by John Shors
“The fish aren’t going anywhere, Big Jake,” Ratu replied.
“But the day is. Why, sunset ain’t but a few hours away. And if we don’t catch something for dinner, it’ll be like showing up at a barn raising with no hammer.”
“What’s a barn raising?” Ratu asked, lowering the binoculars. “I tell you, you never make any bloody sense to me, Big Jake. Does he make any sense to you, Miss Scarlet?”
She smiled. “He does.”
“Do people just speak differently in America?” Ratu asked. “Do they say things like barn raising for no reason?”
“People enjoy using expressions,” she answered. “It keeps things from getting boring.”
Ratu handed her the binoculars. “Keeps things from being boring? Things like having our ship sunk, a typhoon almost killing us, and planes blowing up? That’s crazy, I tell you. You’re not making any more sense than Big Jake.”
“Can you do me a favor?” Scarlet asked, knowing that Ratu liked such tasks.
“What?”
“Can you tell the captain that I’ve seen no ships today?”
“But he knows that because you haven’t signaled him.”
“But you can still tell him. It won’t hurt to have you tell him, will it?”
Ratu rose to his feet. “I’ll tell him. Should I say anything else? I’ll be a good messenger, I promise. I’m his first lieutenant, you know.”
She smiled. “That will be fine for now.”
“You ain’t got a hankering for anything from below, miss?” Jake asked as he stood up.
“I’m fine, Jake. But thank you.”
Jake and Ratu said good-bye and started to descend the steep hill. Jake watched Ratu recklessly hurry forward. Several times he stumbled and almost fell. Jake was about to tell him to be careful when Ratu suddenly stopped and turned in his direction. “What’s America like?” he asked. “Is it a place I should someday visit?”
Holding Ratu’s elbow in an effort to keep him from falling, Jake said, “Well, imagine you was an ant, and you had this here whole island to explore. I reckon you wouldn’t see much of it, would you?”
“Not unless I hopped on the back of some bird.”
“That’s kind of like America. It’s so darn big. It ain’t easy to see more than just a sliver of it.”
“Have you been to the Big Apple Pie?” Ratu asked, his free hand absently fingering the shark’s tooth.
“You mean New York City?”
“Of course, Big Jake. What else would I bloody be talking about?”
Jake smiled, wiping his brow. “It’s got a heap more skyscrapers than this jungle has trees.”
“Skyscrapers?”
“Buildings so tall that they scrape the sky’s belly.”
Ratu whistled appreciatively. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“And the people. There are so many, and so many different faces. Kind of like all them fish we speared.”
Ratu nodded but didn’t immediately respond. He leapt over a rock and slid a few feet on the damp soil. They were almost to the bottom of the hill. “Is it good to have black skin in America?” he asked. “I’ve heard it’s not good.”
Jake glanced at Ratu’s dark face, wondering how such a question should be answered. “In some ways it’s just fine. In others it ain’t.”
“How’s it good?”
“It’s good because things get better. My daddy owns his land. And it’s beautiful land. And as long as it don’t rain too much or too little, we’ll keep that land.” Jake took a sip from his canteen and then offered some water to Ratu. “And there ain’t nothing quite like running my fingers through that soil.” He smiled at the memory. “I even tasted it once.”
“You ate dirt?”
“I sure did.”
“Get stuffed, mate. Why?”
“Everything grows in that dirt. And I wanted just a bit of it inside me. Figured it couldn’t hurt none.”
Ratu reached the bottom of the hill and grabbed a spear that he’d left leaning against a tree. “And the bad part of having black skin in America?”
“I always hold my head real high, Ratu. It’s good to be proud, I reckon. But just because I hold my head high don’t mean that people will think much of it. A head can be held high, but if that head belongs to a black man, especially a poor black man, people ain’t gonna understand that pride.”
“What do they think it is?”
“Depends on the person who’s doing the thinking, I reckon. Sometimes arrogance, sometimes anger. Sometimes they look at me like they think that I’m running from something. That they should be afraid.”
“The captain doesn’t look at you that way.”
Jake followed Ratu into the jungle, noticing how he continued to hold the shark tooth. “He did once. When we first met. But he ain’t done it since, and he’s as fine a man as there is.”
“Did they laugh at you when you were a boy?”
“A handful of times, I expect. But I tried mighty hard not to give them reasons to laugh.”
“How?”
Jake paused, recalling moments from his childhood. “Oh, I’d go through the trash and pull out newspapers. And I’d sit for a spell and read them, try to at least learn how whites spoke. What words they used and such. My brothers and sisters thought I was crazy, reading all them newspapers. But they taught me a lot.”
Thinking of his father, of how he was certainly following the orders of white men, Ratu asked, “Why didn’t you just stay on your farm? Why come here?”
Jake stepped over a fallen log. “Because . . . because how can I expect the world to be a better place if I ain’t gonna try real hard to make it better? I reckon you can’t just throw a bunch of seeds on the ground and expect head-high corn. You gotta water and fertilize and pull them weeds. Then you’ll get your head-high corn. And that corn will be the sweetest thing that you ever did taste.”
