We moved—my parents and I—to the island of Oahu. I didn’t like it. All my friends were in the States. But I’d tried surfing in California, and Hawaii was ‘surfer-central.’ You know what surfing is?” Cat gave a perfunctory nod and Johnny went on.
“There were lots of surfers around Honolulu and Diamond Head. They called them ‘beachboys,’ and the beachboys got the prettiest girls. That seemed good to me. I talked my folks into buying me a second hand board. It was wood, twelve feet long. Every chance I got, I was on the waves. I made new friends. I got good at it, finally good enough even to ride the enormous breakers at Sunset Beach and Waimea Bay on the north shore. I started to like Hawaii.”
Johnny might as well have been talking to himself. The Japanese was focused inward.
“December rolled around. Christmas was coming up and my parents promised me a new board if my grades were good.
“Dad’s ship had been out at sea for exercises. On Saturday, it came back and he got shore leave for the night, but had to return aboard first thing next morning.
“That night, my parents had a barbecue at a friend’s house, but came home early because Dad had to be up at 0-6-hundred hours. The plan was, Mom would drive Dad to the harbor at 7:00. At 10:30, she wanted me to go to church with her.
“Usually I went with my mother to see Dad board. I liked to look at the ships, and I knew all their names. But this time, I had other plans. I wanted to go surfing. Having to come back for church was a pain, but I figured I’d be able to get in two or three hours before I had to return.
“I was up at 6:00. I was sixteen, and my parents had started to let me drive the old car. We called it the “Woody”—it was a Packard, like all my dad’s cars.
“I was rushing out and Mom was cooking bacon and eggs. She said wait, I should eat with them.” Johnny’s voice slowed and now Cat was watching him.
“I remember. She was wearing a blue dress with yellow sunflowers on it. I didn’t see my dad, but I heard him moving in the bedroom. He’d be getting his uniform on.
“I told Mom, no, a friend was waiting. But she forced me to sit while she made a peanut butter sandwich. I grabbed it and ran.” Johnny paused. Katsu was listening now.
“I didn’t say goodbye to Dad. What did I know? It was just another Sunday morning.
“I was surfing at Diamond Head when I heard aircraft coming. And then the sky was full of them. I couldn’t understand it. Dad said the carriers were out of port, so what were all these planes? I figured it must be a flight from the States. Even when I saw the red circles, I didn’t get it.
“Then a fighter dove and went right overhead. At home, we had a book of military aircraft silhouettes. It was a Mitsubishi ‘Zeke,’ also called ‘Zero.’
“I actually saw the pilot and he was a Jap. He waved.
“Then I knew where they were going. But still, it was like a bad dream. It couldn’t be real—even when I saw the black smoke over the hills. It all happened so fast and then I was moving.
“I paddled for shore and I remember, there was a radio playing, some happy tune. I just left my board on the beach and ran to the Woody.
“Diamond Head to Pearl Harbor is twelve miles. Normally I’d do it in half an hour. I think I made it in fifteen minutes. There were only a few other cars on the roads, all racing somewhere.
“I could see the planes, bombers and fighters, lots of them. They dove on the harbor, and I saw the sun on the wings as they came up. And then I could hear the screaming engines. They were all yours, and none of ours.
“I drove right to the harbor. The guard gate was empty. No one stopped me.”
Now Cat was staring at Johnny.
“It was crazy, sailors running everywhere. The planes disappeared and the whole harbor was on fire. All the ships were burning. I saw one with its hull in the air.” Johnny stared into the cold fire, lost in that other time.
“I saw dead men. The first ones I saw. Americans. I ran to the water and stared out where my dad’s ship should be, but I couldn’t see it. It was all smoke and flames and men shouting. The harbor had changed. I couldn’t recognize anything.
“I saw a sailor shooting his rifle in the air, at nothing I could see. I asked him, ‘where’s the ‘Arizona?’ The USS Arizona was my dad’s ship. He pointed and I saw burning water and twisted metal towers. That couldn’t be my father’s battleship! But it was.
