“Oh?” Lana said, not quite sure she wanted to hear.
Coco went on. “He and a Hawaiian lady were riding a big horse down the beach and they went into the water. He was waving at me and yelling something but I couldn’t hear. I ran down to try to get in the water to follow, but the water turned to lava, and when I looked up again, they were gone.”
No one said anything for a moment, and the scene that Coco described filled Lana’s mind perfectly. She had the experience of watching a full-color film of her parents, so real she could smell the seaweed on the sand and hear her mother’s laugher in the wind. She almost called out.
Ingrid’s voice brought her back. “I imagine we all may have dreams of Jack in the days to come.”
Fred steered the conversation to safer ground, wanting to know all about O‘ahu and how it was to live in the hub of the islands, with the world at your fingertips and opportunities around every corner. She was thankful for the change in subject, far less likely now to break down into a teary mess.
Soon the meal was served, and if Lana had ever eaten a more delicious breakfast, she couldn’t remember it. Crisp bacon and fluffy eggs, golden scones and guava jelly with just the right tartness, and cream-topped milk. Lana was tempted to bring up the house and find out how much they had purchased it for but figured there would be time for that later. Instead they made small talk about the latest happenings in Hilo. Marie talked about her upcoming Christmas concert and Coco picked at her food and remained mostly silent. Once they finished eating, Lana offered to do the dishes and Ingrid turned the volume on the radio back up.
“In this household, music rules the roost,” she said, swaying her hips from side to side and trying to pull Coco into a hug. But Coco stood ramrod straight and looked like she was about to cry. “What’s a matter, Mausi?”
A burst of static came over the radio, and then Webley Edwards, in that unmistakable baritone, was saying, “All right, now, listen carefully. The island of O‘ahu is being attacked by enemy planes. The center of this attack is Pearl Harbor, but the planes are attacking airfields, as well. We are under attack.”
Lana glanced around at everyone frozen like statues in a pool of sunlight. Ingrid was tomato red, while Fred had turned white. We are under attack echoed around the room. Everyone stared at the radio, except for Coco, who was looking right at Lana. In that fraction of time, something strange passed between them. A flash of knowing, and then it was gone.
Webley’s voice droned on. “There seems to be no doubt about it. Do not go out on the streets. Keep under cover and keep calm. Some of you may think that this is just another military maneuver. This is not a maneuver. This is the real McCoy! I repeat, we have been attacked by enemy planes. The mark of the rising sun has been seen on the wings of these planes and they are attacking Pearl Harbor at this moment. Now keep your radio on and tell your neighbor to do the same. Keep off the streets and highways unless you have a duty to perform. Please don’t use your telephone unless you absolutely have to do so. All of these phone facilities are needed for emergency calls. Now standby, all military personnel and all police—police regulars and reserves. Report for duty at once. I repeat, we are under attack by enemy planes. The mark of the rising sun has been seen on these planes. Many of you have been asking if this is a maneuver. This is not a maneuver. This is the real McCoy.”
After a moment of shocked silence, Fred, Ingrid and Lana all started talking at once, words layered on top of one another in a semipanicked jumble.
“It was only a matter of time, those bastards,” Fred said.
“Lord, have mercy on us all. We need to find shelter,” Ingrid blurted out, grabbing hold of the girls and pressing their heads to her chest. She rattled off a long burst of words in German.
Lana was thinking of immediate safety, if Coco had indeed heard airplanes. “I know of a lava tube nearby. We can hide in there if we have to.”
Time went thick as molasses, and in one second Lana managed to think of Buck in Nu‘uanu and pray that he was okay, as well as picture her best friends—Mary on Diamond Head and Alice in Mānoa valley—with a quick flash to Baron and his little airplane not too far from Pearl Harbor, along with all the other people she knew and cared about. The human mind was a mysterious and wondrous thing, how it took over in a catastrophe.
“Stay here,” Fred said. “I’m going to get my rifle.”
Ingrid grabbed his arm. “Hang on—what should we do?”
“See if there’s any more news on the other station,” he said as he ran out the door.
Lana felt as helpless as a baby, turning the knobs but coming up with only static and Hawaiian slack-key guitar. “How did those Japanese pilots fly all the way over here? This has to be some kind of mistake,” Ingrid said, voicing one of the many questions Lana had.
“Mama, they wouldn’t broadcast that to the world unless they knew for sure,” Marie said, sounding like the most levelheaded of the bunch.
Over Sunday morning breakfast, the world had up and gone to war. Surely FDR would not take this lying down. Lana looked at the phone. She would have given anything to pick it up and call someone—anyone—who could tell them what was happening. Sailor, clearly aware that something was going on, came over leaned against Coco and started panting. The clock read 9:05.
Nothing will ever be the same. This was not how Lana had planned to begin her Sunday. There were too many other things to attend to, and a flash of anger ran through her.
“How dare they!” she said.
Ingrid went to the window. “I don’t see any planes, but Coco, you were right about hearing them.”
Had the planes passed right over Hilo on the way to Pearl Harbor? Possibly, but it would have taken them hours to get there. It sounded as though the attack was still ongoing. If only her father were here, he would know exactly what to do.