“I’ve never had corn.”
“Why is it that you’re always touching that tooth?” Jake asked, reaching down to pluck a fresh blade of grass from the ground. “You touch that thing as much as a woman does a baby’s fingers.”
Ratu slowed his pace, realizing that Jake was right. He had been touching his tooth a lot. “I don’t know, Big Jake. I tell you, I bloody well don’t. But I think for good luck. My father had a necklace that he always rubbed before we went fishing.”
“Well, maybe you’d better rub it a few more times so that we’ll catch dinner tonight.”
Ratu absently touched the tooth, his mind still awash in their earlier conversation. “Should I hold my head high?” he asked.
Jake wasn’t used to giving advice to anyone, let alone to a boy. And so he thought about what words to share. Finally, he said, “Don’t let anyone, even me, tell you how to hold your head, Ratu. That’d be like me telling the sun how to shine. You do what makes you happy. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“But what if I don’t know?”
“Then don’t worry. The sun might not know how it shines, but it sure does look pretty.”
THE TREE SWAYED like a dancer beneath her. Gripping two branches, Annie sat on a thick limb and watched the jungle stretch and shake. She’d been up in the tree for at least an hour. After she’d finally stopped crying, she’d been angry with herself for getting so upset. She’d felt as if she had taken a step backward, regressing into the old Annie who was forever scared of the world. And so she’d forced herself to do something she’d always feared—to climb a high tree. The way up hadn’t been easy, and she’d scraped her arms and legs in several places. In fact, she’d almost fallen when a branch snapped beneath her. But she’d made it to the top, and her head had started to clear.
The motion of the tree had been disconcerting at first, but Annie was now used to the pattern of movement, and it reminded her of being aboard Benevolence. After all, the way the tree leaned back and forth was little different from how Benevolence had rolled over swells.
Though Annie
had originally planned on just climbing up and down the tree, once near its top she hadn’t wanted to leave. She wasn’t quite ready to face Akira, as well as the questions that had so troubled her after the argument with Isabelle. So even though her stomach rumbled, she remained in the tree, reliving the highlights of the past few days rather than her words with her sister.
The sky was starting to darken when she heard Akira calling her name. Even from a distance she detected urgency in his voice. She responded loudly, and soon he was standing thirty feet below her, looking up with great surprise. “Are you hurt?” he shouted.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pleased to see him. “I’m just fine.”
“May I climb up?”
“Please.”
Akira grabbed a stout branch and pulled himself off the ground. The tree boasted many thick branches and was nearly perfect for climbing. After a few minutes, he reached her spot. He could see the cuts on her arms and legs, and her apparent vulnerability gave him a sudden urge to kiss her brow. He hesitated, but then leaned toward her, and her arms wrapped around him. He pressed his lips against a freckle on her forehead.
“May I ask why you are up here?” he said. “Isabelle is searching for you. She asked me where you were, and I did not know.”
“We fought. It was horrible and . . . and I just needed to find somewhere to think.”
“So you climbed to the top of a tree?”
“I wanted to escape.”
He sat beside her on the limb, one of his hands coming to rest on her leg while he held a branch with the other. A gust of wind penetrated the jungle, and he felt the tree lean to the side. “May I inquire as to why you fought?”
She looked at his face, finding solace in his eyes and lips. “Isabelle was just being my big sister,” she answered, gently touching her foot against his.
“She was worried for you, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Because . . . because of me?”
“She isn’t one to take chances. She has a plan for everything.”
“And I am a . . . chance?”
Annie wasn’t sure if she detected a new expression on his face. Was it pain? Disappointment? “You’re not a chance,” she said, turning to kiss him. She had a sudden desire to crawl into his arms, but being unable to do so, she rested her head against his shoulder. Through a thin opening in the canopy before her, she watched the sky. “Thank you for finding me,” she said quietly.
“I was missing you.”
She smiled at these words, happy to have been missed. “A part of me is afraid, Akira,” she admitted, wanting to tell him everything.
“Of the future?”
“Of what might happen to us.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You do not have to be afraid.”
“But why not? Our countries are at war, and we have no idea what the future might bring.”
“We control what happens to us.”
“You can’t say that.”
He nodded, wishing that he could kiss the scratches on her legs. “Some things I can say,” he replied. “I can say that . . . that if you want me by your side, I will be by your side. I can say that every war has an end, and that every day has a new beginning.”
A bird landed in the tree next to them. The wind blew again, and both trees swayed in tandem. “I’m afraid of losing you,” she said, watching the bird, for the briefest of moments avoiding Akira’s eyes. “Now that I’ve finally found you, I can’t imagine losing you.”
“See how the trees move together?”
“They’re beautiful.”
“But we cannot see them dance from below. How wonderful it is to see them dance from so high.” Akira turned his head so that he could inhale the scent of her.
“Why do you like to do that?” she asked. “To smell me?”
“Because I want . . . each of my senses to feel you. And because I think . . . I think I like the smell of you the best.”
