Full Wolf Moon

by K. L. Nappier

  The minister regarded Max a moment, then deferred to Mrs. Tebbe, the gesture subtle. Max sensed an undercurrent, and he didn't like it.

  "If you don't mind, Mr. Satsugai," Mrs. Tebbe said, then looked at Max pointedly, though she was still addressing the minister. "This will only take a minute, I promise. Harriet will get you some tea."

  They must associate frequently. There was familiarity in her tone, in spite of her professional bearing. As soon as Satsugai stepped out, Max reclaimed his chair and asked, "Is that the minister you mentioned a while back?"

  Mrs. Tebbe ignored the question. "You came here to bitch, Captain. So bitch."

  "Where's Andrew Takei now?"

  "He's in his mother's custody, of course."

  Maxwell shook his head, still filled with frustration. "Damn it, Mrs. Tebbe..."

  "Come on, Captain. Where the hell is he going to go?"

  "To his shogun, and tell him that we're on to him."

  "He could have done that during jail visiting hours. Captain, just take a breath and mull this over. The boy can't go anywhere..."

  "The pressure's off now, don't you see that? Where's our leverage, Mrs. Tebbe?" Max couldn't fathom what the woman had been thinking when she agreed to release the Takei boy. He lifted his hands in a gesture of utter bewilderment.

  Mrs. Tebbe watched him a moment, her small eyes narrowed in that scrutinizing manner of hers. Once again her tone acquired a brittle edge. For the first time, Max recognized it as a sign of fear. Subtle, but fear nonetheless.

  She said, "I've been having some doubts about your theory, Captain."

  Max leaned back in his chair but managed to resist crossing his arms. "All right. You've got a more logical scenario?"

  Mrs. Tebbe stared at him a moment more before replying, "No. Not really."

  "Then why are we having a problem?"

  "Because...what you say almost makes sense. Almost. But it's too pat."

  Max's stomach knotted, he felt the thin control he had managed all morning threatening to tear. Too pat? As if he were making all this up? As if he were lying?

  Maybe Mrs. Tebbe saw this in his eyes. She shifted gears suddenly, asking sympathetically, "Was the general rough on you?"

  Max almost snorted with derision, unwilling to accept the gesture. "No, he wasn't, Mrs. Tebbe. Because he trusts me. He was pissed to have heard about it from the outside, damned embarrassed about it in fact, but he sure as hell understands what I'm trying to do here."

  The C.A. wasn't exactly contrite, but she did seem to be listening. "Okay, okay. I should have warned you. I knew Eisenhower would call him."

  Mrs. Tebbe didn't address the trust issue. Well, then, Max would. "I have been trying since I got here to cooperate with you. And just when I think we've made some headway, you insult my efforts and ignore my judgment. Where does this hostility come from, Mrs. Tebbe? Did a soldier drop you on your head when you were small?"

  The set of her mouth and the flush of her cheeks was Max's warning, but before Mrs. Tebbe could explode, the intercom buzzed. The ringside bell, signaling the end of the round.

  "Mrs. Tebbe..." Harriet Haku's voice crackled.

  "What?"

  "Mr. Satsugai asked me to let you know he's leaving..."

  "We're almost done in here," the C.A. said hastily. "Ask him to wait."

  It was the minister's voice that replied. "It's all right, Mrs. Tebbe. I'll see you at tonight's meeting."

  Max saw it. A flash of unabashed disappointment before the C.A. was in control again. And now that her mood was soured even more, Mrs. Tebbe was ready to address Max's remark.

  "Eshelmann dropped me on my head on several occasions, Captain. And just when I was beginning to think you might, just might, be different, your fingers get buttery, too. I'm going to have a migraine for weeks, thanks to your little drop. The word around camp must already be spreading that the Army believes the killer is one of them."

  "You're the one who's let him go, Mrs. Tebbe."

  "Screw you, Pierce!"

  "Hey, watch it!"

  "I'm not the one who marched in and tormented the boy until his lawyer screamed!"

  Max was burning too hot to realize he was out of his chair and leaning across the C.A.'s desk. Not until it was too late. Even his fingertips were fiery. Had Mrs. Tebbe not pulled back, he would have been nose-to-nose with her.

  "You don't know," he said, his voice low and deadly, "how important this is."

  Max's awareness returned just in time to see the shock on Mrs. Tebbe's face galvanize into a forced, professional calm. Her words were just as forced, spoken slow and clear. Diplomacy laced with threat.

  "May I have my desk back. Please."

  Max was already pulling back, straightening up. The only thing burning in him now was embarrassment. The only balm for his humiliation was formality.

  "Mrs. Tebbe. I apologize. There's nothing I can offer to justify my behavior."

  The C.A. rearranged her posture, laying her forearms on the desk and folding her hands. Though she tried to control it, Max saw her fingers tremble as they interlocked.

  She cleared her throat and said, "I don't think we should continue today."

