Then I began the hot walk toward home, but first to Sa’dog Tasi.
Kento whistled. This was our place, Sa’dog Tasi, river to the sea. Not much of a river now during the dry season, just a few inches of water meandering over a wide swept-out depression of white sand. But after a storm or typhoon, this river became a roiling torrent of mud-red rushing water.
I slipped into the tangle of vines, bushes, and trees. As my eyes adjusted to the dark shade, I saw Kento. He sat under a tall breadfruit tree, resting against the wide trunk.
“Why did they—”
Kento grabbed my arm and pulled me down. “Sh-h-h, Joseph, not so loud. Someone might hear you.”
“The school, why did they close it?”
Kento glared. “Calm down or I’m leaving.”
I glared back but didn’t say anything. Instead, I threw stones at geckos that wiggled up and down the nearby trees. Finally I blurted out, “Are they going to kill us like they rounded up and killed the Koreans on Tinian?”
“Don’t say such things! Do you have any brains inside that hard head?”
Talking about forbidden information was dangerous. If anyone heard us, we would be reported to the military, but I didn’t care. I wanted some explanation, some answers. I nodded, then whispered, “My father was talking with the other chiefs. Some said that all natives—Rapaganor, Rafalawash, Chamorro—would be rounded up. Is that true? And the school, why was it closed?”
“Joseph. Open your eyes—the older students, the teachers, don’t you see? More soldiers are needed. No more questions. We shouldn’t even be here.”
“No one will see us.”
“We can’t take any chances. Everything is different now.”
“Different? What’s different?” I looked straight at Kento. “You? Because of all this war talk?”
Kento looked away, but the muscles in his jaw kept working. He shook his head, whispered, “War is coming soon, Joseph.”
I threw a rock against a distant tree. “War! Your Emperor uses war as an excuse to make us his slaves. ‘Do this! Don’t do that. Forbidden!’ Everything. Soldiers come every day even before dawn and take our men, whoever looks strong, to the fields to cut sugarcane. All day. No pay. Nothing. Even my sister’s husband, Ignacio, must go, and their son, Taeyo, is only a child. Who is going to fish? Climb the trees for breadfruit and coconut? Who?”
“That’s why you must help me, Joseph. Many stores are being closed.”
“What do you mean?”
“The soldiers use them to store guns and ammunition. Please, Joseph, teach me to be an island warrior, so I can protect my family and find food for them … when …”
“When what, Kento?”
“When the fighting begins—”
“Ha! What fighting!” I threw one rock after another.
“Joseph, we cannot meet here. Not anymore. No one must see us together, especially any soldiers. From now on we can meet only at night. At the cove. Like we did as kids. If I am suspected of anything, my family will suffer.”
“Kento, you are talking crazy. Who cares about us? Anyway, I promise we won’t go out past the lagoon again, over the reef.”
“I must go now.” Kento stood up. “This is not a game, Joseph. I am no longer a child. My father often does not return from headquarters for two or three days. My family needs me.”
“Wait. I promise, no more questions.” I shut my eyes, trying to shut out our words, trying to think.
Above us the strong branches of the breadfruit trees spread wide, a thick, safe canopy. These old, old trees had given us canoes and homes, food, protection from typhoons. Could they protect us from war?
Sensei says, obey. Kento says, give up your dreams and prepare for war. My father says, stay silent, wait. But I am Rafalwash, Rapaganor. The ocean is ours. This island is our home. No one can take them. No one.
“Kento, listen to me—”
My friend was gone.
FRIEND
I miss the one
Who stares at the stars
And reaches
For the moon.
Kento and I did not see each other again for many days. One long week passed, then another. Soldiers came to our village and patrolled the shore even more frequently, every few hours, day and night. They moved into our church, slept on the benches, and cooked rice on the altar. They took tins of tea, bottles of oil, and bags of rice from our village store, replaced them with long boxes of rifles and crates of ammunition, and stood guard at the door. I spat into the coral dust when I walked past. My fingers longed to throw the stones I carried in my pockets, but I remembered the crack of the branch, the gunshot, the silver pool of light, the dead rat.
I hurried past.