“But why?”
“Because . . . that way I can bring you into me.”
She kissed his shoulder. “I love you,” she said quietly. “Those three words . . . have always been a mystery to me. Like some language I couldn’t speak. But now I finally know what they mean.”
He smiled, moving on the branch so that he was even closer to her. “I like it here, in these dancing trees. Thank you for showing them to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
The tree continued to sway. The sky darkened. “Your sister is worried,” he said. “You should go to her, yes?”
“I’m angry at her.”
Akira watched a small green beetle climb across his leg. “I am an only child. So I have never fought with a brother or a sister.”
“Sisters fight a lot.”
“I think it would be wonderful to have a sister. Or a brother.”
She shrugged. “It can be.”
“A sibling would be the one person in the whole world who . . . who would be with you from birth until death. At every step, she or he would be there.”
“That’s true. I’ve never thought of it like that.”
“It would be a beautiful thing, I am sure.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked, familiar with how he liked to give advice through his stories and musings.
He smiled, stroking the skin of her leg. “Tonight, after the others have gone to sleep, will you join me for a swim? The moon is almost full, and I discovered a place where there are no rocks or waves. Just sand and water.”
Annie took his free hand within hers. “I have a price.”
“A price?”
“I want you to write a poem. In Japanese. In the sand.”
He found her eyes. “May I ask why in Japanese?”
“Because that’s who you are. And I’d like to watch as you write it. And to listen as you speak it.” She kissed him and then carefully moved toward the tree’s trunk. She started to descend.
As Akira followed her, he thought about what he would write. He watched the trees sway, wondering how he could bring life to their dance while simultaneously describing his love for her.
Much later, when the right words finally blossomed within him, he could do little more than turn his eyes toward the setting sun and silently beseech it to hasten on its journey.
DAY FIFTEEN
A ballet of wood.
The scent of her within me.
Has spring felt so fresh?
The First to Fall
A talkative gull awoke Joshua and Isabelle just before dawn. They always slept closest to the cave’s entrance, for he liked to have a feel for the outside world, and she believed that the fresh air was healthier for their child. And so the gull only spurred the two of them to leave their sandy beds, and they started walking down the beach as the eastern side of the island was painted with a sapphire light.
Isabelle told him about her fight with Annie and their reconciliation at dinner. Joshua had siblings and understood that such confrontations were inevitable. Still, he was pleased to hear that they’d made amends, for while he realized that Isabelle had been trying to do what was right, she’d probably gone too far. He couldn’t recall seeing Annie so happy, and as much as he also wondered about her future, he hoped that her relationship with Akira would somehow endure.
The sky continued to lighten as they walked along the rocky shore. All his years on the sea had linked Joshua to the world above, and he often glanced upward to see how the young day was evolving. He realized that it would be a good day for war. Clouds were unseen. Wind was nonexistent. And visibility was limitless. If he were commanding planes or ships, he’d send forth as many as possible to seek and destroy.
Not wanting to think about war, he took Isabelle’s hand. She had always walked faster than he, as if she were forever late to her destination. And so he now slowed her down, forcing her to relax as he tried to do the same. She resisted for a moment, pulling him forward. But then she seemed to realize that no reas
on existed to hurry.
“You’re not on Benevolence,” he said, remembering how she’d constantly rushed about the decks.
She gently squeezed his bandaged hand at the mention of his ship. “Strange how that seems so long ago.”
“Maybe because so much has changed.”
“Like what?”
“Like you being pregnant. Like Annie falling in love with a Japanese soldier. At this point, I don’t think I’d be surprised if I woke up tomorrow and the ocean was purple.”
“Well, for the moment it’s still blue.”
He smiled. “I’d forgotten how nice these walks can be.”
She sought his eyes. “On Benevolence, did you . . . did you try to forget such things?”
“What do you mean?”
Isabelle suppressed a grimace at a sudden cramp in her belly. “I didn’t let myself think about those things at sea,” she said. “Things like nice walks. There was just too much else to think about. I mean . . . how could I attend to my patients if I were daydreaming about home?”
“What about at night? Or when you were . . . washing your hair, or something like that?”
She shook her head. “I always thought about my patients. I asked myself who was going to die and who was going to live. And I tried to think of how I could help each person.” When he didn’t respond, she looked up at his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about you, Josh. I wanted to. But . . . but I just couldn’t. And maybe that’s one of the reasons why we drifted apart.”
“Don’t be sorry. You saved so many of them. And there’s still plenty of time to save me.”
“I don’t think I need to save you anymore. You’ve saved yourself.”
“That’s not true. If you weren’t here I wouldn’t have . . . climbed out of the hole I was in.” He inhaled the sea’s scent through his nose and deeply into his lungs, enjoying the sensation. “A few days ago you mentioned a little house by the ocean. Can you tell me about it? I’d like to hear more.”
She stepped over a bloated jellyfish. “It needs to be old,” she replied, speaking slowly, which was unusual for her. “Old so that we can fix it. A once-proud house that’s been forgotten.”
