Under the Blood-Red Sun

by Graham Salisbury

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  I squatted down and waited for another pitch.

  Billy bent forward, the ball in his hand behind his back.

  “Thanks for telling me how you felt about the flag,” I said.

  “What flag? Quit talking, confonnit, and give me a sign.”

  I flashed two fingers. Billy nodded and whipped me a perfect curve.

  Whock!

  He smirked. “Want to see the one that goes around your head?”

  Shikata Ga Nai

  In the next days a voice started to nag at me, whispering words inside my mind. “Go now,” it kept saying. “Go find Papa before it’s too late. Go to the police.” I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  One morning, without saying anything to worry Mama, I went behind the house and got Grampa’s bicycle out. I was just about to hop on it when Mose and Rico came walking up the trail from the street.

  “Hey,” Rico said with a big smile. Seeing them like that, so unexpectedly, made my throat burn, like when you’re so sad about something you can’t even cry. I felt like I hadn’t seen Mose and Rico in over a year.

  “How’zit,” I managed to say, the burning stone stuck in my throat.

  Mose and Rico both punched my arm, one after the other. “How you doing, cock-a-roach?” Rico said.

  “Okay … How about you guys?”

  “Still alive.”

  “Yeah, still alive,” Mose added.

  “Can you believe the Japanese went bomb us?” Rico said.

  I shook my head and averted my eyes. I felt disgraced. Like Grampa.

  Mose looked at me and asked, hesitantly, “They treating you okay, Tomi? … They come arrest your father … and your grandfather?”

  “Not Grampa, just my father … They shot him in the leg and sunk his boat. And—and they killed his friend, Sanji … the planes did, U.S. planes. They shot at them on the boat.…”

  “Aw, shee … that’s bad,” Mose said. “That’s real bad.”

  We were quiet a moment, then Rico said, “Why they did that?”

  “They weren’t flying a U.S. flag.”

  “That’s all?” Rico shook his head.

  “Down by us,” Mose said, “they got all the old Japanee guys and took ’um to Immigration.… They figure they naturally for Japan … but what they worried about? Those old guys no can do nothing.”

  “So what you folks going do?” Rico asked.

  “I don’t know. Grampa said to wait. But I can’t.… I was just going down to the police station to see if I could find my father.”

  For a moment we stood there with nothing to say.

  “You guys want to come?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Rico said. “Sure, man. We got one cousin who works there.”

  “True,” Mose added. “Some kind of desk job, though. Not a police.”

  There was another silent moment. Then I said, “You should see the looks we get from the people now. They think we’re spies or something.”

  Rico shook his head. “That’s crazy, man.”

  But Mose told the truth. “Still, nobody knows nothing … so they scared … just like we all scared.”

  Mose and Rico didn’t have bikes, so the three of us started walking down to the police station, which was about three or four miles away. The streets were just like before the bombs—pretty clean, and people still walking around. Lots of people walking. Who had gasoline anymore? The army took it all and rationed a little bit to everyone else. Charlie said Mr. Davis could only get ten gallons a month. How we were going to get kerosene for our lamp and our stove was going to be a real problem soon.

  Not everything on the streets was like before. In some places we passed streetlights shot out by blackout wardens, and burned or busted-up buildings that had been bombed, or hit by antiaircraft fire. At those places we stopped to look around before going on.

  I was shocked. I hadn’t seen anything but the grocery store since the day the planes came. But if it shocked Mose and Rico they were keeping it hidden.

  “You heard about how they going give everyone a gas mask?” Rico said.

  “Gas mask?”

  “Yeah, they going give ’um to everyone.… Look stupit, those things.”

  “I guess they think they going come back and drop gas bombs,” Mose added. “If I hear planes coming again, I going run for my place … then I put ’um on, but not before that.”

  “Hey,” Rico said, “you heard about that car was driving to work up by your place? One plane came down with machine guns blasting and killed the guys inside?”

