by Vincent Yee
Mrs. Ito turned and caught her husband gazing at her. She at first didn’t know what to think. It suddenly reminded her of how he used to look at her when they were younger. She blushed for a second and smiled back at her husband. He smiled back as she said to him, “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
Mr. Ito smiled back and nodded silently. Then he cast one more look at his family as if it was for the first time. They were indeed truly back in his life. He looked over at Hiroshi, who was sitting next to his daughter. Hiroshi’s parents were sitting directly in front of their only son, but Miho and Yuka separated him from them. But it was Minami and Hiroshi who caught his attention. They were young and vibrant and they seemed like a handsome couple. They were talking, giggling every now and then and were continuously looking into each other’s eyes. He didn’t know how serious the relationship was, but he found he didn’t fear it.
He liked Hiroshi a lot and saw a lot of strength in him. He credited Hiroshi’s strength with helping him break through the mental shackles that had held him back from reality. His situation was not great but at least he was not alone anymore. Hiroshi also reminded him of himself when he was younger. Before the war, he had been relatively fit, being an active fisherman. He gently rubbed his right bicep and noticed that it wasn’t as firm as it used to be. But he would change that by exercising, he thought.
Mr. Ito then felt a gentle prodding on his right hand from his wife and he turned to look at her.
“Your food is getting cold,” she said gently. There was a slight hint of concern in her voice.
“I’ve missed you,” said Mr. Ito.
Mrs. Ito was taken aback by the suddenness of his compliment and could only smile back and blush. Mr. Ito was happy knowing that he could still charm his wife. He reciprocated the smile, something that he had not done in a long time, then went back to eating his food. His appetite renewed, he ate voraciously.
But later that night, Mr. Ito’s nightmares came back as the demons crawled back into his mind with a vengeance. They were angry that he was able to avoid them the previous night and were looking forward to playing with him once more. They encircled him as he sat at a table with his wrists and ankles handcuffed. The faces of the demons were horribly distorted as they spun around him, howling at him, taunting him. Mr. Ito felt cold, but he was sweating at the same time, and the howling was ringing incessantly in his head. He tried to cover up his ears but the handcuffs prevented him from covering them simultaneously. He closed his eyes to ward off the demons whose breath and spit he could feel on his skin. He felt like he couldn’t tolerate the ordeal for a second longer when a sudden silence fell over the room.
Mr. Ito slowly opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar concrete walled room. There was fluorescent lighting from above. A large mirror was in front of him on the opposing wall. Then his eyes focused on the young man in front of him. He was a man in his mid-twenties, with light brownish hair and a fair complexion. He was clean-shaven and looked like your average white boy. He had on a military uniform devoid of any rank or insignia. It was khaki and included a black tie that was fastened to his shirt with a gold horizontal tiepin. He wasn’t looking at Mr. Ito. Instead he was writing in a notebook. He continued to write a few more sentences and then stopped. He slowly looked up with his hazel eyes and stared at Mr. Ito who was also staring back at him quietly.
He tapped the end of the ballpoint pen twice onto his notebook. The taps echoed throughout the room. Then he straightened up. The rustle of his clothes seemed to be amplified and when he pulled his chair up an inch, the scraping from the bottom of the steel chair legs on the concrete floor echoed throughout the room.
“So Mr. Ito,” he said in a firm voice as he stared straight at Mr. Ito. “Can you please tell me, how are you helping the Japanese military?”
Mr. Ito cleared his throat. He was no longer sweating and his clothes were dry. “As I’ve told you before, I am a simple fisherman. I am not in contact with the Japanese military.”
“Again, Mr. Ito, how are you helping the Japanese military?”
“As I’ve told you, I’m a fisherman, that’s all,” Mr. Ito said firmly.
“Can you explain the radio in your boat and how you used it to contact the Japanese military?”
“The radio is only for me to stay in contact with my family and other fishermen,” replied Mr. Ito.
“So you do use your radio to coordinate with other Japanese men while you’re at sea?”
