The Purple Heart

by Vincent Yee

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” asked Minami.

  Her mother ignored her and continued on, laboriously decorating the dishes at the counter. Minami raised her tone once more but was mindful that she still needed to give her mother the respect she deserved. “Mom! What’s wrong?”

  “Your father decided to go out fishing instead of spending his time at home. He promised that he would spend time at home and where is he? He’s off fishing, saying he knows that it will be a good fishing day and that if he could get to it first, he’ll beat everyone at the market. What makes him think he knows fish better than anyone else all of a sudden? I’m sure he’s not the only one who thought that today was going to be good, so I’m sure all the other fishermen are probably out as well. He’ll feel like such the fool when he realizes he’s not the only one with a grand and original idea.”

  Minami paused and reflected on her mother’s quick retort but she knew there was more. Her father was a good fisherman, one of the best in the community. He was always sure of himself, boasting about his seer like instinct of where the fish were, always proclaiming that he thought like a fish. Minami also knew her mother knew this as well.

  “Was Daddy supposed to take you out today?”

  Her mother paused and she quietly nodded and under her breath she responded, “Yes. He promised to take me out.” She then gave out a sigh and turned with the last dish in her hands and placed it on the table. Mother and daughter stood facing one another and looked down at the seven dishes on the kitchen table.

  Minami looked up at her and quietly said, “Seven dishes?”

  Her mother froze for a moment but then looked up to meet her daughter’s gaze and they both laughed. “I cook a lot when I’m mad.”

  The morning tension was finally broken just as Yoshi walked into the kitchen and shouted, “Wow, look at all the food!”

  Minami’s mother smiled and knelt down to offer a hug to Yoshi, who stumbled forward into her. She gave Yoshi a quick hug and then pulled aside a chair for him to climb onto. Yoshi eagerly picked up his chopsticks and began to select his favorite breakfast items.

  Minami stepped into the pantry, which was where they kept the two-way radio. She picked up the microphone and depressed the switch and spoke into it. “Ito house to Mayumi, Ito house to Mayumi, please come in.” There was some static from the speaker and then she repeated her call. A low but garbled voice came over the speaker at which Yoshi yelled, “Daddy!” with his mouth full of rice.

  “Minami? What is it?” asked her father as his voice came in clearly.

  “I’m just checking in to make sure you’re okay. How’s the fishing?” asked Minami.

  Her father’s low voice came back through the microphone but in a boasting manner, “Tell your mother the fishing is great and that I was right!”

  Minami looked over to the kitchen table as her mother let out a “Hmph.” Minami smiled amusingly. “That’s great Dad! I’ll be out to help you when you get back.” Minami let go of the microphone and then she turned away from the kitchen table and depressed the microphone once more, “And Dad, you know Mom is mad because you were supposed to take her out. Why don’t you think of something to make it up to her?”

  A crackling came over the speaker and her father’s voice came through once more, “Tell your mother I’ll bring back the biggest fish for her,” he said jokingly. Then his voice trailed off.

  Minami returned the microphone to its place and turned around to see both of her sisters seated at the table. She walked over and sat in her usual place that faced the backdoor leading out to the docks. Her two sisters, who sat facing Minami, greeted her as they began their breakfast. Her mother had already seated herself at one end of the table. She was helping Yoshi, who sat on her left, cut up his food despite his grumbling. Minami looked down to her right and smiled at Yoshi and then looked at the empty seat to her left where her father usually sat. He liked that seat because he could look out onto the dock; it gave him some comfort that he could see his fishing trawler, even if it was just the top of the mast.

  Miho, the second-oldest daughter at seventeen, was talking excitedly about an upcoming school event. She was a senior at the nearby high school. The fifteen-year-old youngest sister, Yuka, was listening intently. Yoshi continued to play with his food while Minami’s mother finally gave up on him and started to scoop rice into her mouth with her chopsticks.

  The morning had already started as the bustling from the neighbors could be heard outside. From the docks, Minami could hear boat motors being started and the yells of their proud captains. It was the livelihood of many in the Japanese American community. Her father was definitely a fisherman. He loved the ocean, being the captain of his own boat and sailing out into the vastness of it. When the opportunity came, he uprooted the entire family to their current house so that he could be closer to the ocean. Minami’s mother was worried about the tides and how the entire family could be swept out to sea during a fierce storm. But over time, that unfounded fear eventually ebbed away as the Ito family became another fishing family.

  On that day though, her father was right. He got the early morning jump on the other fisherman and if he wasn’t embellishing earlier, he probably had a good haul that would fetch handsomely at the market.

  Crackling suddenly interrupted the morning breakfast over the two-way radio that caught everyone’s attention. It was very garbled, but it was unmistakably Minami’s father. In an almost inaudible voice they heard their father. “Mayumi to Ito House! Mayumi…” It was another one of their father’s excited messages, probably boasting about another exploit at sea. Minami’s sisters and brother turned away and went back to their breakfast. Minami’s mother looked at her and said, “Why don’t you go see what your father wants?”

