House of the Red Fish

by Graham Salisbury

  Mrs. Davis looked up at Mama. “This is certainly our lucky day, isn’t it? They could have taken him anywhere, even to another ward in this hospital, and we might have never known he was here.” She grabbed Mama’s hand. “How are you holding up, Hideko?”

  “We are so … grateful … Mrs. Davis.”

  “Please call me Marie. Now let’s see how Mr. Joji is doing. He’s been kind of ornery, you know.”

  Ho, the relief! If Ojii-chan was well enough to be cranky, he was doing just fine.

  “Let’s get you a drink of water,” Mrs. Davis said, easing her arm behind Grampa’s shoulders to help him sit. She took a cup from his bedside table and filled it halfway from a container by the bed.

  Grampa slurped it down grudgingly. Some of it dripped off his chin onto the sheet. He lay back down.

  “He’s better than those mosquito bites make him look,” Mrs. Davis said. “He had a small stroke that left him dizzy and gave him some disturbing but temporary vision blurriness. Now he needs rest more than anything. Lots of it, actually, and hopefully you can see he gets that at home.”

  “Home?” Mama said.

  “I’m seeing if I can get him released to my custody,” Mrs. Davis said, gazing at Grampa. “Sending this tired old man back to that … to that place wouldn’t do anyone any good, including the military. They aren’t set up to be a hospital.”

  Grampa scowled, then grunted. “Unnnh.”

  I looked at the polished tile floor, my throat starting to burn. I was so happy to hear that familiar grunt that I wanted to hug him. He’d be horrified, but so what?

  “Grampa!” Kimi lifted her head off his shoulder. “The chickens are laying lots of eggs, you should see.”

  “Unnh.”

  Mama moved closer and patted his hand.

  Grampa tried to sit up but couldn’t. “Confonnit,” he said, kind of squeakily.

  Mr. Davis chuckled.

  “Can we really take him home?” I said.

  “In a few days, I hope,” Mrs. Davis said. “If Mr. Davis and I can clear it.”

  She adjusted the bedsheets and helped Grampa sip more water. “Dr. Graner said the stroke, though worrisome, was not all that bad. The important thing is to keep him from getting overly excited about things, keep him on an even keel, so to speak.” She grinned. “A pretty tall order, huh?” She rested her hand on my shoulder. “And you’ll have to help him get some moderate exercise.”

  Grampa mumbled under his breath. He was groggy, but he understood everything. I could tell by the cocky tilt of his head and the old rascally eyes glaring back at me.

  I reached out and placed my hand on his bony shoulder. “It’s good to have you home, Ojii-chan.”

  He didn’t even try to slap my hand away.

  A week later, Grampa Joji had improved a lot and was getting well enough to come home soon. He could get out of bed on his own and walk up and down the hallway outside his room. When I took his arm he felt like a flamingo, skinny and bony light. I’d been back to the hospital twice after school to walk with him. He was so cranky I was beginning to think he’d been faking the stroke thing.

  But that just made me smile. Being with him, even in the stark, greenish hospital room, made me feel like I was almost complete again after so long. Everything felt different with him back. As much as we grumbled at each other, Grampa Joji was a rock in my life, and I’d missed him almost as much as I missed Papa. When Kimi came with me, Grampa’s eyes seemed to get extra watery. Mama always sat near his bed with her hands in her lap, smiling. It was almost like in the before time.

  Almost.

  ***

  Saturday.

  “What you got?” I said.

  Billy lifted the tools he’d dug up in his garage. “Heavy wrench I borrowed off Jake, two screwdrivers, and these,” he said, turning around so I could see the four bamboo goggles hanging from his back pocket. “I borrowed them from Charlie.”

  “Perfect,” I said, snapping my fingers. “This is what I got.” I swung up the old crowbar we had lying around under our house, but I would only use that if I absolutely had to. “All I could find.”

  “Not much, is it?”

  “Good enough to start with, I guess. Maybe Mose and Rico will bring something.”

  “Let’s go take a look.”

  We headed toward the street. “How’s your grampa doing?” Billy asked.

  “That old faker,” I said. “Grumpy, impatient, snappy. Same fun-loving guy you knew from before.”

  “That’s good news!”

  “Yeah, we can’t wait to get him home again.”