Then, despite rumors that dozens of Japanese planes had been shot down by the Americans and that their white-faced soldiers were hungry to eat our children, the Emperor ordered a victory celebration.
Officials commanded the men and women from our village to perform. All morning and into the afternoon we danced, first the women, then the men—our sacred warrior dances. I stayed near my father, pleased to be almost as tall, almost as strong.
I had learned from my father the ancient words of the chants and the ancient movements—the leaping, twisting, striking stick against stick. Gleaming with sweat and coconut oil, we danced, beating the rhythm faster and louder. Slapping, whirling, chanting our battle cries, we called to our ancestors. Guide us! Give us strength to leap, to fly, to defeat our enemies.
The Japanese sat in straight-row chairs, the men in starched white shirts and long white pants, the women in pale flowing dresses and sun hats, parasols perched above like colorful blossoms hiding their faces. They stayed distant and separate from us, but to each other they smiled, bowing and chirping like sparrows fussing over seeds.
Politely, they watched, laughing and applauding after each dance, understanding none of it. Except for one person.
Sensei sat near the other Japanese but off to one side. He did not laugh. He watched with respect, honoring the sacredness.
Behind Sensei sat Todaka-san, chief military marshal of the island. He had beheaded my mother’s uncle, an old navigator and one of our chiefs. Todaka-san had commanded him to bow and obey or face death. He had chosen death. Kento had scorned the old navigator’s disobedience as foolishness. For Kento, obedience is honor.
Kento and I had not spoken since Sa’dog Tasi. All this week his gaze had followed me as I gathered coconuts or breadfruit. At night, when I walked alone along the lagoon, I had felt his eyes. I knew he was watching the dances.
Why do you watch me, Kento Tanaka? Are you still my friend? Or is it true that your father spies on us?
As a lead dancer, I stood with the younger boys, guiding them, glad our dancing was nearly done. Sweat ran down my face, chest, and back. I raised my dancing stick, my warrior spear, and shouted in Rafalawash, “We are strong! We fight to defend our clan, defeat our enemies!”
Usually when my father danced, he laughed and joked, urging us to dance faster, sing louder. He would leap high into the air, twisting and spinning, sweat flying from his wild black hair. But not tonight. Tonight his mouth stayed shut in a grim straight line.
All day the soldiers had been celebrating, drinking too much sake, too much beer. They shouted vile words at us. I knew what their shouts meant. I glanced at my father … let us strike back. His glare needed no words. I tried to close my mind to everything but the dance.
A group of drunken seniors from school pushed closer, taunting and laughing. Sato-san pointed at me. “Hey, naked dancer, where is that pretty sister of yours?”
Think only of the dance. Only a few minutes and we would be done. I could escape and return home. My hand tightened around my warrior stick.
“Hey, I’m talking to you. Bow, native boy. Bow to me!” Sato jeered.
I did not look at him. I did not answer.
“Your sister, so pretty, so naked—where is she?”
I stepped away from the dance and tried to slip into the crowd.
Sato stood in my way. “Where is she?” He held his cupped hands in front of him, grinning. “With breasts as round as melons?”
His drunken friends pushed closer, swaying and hooting.
I tried to push past. Sato stuck out his foot. I stumbled.
“Some stupid dancer!” Sato hooted. “Too stupid for any school.”
I whipped around. “Leave me alone!”
He hit me square in the face. My mouth filled with blood. White pain shot through my jaw, filled my head.
I raised my arm, my warrior stick. Raised it high, ready to strike.
Someone grabbed me from behind and clasped my wrist.
My father. He pulled me back, stepped between me and Sato, bowing. My father, bowing! I wanted to spit. His hand gripped my wrist.
Sato swaggered closer, leering. “Look who’s hiding behind his father like a scared little puppy.”
A sharp whistle pierced the air. The crowd parted as Todaka-san strode toward us. Two soldiers approached my father. Both had rifles.
A tall figure pushed through the crowd, approached, bowed deeply. “I am very sorry, so very sorry. Please accept my apologies for my students’ shameful behavior.” Sensei spoke in the most respectful, most formal Japanese, stepping between my father and the marshal.