  “Where by my place?”

  “Judd Street, I think.”

  I remembered the plane that had scared Kimi … when Billy was there and we hit the dirt. Was that the plane Rico was talking about? If it was … spooky, boy.

  “You know the day after the planes bombed Pearl Harbor?” I said. “That day, an army guy and two police came up to our house. They took our clothesline wire, and they made me and Grampa kill all my father’s pigeons.”

  The two of them stopped and stared at me.

  “Every one of them. It made me feel sick.”

  “But how come the pigeons?”

  Because of Keet Wilson, I wanted to say. “Somebody told them we were sending messages on them.”

  “Messages?” Rico said, his eyes narrow. “Who were you sending the messages to?”

  “Shuddup,” Mose said, shoving Rico. “This is not a joke.”

  Rico looked confused. I didn’t think he meant it as a joke.

  “How come the army think like that?” Mose went on. “They think you going send one message that says ‘Those ships are here, by my house, come bomb us’? Stupit, man …”

  “Just like the army, yeah?” Rico said.

  “My grampa, he likes Japan … that’s his homeland … but he didn’t like what they did,” I said. “We buried all our Japan things right after the army guy left.…” I paused, thinking of poor Grampa—so lost. “He’s kind of confused now,” I added, almost in a whisper.

  “Lot of people confused,” Mose said.

  We started walking again. Rico said, “My father says the stupit army would be even more stupit if they didn’t arrest all those old guys who still believe in Japan. Nobody knows if there was somebody who helped those planes, or what.”

  We walked awhile in silence. I had to admit that what Rico said made sense. How could anyone tell for sure? Maybe somebody really did send them a message, or even did something worse.

  We passed a park where four men with no shirts on were digging a long trench for people to jump into if the bombing started up again. Two men swung picks and two shoveled dirt into pyramids along the edge. It reminded me of fresh graves up at the cemetery.

  Rico finally broke the silence, the clinking sound of the picks fading away behind us. “My father said if the Japanee come back now, they going take us. They already knocked out almost all the navy ships and half the planes.”

  “It’s gonna be bad, all right,” Mose added. “What can we do now? Throw rocks?”

  “That’s right,” Rico said. “I ain’t letting those Japs take me, man.” Rico looked at me, kind of embarrassed. “Sorry … everybody saying Japs now.”

  I looked down. “That’s okay.”

  We walked another block. The clinking sound was gone.

  “Anyway,” I finally said. “If those Japs come back, they going to have to face us three ugly Rats, even if we only have stones.”

  Rico put his arm over my shoulder, and we walked the rest of the way bragging to each other about how we were going to bust their brains and tie them up and march them over to the stupit army and become heroes.

  • • •

  “We’re too busy to fool around with you boys,” the policeman said when we got to the police station. “Go on, now … get out of here.”

  “But I just want to know where he is, that’s all … then we’ll go.… Just tell me
where he is.”

  The policeman frowned at me, but you could tell he was okay.

  “How do I know where he is? The FBI took those men, not us.”

  “But where did they take them?”

  “Shee,” he said. “You pretty pushy.… I don’t know where.… Sand Island is one place, but they have others too.”

  “Can you ask someone?”

  “Listen …” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can find out.… What’s his name?”

  “Nakaji, Taro.”

  “Wait here.”

  Me and Mose and Rico leaned against the wall by the door, trying to stay out of the way. I never saw so many police in one place in my whole life.

  Another policeman came up to us. His shiny badge stood out like a fastball coming at your head. “How you boys doing?” he asked. “Somebody arrest you?”

  Rico straightened up and shook his head.

  The policeman laughed. “You boys should be out digging bomb shelters. They need volunteers everywhere.”

  “We going there next,” Rico said, looking nervous.

  “Good,” the man said. “But be careful, yeah?”

  “We will,” Mose said, nodding his head vigorously.