  “Back out with his chickens.”

  “You watch, first thing he’ll do is take Kimi out to check for eggs.”

  Billy chuckled. “Next thing you know he’ll be having you take eggs up to the Wilson house again.”

  “Never.”

  “I guess we’ll see about that, huh?”

  “Won’t happen. Ever. Going be nothing for you to see.”

  “Never say never, they say.”

  “Yeah, well, whoever said that doesn’t know the Wilsons.”

  “True.”

  We headed down to the bus stop to catch a ride to the canal. Mose and Rico said they’d meet us there. Today we were going to try to remove some boat parts to keep them from getting ruined in the water.

  “I still don’t think this will work,” Billy said.

  I grinned. “Giving up already?”

  “I’m just saying this is a job for a crane, not a wrench and a rusty crowbar.”

  “Maybe.”

  Mose and Rico did bring a couple of tools … and, amazingly, two guys from our old baseball team, the Rats. Tough Boy Ferris and Randy Chock came walking up cool as can be. Mose and Rico had run into them on the way to the canal. They went to a different school now, so we hardly ever saw them anymore. All those baseball games were just a memory.

  “Heyyy!” I said. “Howzit?”

  They grinned. We shook hands.

  “Mose and Rico said come help you take this sunken tub apart,” Tough Boy said. “They gave me this,” he added, lifting a sledgehammer.

  “And these,” Randy said.

  “Baseball bats?”

  Mose shrugged.

  “The idea is to bring that boat up, not smash it up.”

  Tough Boy frowned. “Aw, man, I thought we was going bus’ um up. Would be more fun, ah?” The morning sun gleamed in his brown eyes.

  “What we really brought those bats for is for your friend,” Rico said. “Him and those punks, they show up again.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t.”

  “No,” Mose said, taking a bat from Randy. “Let’s hope they do.”

  Billy, Tough Boy, and I put on bamboo goggles and went down first. Rico’s wound, luckily, hadn’t gotten infected from his jump into the dirty water. Today I told him, “Stay out. We’ll hand you stuff and you can pile it up somewhere.”

  “Fine,” he said. “But you need me, you say so, ah?”

  “You got it.”

  I was glad to have those bamboo goggles, even though they were the old-style Japanese kind. The water was murky. We needed all the help we could get.

  Since it was impossible for us to get the engine out, we concentrated on the easy parts, anything to lighten the load, whatever we could take out or off.

  We removed the tiller arm, the canvas tarp Papa sometimes used for shade, and a bucket of lead weights. Rico set them out in the dirt and weeds to dry out. A bite at a time, I kept thinking, a bite at a time.

  Speaking of bites, it was two o’clock and I was starving.

  “Anybody bring food?” I said.

  We glanced at each other.

  “How’s about water?”

  Nobody. How dumb was that? I thought, shaking my head. For sure, I wouldn’t forget next time, but for now we had empty hands and empty stomachs.

  We searched our soggy pockets and between us came up with one dollar and forty-two cents.<
br />
  “Rico,” Mose said. “Try see what you can buy with this. Go the Chinese store up McCully. You know the one?”

  “What should I get?”

  “T-bone steak,” Tough Boy said.

  Rico grinned. “You like that well done?”

  “Raw, like a man.”

  “Pfff,” Rico said. He headed toward the street.

  Halfway across the field, he stopped.

  Right on time, I thought, sighing. This was getting old.

  Mose, Tough Boy, and Randy picked up the bats.

  “How come those punks always know when we’re here?” Mose said. “Spying on us, or what?”

  “Let um come,” Tough Boy said. “They can spy this bat up close.”

  There were nine of them this time, Keet striding like a rooster out in front with that same sharpened stick. His eyes were pinched. Birds pecking in the dirt rose and flew off in his path.

  No matter how tough Mose and Tough Boy talked, if things got ugly, we’d be the ones getting hurt, not those nine guys. So far Keet Wilson was pretty much all talk. But now he had bigger backup.

  They spread out, silent.

  Keet stopped about five feet out. He looked at me.

  No way would I speak first.

  Finally, he said, “You never did listen. Neither does your mama. I tell her how to make my bed and she always does it wrong. Must be something messed up about you people … some part of your brains missing?”