“Yes.”
“So you do use it to contact Japanese men of the enemy?”
“Yes…I mean no. I said fishermen.”
“But you said…”
“I know what I said but you mixed up my words, I meant other Japanese fishermen,” Mr. Ito stammered as he corrected himself.
“I don’t believe you,” barked the interrogator.
“It’s the truth!” Mr. Ito snapped back.
The interrogator remained still and firmly spoke in a patronizing tone, “There is no need to shout, Mr. Ito. I can hear you just fine.”
Mr. Ito regained his composure and calmed down.
“That will be all today. Unfortunately, we did not accomplish a lot today. You’re in denial about your involvement with the Japanese military and your plans to bring down the government of the United States of America.”
“I am not in denial! I am innocent!” yelled Mr. Ito as the lights in the room flickered off and the demons came back again, howling with their distorted faces and circling him. The cold sweat came back and Mr. Ito buried his head into his chest and tried to ignore the demons. He muttered under his breath, “No, no, no! I’m a good American. I’m a good American.”
Then the demons vanished and the interrogator was back. On the table was a pitcher of water and two empty glasses. Mr. Ito looked up at the expressionless interrogator. The interrogator poured water into the two glasses in a methodical fashion. He extended one glass out to Mr. Ito and asked, “Water?”
Mr. Ito looked around for a moment. He stared back at the calm interrogator and nervously reached out with his handcuffed hands toward the glass. The interrogator encouraged Mr. Ito to take it. He gingerly wrapped his fingers around the glass and drew it closer to him. He looked cautiously at the interrogator and then looked down into the glass as he brought it to his mouth. The eyeball stared up at Mr. Ito as it floated in the glass.
The glass slipped out of his hands, spilling its contents all over his lap and shattering onto the floor. Mr. Ito bolted up and away from the chair.
“What’s wrong?” asked the interrogator.
Mr. Ito looked up at the interrogator with a frenzied look and was about to say something when he noticed two glasses of water on the table and the half-empty glass water pitcher. He looked down at the floor. There was no shattered glass or spilled water. Then he looked down at his own pants, and they were dry as well.
The interrogator coaxed Mr. Ito back to his seat. Mr. Ito hesitantly slid onto the cold steel of the chair and sat there nervously as he began to shake his right leg.
“Have something to drink, Mr. Ito,” the interrogator said.
“No!” said Mr. Ito as he looked nervously about the table. “It’s okay.”
“Suit yourself,” the interrogator replied. He looked at Mr. Ito cautiously. Then he clicked the top of his pen and scribbled something into his notebook. “Will not eat or drink.”
The interrogator looked back up and continued, “We made good progress yesterday; you admitted to being a Japanese spy.”
Mr. Ito looked up immediately and in a defensive tone stated, “I am no such thing, I never said that.”
The interrogator simply looked at Mr. Ito, then uttered a laugh. “That’s right. I’m sorry. It was the other Japanese man who admitted to being a Japanese spy. He admitted the truth much faster because he felt guilty about all the innocent American lives that were lost. Especially when we told him about all the children that was killed by the Japanese. Such a tragic thing.
But for you, it’s only a matter of time.”
“I’m telling you the truth!” shouted Mr. Ito.
Then the interrogator stood up and slammed the palms of his hands onto the table causing it to shake suddenly. He hovered over Mr. Ito who lurched back into his chair.
“No! I tell you what the truth is!” He glared back at Mr. Ito.
The lights suddenly went out once more as the swirling demons once again danced around Mr. Ito, taunting him as their voices grew ever more incoherent. Mr. Ito gripped the cold steel bottom of his chair and tensed up his entire body while he sunk his head into his chest. He closed his eyes and shut them as hard as he could. But he couldn’t ignore the howls as it pierced his very being. Then it was silent again and the lights came back on.
Mr. Ito looked up and once again saw the interrogator. Mr. Ito slowly straightened up and looked back at his tormentor.
