The Guardhouse Murders

by Don DeNevi

  Mike is known throughout the American armed forces as the ‘Father of the Nisei suicide missions’ and that he helped our Japanese communities across the nation. He himself was a helper in the 442nd and offered his parents as hostages if he betrayed our troops,” Peter whispered back to Joan, who was holding his hand.

  Back in his realm of reality, he glanced out the small window next to his seat and thought to himself, “From 10,000 feet in the darkness of night there is nothing to see but the color black. No suspense of enemy flak, no sweating out the unfolding flight with fear of zeroes, and other Jap fighters, chasing them. In fact, he could see no sky, no ocean, no islands, no ships far below, no airports, no bases, coastal defenses, no crisscrossing airplanes, no aircraft flying side-by-side. All that Peter saw was sprawling nothingness, silent emptiness.

  Just then, Captain Irving Bobb walked past Peter and asked,

  “Hungry, Lieutenant? Food and coffee on the way! Don’t give up, but some Big Brass in Hawaii ordered the best food and cold and hot drinks for you.”

  As the crew relaxed, rested, drank coffee as black as the outside night, Peter’s only intent now was to remain awake and consider calmly the heroic men he encountered in his lifetime.

  Certainly, this crew qualified. They had been picked carefully. For example, Pilot Captain Bobb himself was obviously a steady, tested, brilliant veteran of thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean flying. He had a reputation, according to the desk sergeant hours before, of being resourceful, calm, yet daring.

  Navigator Lieutenant Allan Piercey was another aviator to reckon with. Co-pilot Terry Buttin handed Peter a cup of steaming coffee and recently baked Polynesian-style bread rolls. As he drank his coffee and munched his rolls, his thoughts returned to Piercey, who was busy standing at his counter with his slide rules and calculator.

  Lieutenant Piercey was also well-experienced, seasoned in directing PBY Catalinas over thousands of miles of open seawater. Allan was particularly adept at ‘dead-reckoning’ in vast, unmarked distances. All pilots and co-pilots requested his navigation skills when assigned special, dangerous missions.

  Acknowledging one of the first principals in Freudian-Jungian psychoanalytic theory, “Our minds always have a purpose. We have less control than we think,” Peter smiled as his thoughts drifted back to Mike Masaoka.

  “What a fine man,” Peter exclaimed to himself. “And, like Yoshi, my big competitor who won out over me, Joan, you had little respect, although you were always respectful, for the ‘No-No Boys’”.

  Peter had never heard of the ‘No-No Boys’ until Joan had written their definition down and sent it to him in mid-1943. Peter kept the letter. It read,

  “Peter, forwarding info on the No-No boys. I always thought Lance’s (Yoshi’s) father-in-law, Mits was a No-No boy. I felt the experience consumed his life in camp. But Lance just said, he thought he was just a resister (isn’t that the same?). Anyway, my parents feel he’s a No-No boy. The JACL did not support them, and I know Mits never forgave the organization for abandoning them. I think many No-No Boys were reluctant to admit they were, but I always respected Mits, because he spoke about it openly, and even went into the camp school to talk about the experience.”

  “The way I understand them, Peter, is that early in 1943 the WRA, the War Relocation Authority of the U.S. Government released a questionnaire for those men who were over 17 and interned. It was entitled ‘Statement of U.S. Citizenship of Japanese-American Ancestry.’ Within it was contained the following questions:

  Question #27 asked: ‘Are you willing to serve in the Armed Forces of the United States on combat duty, wherever ordered?’

  Question #28 asked: ‘Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America and faithfully defend the United Sates from any attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or other foreign government or organization?’

  There were men who answered no to both of those questions on many grounds, but one of the most prominent reasons for replying with a negative to #28 was the men believed that if they foreswore allegiance it implies that they previously had allegiance.

  A number of ‘No-No’s’ openly alleged that those in Internment Camps should not be forced into a draft by a country that had incarcerated them. Those men formed the Free Play Committee that stood to oppose the draft of the Nisei men numbered more than 300 internees at 10 camps. They were all prosecuted, most serving 18 months in a federal penitentiary in Kansas. The bulk of the No-No boys faced three-year sentences in a federal prison.