  Rico snapped. “Beat it, haole, before I broke your face. You starting to make me mad.”

  Keet’s grin vanished.

  His army closed in.

  Keet flinched when Mose tossed Rico a bat, his eyes never straying off Keet’s.

  “Pssh,” Rico spat. “Scared, ah, you? How’s about you and me go man to man? Ah? What you say? Just us two. Come on, we go.”

  Keet shoved Rico.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Billy said, stepping between them. “This is stupid.”

  Keet spat on Rico’s foot.

  Rico pulled the bat back to take a swing at Keet’s head.

  Every club, stick, and baseball bat flew up, ready.

  “Stop!” Billy shouted. “Just hold on.”

  Nobody moved. In the distance a siren wailed, but not for us.

  “Why get everybody into this?” Billy said. “Let Keet and Rico go at it alone, like Rico said. Man-to-man, with no weapons. No need for all of us to fight.”

  Still, nobody moved. You could almost hear minds grinding that up—man-to-man, settle it that way.

  Slowly, bats and clubs came down.

  Eyes shifted to Keet.

  Inside, I grinned: Keet was scared. Looking at Rico, I would be too.

  Rico tossed his bat away. “Now we talking. Come at me, you haole pig.” He circled out, motioning Keet closer with his fingers.

  Keet’s face flushed and the veins on his neck popped out like worms. His eyes searched for a way out. Rico could look insane when he got mad. Like now.

  “Come on,” Rico said. “I waiting, piggy. Let’s go.”

  Keet swung. He had no choice. It was fight or be shamed.

  Rico jerked his head back and Keet missed by a mile.

  But Rico didn’t.

  Bok!

  Keet staggered back into the guy behind him.

  The guy stood him up and pushed him back toward Rico.

  Rico cracked him again.

  Flesh slapping on flesh, an ugly sound.

  I almost felt bad for Keet.

  Keet stumbled up, blood drooling from his nose. He looked at me, not Rico, with hate. He swiped the back of his hand over his lips, coming away with blood.

  Dwight grabbed Keet’s arm. “Finish this later.” He pulled Keet back. Keet made a feeble show of trying to shake Dwight off, but he let Dwight pull him away.

  “He’s not worth it, Wilson,” Dwight said. “You could hurt the little spit, and you don’t want to get his mommy all upset, now, do you?”

  Rico lunged at Dwight, but Keet tripped him and Rico went sprawling in the dirt. He scrambled back up.

  Mose grabbed him from behind. “Let it go, cousin.”

  Keet and his punks backed away, then turned and headed for the street. I wondered if some of them even knew why they’d come down to the canal.

  Dwight stopped and called back. “Don’t think this is over. Don’t think you’re getting out of this, because you’re not. Understand, monkeys? Huh?”

  He smiled, as if he were nice enough to be somebody’s friend. “Bye now.”

  I knew for a fact that today would be the first time ever in his seventy-four years that Grampa Joji had gotten into a car like the Davises’, maybe even into any car. Trucks, maybe, but never a shiny car that Jake kept purring like a cat.

  Kimi, Mama, Billy, me, Jake, and Charlie all stood around talking low in Billy’s yard when Mr. Davis drove up the long driveway, slow and importantly, giving Grampa Joji the royal treatment. Kimi jumped up and down with her hands flying in delight, ready to race up the second he got out. Mama held her back.

  Mr. Davis parked and went around to help Grampa out.

  Grampa creaked up, all five feet three inches of him, and stood straight and tall as he could, like some king. No smile, and no acknowledgment of us standing there holding our breath.

  “Unnh,” he grunted, then bowed to Mr. Davis.

  Mr. Davis bowed back and opened an arm toward us. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

  Grampa lifted his chin higher, checking us over. He gave Charlie a thumbs-up, which made Charlie grin. And he nodded politely to Mama. When he saw Kimi, he actually gave her something you could think of as a smile. He held out a hand.

  Mama let Kimi go and she ran over and wrapped herself around Ojii-chan’s legs. He took her hand. “We go look those eggs,” he said, slowly shuffling off with her, heading through the trees to his chicken coops as if he’d never been gone.

  I punched Billy’s arm. “I told you so.”

  We cracked up.