“I saw men burning out there. There were bodies floating and sailors covered in oil crawling out, some with their skin coming off. The screams! I remember the screams. I looked everywhere for my father and never found him.” Cat lit two cigarettes and passed one to Johnny.
“I ran to the parking area and saw Dad’s car,” Johnny said. “His blue ‘37 Packard Touring Sedan—his ‘pride and joy.’ He bought it brand new and had it shipped to Hawaii. Then I knew my mom still had to be there. I ran to the lookout where she watched him board.” Johnny’s voice cracked and he took a deep drag.
“I should have been there! But I wanted to surf. I saw a crashed fighter. I saw the ‘meatball,’ on it, your red sun. I saw my first dead Jap—the pilot, hanging out of the cockpit.
“Then I saw blue cloth, under the wing. I went closer. It had sunflowers on it, and it was soaked in blood.”
Johnny stopped because his throat had seized. He dropped the butt onto the sand and angrily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. At last he turned a raw stare on the Japanese.
“My parents died just after 8:00 o’clock, December the 7th, 1941. You people murdered more than two thousand, three hundred Americans that morning, my mother and father with them. We weren’t at war with you! You attacked in peacetime!”
Cat cleared his throat. Johnny locked gazes until the other man looked at the sand.
“And then there was the second attack by your aircraft,” Johnny went on. “I could shoot a rifle, better that most of those sailors. Someone gave one to me and I took my first shots of the war. Men were yelling that the Japs were about to invade Hawaii.
“Much later, I ended up at home. I sat in an empty house with a loaded rifle for two days, until the Navy sent someone by.
“They shipped me to my grandparents in San Diego. That was a bad Christmas—the worst. By New Year’s, I’d made a resolution.
“I was going to kill Japs. I made a promise to my parents. I was going to kill as many as I could to pay for their murders, and I would fight until Japan was finished, or I was.
“My Granddad approved of my desire to fight, but said the battle in the Pacific would be a Navy show. He knew Admiral Nimitz. It might take years, but first I’d finish school, take officer’s training and get on a ship. As if I’d go back to school!
“I wouldn’t wait. And I wouldn’t sit out at sea and lob shells at an unseen enemy. I wanted to look at the men I killed. I left a letter and ran away. I joined the Army. I was seventeen.
“I’ve been killing Japs ever since.”
Johnny stopped talking. The minutes dragged by and at last Cat nodded.
“I see why you hate us,” he said. “I understand. I would feel the same.”
“I’ve never told that to anyone,” Johnny said. “Keep it between us.”
“Yes,” Cat said. “I agree.
“Did you ever wonder where I learned to speak English?”
“Well, I figured you studied it at school,” Johnny replied.
“I learned it at my church.”
“Your church?” Johnny asked. He assumed the man must mean some kind of temple.
“My church,” the Japanese emphasized. “I learned from a priest. I am Christian.”
“You? Christian?” Johnny was flabbergasted.
“Yes, me,” the Japanese nodded. “How long has there been an America?”
“Well, I remember from school. The Declaration of Independence was written in 1776.”
“Oh—less than a hundred and seventy years?”
“I guess,” Johnny said.
“My family has
been samurai for five centuries,” Cat said. “And we have been Christian for four hundred years. Yes, Christian,” he repeated, seeing the incredulity on Johnny’s face.
“The Europeans came to Nippon long ago. Many important families in my area became Christian. But the Shogun—the leader, like your President—outlawed Christianity. In my city, he crucified twenty-six Christians.
“To survive we became ‘kakure Kirishitan’—the hidden ones. But finally the ban on our religion was lifted, before I was born. In my neighborhood of Nagasaki, called ‘Urakami,’ there is—if it is still there—the biggest, most beautiful cathedral in all Asia.
“But if your atom bomb has demolished Nagasaki, America has destroyed the center of Christianity in Japan! You have killed who knows how many hundreds of thousands of my countrymen, and also, tens of thousands of Christians. You have slaughtered all the people I knew—my family, my wife, my children!”
Tears welled in Cat’s eyes and he looked away. It was Johnny’s turn to find nothing to say. Cat blinked his eyes rapidly and choked back a sob.