  Most internees were not pleased with the No-No’s. But some were angry with the JACL for condemning the No-No’s for sticking up for their beliefs. They criticized the characters of the No-No’s and emphasized that it was they who were making the Japanese-American population look bad. In a period such as this, one would at least expect those who were equally persecutes and demeaned to stand by them in the defense of their beliefs, but they actively turned against them. This spoke volumes about the environment that the Japanese faced during the Internment. Not only were they forced into those horrible conditions and stripped of their property, they were denounced for resisting, there were no places for them to turn to.

  Well, Mike Masaoka would have none of it. he was proud to be Japanese-American and that meant fighting for the country that was so good to him and his parents. Peter almost memorized the words he remembered Mike spoke to him, as Joan sat quietly next to him,

  “Although some may hurt me and my family by prejudice and discrimination, I shall never become bitter or lose faith because I understand that not all Americans are this way. I shall do all I can to fight such discrimination. But in fighting the intolerance against a gentle, hardworking, good people, not only the Japanese and the Japanese-Americans, but all decent, law-abiding immigrants, I shall do it in the American way, aboveboard, in the open, through courts of law, by education, by proving myself to be worthy of equal treatment and consideration. I am firm in my belief that American sportsmanship and attitude of fair play will judge citizenship and patriotism on the basis of action and achievement, and not on the basis of physical characteristics.”

  “I believe in America and America believes in me. Because of that, I pledge to honor her at all times, to support her Constitution, to obey her laws, to respect her flag, to defend her against all enemies, to assume my duties and obligations as a citizen, cheerfully and without any reservation whatsoever in the hope that I may become a better American in a greater America.”

  It was so easy to see in that moment why the Ikeda family relished Mike so much, and Joan considered him an “uncle”. For all this, Peter bound himself to one of the truly great Americans.

  Somewhere east of the Fijis and the Catalina cruising at maximum altitude, Peter’s thoughts turned to the other Japanese-Americans, the Issei and Nisei, he was personally devoted to. The one he would gladly have pledged his life to was Kazuo Masai, “the greatest best friend a best friend could dream of having”. When he shared his feelings for Joan with Kazuo in the tenth grade, the classmate said, “We are growing up at a time as in the past, the ancient past, of our people, that Japanese marry Japanese, no ifs, ands, or buts. Of course, there have been, and will always be exceptions, but that’s what they are, and among the Japanese; the call of the Japanese heritage, culture, traditions prevail. 1939, 1940, 1941 are still too young to make the teenagers give up. For most of the exceptions, breakup is inevitable. The day will come, maybe in our lifetime, when Japanese marrying Japanese is more the exception. Soon enough, all our Japanese grandkids will be marrying non-Japanese.”

  Kazuo concluded by adding,

  “Peter, I want you to marry Joan, although a lot of my Nisei friends have their eyes on her too. But, you, my friend, in my eyes, come first. I will always hope and will it to happen. It couldn’t happen to two nicer friends of mine.”

  Suddenly, from the northeastern Tasman Sea, a gusty squall crossed t
he Tropic of Capricorn and slammed the journeying plane, its windy, warm rain drumming the aluminum sheathing encapsulating the tiny Catalina. Although the skies from southwest to northeast were still solid black, an occasional stray storm of wind and rain would arrive suddenly, endure less than minutes, and evaporate just as suddenly. Large squalls swooped past everything in its way, blanketing all; land and ocean alike. Just as certain that dawn would appear in hours, it would disappear.

  Amid the short-lasting turbulence, Peter fell asleep again. For some inexplicable reason, his drowsiness evoked thoughts of never forgetting friends--time endured, life never-ending, distances separating, kids changing and evolving, work waxing and waning, hopes and age weakening, deaths of favorites, then death for the self-nearing. But despite life’s cycle, true, real friends, never change.