  “Kimi,” I called. “Warn him about the goat.” She wouldn’t have thought of that, because Little Bruiser left her alone. It was only guys that beast attacked. All we needed was for Little Bruiser to chase Grampa Joji and scare him into another dizzy spell.

  Kimi nodded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Davis-sama, thank you,” Mama said, bowing again and again. Then she hugged him, something she’d never, ever done before to any haole. “Thank you,” she said again, backing away and lowering her eyes, her face flushed.

  I stood stunned. But in these times anything could happen.

  “You’re welcome,” Mr. Davis said. “And call me John.”

  Mama hurried after Grampa and Kimi.

  I shook my head. That’s my grampa. Just go off, like nobody else is here.

  Billy glanced at me, grinning. I knew he was thinking the same thing.

  Charlie put his hand on my shoulder. “You folks need anything, you come get me, okay?”

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “It’s great to have him home,” Mr. Davis said.

  I grabbed Mr. Davis’s hand in both of mine and shook it again and again. “Thank you, Mr. Davis, thank you, thank you!”

  I ran off after Mama, thinking about that goat.

  Little Bruiser was right there by the chickens with his legs planted, head slightly down, staring at Grampa. “Watch out,” I called. “When he stares like that you know he’s going to charge.”

  Grampa Joji stared back at Little Bruiser.

  The goat kept his eyes fixed on Grampa, his head swaying slightly.

  Any second now, I thought, trying to get between them.

  Little Bruiser and Grampa stood there checking each other out. A moment passed, then the goat loped off to chew on a piece of wood.

  What did I just see? Two old goats coming to a mutual understanding to leave each other alone?

  Well, good grief.

  That night we sat around the table in the blacked-out kitchen, me
and Mama on one side and Kimi leaning up against Grampa across from us. Tea steamed from three cups. Mama had cooked him her best hot udon, which he slurped up like a thirsty dog.

  “So, Ojii-chan,” I said, then waited for him to look up.

  He just gazed at his steaming teacup. But he wasn’t dismissing me with one of his annoyed looks. That was good.

  “So,” I went on. “What was it like at that camp? Where was it?”

  He frowned, and his eyes flicked up and touched mine, for a second. “Kauai,” he said. “Wet … mosquitoes … plenny mosquitoes … mud all over.”

  “How … how’d they treat you? Good or what?”

  He thought, then shrugged. “No problem.”

  “They treated you okay, then?”

  “Jus’ those mosquitoes … bad, those buggahs, confon-nit. Bad food, too. No more squid.” He half grinned, then replaced it with his usual frown.

  “Did you see anybody you know there? So many people from Honolulu got taken away. I thought—”

  He shook his head. “Nuff … talk something else now.”

  “Okay, Ojii-chan, fine. I understand.”

  I glanced at Mama, who sat with both hands around her teacup. She was probably thinking what I was thinking: if they treated Grampa okay, then they were probably treating Papa okay too.

  “Ojii-chan, wait!” I said, suddenly remembering the two postcards we’d gotten from Papa. I’d stuck them between the pages of one of our few books. The first one had come not long after he was arrested. All it said was that he was okay and that he wanted me to take care of things while he was away. Then there were months of silence. I figured the army probably wasn’t letting a lot of mail go out of the camps. Anyway, Papa couldn’t read or write English.

  But a second card arrived a year later, and it made Mama fall onto the couch and cry—not because of what it said, but because it proved Papa was all right. Like the first card, its postmark had been blackened by a censor.

  “We got this one about three months ago, Ojii-chan,” I said. “Listen!”

  To my family:

  My good friend Dr. Watanabe is writing this for me. He was a dentist in Long Beach, California, before he came here. He has a wife and one son, nineteen years old. Last week the U.S. Army came to the camp looking for volunteers to fight in the war. They have formed an all-Japanese unit. Some of our young men refused to go. They are still angry about having been arrested and imprisoned. But Mr. Watanabe’s son was quick to join. These were his parting words to his family: “If I don’t prove that I am innocent, then I will always be thought of as guilty, and I am not guilty. I am an American.” We were all sad and proud when he and seventeen other boys left the camp. Tomi, I am telling this for you. Have courage like Mr. Watanabe’s son. Stand tall and strong for our family. I think of you, Mama, Kimi, and Grampa every day.