Island War

by Patricia Reilly Giff

  I couldn’t answer. I just nodded. It would never happen, I told myself fiercely.

  But if it did…

  Maria, I told myself. The teacher. The old grandmother. I whispered names over and over. They’d keep me safe.

  I thought of Gram hugging me. When would I ever see her again?

  I looked over at Mom, her round face, freckles spattered across her cheeks. What would I ever do without her?

  FISHING today! We stumbled along toward the fishermen’s kayaks. I’d been asleep only for an hour or two, but the williwaw was strong against my face and I began to wake up.

  Pop looked exhausted. He put his arm around my shoulder, something he’d never done before. I was surprised at how I felt, a rush of warmth, even of love that I didn’t even know I had for him.

  But then I told myself I’d be home now, out on the Sound, if he hadn’t made me come with him.

  One of the fishermen beckoned. His kayak was long, with cockpits for three of us. He slid a large net onto hooks at the boat’s stern to store the fish we’d catch.

  I stepped down into one of the openings, watching Pop in front of me, moving quickly, as the fisherman held the boat steady.

  We pushed off, the fisherman shouting, “Do you know how to paddle?”

  “Sure,” Pop said.

  I was beginning to think he could do anything, feeling proud in spite of myself.

  The waves slapped against the kayak as we moved toward the fishing grounds. Above us gulls were flying toward the island, maybe to nests on the cliffs.

  In other times, the fishermen might have tried for a large catch, seals maybe. Michael had told me that when they were looking for a big fish like halibut, several kayaks would go out together. The men would cross paddles from one boat to another, to keep them steady. But today, I guessed, we needed a fast catch, a sure catch. The whole village had to be fed. Moments later, Pop caught the first fish; it looked like the fluke that we used to catch in the Sound.

  At the same time, I saw my kayak, riding in the waves, plainly visible to anyone out on the water. Suppose Pop saw, or even the soldiers?

  I’d have to move it as soon as I could.

  We drifted away and, relieved, I raised my rod a little, waiting for a nibble.

  THAT night, a soldier shot his gun toward the sky. “Outside!” he shouted.

  We walked to the schoolhouse, where the fishermen were spreading their nets. We could see the fish, stiff and white, their eyes staring and clouded over.

  A few of the soldiers took most of the fish toward their tents in the back field. The village chief divided the rest carefully, whispering, “Sorry, so little,” and at our turn, gave Mom and me two small fish.

  The dog wandered around, looking up at all of us. Such a big dog! He must be starving.

  Who could give up the only food we’d had all day?

  I could. I had to. I tore off a small chunk of my share and gave it to him as a soldier with the pencil-thin moustache watched curiously.

  Did he nod? It happened so quickly I couldn’t be sure.

  * * *

  * * *

  Early the next morning, I met Maria. There wouldn’t be school today, and the men would go out fishing in an hour or two.

  Matt was wandering around in back of the houses.

  “Hi,” I managed. Maybe it was time to forget about fighting now that we were at war.

  He didn’t answer but took longer steps, moving away from us.

  “Another war,” I muttered to Maria. “Battle after battle.”

  Matt looked over his shoulder, then headed toward Thor Hill. Two soldiers stood next to the path, talking to each other. They hadn’t even noticed him.

  What they did notice was my tripping over a rock, reaching for Maria, and nearly making her fall. One of them shook his head.

  I felt the heat of Maria’s arm even through her coat. Her face was flushed.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked her. Was it a rash I saw on her cheeks? “I think you’re sick.” I helped her, walking with her past my house, and her mother came to their door.

  Her hands went to her face. “Oh, Maria,” she said, and helped her inside.

  Mom was on the teacher’s step, talking, but I went back to our dark house. Friendly neighbors had covered the window openings with slabs of driftwood.

  I left the door open for light, thinking of Maria. Did she have measles? Scarlet fever?

  And what was Matt doing? Was he going to the cliffs to gather gulls’ eggs to eat? Or maybe he’d gone to one of the beaches to dig for clams.

  I thought of doing the same thing. But Mom had been very clear. “Don’t go far, Izzy,” she’d said. “Stay right here.”

  And that was what I had to do.

  Maybe.

  THE men brought home fish for us every night, and the dog always stood near me, knowing I’d share a little with him. The soldier with the moustache watched.

  From the doorway one afternoon, I saw two soldiers begin to string wires in back of our houses, looping them around posts they’d hammered into the soil.

  They were locking us in. No one would be able to leave the village except the fishermen, and they were watched closely.

  One day, the old grandmother hobbled down her path. “Go home where you belong!” she shouted at the soldiers, pointing her broom at them, almost as if it were a gun.

  One of them pulled his rifle off his shoulder and raised it toward the sky.

  “You don’t belong on our island!” she kept shouting, until Mrs. Weio took her arm and led her back into the house. The soldier with the moustache began to smile, but when he saw me staring at him, he stopped, his face stern.

  But I had to smile too. That old woman, hair escaping from her bun, bent and rail-thin, wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Mom was sitting at the kitchen table going over her notes, and I pressed her shoulder. “I’m going outside. All right?”