  And with such fragments and their images floating or darting through his resting mind, Peter began dreaming of Joan. And, of all the snippets, pinches, slices and bits that flared, flashed, then faded, his most favorites focused upon the love of his life intermingling with children. How loudly he applauded her interpersonal relations, affectionate instinct, with the very young, youngest of the young. Watching her reach out, gravitate toward, then touching them lovingly, was the singular quality that not only defined her character and personality, but also endeared her to him through “infinity to eternity” as he liked to tell himself.

  “Joan doesn’t just stand before the little boy or girl, or bend over slightly to communicate. She crouches on her knees to be face to face, smiling, eye to eye. Being naturally patient, kind, and gentle, she easily bridges the chasm between adult and childhood. Almost nose to nose, the little one understands the reality of genuine love. She touches his or her shoulder and hand, then ever so slowly and tenderly, she runs the back of her hand down the child’s cheek, and there was always the magic of…Oh, dear God, how do I express it, the words.”

  “And, of course, the dream-memory framed, one after another, in a series of images, an uninterrupted flood of expressions, Joan’s face. And, although he didn’t hear it in the dream, her little laugh, not a giggle, but soft and pleasant to listen to.”

  “I’d rather talk to a Nisei girl than any other. And, how he enjoyed gazing upon her while she was unaware. The ragged, but clean, homespun clothing sewn by her mother, fitting her lithe, but vigorous body. Her bare, black-haired head barely reaching his ear, always graceful, physically vigorous reflected primarily by her beautiful wondering eyes.”

  “There is just no getting around it,” he repeatedly told himself, “she is so stunningly lovely and attractive. Her natural alertness and intelligence enhanced the radiance she continually exemplified.” He would never forget the feeling of completeness she made him feel every time he saw her.

  Finally, punctuating all the disorganized images, appeared a reoccurring steady straightforward dream that never changed. Nothing could resist it, even the deepest, most thankful slumber. Why it reappeared frequently, in precisely the same order, length, and intensity as the original dream when it appeared the night prior to his departure for California from the Rohwer Internment Camp.

  Strangely, the persevering identicalness of Peter’s dream of Joan occurred in the final hour prior to his awakening at dawn. It always appeared to begin after a long, dark pause, black as a starless night, after a series of “introductory fragments”. Usually, at the conclusion of the dwindling fragments, prior to his perceived pause, Joan’s lovely features in varying smiling facial expressions seemed to float from some inner depth. When she stood before him during the diminishing fragments, she reached out to Peter, the palm of her hand touching his face.

  After the dark pause, he refocused upon her as he entered the Latin 1 classroom in the 9th grade at Edison High School in southwest Stockton. She was 15 years old again, sitting in the first seat of the middle row directly in front of Mrs. Hofmeister’s desk. As Peter hurried past Joan to his seat next to the row of windows facing South Center Street in the unfolding dream, he noticed Mrs. Hofmeister was holding a 12” ruler, appeared stern, and the feeling of her absolute dominance permeating the stone-cold silence of the other 25 students. Peter had a sense of the sinister, the grave, suspenseful terror.

  Class was in full session as Mrs. Hofmeister moved toward the blackboard where she was conjugating Latin verbs. With notebooks open, the class members were taking notes, all their mouths reciting with their rhythms of speech of the verbs in unison without sounds. Peter, observing all, heard nothing.

  Taking his seat, third down from the first, he not only had the advantage of observing the traffic on South Center Street, but also a perfect position to observe Joan, who occasionally turned his way with a quick, broad smile glance at him. To Peter, it seemed Joan did so with all her soul in her beautiful black eyes.

  How could any red-blooded, physically and psychologically healthy young man, with all the natural instincts, drives, and impulses of heterosexuality, resist such a glance, the quick grin? Especially when her body posture was one of pure feminine. In that moment, Peter knew for the first moment in his life the emotion of love for a girl of his age. But could it be between an Italian-American and Japanese-American? No one of his ancient culture now so thoroughly Americanized had ever had even considered such a possible union. Especially when a world war was pending with two of the three axis nations.

  Wasn’t it wrong? He was certain her parents, as well as his, would never hear of “love” between them.