  "I agree."

  He left without another word, glad that the daily bustling within the building had shielded the commotion he had just made. Glad that the C.A.'s secretary had her nose poined toward the typewriter as he passed.

  He was not so lucky once he was out of the building. Mr. Satsugai was walking toward Max's car from the opposite way, as if the minister had been walking down the hill, then had changed his mind.

  "Captain," he said as they intersected, "I'm glad I caught you."

  It was wearing to keep on a mask of civility right now. But somehow, Max managed. His driver opened the back door for him and he slipped through, one foot inside the running board, one foot still in the dust. "Something I can do for you, Mr. Satsugai?"

  "Join me for tea."

  "Now?"

  "If you can. If not, this evening perhaps. I have a committee meeting but it isn't until --"

  Max leaned out to grasp the door's inward handle. "Thank you for thinking of me, but my schedule won't allow. Another time, maybe."

  He would have pulled the door closed, but the minister firmly curled his fingers around the window frame and came in close. "Captain. What possible harm could it do?"

  Max drew his tongue between his upper lip and teeth, considering his reply. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Just some conversation. Maybe we'll gain a little insight, if we're lucky."

  "Meaning me," Max said.

  "Meaning both of us."

  Max was equally reluctant and intrigued. He didn't really understand what the minister was up to, because he didn't know just how much this preacher and Mrs. Tebbe shared. He didn't want to think about it either, and something competitive in him made him answer. "All right. Tonight?"

  "What time?" the minister asked.

  "Make it easy on yourself."

  "5:00? I'm in the bachelor quarters of Block Four."

  Bachelor quarters, was it.

  "See you then."

  / / / /

  Max stepped from the car and squinted in a useless attempt to see well. He assumed the man opening the last door on the barracks' north end was Mr. Satsugai. The man had the strong, upright stature of prime age. It was his voice, as Max approached, that confirmed who he was.

  "Hello, again. I'm glad you could make it."

  Max mounted the steps and accepted the minister's outstretched hand. Mr. Satsugai looked past him a moment and called to Max's driver, "Corporal, may I get you some tea while you wait?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Some water, perhaps."

  "Naw."

  Mr. Satsugai returned his attention to Max. "Come in, please."

  Just inside, Max was asked to leave his shoes on the nubby little rug.

  "It helps control the dust," the minister said.

  Satsugai's o
wn black wingtips were there along side a pair of blocky, wooden creations, obviously homemade. The minister himself wore a pair of house slippers.

  "Sorry I can't offer you the same," he said. "My only pair."

  Maxwell felt uneasy in stocking feet and uniform, but he tried to make light of it by joking, "How about if I wear these?"

  He picked up one of the homemade jobs. A sturdy cord was set into a flat, uncomfortable-looking piece of oak bullied into an oval. The cord looped around to fit between the wearer's first and second toes. Max turned it upside down and ran a thumb across two cross pieces at toe and heel, which held the sole about two-inches above the ground.

  "Getas," Mr. Satsugai said, naming the odd sandals. He was standing at the table, pulling a tin of Earl Grey from a set of shelves. "They're good for short trips, like to the lavatory. They're indispensable at the showers if you're going to avoid athlete's foot."

  Max nodded, his brow raised, admiring the ingenuity. The minister was busy ladling water from a bucket near the stove. While he poured it into a kettle, Max set the geta down and looked around.

  A snug place. With the woodburner beginning to stoke, though, Mr. Satsugai asked Max to open the door. Max did, then continued eyeing things up. Most of what he saw seemed standard equipment in the regulation space. A simple, mattressed cot, a home-made closet. A single light fixture over the little table that apparently doubled as the minister's study. A cross was suspended between cot and table.

  Besides the cross and the one frame of shelves holding practicalities -the tea, some cocoa, cups, saucers, toiletries- the wall decor was exclusively books. Among them, Satsugai's copy of the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. A Bible, naturally. King James Version. Spengler's The Decline of the West. The Hound of the Baskervilles and, for godsake, The Collected Works of Poe. Mr. Satsugai had a morbid streak.

  Max settled into one of the two chairs and watched the minister as he set a few shortbreads on a plate. "You've got your apartment nicely set up, Mr. Satsugai."

  Still standing, Satsugai had the advantage. He looked down at Max a moment before sitting as well. "Shortbread, Captain?"

  "I'll wait for the tea." The kettle cried out almost before Max had finished.

  The minister rose, and Max wished he had never agreed to come. Why had he, anyway? A myriad of reasons had convinced him earlier. Mr. Satsugai was the head of the internee police. It was good politics to make an effort at civility with the camp leadership. Max might gain some insight into the average evacuee mind.

  He sincerely wanted to make life as easy as possible for these people. Satsugai's invitation helped him realize that, since the murders, that original objective had faded into the background. He had hoped to recoup some of that core intention.

