your mind, see it.

  A kingfisher squawked. How could war come here? The buzz of planes continued. I stared past the jungle, at the unseen ocean and the rows of waiting warships. And beyond them? Would American ships come here? How could my father leave us?

  I stood back up and stared at the steep slope.

  The cave was up there, but where?

  We could survive in that cave.

  I heard my father’s words.

  See it in your mind.

  DANCE!

  Think only of the dance

  That gives strength

  To leap

  To fly.

  “Joseph!”

  My eyes opened. I was home. Smoke swirled above me, the delicious sweet smoke from cooking fires.

  “He’s awake! Finally.” Taeyo ducked through the door, leaped on top of me, and began pummeling me with his fists.

  “Get up, Uncle Joe. Come outside. We’re going to have a feast! Piles and piles of food. Crispy fat fish, sweet coconut pudding.” Taeyo grinned, rubbing his tummy. “A feast for everyone!”

  I sat up. “What are you talking about, Taeyo?”