“Why did you leave Japan?” asked the interrogator.
“I wanted a new life for myself and my wife.”
“A new life…as spies for the Japanese government?”
“No, I told you, I’m a simple fisherman.”
“Why were you then, one of the only fishermen out on the day of Pearl Harbor at such an early hour?”
“I had a hunch there would be a good catch, and I was right.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“It’s not?” asked Mr. Ito with some self-doubt.
“No, in fact you woke up early to contact the Japanese army to give them intelligence on the California coastline.”
“I did no such thing!” stammered Mr. Ito.
“No you did! You did do such a thing. It’s the reason why you and the other Japanese fisherman gave your fishing boats Japanese names so that the Japanese navy could distinguish which boats belonged to the Japanese spies they sent to the mighty United States of America.”
“That’s not true! It’s simply a name…” Mr. Ito struggled to defend himself.
“What did I tell you about the truth? What did I tell you about the truth?” asked the interrogator as he slammed down on the table with both fists every time he spoke the word “truth.”
Mr. Ito did not answer him. For the first time in his life, he was scared. His eyes darted quickly to the floor.
“Are you Japanese?” asked the interrogator in a calm even voice.
“Yes.”
“So you’re a spy for the Japanese military,” said the interrogator in a matter of fact manner.
Mr. Ito shook his head, feeling as if he’d answered the question a thousand times, exhaled and spoke, “No, I’m from Japan and live in America.”
“But simply because you live here does not mean you’re not Japanese,” stated the interrogator.
“I will always be Japanese but I’m an American now…”
“No, you’re not an American. You’re Japanese. Japanese people cannot become American.”
“But my children are American!” blurted out an insistent Mr. Ito.
The interrogator paused and gazed back at Mr. Ito. “No, they’re Japanese too.”
“No, my children were born in America; they are American! It says so in your Constitution,” as Mr. Ito yelled back vociferously.
“No Mr. Ito, they will never become American…”
“Then they are Japanese Americans!”
The interrogator shot back, “There is no such thing. They can’t be both.”
“Yes they can, my children are Japanese Americans,” he repeated as tears of frustration began to stream down from his face.
“There’s no such thing. You’re making things up again, Mr. Ito,” said the interrogator.
The room went pitch black once more. The faces of the demons took on a more ghoulish look with reddish eyes and a skin color that was a greenish and yellowish tint that did not seem human. The persistent howling penetrated Mr. Ito’s very essence, sending shivers along his skin. Mr. Ito sank into his chair and shook his head back and forth as sweat splashed from his forehead. He began to utter out the word “No!” repeatedly but it was drowned out by the howling demons. Then the lights came back on and the concrete room reappeared.
The interrogator appeared calmly at the table with his hands folded on his closed notebook.
“Mr. Ito,” began the interrogator. “We have not received any letters from your wife or your children. I know it must be difficult. Truly difficult to accept that they have forsaken you. Seeing that they are probably spies themselves, they have probably given up all hope on you. They must think you must have betrayed the Japanese to us. They know you would do this because you are a weak man.”
Mr. Ito’s eyes glowed in fury as he snapped back, “Leave my family out of this.”
“Oh no, we can’t. We do know that they are Japanese spies but we figured if we removed the men, it would simply leave women and children. They aren’t really much of a threat to the United States. But I will say this for you, Mr. Ito, you are certainly the most stubborn one. The other Japanese men have all confessed except for you but like the others, you will submit.”
“My family and I are not spies,” said Mr. Ito sternly. But he had not received any letters from his wife and he was certain that she would write back, especially since he had already sent her a letter. But maybe the letter was never sent or the letters meant for him were not getting to him. Mr. Ito swallowed some spit for his parched throat and wondered what lies were being told to his wife and children.
“Oh, before we end today’s session, we actually do have a letter for you. We intercepted it when it was en route to your home.” The interrogator slipped out a brown piece of paper folded into thirds. “You understand, we had to read all letters from Japan but we didn’t find anything but the truth in this letter for you.” The interrogator held out the letter to a disbelieving Mr. Ito. “It’s from your parents apparently.”