  Mom squeezed my hand. “Not far.”

  I walked along the backs of the houses, peering at the soldiers’ camp on one side of the wires and the yellow flowers blooming just beyond my reach.

  A black bird, her neck ringed with white, startled up and flew over my head. Mom had pointed one out to me the other day. “A killdeer,” she’d said, reaching for her notebook. “When she’s nesting she’ll flutter along the ground, pretending she has a broken wing, to lure intruders away.”

  I heard something and turned to peer over my shoulder. A soldier stood there, leaning on his rifle.

  The dog appeared next to me and began to dig a hole under the fence. I glanced up at the soldier. How unfriendly he looked! I put my arms around the dog and tried to pull him back, afraid that the soldier would shoot.

  But the dog kept digging, and then he was through, bounding across the field filled with flowers. He disappeared near Thor Hill.

  I raised myself up on my hands, edged away from the fence, and walked to the back of Maria’s house. Reaching up, I saw that she’d broken off a tiny piece of wood that covered her window. I peered inside.

  She lay in bed with quilts covering her to her chin. Next to her was the pile of books that she brought to school every day.

  I put my mouth close to the opening. “Maria?” I whispered.

  She didn’t move.

  I knocked on the wood gently, and her eyes fluttered open. “It’s me, Izzy, at the window.”

  She pushed herself up to lean against the back of the bed. Her face was flushed and her voice raspy as she said my name.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Measles?”

  She shook her head. “Scarlet fever.”

  Her mother came into the room then with a glass of water. Maria slid down in her bed and her mother tucked the quilt tighter around her.

  I walked along the path with nothing to do. I wondered when I’d have my friend back.

  I was full of energy, feet tapping, wanting to climb the cliffs, to fly, to find the cave.

  If only I could
escape.

  IT was almost September, getting cold. Pop and I had been on the island nearly a year. It was hard to believe. At night now I dreamed of being alone in the kayak, watching birds flying above, listening to the roar of waves as they hit the shore.

  During the day as we fished, I tried to think of a way to get past the wires, to the kayak; how lucky I was that no one had seen it yet.

  I sneaked away from the house, just before morning, looking. Searching!

  There had to be a way out.

  I followed the wires, walking around the village, making sure I wasn’t spotted by soldiers. The posts were sturdy, the wires looped tight.

  It was the dream the next night that made the difference. I saw myself bending the wires, saw them falling away.

  I sat up.

  The wires had to be joined somewhere. Of course they did. Could I twist them, unwind them? There were pliers in the kitchen drawer, rusty, but I could use them.

  I passed Pop’s bedroom and stopped. Was he sorry he’d brought me here? He’d said something about it once, turning the page of his book. Afterward, I wondered if he’d really said it, or believed it.

  Outside again, the pliers in my pocket, I followed the wires in back of the houses. This time, I felt every one of them slowly, carefully.

  I could see through a narrow crack in the wood that the lamp in Maria’s room was on. I wondered if she could see me.

  I found the knots that held the wires together. It took forever to unwind one of them, even with the pliers doing most of the work. I had to dart away and wait when a soldier walked by. But he didn’t leave. He stood there, looking up at the sky.

  I’d have to come back again tonight and unwind the rest before I could duck through. I’d put them back together, go out in the kayak, and return before it was light.

  * * *

  * * *

  That night, I waited until Pop slept. I opened the door a crack and peered outside. The path was empty!

  In the darkness, I used the pliers and the wires fell away. I went through and twisted them back, then ran toward the rocks where I’d tied the kayak. I kept looking back, my hands tucked under my armpits. How could I have forgotten my gloves?

  I had a quick thought of the end of August at home. Imagine how warm it was!

  I reached the cove. Ahead of me the kayak rocked gently on the waves. No one had seen it. At least, I hoped no one had.

  Tonight was a problem. It was clear; the moon shone in a path across the water. I’d be visible to anyone who might be searching.

  Still, I had to take a chance.

  Sliding into the boat, I paddled out of the cove, turning east, watching, worried. A whale breached far out, but that was all.

  I knew there was a cove a good distance away where rocks had tumbled into the sea, forming a barrier. I kept going, realizing the moon would actually help. It would be easier to find that inlet.

  And there it was, ahead of me. I angled the kayak into the sheltered spot and tied it carefully. Moored there, I hoped it would be hidden from the island and from boats at sea.

  I raced back to the house, dodging a soldier on the path, just as Pop was beginning to look for me.

  ONE morning, I peered into Maria’s room, my glasses steaming up against the wood.

  A book was open next to her; I could see part of the title: Myths and Legends. It made me think of her naming Thor Hill. I wondered if she had named other places. On the bottom of the bed was a basket she’d begun to weave. She’d told me that every basket was different, and after a while, you could tell who the weaver was.

  “I’m here, Maria,” I whispered, looking back to be sure no one was around to chase me away.

  I talked on for a few moments, saying I wanted to know how to weave baskets too, telling her how hungry I was, how I wished I could climb the cliffs and get eggs. “We’d share,” I said.

  She smiled, nodded. Then she raised her hands, making twisting motions, thumbs going one way and then another.