  The first policeman came back. “My best guess is Sand Island … but even if that’s where he is, you can’t see him, so don’t waste your time. When they’re ready to let you know something, they will.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, officer.”

  “That’s okay.… Hey, it’s tough on all of us right now.” He studied us a moment, then said, “Go on, get out of here.”

  • • •

  Later that day, after Mose and Rico had gone home, Mama wanted me to go looking for Grampa. She hadn’t seen him all afternoon. I whistled for Lucky to come with me and she came trotting out from under the house with her tail wagging. That dog—she always made me feel good. Her puppies followed a little ways, then stopped and sat down. Lucky glanced back at them.

  “Come on, girl,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Let’s go find Grampa.”

  The first place we went to was the chicken coop, where Grampa’s prize Rhode Island Reds pecked around in the dirt and dozed in their beds of yellow straw. No Grampa.

  Lucky and I followed the small trail that led into the jungle beyond the chickens. The weeds were so high they came up over my shoulders. Lucky walked ahead, sometimes disappearing, then coming back a little later.

  Pretty soon we came to the stream. The water was cold and clear. I cooled my feet and Lucky lapped some of it up.

  On the other side of the water was a dark and damp bamboo forest, loaded with mosquitoes. I had to keep slapping myself all over.

  We came to a patch of tall grass that someone had recently walked through. Lucky sniffed ahead, following the new trail, getting pretty excited.

  Soon we were in shade so deep I could hardly see the sky. I stopped to listen: the stream; a couple of birds chirping. That’s all.

  “Lucky,” I whispered, but she was gone.

  I crept to the edge of a small clearing.

  Mumbling voices grew in my ears.

  I peeked through the branches. On the other side of the clearing, Lucky looked back at me with ears perked up. And next to her was Grampa, squatting near a tree with his back to me.

  I stepped out into the open, and Grampa turned to look behind him.

  “Tomi,” another voice said. Charlie. He’d been hidden by the tree.

  On the ground between Grampa and Charlie was our katana. “Sit,” Charlie said, when I got closer.

  It was very strange that they were out there in the jungle like that. I sat down and kept my mouth shut. For a few minutes no one spoke, just slapped at mosquitoes and listened to the stream.

  “Shikata ga nai,” Grampa finally said. “No can help.… What is done, is done.”

  Charlie nodded. “That’s right.”

  What were they talking about?

  Grampa picked up the katana. He held it in front of him, one hand wrapped in the scarf under the razorsharp blade and the other on the handle. He was careful not to let the oil from his fingers touch the blade.

  With a deep scowl, and very gently, he handed it to me. It almost had a glow to it, of some kind of energy that you felt in your fingers and your chest.

  “That belong to your ancestor,” he said. “Long time ago. Nobody since then bring disgrace or shame to the name of this family.” He paused a moment, watching me, letting his words settle. “My country,” he went on. “My country, Tomikazu … they … they …”

  Grampa turned away, pain carved in his face.

  “This island,” Charlie said to Grampa, his voice kind. “This territory, Joji-san, this is your country now. You couldn’t help what happened. Forget it, already. Wasn’t your fault.”

  Grampa reached out, and I gave the katana back to him. I hoped his hiding place was good, and that he would never bury it like Mama wanted.

  “Confonnit,” he mumbled. He sounded so lost. Grampa wrapped the katana in the scarf and carefully placed it back in the burlap bag that was folded next to him. He tied some brown string around it, then stood and walked off into the trees.

  Charlie glanced at me and shook his head.

  I pulled Lucky up onto my lap, feeling a sudden loneliness.

  Grampa came back without the katana. Lucky took off, back over the trail, and the three of us followed in silence. But the feel of the katana stayed in my hands.

  I would tell Grampa about Sand Island later. If I told him at all.

  Mari

  A couple of days after Christmas, Billy came over with a big smile and his father’s binoculars. “Remember these?” he said, holding them up. A leather strap crossed his chest, and the binoculars case rested on his hip, like a canteen. Red, who now followed Billy everywhere, sniffed my foot.