  Suddenly, in a flash, the classroom door from the hallway was nudged open by Mrs. Ikeda, Joan’s smiling mother holding a large, freshly-baked double-layer chocolate cake on a thick glass platter.

  Shocked beyond belief, Joan slowly, almost mechanically, stood up by the side of her desk. Peter was so focused he saw Joan’s chin trembling. Without thought or reflection, he stood and walked to her side, reaching out with his hand for her shoulder. She turned and hid her face in embarrassment. He patted her back, and stroked her as she watched, trembling, wordlessly, then sobbing uncontrollable, her mother walked under the weight of the cake to the desk of Mrs. Hofmeister and placed it there. At that point, the angry Latin teacher jumped from her position at the blackboard, ruler in her hand, and literally kicked the cake off her desk, hitting Joan and Peter. The classroom students were aghast, Peter placed his body in front of Joan, while Mrs. Ikeda placed her empty hands to her face. Peter heard Joan’s mother struggle to say,

  “My old country has hurt my new country. I come to make peace. We cannot make war. I speak for all Issei and Nisei, we are so, so sorry.”

  Peter put his arm up as Mrs. Hofmeister swung the ruler to strike Joan’s mother across the face, absorbing the full force of the blow. When Peter full awakened a few minutes later, amid the continuous droning of the twin engines, a few stars were still glittering stonily from between the broken clouds. The rain and wind that swept the “gooney bird” had long faded. Without a hint of turbulence, the sea below was perfectly smooth. He loved life again, despite having nothing other than his work to look forward to.

  Yet, a certain buoyancy had returned. Although the dream of good-hearted Mrs. Ikeda and the destruction of her chocolate cake was unfathomable, he was no longer grim. His inner sullenness and downcast silence seemed to have dissipated as the rain clouds and wind. He was no longer on edge, ill at ease, tense, even angry.

  Lieutenant Peter Toscanini was free because he knew the dream told him, if anything, that his love for her was realized, indeed actualized, when she hid her face in his shoulder. That love would never be consummated. Betrayal and jealousy were never an integral part of his months-long shock. Peter truly respected and admired Yoshi. Losing Joan was devastating, but not deadly. He would soon be stateside where he might not survive.

  Without Joan Ikeda, he would face his murder naked.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  -

  “Did I Miss Any Drama?”

  Although it had been another near-perfect October morning
in the South Pacific Ocean, a dazzling sunrise amid cloudless skies, gentle easterly breezes breeding high visibility and temperatures in the mid-70’s, the California coast, from Santa Barbara to Eureka’s Lost Coast, was blanketed in heavy fog.

  In San Francisco, the murky semi-opaque condition of the atmosphere typically burned off by noon. However, U.S. Army meteorologists stationed at Fort Mason in the Presidio forecast the range of vision would approach zero-zero conditions, along and to either side of an incoming front, as the misty drizzle vapor thickened.

  With the Catalina cruising steadily toward the central California coast, Peter had awakened to a brilliant sunshiny morning. Below, waves were virtually nonexistent from 16,500 feet, as was overcast and were cumulus, stratus, and cirrus clouds. From his window seat, the vast expanse of the world was in three colors; the blue-black ocean and light cerulean sky.

  Such unrestricted wide-openness soothed a bit the psychological pain Peter had so deeply repressed in his heart. As a welcomed, well-meaning relief allowed thought, he was more reflective, pensive, musing, melancholy, and resolved, compounded by his own possible murder as he went undercover, than at any point in his life. Hour after hour passed.

  By mid-afternoon of the second day, as Peter and the crew were munching their final austere meal prior to landing, the pilot announced over the Catalina’s intercom that within minutes the descent to 7,000 feet would begin for the approach to the Bay of San Francisco.

  “Fellas, we’re beginning to cede this immense, calm, solitude of water for the angry fury of the Pacific Coast as we prepare for landing. After flying over the Golden Gate Bridge we’ll circle Alcatraz Island for our flying boat’s floats to touch down on the Oakland side of the Bay to glide to our Treasure Island berth.”

  As Peter listening intently, he smiled, “He may be enveloped in fog, but experienced pilots flying these huge turtles always have successful landing, ground or water.”