Two seconds later the telephone rang.
Ingrid grabbed it. “Hello? He went out back for a moment. Who’s calling, please?”
The line went dead.
“Who was it?” Lana asked.
“It cut him off. I’m not sure. Say, girls, would you mind going into the living room for a moment?”
“Why?” Coco said with a frown.
“We need a few minutes of adult talk. Go now.”
Both girls did as asked, though Coco lingered at the door.
“Scoot,” Ingrid said. As soon as they were gone, she began wringing her hands and pacing. “This won’t look good for us, you know that, right?”
“You folks are members of the community. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” Lana said.
“We’re German, Lana. And Germany and Japan are allies.”
“But you’ve been here a long time. And you aren’t Nazis...are you?” the last words came out of their own accord.
Ingrid made a face as though she had just drunk a spoonful of vinegar. “Of course not. We abhor what Hitler is doing over there. It’s why we left.”
“Okay, so one thing at a time. Right now we need to focus on whether to stay put or seek shelter, and whether or not there are Japanese planes coming to Hilo,” Lana said.
“Maybe we should move farther from the harbor. If they come in anywhere, it’ll be here.”
She had a good point. Lana had had friends from Wainaku and friends in Hakalau and Kaumana, but who knew if they were still around. Young people who went off to college and moved onto bigger and better things often never returned.
“It makes sense, but the radio said not to go into the streets,” Lana said.
Ingrid looked as though she was about to hyperventilate. “Dear God, please keep my girls safe. We are sitting geese.”
If there were Japanese planes nearby, that meant Japanese ships and Japanese submarines loose in Hawaiian waters. And Japanese ships and submarines meant a Japanese invasion. Where were the American for
ces? Lana tried to remember seeing any ships on the plane ride over, but her mind had been so busy trying to keep calm that she had no recollection.
Fred burst back in, slinging a rifle, with both girls at his heels. Not much that was going to do against a Japanese fighter plane, but Lana held her tongue. A rifle was better than nothing. They all sat back down, except for Fred, who paced the kitchen and ducked down to check the skies out the window for airplanes every thirty seconds. His nostrils flared and he looked ready to shoot the next pigeon that flew by.
“My dad has one, too. I can grab that,” she said.
He nodded.
Outside, nothing seemed any different. A butterfly hovered around the pikake bush and the doves went about their usual business of sitting on tree branches, wing to wing, and catching sun. Lana listened for the roar of engines but heard only the radio blaring from the Wagners’ window. Maybe she ought to go check in with the Ramirezes, but Mrs. Ramirez would want to know every last detail of the past ten years, and Lana didn’t have it in her. She also thought about Ryo Mochizuki—better known as Mochi—her dad’s fishing buddy who lived on the next street over, a quick walk through a pasture and over an old rock wall.
After leaving her father’s Winchester with Fred, Lana set out to look for Mochi. Out of all the people she’d left behind in Hilo, he had been one of her favorites. He had big teeth and a bigger smile, with a laugh that sounded like a lonely donkey. His folks had come over to work on the sugar plantations when he was just ten. One dip in the warm Hawaiian water and he never looked back. Her father and Mochi shared a love of fishing and became fast friends. After breakfast she had been planning on visiting him anyway, so why let an air raid stop her? What else was she going to do?
As usual the grass in Mochi’s yard was clipped an even two inches, and there wasn’t a ti leaf out of place. The trim on his tiny white house was red and the hedge freshly cut. Lana had never once walked into the house and not smelled fish, and in the late afternoons, in the glow of sunset, there was often such an accumulation of fish scales that the whole place shimmered silver.
This morning the curtains were drawn and the house felt empty. She knocked anyway. “Mochi, it’s Lana Spalding. Please open up if you’re here!”
There were no signs of movement. Maybe he was out fishing, but she sure as heck hoped not. She pounded again. “Mochi?”
Six seconds later, the door sprung open and a teenage boy was staring her in the face. Lana was shocked. Had Mochi had a son in her absence? The boy said nothing but motioned her in.
Smells have a way of transporting you back in time, and here was no different. Sashimi, poi and laughter. Fish tails and lures and glass balls in nets lined the walls. Mochi was sitting at the card table in the middle of the room. A radio played music in the corner.
He didn’t stand. “Lana-san,” he said, his voice hoarse.
From the dark skin beneath his eyes, and the way his cheekbones and collarbones stood out under his leathery skin, it was clear he wasn’t well. “Mochi, have you heard? My father.”
One nod.
“And the attack?” she said.
Another nod.
All at once Lana burst out in tears. Life was blowing up around her, and it only seemed to be getting worse by the minute. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat. He reached out and held her hands, their warm calluses a familiar comfort on her skin. Mochi had been here as long as she could remember, a fixture in the neighborhood.
“Mochi, what’s happened to you?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he said gently.
“We can talk later. I just feel at such a loss, like I need someone to tell me what to do. Have you heard anything other than what’s on the radio, maybe from your fisherman friends?” she asked.
“Judge Carlsmith called and said the lobster traps are full. It was our code if they started rounding us up.”