  Minami nodded and got up from the table. The two-way radio blasted again and she could barely make out what sounded like, “Turn on the radio!” The two-way radio was already on she thought. Why was her father being so silly? She grabbed the microphone and spoke into it, “Ito House to Mayumi, the radio is on.”

  Her father’s excited voice came through the microphone, but there was more static than usual, “Is the radio turned on? Are you listening?”

  “Yes, the radio is on Dad,” replied Minami.

  “Listen to the radio! I’m almost docked! I’ll be right in!” yelled her father.

  “Okay Dad, over and out,” responded Minami, and then the two-way radio went silent. Minami placed the microphone back down and walked back to the kitchen table. She passed the screen door and glanced out in the direction of the dock and saw people hurrying along. Gray clouds had started to gather over the horizon. A storm was coming she thought. Maybe that’s what her Dad was fussing about.

  “Dad’s coming in soon,” Minami said to her mother casually as she settled back into her seat. Her mother simply nodded as she wiped Yoshi’s mouth.

  The sounds of excited boots were heard on the wooden steps outside the backdoor and the screen door was suddenly pulled opened as their father entered. He looked harried and distracted as he rushed in with his dark green trawling outfit and yellow rubber boots that was still wet and laced with fish entrails. Everyone at the table swung about to look at him with muted expressions. Their father looked at his family sitting calmly at the kitchen table. He then looked around, listening to the silence.

  “Why isn’t the radio on?” their father shouted sternly. His eyes were glaring but it wasn’t simply anger in his look, but one of shock as well.

  Confused and somewhat taken aback, Minami stated, “The radio is on, Dad. I just spoke to you on it.”

  Minami’s father’s expression then turned to one of disgust and frustration. “Not that radio!” he shouted. Minami’s father then quickly stomped toward the radio that was sitting on the counter near the refrigerator. The entire family just stared at him in utter bewilderment as he grabbed the radio, spun around and turned it on. The radio then came to life and his father looked up at his family.
His expression turned to disappointment.

  “They bombed Pearl Harbor,” he simply said.

  There was a moment of silence and Minami looked at her father and asked, “Who?”

  “The Japanese.”

  F I V E

  The Ito family had gathered into the living room immediately after breakfast with the radio on the coffee table taking center stage. Minami’s father frantically switched back and forth between different radio stations to get the latest news until finally settling on one.

  The tone of the radio announcer reflected shock and quiet incredulity. He recapped the unfolding story starting with the Japanese, who had launched a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, where most of the United States Pacific naval fleet was stationed. The Japanese had succeeded to devastating effect. For many Americans, World War II had been a distant war on another continent; they never thought that it could ever touch them. But Pearl Harbor told America that it was no longer invulnerable. The radio announcer commented that for future years to come, every single American would remember where they were on December 7, 1941.

  Minami’s father sat back in his chair, his strong forearms resting on top of each of the armrests with his fingers draped over the ends. With his chin slightly lowered, he simply stared ahead, unmoving and devoid of any emotion. His hair was disheveled after coming in from the morning at sea. He had taken off his trawling outfit and was simply in his jeans, a white T-shirt that still smelled of fish and his thick white socks. His wife and a sleeping Yoshi were on one side and his three daughters on the other.

  The news was filled with the names of the ships that were bombed, the Arizona, the California, the Oklahoma, the Nevada, and so many more. The radio announcer painted a picture born out of fiery hell itself. The unchallenged aircraft streaking across the sky as they unleashed bombs that whistled through the air. Those bombs burrowing through the steel hull of hulking battleships, allowing the viral fire to fester. Desperate defenders from the decks of the wounded battleships sent up bullets toward the planes in the smoke-laden sky. Steel bulkheads creaking and tearing under their own weight as the once mighty battleships began to topple over, succumbing to the flames that ate them from within. Bodies of the lifeless sailors floated in the water, hoping silently to be found by their fellow sailors. Frantic yells from the sailors, who in vain tried to douse the fires with desperate streams of water from their fire hoses, pierced through the air. It was hopeless.

  The Ito family felt for their fellow Americans. Their hearts ached every time a new ship was announced. Minami was angry that America was attacked in such an underhanded fashion. But anger turned into sadness as it sank deeper into a void of hopelessness left by the attack as the number of lost lives mounted. She could only imagine so many lost lives until she didn’t want to anymore. Sadness finally turned into sympathy, for the fallen sailors, the civilians who were at the wrong place at the wrong time. But a sense of fear stabbed at her, each one with more intensity every time the radio announcer mentioned the word “Japanese,” and she didn’t know why.

  Minami’s mother broke the deadening silence. She stirred from her seat and carefully propped up a sleeping Yoshi into a sitting position. Miho, awakened from her own world, quickly went over and took Yoshi from her mother in silence. Minami’s mother quickly wiped away some of the drool from Yoshi’s mouth, and then got up. Everyone watched her furtive movements except for their father who continued to stare onward. “I’ll make something to eat,” was all she said as they had spent hours by the radio and skipped lunch.

  “I’ll help, Mom,” said Yuka as she gave her nose one more wipe and got up to follow her.

  Minami looked over to her father, who sat there like a statue, gripped in his own turmoil of thoughts. He seemed so far away. “Dad?” Minami asked cautiously.