  But now all that seemed superficial, as if he recognized that those reasons were just excuses. Deep down, he was after something else but he couldn't say exactly what. Arthur Satsugai made him feel wary, like that joker Alma Curar had. Come to think of it, the two of them shared the same manner. Kind of smug, as if they held a higher knowledge than other people.

  The minister returned with the kettle, set it on a knitted potholder and spooned the tea into the hot water. As he sat down again, Max turned the tea tin to read it.

  "Earl Grey," he said. "To be honest, this wasn't what I was expecting."

  "Green tea, perhaps, or jasmine?"

  "I'm not sure. I suppose."

  "Complete with the Ceremony." Mr. Satsugai reached for Max's cup and poured the tea, then turned it methodically in his hands before setting it in front of Max again. "A short and distant variation. Just for you."

  Max knew he was being mocked. He didn't touch the cup.

  The minister said, "I'm not pretending to be American for you, Captain."

  "I don't doubt your citizenship."

  "Someone does." Mr. Satsugai glanced at Max's steaming cup. "Don't you like Earl Grey?"

  Max reached for it at last. "It's fine," he said before sipping.

  "Sugar?"

  "No. Thanks."

  The minister drank his tea without sugar as well. He picked up a shortbread, but abruptly set it back on the plate. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said. "I'm being a poor host."

  "How so?"

  "I should be putting you at ease. Instead, I'm posturing. That's not very worthy of my calling, either."

  Max appreciated the frankness and repaid it with an attempt at small talk. "Do you have a congregation here in the camp, sir?"

  "Yes, I do." Satsugai smiled. "Ito Matsura and I have quite a competition going."

  That would be a reference to the Buddhist priest.

  "Competition?" Max dared to lighten his voice again. "That doesn't sound very Christian."

  Apparently the clergyman accepted the gesture. Still smiling, he nodded. "Christians have been competing since the lion arenas of Rome."

  Something about that image made Max uneasy and he changed the subject. "So what's the sermon about this Sunday?"

  "I'm still hammering it out. But a conversation I had early last week has inspired me."

  "Oh?"

  "Living consciously. It seems to me it's more important in these times than ever."

  Max was ready to move to another topic now, but before he could swallow his tea, the minister continued.

  "What do you think, Captain? Do most of us live consciously?"

  Max blotted a moist corner of his mouth with one knuckle. "Well, I'm not sure what you mean."

  "Fully aware. Absolutely clear about what motivates us. Or, at least, attempting to be so."

  "I'm not sure that's possible."

  "Maybe not. But how many of us even try? How many of us think about why we're angry with a loved one or why we concern our prayers with shallow matters."

  Mr. Satsugai paused as if to give Max a chance to comment. But Max didn't and was surprised that he hadn't seen what was coming next.

  "Or why we react with such fear, collectively, without considering the consequences to our souls."

  Now Mr. Satsugai shut up entirely, his face set in conviction, waiting to hear his guest out. Max watched the minister a moment.

  "Sir," he began, then paused so he might clearly see just where to place his words. "If you're wondering where my sympathies lie regarding the relocation, they lie with you. They lie with all the good residents of this camp. It chills me, what had to be done. No. It sickens me. Every night, I try to imagine how I would feel if it was me sitting where you are now. Or if I was sitting in a federal prison, knowing my wife and children were here. Wondering when, or even if, I was going to be released to the camp so I could be with them again. It scares the hell out of me to think about what you'll have to go back to when this is all over. And, so, I asked for this duty. I asked for it. It's everything I can do.

  "But if you're asking me if I think the relocation must be done, I won't lie to you. I do. We were deceived, Mr. Satsugai, and attacked, even as Japan's own officials were in dialogue with ours. Our Navy is obliterated. Hundreds are dead. With Pearl Harbor gone, the entire west coast of the continent is as bare as a baby's ass and Japan can have us any time she wants. We cannot take chances now. It's galling, but I swear to God, I don't know what else we can do."

  The words settled into the air. Mr. Satsugai was looking at him, surprisingly enough, as if he understood.

  But he said, "You see, that's my point. ou speak from and about the fear, without questioning it."

  "There's a reason to be afraid."

  "Yes, there is. And we're all afraid. Our country has been attacked. More than merely attacked, it's just as you said, Captain. We were sucker punched. So, as a nation, we're terrified. But...we've stopped there, haven't we? At the fear. We don't even realize that we're not controlling the terror. The terror is controlling us."

  This wasn't going anywhere, Max could see that now. Besides, that goddamned buzzing was threatening like a hornet, creeping behind his right ear. He drained his cup, left his shortbread uneaten
.

  "Mr. Satsugai, I think you and I are at an impasse. It's just as well that I get back to duty."

  The minister sighed, but smiled courteously. "Certainly, Captain. You were game to come. I appreciate that."

  They both stood and Satsugai extended his hand. Max clasped it.