When the detainees filed in to lunch that afternoon, they were thrilled beyond belief to finally taste white rice again, and word quickly spread that it was due to Kumiko’s lobbying efforts. However, her enjoyment of the people’s goodwill was extremely short lived, because some others in the camp, still embittered about Matthew, insisted that she had only been able to get the rice because she was working in cahoots with the Army. So in one afternoon, she went from being praised for obtaining the rice, to being scorned – for obtaining the rice.
And so it went.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 12, 1942
That morning, assigned to KP duty again, Matthew felt oddly confident. A far cry from the terrifying fear he had felt the afternoon before when he had seen Captain Tollseller come on board the Navy destroyer. Once he had spotted Tollseller, Matthew kept expecting to be called to his CO’s office. All Tollseller had to do was tell the Navy that Matthew had never been a cook on board the Ancient Mariner. He could explain how Matthew had been picked up in the middle of the ocean, and the Navy would be forced to investigate.
But throughout that afternoon, then into the evening, Matthew’s confidence steadily climbed as time passed and no one summoned him. By the time he hit the sack, although sleep was fleeting, he finally convinced himself that Tollseller simply knew one of the officers and had been invited on board. Tollseller’s presence on the North Carolina had nothing to do with him.
But the expectation that he had avoided disaster was shattered the following morning when a young seaman informed him that he was to go to the office of Captain Hulbert. Immediately.
While Matthew desperately wanted to know the reason for the summons, he simply didn’t have the courage to ask the seaman, and he knew it was unlikely the seaman would know anyway.
They made their way past various sailors going about their business with quiet efficiency. Along an inside passageway, the seaman stopped amidships outside the captain’s stateroom. The seaman knocked on the door, and they heard a loud, “Enter,” from within. The seaman pushed open the door for Matthew, but remained in the passageway.
His heart thumping wildly in his chest, Matthew entered the office, nicely furnished and large enough for meetings with his senior staff. Captain Hulbert was a thin, short man who stood near a filing cabinet reviewing some papers. Matthew was surprised to see that the captain wasn’t even as tall as Matthew. His nerves shot, he announced, “Daniel Kobata, sir. I was told—”
“Right,” the captain said, waving him off. He didn’t look over at Matthew, but kept his attention on the papers. Finally, he filed the papers and came over to Matthew who stood stiffly at attention. “Empty your pockets.”
Matthew was taken aback. Empty his pockets? Then suddenly he knew. Yet he was frozen. He didn’t move a muscle. It was as if he was suddenly paralyzed.
“Mr. Kobata, that’s an order.”
Matthew finally managed to do as he was told. Pulling out his wallet from a rear pocket. The leather was somewhat wrinkled, hardly surprisingly considering it had somehow stayed in his pocket when his father’s trawler had been sinking and he’d had no choice but to jump overboard. He hesitated, then removed the only item from his front pockets. The small vial of penicillin.
The captain picked up the vial. He glanced at Matthew, then took off the lid and shook out the remaining capsules. Six left. He put them back in the bottle, put the bottle on his desk. Then he looked to Matthew. “You steal these, or someone help you?”
Matthew felt defeated. Utterly defeated. “I took them, sir.”
“You stole them.”
“Yes, sir. I was very ill and—”
“I don’t care.” He went around to his chair, motioning to the chair opposite. “Be seated.”
Matthew did so, his mind racing. So Tollseller learned that his stock of penicillin was missing and brought his grievance to Captain Hulbert?
“Here’s the problem. Captain Tollseller thinks it was his cook-slash-medic. That he stole them. Gave them to you.”
Matthew shook his head. “No, sir. I stole them.”
The captain studied him for a moment. “When Captain Tollseller explained what he thought happened, I was obligated to investigate. So I started by asking him questions. And you know what? Tollseller told me you were never on his crew. He picked you up off the Oregon coast. In a small skiff. Close to death.”
Somehow Matthew had the courage to look the captain in the eye even though his heart sank.