  “Sure, your dad’s binoculars.”

  “Not anymore … He gave them to me.”

  “Gave them to you?”

  “Christmas present.”

  “You had Christmas?”

  “Sure … didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, we had it.” That was a lie. I don’t know why I said it. We had to forget Christmas, Mama said. We had to save our money. Anyway, we never made a big deal out of it like the haoles did.

  Lucky and the rest of the pups came out from under the house and swarmed over Red. “Come on,” Billy said. “Let’s go up in the banyan tree and look at Pearl Harbor.”

  We walked out to the field, the dogs following, then went into the jungle and climbed to the lookout.

  The sky was white with high, thin clouds. It made the ocean silver. The boats at sea were black dots. Billy adjusted the focus on the eyepiece. “You know the Arizona burned for three days?”

  “Let me see,” I said.

  Pearl Harbor was busy with tiny men on boats and barges trying to bring the bombed ships back up. Smaller boats passed by each other, leaving crisscrossed V-shaped wakes in the glassy water. You could see jeeps and trucks driving around out on Ford Island in the middle of the harbor.

  “Amazing,” I whispered. The binoculars brought everything so much closer. “I can’t believe your dad gave these to you.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  “What did he give Jake?”

  “A Colt .45 with a carved ivory grip that Dad got from my grandfather.”

  “Shee …”

  “What did you get?” Billy asked.

  “Uhh … a lantern.”

  “No kidding … like a Coleman, or what?”

  “Yeah, a Coleman lantern.”

  “Great.”

  “Tomi,” someone called from the field. Mama.

  “What?” I yelled back.

  “Where you stay?”

  “In the tree … wait … I’ll come down.”

  Billy put the binoculars in the case and followed me.

  “You come home,” Mama said when we got to the field. “We going see
Sanji family. Downtown.” Mama started back to the house.

  “You think I could come with you?” Billy whispered.

  “Mama … can Billy come too?” Billy cringed. Mama turned back and studied him. “Sure … you come, Billy.”

  Billy punched my arm. “Somebody’s got to teach you a little tact.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Jeese … forget it,” he said.

  • • •

  We took the bus to Sanji’s wife’s place, which was down near Hotel Street, where the sailors and army guys went for the bars. She lived down an alley as busy and as poor as Kaka’ako. Laundry hung above from one building to the next. The alley was narrow and dirty, the pavement greasy. It turned the bottoms of my bare feet black.

  We had to climb to the third floor of a three-story building, up a long flight of creaky wooden steps nailed to the outside. Two doors were at the top.

  I looked back down into the alley. Billy stood next to me, keeping back from the railing, which looked like it was about to fall off. People passed below, the tops of their heads moving like round black bugs with feet swinging out in front of them.

  Mama knocked on one of the doors.

  A lady opened it—Sanji’s wife’s mother, we soon discovered. Mama spoke to her in Japanese, and offered her the box of eggs she’d brought along. The lady took it. She smiled and stepped back for us to come in. We exchanged bows and nods as we walked by.

  The room was small and cramped with furniture—two beds, a table with a few chairs, and an old brown couch. And it smelled bad, like it never got any air. Billy sat down next to me on a wooden chest near the door. It had a thin pillow on it. There was only one window in the place. It looked out to the walkway where we’d come.

  Billy whispered in my ear, “What are they talking about?”

  “Sanji’s wife is out.… I think she said they went to the vegetable stand.”

  “You think she said that? Don’t you understand them?”

  “Good enough … I can catch a few words.”

  “It’s so sad,” Mama was saying. “My husband loved Sanji like a son.” The lady nodded, then stared at the floor with her hands crossed in her lap.

  The door opened. A young woman came in. She looked like she could have been a senior at Roosevelt. And behind her, a girl younger than Kimi, carrying a small bunch of bananas.