“I am very sorry about your parents. Of course, I was not at Pearl Harbor. But my family—my father and I, and our friends—we supported the war. As a Japanese, I accept responsibility.
“But now, Nippon has paid the price. I, myself, have paid the price.” Johnny saw Footy returning along the beach.
“If peace has come—you and me, what do we do?” Johnny asked. “I’ve hated you so long I don’t think I can quit.”
“I do not know,” Cat said. “This is a difficult thing. Here there are tribes that kill each other generation after generation. Maybe we will do the same. My problem is, I no longer know how to live.”
“I know this,” Johnny said slowly. “I have killed and killed, and my parents are still dead. Revenge felt good, but it didn’t fix my loss.”
Katsu nodded. He, too, saw the Australian coming. He took his towel and went to the forest. When he returned, he cooked without speaking and handed around the plates.
CHAPTER 8
Johnny and Footy figured it would take a day for Rutherford to get home before he could send his radio message. And then? With all the monumental events the ending of the war must have put in play, would they get any attention?
The following morning they took stock of their supplies. They were doing well at augmenting the canned food with what they could catch and pick. As for coffee and cigarettes, they had enough for two more weeks, if they restricted themselves to two cups and three cigarettes per man a day. Footy grumbled half-heartedly about including the prisoner in their rations, especially with the tobacco, but Johnny insisted.
“We’re all in this together now,” he said. “Everyone gets a share.”
Fishing was a daily necessity, and a subdued Cat joined the others in the morning’s effort. They went barefoot into the surf, casting over the drop-off. Within hours, they had enough. They napped through the midday heat. Later, when a cooler breeze drifted off the ocean, Johnny walked for miles along the beach. Footy limped into the forest in search of more bananas.
Alone, Cat cleaned the fish. After what the ‘Engli’ had said about crocodiles, he scraped a hole in the sand back in the trees and buried the guts. He poured himself the dregs of the coffee. He would have preferred green tea, but that was a far off memory. He smoked the second of his day’s cigarettes and stared at the ocean.
His attention was drawn to a flock of screaming seabirds over agitated water. The gulls dove repeatedly and rose with fish flipping in their beaks. There was a ball, he realized, just under the surface. They leaped like handfuls of tossed coins and the group surged in another direction. They try to escape the fish below.
Then he saw the big torpedoes come. He counted six sharks, distorted through the water. They rushed at breakneck speed into the bait ball. The activity grew even more frenzied. Now it was not only the smallfry that got airborne, but big ones with yellow fins arced up as well. The gulls shrieked and fanned away as shark heads lunged up. The activity boiled one way and then the other.
Then suddenly it was over. The baitfish melted away and the seabirds rose complaining. The sharks vanished and the sea was placid once more.
It is a paradise, he thought. But it is a paradise that becomes a bloodbath in an instant. Death lurks just beneath the skin of beauty, and this is also the truth of creation.
The whole world is at war! Cat thought. It is not just men. Always, something kills and eats something else. The difference with men is that we do not do it for hunger, unless you include the cannibals. But like them, we “civilized people” also do it from tribal hatred. We do it for pride. We kill for an idea. And we are so clever, we slaughter even women and children with machines, from far off.
This is what makes us civilized, he thought bitterly. We have become so advanced, our machines can rain death on ordinary people from the sky. My nation is not innocent. We were the first to mass bomb civilian cities. But now, with their atom bomb, the Americans can destroy the world. And so, have they become gods? No! The answer shot back. Only God makes life. Humans can only take it. This is the absence of God. This is evil.
He gazed at the scene. The world is so beautiful! His eyes drank in the tawny beach and the growing jungle, the rise and fall of the ocean’s breast under the dome of heaven.
In his mind’s eye he saw his parents, his wife Koto, Ryo, his son, Yuriko, his daughter, and Yuji, his older brother and his family. He pictured them, and his relations and all his friends in Nagasaki. He saw Father Valenti, the priest who had been so patient while he wrestled with the impossible foreign tongue called ‘English.’