“He wanted you called into this office immediately. But I asked for 24 hours.” He picked up a small piece of paper. Handed it across the desk and Matthew took it. The typed text was very faded and the sentences very short. It read, “Matthew Kobata, DOB 1-12-21. Bainbridge Island. WA. Japanese-American. Fisherman. Wanted for murder.”
Matthew read it over several times as his heart thundered frantically with raw fear. Murder? Wanted for murder?
“So my original thought was that you would be tried for theft and, of course, evading Presidential Order 9066, which clearly specifies you as a prisoner of war. But now I imagine those charges are the least of your worries.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. “Enter,” Captain Hulbert commanded. The door opened and Matthew turned to see two MAs enter and stand at attention. The captain turned his attention to Matthew. “Rise, Mr. Kobata.”
Matthew abruptly stood, and a moment later his hands were cuffed behind his back.
Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 13, 1942
When the news reached Johnstone and Merrick that Matthew Kobata had been found, Merrick had been able to secure a ride on a Navy cargo plane leaving that night from Seattle to Long Beach, California. They had arrived at four in the morning, and a Navy ensign had driven them to the Wilmington jail.
They had been expected and were given coffee and offered some sort of jelly rolls, which both men declined. Then they were shown into an interrogation room. A few minutes later Matthew had been brought in still wearing his Navy uniform, his hands cuffed in front of him. The duty officer directed Matthew to a chair and then his handcuffs were attached to a ring bolted to the desk.
“Sir, this won’t do,” Merrick announced. “Please find some civilian clothes for this prisoner,” When the officer simply stood there, Merrick got angry. “He is not fit to wear the uniform of the United States Navy.”
With that, the officer nodded and quickly left. And Matthew silently seethed, glaring at Merrick. A moment later the officer returned with a pair of soiled, gray coveralls.
Merrick held out his hand to the officer. “Key.”
The officer hesitated, then gave him the key. Merrick removed the cuffs and said to Matthew, “Change.”
Matthew stood and did as he was told. Then he sat down again and Merrick clipped the handcuffs back on to his wrists, then attached them to the ring. He then picked up the Navy uniform and handed it to the guard. “I’ll take that when we leave.”
The officer nodded and left them, closing the door behind him.
Detective Johnstone introduced himself and Merrick, then read Matthew his rights and explained that he was under arrest for the murder of Petty Officer Cody Carsteen. For some reason, Johnstone had expected the young man to promptly defend his actions. Or deny the charge completely. Instead, Matthew stared at the cinder block wall in front of him, ignoring them altogether.
“The knife used to kill Petty Officer Carsteen is identical to a knife found on your boat,” Johnstone explained as he paced in front of Matthew. “You stabbed him in the neck, then stripped him. Care to tell me why you undressed him?” But Matthew just stared at the wall. “That’s Carsteen. As for Tom Bollgen, your supposed best friend, we’re still working on that.” Matthew still didn’t say a word, so Johnstone added, “His father insists you didn’t do it. The rest of the island is split probably 50-50.” Johnstone was simply trying to get a rise out of Matthew. In truth, he had no idea how the resi
dents of Bainbridge Island felt about anything.
But it failed to have any effect whatsoever. So Johnstone continued, “As for your family, well that’s quite a mess. They’re in an internment camp. Unfortunately for them, word got out that you were missing, that your best friend was dead, and they have been, well I guess the proper term is shunned.” He looked to Merrick. “That’s right, isn’t it? Shunned?”
Merrick nodded. “Yep.”
Matthew kept his cool, staring at the wall in front of him.
“To the point that your mother is scorned,” Johnstone explained. “She works in a mess hall, and instead of cooking, which I imagine is what she thought she was signing up for, she’s been given the worst tasks. Simply to demean her.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “Your little brother? He was horribly beaten.”
“Beaten to a pulp,” Merrick put in.
Clearly upset, Matthew looked expectantly to Johnstone.