  What was that about?

  “Matt,” she whispered.

  Her father came along in back of me. “What are you doing here, Izzy? You must let Maria rest.” He glanced from me to the hole in the wood and shook his head.

  “I’m going home now,” I said.

  It took the rest of that day for me to guess what Maria had been trying to tell me.

  Was I right?

  Was she saying that somehow Matt was getting through the wires?

  I stayed up that night, watching, half asleep, just about to give up when I saw him coming along the path.

  I slid out of bed and opened the door an inch or two. The night was dark, the moon covered by clouds; it was almost impossible to see anything.

  Matt walked past. Had he turned, he might have seen me!

  Without a sound, I went back for my shoes and reached for my jacket with the hood. Outside, I leaned against the rough wall of the house and shrugged into the jacket. I began to zip it up, but the noise seemed enormous in that quiet night.

  Shivering, I left it open.

  Even with my eyes used to the darkness, Matt was almost a shadow against the wire fence. He moved slowly and I followed, trying to be as silent as he was.

  Where was he going?

  The hand on my shoulder was so hard, I almost went down on the ground. Without a word, a soldier turned me around, pushed me back toward the schoolhouse, and pointed to the step in front. I’d seen him before, so unfriendly, marching around the village.

  I sat there trembling, the tears coming, my mouth open, the sound of my breathing loud.

  What would happen to me?

  The dog came and sat next to me, looking for food. I put my arms around him for comfort, leaning against his warm fur.

  The soldier never said a word.

  He stood in front of me, it seemed for hours, as I listened to the hoot-hoot of a snowy owl and cried for Mom. The dark finally lifted, and a pale light came across the island. The fog was thick now, but still I saw the soldier point, mutter something; he waved his arms.

  Was he telling me to go?

  My legs felt weak; I pressed my hands against the step to help myself stand.

  He turned his head, motioning with his chin toward my house. That was all I needed. I was away from there in a moment. I opened my door quickly and went inside.

  Leaning against the door, I tried to catch my breath, my hand on my chest.

  Mom was still asleep, but she’d be up soon. I couldn’t let her know about this night.

  I was so tired, though. I threw myself on the couch, then heard the scratch at the door.

  I wasn’t free after all.

  Was the soldier there to take me away? I pulled my woolen hood up, almost covering my head, as if that would save me.

  The sound came again; it was whisper soft, but insistent.

  But wouldn’t the soldier have banged on the door with his fists? I stood and opened it to see Matt standing there, his face like a williwaw, stormy and wild. “You will get us killed,” he said, his teeth gritted, “following me around like that.”

  Matt!

  I shrugged, closed the door against him, and went back into my bedroom, thinking we weren’t killed. And I knew how to get out now.

  And that was what I’d do.

  LATER in the week, I sneaked out and spent time in the kayak. Pulling in, though, I spotted a soldier standing on the bluff overlooking the cove.

  I waited endlessly outside the rocks, wondering when he’d leave.

  Pop would be waiting, wondering what I was up to.

  After a while, I tried again, looking up, searching the cliffs, the beach, even the rocks, which were sprayed with the surf. But he was gone.

  A near miss. I shuddered to think of what might have happened had he seen me.

  I took a few breaths, made sure the kayak was secure, and hurried back to the house. I closed the door behind me and stopped short. Pop was sitting at the table. What could I say? It was al
most worse than being caught by that soldier.

  He waved his hand. “I know what you’re doing. I’ve known all along,” he said. “We have to talk.”

  I collapsed onto the seat across the table. I’d hoped for an hour of sleep before I had to fish. Now he was going to lecture me about the kayak, try to keep me from nights in the boat.

  I wouldn’t listen to him. He couldn’t make me, I told myself, even as I knew he could make sure I couldn’t go out again.

  “I want to tell you…” he began, and leaned forward, almost whispering. “I’ve used the radio for the last time. I’ve been letting people in the government know what’s happening here.” He shrugged. “I’ll destroy it and drop it into the sea just before we leave.”

  He went on: “I’ve heard that we’ll be taken off the island, sent to a prison camp on the Japanese mainland. It’ll be terrible, not enough food, locked up much tighter than we are here.”

  I swallowed.

  “It’ll happen tonight, or early tomorrow morning.”

  It was hard to believe! We’d spend months, maybe years, in a prison camp far from home. Would Mom even know what had happened to us?

  I couldn’t let Pop see I was afraid. I lifted my head, kept my mouth still.

  “We won’t go,” he said.

  What was he talking about?

  “I’ve hidden a two-man kayak in back of the shed near the harbor. We can do this together. We’ll fish, head for another island…”

  “It’s miles away.”

  “Better than a prison camp. We’ll take a chance.”

  My throat was so dry, I couldn’t answer.

  “Listen, Matt. We do have food. We’ll bring what we can with us.”

  I kept shaking my head.

  “There’s something else,” he said.

  Were his eyes filling?

  “I want to tell you once and for all,” he said in his gruff voice. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I know I’m irritable. I don’t always say the right thing. And I feel worse than I ever did that I brought you here. I wanted you to see how much I cared. And look at the mess I’ve made.”