Her stomach fell to the floor. “You had a code?”
Mochi’s voice caught. “They already assigned him to keep an eye on me. The feds made lists months ago of anyone they suspected might be dangerous if a war broke out.”
“Who are they, and why you?” she asked.
“The FBI, army, police. Because I have a boat and because I play cards with some of the Japanese leaders in town. Who knows exactly?” he said, moving a puzzle piece into place.
The weight of his words glued her to the chair. On one hand, it was not entirely unexpected; she had caught wind of these kinds of ideas. On the other, it seemed impossible and unfair. “What are they planning on doing with the men on these lists?”
“Arresting, holding, I don’t know.”
“So you’re on the list and that means you’re going to be arrested?” she said, her voice cracking.
His withered shoulders shrugged.
Lana glanced over at the boy, who was in the kitchen making tea. “What about him. Is he your son?”
“I took Benji in after his parents were lost at sea on a trip back to Japan. He had no one here.”
“How long has he been with you?”
“Seven years.”
Mochi had had this boy for seven years, and Lana had not even known. She felt more ashamed than ever at her absence. As much as she wanted to find out more about Mochi and why he was as thin as a blade of grass, a voice inside was screaming that they needed to get away from Hilo Bay. Her father’s neighborhood was only two blocks from the water, and if the Japanese army attacked, they were likely to be flattened. Mochi’s house was even closer.
“Come to my house,” she said.
His watery eyes met hers. “Why?”
“You’ll be safer there, and if we need to evacuate, you can come with us. I’m going to load up the truck when I get back.”
“Where are you planning on going?”
“Away from the water, up mauka someplace,” she said, with nowhere specific in mind.
“I can’t run away.”
“You’re an American fisherman, and from the looks of it, you aren’t well. You’re no threat, Mochi, and I can help take care of you.”
He looked up at Benji, who had just set down a mug of steaming tea. “You go on. We’ll be fine.”
Mochi was not the kind of man you argued with. His word was immovable stone. There were so many questions she wanted to ask about her father, and if she didn’t ask now, she might not have another chance. But fear won out in the end. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
THE VISITORS
December 7, 1941 Hilo
The telephone sat on her father’s desk, begging to be used. More out of duty than anything, Lana wanted to call Buck. Not to mention needing to hear a firsthand account of what was going on in Honolulu. But when she picked up the phone, there was a conversation between the operator and an irate neighbor demanding to get through to his son on O‘ahu. She set down the receiver. Had Buck even tried to reach her? Odd to think that at some point in the future their lives would not even touch.
It wasn’t long before Lana found herself back in the Wagners’ kitchen. Human contact was what she realized she craved the most, even if it was with people she had just met. Fred had gone to town to secure their store and collect all the money, and Lana sat with Ingrid and Marie, while Coco was on the porch reading to the geese from a picture book. She had insisted on bringing them up under cover, and Ingrid apparently had a hard time saying no. Sailor eyed the geese through the screen door.
Bursts of radio news came in between a church sermon. “The attack was wholly unexpected, five civilians killed in Honolulu, Japanese paratroopers spotted on O‘ahu’s north shore, and a direct hit on Hickam Airfield resulted in at least three hundred and fifty deaths.” Bombs falling in Honolulu seemed so far-fetched that Lana was having a hard time believing. Her town, her people. Every update caused another round of tears, and sh
e wondered how much more she could take.
The big question remained: When were they coming for Hilo? Fred came back in the middle of the afternoon with an armful of metal boxes and more bad news. “Marie, would you fill up the bathtub? They’re saying the Japanese are poisoning our water supply. Ingrid and Marie, come with me.”
They disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Lana alone with her vivid imagination. Her mind pulled up pictures of whole towns in flames, soldiers going door-to-door raping, killing and looting. Accusations of slaughter in China had been plastered across the newspapers, leaving her with the taste of blood in her mouth. Being stuck on an island with an invading army was about the worst fate she could think of.
To avoid dwelling on such horrors, Lana walked outside onto the porch. A light drizzle had started, causing steam to rise on the driveway. The horses in the pasture across the street grazed and swished their tails as though it were any old day in paradise.
“The geese seem quite comfortable with you,” she said to Coco, who had one goose in her lap and the other at her side. The one on the ground ruffled up her feathers and hissed at Lana, so she stayed back.
“I knew them since they were eggs,” Coco said.
“They’re like your babies, then.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They were Jack’s babies. I’m their aunt.”
“Okay, that makes sense. Now that Jack is gone, though, how would you feel about adopting them,” Lana said.
“They’d like that.”
“The geese, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Out front, a black car slowed to a stop and just sat there idling for a good minute before finally turning up the driveway. Lana turned to Coco, who had stopped petting the goose. Her little nose twitched. Behind them, Sailor started growling through the screen door. Two men wearing tailored suits climbed out. Neither waved.
“You know these fellas?” Lana said, trying to sound casual and hoping for a yes.
“No.”
“They must be going door-to-door. Perhaps they have some information for us,” Lana said.
Red Sky Over Hawaii Page 6