Each of the cherished faces came like a living photograph, but as it drew close, it erupted in fire. Katsu closed his eyes and wished he would sleep and never awake.
If I were truly a man, I would commit seppuku, the honorable suicide of the warrior, by slicing my belly. But, equally, I am a Christian, and I am forbidden to kill myself. My samurai spirit is at war with my Christian soul and my war will never end! At last he drifted into a ragged and unsatisfying sleep.
Footy returned laden with bunches of bananas to find Johnny cooking at the stove.
“Where’s the Jap, then?” he asked.
“Shhh!” Johnny pointed to the prisoner, sleeping on his side with his hands between his knees.
“What’s the story?” Footy whispered.
“Think about it,” Johnny said, turning the fillets. “He just found out his wife and kids and whole family are probably dead—most likely dead. What would you do?”
“Fair dinkum,” Footy said. “I actually feel sorry for the blighter.”
“Open that, will you?” Johnny asked. Footy picked up the baked beans and worked the opener. Johnny dumped the contents in a pot on the heat. He poured three mugs of coffee and dished the food, with a plate for Cat left cooling on the stove. He and Footy moved further off and sat on rocks near the ocean.
“What are you going to do when we get away from here?” Johnny asked between bites.
“The air cargo business, like I told the Pommy,” Footy said. “And you?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Johnny said. “I was seventeen when I joined up. I only know how to do two things.”
“Wanking, there’s one,” Footy said, “and the other?”
“Speak for yourself,” Johnny said. “One, surfing, and, two...” he raised his hands like a gun. “Pow! Don’t think that’ll go over big in the States, unless I start knocking over banks.”
“There’s a thought, mate,” Footy said. “That’s what you Yanks do, isn’t it? Shoot one another. At least that’s what I see in your movies. Wonder there’s so many of you, really.
“On the other hand,” Footy continued, “maybe there’ll be another war—with the Russians. If the Germans couldn’t beat the buggers, maybe you Yanks can. There’s work for you.”
“Maybe,” Johnny said, “but with this bomb, it’ll be over fast.”
“Ahh,”
Footy said. “Yes, of course. Boom—there goes bloody Moscow. Bye-bye Joe Stalin. Well, first things first. When we get back, I’ll have an ice-cold beer, or a truckload. I’ve got a bird to see in Moresby…” he winked at Johnny. “Then I’ll hop a plane to Cairns. Me parents are gone and I need to take care of things. I’ve got to find another aircraft. I expect there’ll be heaps around, with the war over.”
“We’ll turn Cat over to the authorities,” Johnny said. “They’ll be shipping the P O Ws home. And I’ve got a girl to see myself. I can’t wait to leave the croc behind—and the mud...”
“...and the bloody jungle...” Footy said.
“...and the mosquitoes...” Johnny went on.
“...and the cannibals.” Footy added.
“Right,” Johnny said. “And the mud. Did I say the mud? I’d like a platter of barbecued ribs and...”
“Awww, put a bung in it, mate,” Footy protested. “Red meat! Cor! I may drown in me own spit.”
The men returned to camp. Johnny went to Cat, shook his shoulder and put the meal beside him.
“You need to eat,” Johnny said. The Japanese forked the food in, then rolled in his blanket and slept again. Johnny and Footy washed the dishes, smoked their last cigarette of the day and bedded down.
They were in the habit of rising with the dawn. Again, Cat had food ready. He handed the men their plates, took his own and sat morosely by himself.
The three fished and caught enough for dinner before the barracuda raided their lines. After a lunch of pan-sized perch, Johnny spoke up.
“I need a project,” he said. “I’m going stir-crazy. I’d like you both to help with something, but no questions ‘til I’m done.”
“What is it?” Footy asked at once.
“You’ll see,” Johnny said. “Come to the old house, ok?”
He led the way through the plantation. Footy’s leg had kept him from exploring when they first got there, and he was intrigued. The trail was thick with ferns and littered with deadfalls. Eventually they emerged in the ruin’s backyard.
TEETH - The Epic Novel With Bite (The South Pacific Trilogy) Page 43