  Her father didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on something so far away that it was beyond everyone’s view. Minami, in a stern but respectful voice said once more “Dad?” She wanted him to wake up from his trance and come back. She needed him. His family needed him. He was the core of the family strength, the father who held the family together and defender of the Ito name. For a moment her father didn’t respond and then his eyes blinked. Like a marble statue slowing flexing its joints, he turned his head slowly, looked at Minami and then turned back. “It’s time for dinner girls, take Yoshi with you.”

  Miho did so obediently and carefully lifted the still sleeping Yoshi and walked toward the kitchen. Minami got up as well and then turned to her father who hadn’t moved. “Dad, aren’t you coming?”

  He continued to stare on. He let out a sigh and simply said under his breath, “I’ll be there.” Minami accepted his answer and slowly walked away from him. But she so wanted to turn around and throw her arms around her father and tell him that everything would be okay. She turned around one more time toward her father to possibly act on her impulsive thought. Her father continued to sit there, with the radio still on. But despite his seemingly cold stare, his eyes had slowly welled up with tears until finally one tear slowly rolled down his normally stern face.

  Early the next morning, Mr. Ito woke up earlier than usual with his wife. He was nervous and still unnerved from the previous day’s events. In their bedroom, he quickly told his worried wife that she needed to gather anything that was connected to Japan. Mrs. Ito nodded; she knew what her husband was asking of her. In the early morning light, he looked into his wife’s eyes and tried to put a smile on his face to reassure her. Before he could be sure whether or not he had succeeded, he left their bedroom and headed down to his fishing trawler.

  The sun was barely breaking the horizon as he jumped into his trawler and hauled up the previous day’s catch, which was a handsome bounty. He was able to put it on ice but he knew he couldn’t sell it. As he pondered what he would do with the fish, a familiar voice spoke to him, “Why did you do it?”

  Mr. Ito looked up and it was his neighbor, a fellow fisherman, Joe Merrill. He was one of the very few white fishermen that he had befriended over the years. He was a middle-aged man with long, slightly thinning, grayish hair that was slicked back. His face had a weathered look and his blue eyes just stared at Mr. Ito. He was of average height, and he had gained some weight around his belly. He stood there on the dock in his denim overalls and looked down at Mr. Ito. Joe had his own boat moored next to Mr. Ito’s boat and witnessed the Mayumi’s transformation from the day it was brought home to the day of its christening and immediately admired Mr. Ito’s dedication and determination. But that day, Joe didn’t see that man. Instead he saw the face of the enemy that attacked America.

  “Joe, it wasn’t me. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor,” said Mr. Ito as he clamored out of his trawler deck onto the beaten wooden planks of the dock.

  “But they’re your people! How could you not know?” responded Joe in a strident tone.

  “How could I not know? Because I’ve spent the last two decades building a life here for my family. That’s what matters to me, not what’s going on over there. My home is here, by the ocean.” Mr. Ito entreated his friend to understand.

  For a moment, it was no longer the Japanese man talking back at Joe. It was instead his neighbor and Mr. Ito’s eyes penetrated his anger and suspicion. Joe looked down and exhaled loudly, “This is hard.”

  “It’s hard for me too, Joe. I’m worried too, wondering what’s going to happen to my family.”

  Joe looked up, “You’re right. You had nothing to do with this.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” said Mr. Ito appreciatively. He gave his friend one more look and then looked down at the fish.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Joe.

  “I can’t sell this fish. I’ll be filleted down at the market. Not everyone will be as understanding as you.”

  “I see. You’ve got a problem.”

  Mr. Ito nodded and looked up, “Joe, I need a favor.”

  Joe looked at his friend with a bit of suspicion. “What do you
need?”

  Mr. Ito took a deep breath and said, “I can’t sell this fish, but it’s a good catch. I’ll give you the entire haul for half of what you think is fair if you can pay me right now in cash.”

  Joe thought about it as he stared at the fresh fish. Like many other fishermen, he didn’t have a chance to go out to fish the day before because of the breaking news. He rubbed his chin. “You don’t have to do that,” he replied. “I’ll take the load off of your back and sell it for you and split it evenly with you.”

  Mr. Ito firmly offered his hand. For a moment, Joe hesitated but shook Mr. Ito’s hand. For the next hour, under the cover of a dwindling dawn, they worked to offload the fish onto Joe’s truck. Joe told Mr. Ito that he would drop by later that day with the money.

  Mr. Ito went into the captain’s quarters and found a can of paint and a paintbrush. He then walked to the stern of the boat and straddled it. The bottom of the paint can hit the wooden rail with a thud, as the hollow echo of the can emanated from it just as the thin wire handle swung forward and gently hit the other side of the paint can. He set the paintbrush in front of the paint can as he brandished his pocketknife, which he used to carefully pry open the lid, ripping apart the dried paint that had formed a seal around the edges of the can.

  He tilted the paint can toward him and saw that it was about a third full. He quickly stirred the paint with the paintbrush and gathered just enough paint onto the brush. He leaned over the back of the boat and looked down at the name of the boat: Mayumi. He had named his seaworthy boat after his wife.