Mr. Ito looked up with a stunned look and then looked down at the letter. He took the letter into his hands and unfolded it carefully. His hands suddenly began to shake as his eyes widened. The black ink brushed Japanese characters on the letter stared back at him boldly and they started to rearrange themselves on the page to finally read, “Spy!”
Mr. Ito quickly crumpled the paper in his handcuffed hands and threw it to the floor as the lights went out once more. The demons simply looked at him, circling him like a flock of vultures circling their prey. They were displeased. They faded away and the room was once again flooded in the dull fluorescent lighting. The interrogator appeared in his usual place.
“Mr. Ito,” stated the interrogator. Mr. Ito looked up, tired and panting.
“Mr. Ito, just to let you know. Our armed forces are fighting overwhelming odds on both coasts. The United States is taking heavy losses and the success at Pearl Harbor by the Japanese navy crippled our own fleet more seriously than we have anticipated. Mr. Ito, the Japanese have landed in California. They’ve taken over California.”
Mr. Ito was stunned by the news. He did not know what words to use and then he looked up with an expression of incredulity. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was…I really do. And I also regret to inform you, that your family is dead,” said the interrogator with an eerie sense of calmness.
Horror raced through Mr. Ito as he heard that his family was dead but he doubted the interrogator’s claim. “No, it’s not true. It’s all lies. You’re trying to trick me.”
“Mr. Ito, I’m sorry to have to deliver this awful news to you but I felt you should at least know. We do have some compassion. When the Japanese navy sailed along the coastline and approached the harbor, your family raced into your boat to rendezvous with the Japanese ships. But they had forgotten that you painted over the name of your boat and the Japanese couldn’t tell that it was a Japanese boat. They subsequently blew it up with your family in it.”
Mr. Ito brought his handcuffed hands up to his eyes as they welled up in anguished tears. No, it couldn’t be true. But the interrogator was ri
ght. He had painted over the name of his boat. But this couldn’t be happening. His family couldn’t be dead. He felt his insides crumble as a cold shiver stabbed his body. He felt bereft as everything that he had lived for was gone and he was helpless to prevent it. Mr. Ito let out a howl of anguish that echoed throughout the room. It shook the very concrete walls of his prison as he collapsed into the chair.
His howl awakened Minami. He had many nightmares, but that night they seemed exceptionally bad. Minami rushed over to her parents’ bed. Mrs. Ito was already gently shaking her husband to try to wake him from his nightmares, but to no avail. Minami knelt by the side of the bed and faced her father, who was trembling, with his body drenched in sweat. It had even soaked through to the mattress. Minami’s mother quickly placed another blanket on her husband to keep him warm. She leaned up against her husband and placed her head alongside his, trying to provide some sense of comfort.
Minami felt helpless. It pained her deeply to watch her father tortured by the nightmares. All Minami could do was watch helplessly as her father went through his nightmarish ordeal. Her mother whispered something into her husband’s ear and then kissed him gently on his cheek.
Then Minami remembered something Hiroshi said: “He can fight them without any more fear.”
A sudden realization came to her, though she didn’t totally understand it herself. She snuck her hand underneath the blanket and gripped one of her father’s hands. He squeezed back firmly as she looked at him and calmly said, “Dad, fight back. Please fight back, Dad. Mom is here. So are Miho, Yuka, Yoshi and me. We’re all here for you, Dad, but you need to fight them, so that you can come back to us.”
Her father was still trembling as she leaned to his ear and said with a determined tone, “Fight them, Dad!”
Mr. Ito looked up about the room as the walls shook. They reverberated with a voice that said, “Fight them, Dad!”
Mr Ito’s expression suddenly changed. There were no more tears, no more choking back on the mucous in his throat. He heard it again and it was clear that time: “Fight them, Dad!” Mr. Ito then leveled his gaze and looked at his expressionless interrogator.