“What is it called in the Japanese culture? Saving face?” Johnstone asked. “Your family will never save face now that you disgraced them and—”
“What happened to Daniel?” Matthew interrupted. “What happened to my brother?”
“Concussion. Broken nose. Two black eyes. Vision off, I guess. Doctor holds up some fingers, your brother can’t tell him how many fingers.”
“Not to worry,” Merrick told him. “There’s a hospital at the camp.”
“Yeah, but you know what?” Johnstone said to Merrick. “He’s been released by now.” Then he looked to Matthew. “So chances are, he’ll take another pounding for you.”
Matthew tried to simply stare at the wall again. But Johnstone could tell it wasn’t with the same defiance.
“So for whatever reason you had to do what you did, your family is paying the price. Every moment of every day.” Again Johnstone waited a moment before going on. “So what I have to wonder is, was it worth it? Fighting for Imperialist Japan—”
“I’m not!” Matthew suddenly erupted.
“Yes, you are. Know how I know? I’ll show you.” Johnstone kneeled in front of Matthew and reached for his left leg. Matthew tried to kick him away, but Johnstone had a good angle and lifted Matthew’s pant leg and pulled down the sock. The same tattoo Merrick and Johnstone had seen on Sean Kanagawa and Cody Carsteen was etched onto Matthew’s ankle. Johnstone looked at Merrick. “Here it is. He’s an Imperialist. A spy.”
“I agree,” Merrick said.
“Death penalty,” Johnstone said simply.
“Right,” Merrick acknowledged.
Matthew didn’t say a word. But Johnstone could tell the young man wanted to.
“So here’s what I think,” Johnstone said, rising to his feet and staring down at Matthew. “You’ve been spying for the Imperialists. Carsteen found out, so you killed him. Then Tom Bollgen found out. So you killed him.” He looked to Matthew, but the young man just glared. “Then you killed Sean Kanagawa—”
Startled, Matthew looked up sharply at Johnstone and said, “Sean?” His voice was barely audible.
“Didn’t think we’d connect you to that one, eh?”
“I didn’t kill Tom,” Matthew insisted, his voice firm. “Or Sean.” He looked away. “I didn’t even know he’d been killed.”
“But you did kill Carsteen.” Johnstone reminded him. “You’re not denying that.”
“Spying, killing a U.S. Navy sailor, that’s more than enough to hang you,” Merrick stated.
Matthew glared at Merrick. “You kill me, fine. But you better listen to what I have to say first.”
“So start talking,” Merrick said.
“After we have a deal.”
“We can’t do anything about the death penalty—”
“I don’t care!” Matthew hotly retorted, surprising them both. “You’re wrong about the tattoo. You want to know what it means? You want to know why Sean and Cody had their fingers chopped off?”
His face a tight mask of anger, Matthew watched as Merrick and Johnstone exchanged startled looks. He pressed on, “You want to know who killed Tom? You can pin it on me. But if you want the truth, we make a deal first.”
Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 13, 1942
She had been terribly frightened by the summons to the office of Major Dorrell. Was it Matthew? Had he been found? Or was he dead? A part of her envisioned him waiting for her in the major’s office. But she told herself this wasn’t really possible. Or was it? If he had been found, he would be brought to the camp, wouldn’t he?
Both Daniel and Julia had wanted to come with her, but she had insisted that they remain at the barracks. They, too, thought that there was now news of Matthew, and of course, they wanted to be included. Ido had not asked to come along. In fact, he hadn’t said a word. He just lay on his cot, one arm over his sightless eyes, as if blocking out the sun.
Kumiko had worn her finest dress and an elegant hat for the occasion, but now as she waited in the outer office area, she wondered if she might have been wrong to do so. She was needed in the mess hall and should go there immediately after meeting with the major. She could hardly work in the beautiful dress she had on now. Yet in a sense, it was only proper to wear her very best attire. She was meeting with a very important man. She would look her best, be her most respectful.
She had been told to be at the office at eleven o’clock, but now it was close to noon, and still she hadn’t seen the major. The warrant officer who sat behind a nearby desk apologized a few times for the major’s delay, but didn’t say a word more. Surely if Matthew were here, they wouldn’t keep her waiting. Would they?
Her stomach churned as she imagined all the possible bad news the major might tell her. Matthew was in an accident. He’s in a hospital fighting for his life. Or worse still, he was dead. Like Tom Bollgen, he was dead.
“Mrs. Kobata?” said a tall man standing in the open doorway.
She hadn’t even heard the door open. She leaped to her feet.
The major gave her an uncomfortable smile and motioned her inside. “Please, come in.”
Of course, Matthew was not waiting inside the office. That had simply been wishful thinking. It was a small space with a desk and two chairs. He went around the desk to his chair and motioned to the remaining chair. She took a seat opposite the major, sitting ramrod straight, her hands properly folded in her lap.
“I understand you have volunteered to teach class.” The major flipped through some papers on his desk. “First grade.”
“Yes,” she politely confirmed. Inside, she was so disappointed. There was no word about Matthew. She had not been called to the major’s office concerning Matthew. What a bitter disappointment.
“First grade. Five-, six-year-old children, I guess.” He glanced up at her. “You have any teaching experience?”
“No.” She was baffled by this question. She had very carefully filled out the teaching form. She had double-checked it when she was done. No, triple checked it. The form had a box to check if the applicant had teaching experience. She had left it unchecked.
The major nodded. “Well, Mrs. Kobata, I’m afraid then you can’t teach.” He saw her surprised look and gave her a polite smile. “We need people who have taught before. Who have experience. That is what is best.”
Her heart beat rapidly now. “May I?” she asked, motioning to the papers. “The form I answer. Can I see, please?”
The major handed over the form. She took it and immediately recognized it as her application. She skimmed it. Then she found it. She read, “It say, ‘Teaching experience not necessary.’” Kumiko stood, put the paper in front of the major, pointing to the sentence she had just quoted. “See?”
But Major Dorrell did not even look at the document. He looked up at her and said, “You will not be allowed to teach, Mrs. Kobata. I’m sorry.” He then motioned. “You may go now.”
Her heart still beating wildly, she fought back the tears and gave a polite nod of her head. Then she prom
ptly left. Once outside, in the fresh air, it dawned on her that while the meeting officially had nothing to do with her missing son, nor was his name even mentioned, her teaching application had been denied for only one reason – Matthew.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 15, 1942
The curtains were drawn against each window of the house, just the way Kumiko had left it. Matthew had noticed a somewhat musty smell when they had first gone inside, just after midnight, but now he couldn’t smell it. He looked around at the familiar furnishings, but it all looked different now. He knew it was because his life had changed so much in such a very short time. The house wasn’t different. He was.
Johnstone watched as Matthew slowly looked around. It was as if it was his first time in the house. He now had a very deep respect for the young man. It was too bad the military would never let him serve. The country needed men like Matthew Kobata. Instead, he was headed for prison and most likely a fatal meeting with the state executioner. It was to be expected since he had admitted killing Carsteen with his fishing knife.
Once Johnstone and Merrick heard Matthew’s one demand, they promised to grant it, providing Matthew reveal all he knew. Then Matthew abruptly asked what day it was. When told it was the thirteenth, Matthew relaxed a little. But he wasn’t willing to talk at the Wilmington jail. He said he had to get home. As soon as possible. The proof of what he would disclose was on Bainbridge Island. Once again, the detective and JAG officer agreed to their prisoner’s requirement. And so it was that only after they had boarded a military plane headed back to Seattle, Matthew told them everything.
Unfortunately, Matthew didn’t know quite everything. He thought the anti-aircraft guns must be on Old Man Pete’s property for the simple reason that whoever was behind the plot had left him and Tom tied up inside Old Man Pete’s smaller barn. Merrick argued that anti-aircraft guns are large – too large for the small barn, and they had checked the larger barn. It contained a tractor and farming equipment. No anti-aircraft guns.
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