“Please forgive and understand. These are my students, and yes, this young dancer means no harm. Foolish boys full of sake, here to celebrate the Emperor’s great and powerful army. To mar the beauty of this event is unnecessary. Here stands the chief of this village, leader of the dancers, a man who also celebrates the peaceful coexistence of the great people of Japan and the workers of this island.” More bows, more pompous words of honor I could never utter.
Sensei motioned to my father, who bowed low and long, his head nearly touching his knees. Slowly my father moved backwards, pulling me with him. He did not stop retreating, head down, until we were far from the crowd. Finally he released my arm, stood tall and straight, and walked toward the sea. I followed. Once we were far from the village at an isolated area of beach, he stopped.
“Joseph … Joseph,” he said, his head shaking, his voice discouraged, “your actions are selfish. Dangerous. Only a fool strikes without thinking.”
“I didn’t—”
“You raised your warrior stick as if to strike. For that action, you could have lost your life, and ours.” My father looked exhausted. “Courage sometimes means to wait, even hide. A warrior listens to the dance within, not the buzzing around his ears. Joseph, give me your dancing stick.”
I held it out.
“This dancing stick is a warrior’s spear, his weapon to protect his clan and family.” My father took my dancing stick, raised it high over his head, and struck it full force against the trunk of a tree. The stick shattered.
“Joseph, do you see these pieces? Broken. Worthless. To be a true warrior you must consider all consequences of your actions. Your anger can blind you.”
He put his hands on my shoulders and spoke slowly, his words now gentle. “You are young, eager for adventure, ready to be trained for your first ocean voyage. But there is no time.” He stared at the leaping surf, the resilient sea. “War is coming, Joseph. There are many soldiers, many ships, many planes. Be cautious, my son. Do not trust anyone who is not family. Even Kento and his sister. War turns everyone into soldiers, even children.”
We stood in silence—silence as frightening and dark as the deep ocean.
“I must join the other men at the Uut. Go home and watch over our family. Make certain that Anna Maria is safe. The soldiers are full of sake.”
I had been blind, like a turtle that stares into the sun.
My father left. I stayed, not ready to leave. In the distance, dogs barked. Roosters crowed, cockfighting fowls screeching challenges to each other: fight me! In the fighting ring, face to face, they did not cower. Did not hide. They fought until one lay dead.
I heard footsteps. Not soundless steps like my father’s, but leather-soled boots that slapped against the wet sand. I wore shoes like those to school. I had tucked them high in the rafters of our hut. I would not wear them again until school reopened. Somehow I would learn without shoes. I would learn and become as powerful as those who had made us into their servants.
Kento approached, bowed.
I stared as if we were strangers, as if I had never really seen him before. How different we looked. No one would guess we were cousins; our mothers, sisters. He wore a clean-pressed shirt. My chest was bare and glistened with sweat and coconut oil. My hands were rough, coconut brown, and calloused from carrying breadfruit, wood for building huts and canoes. His hands were pale and smooth, stained with ink from writing kanji. We stood eye to eye, the same height, black eyes, black hair. His hair was straight, short and combed; mine was wild, still crowned with a flowered wreath from the dance. How different our worlds had become.
“Joseph, I am sorry.”
I raised my eyebrows, acknowledging his words.
“I was afraid for you.”
“No one needs to be afraid for me. No one!”
“I am glad you and your father did not get arrested.”
I kicked at the sand. The sun was already low. Its light, reflected off the waves, glared in my eyes.
“Joseph, remember our secret cove?”
“We were silly kids.”
“We had big plans, big dreams. Remember?”
I smiled. “You were going to be an engineer, like your father, and build some kind of crazy airplane.”
Kento grinned back. “Crazy enough to fly to the moon.”
Again, a slight raise of my eyebrows, my jaw set, but inside, such longing.
“You wanted to go to a big university, become a professor, start a school here.”
I scooped up fistfuls of sand and threw them at the waves. “Now I can’t even go to school.”
“This difficult time can’t last, Joseph.” Kento stepped closer. “I don’t want to lose my friend.”
I looked at Kento and nodded. “You are brave … like a samurai … to come here and risk being seen with me.” My voice was half angry, half sad. Was Kento here as a friend or as a spy?
The low light of dusk danced on the waves. So many times as children we had spent long afternoons at this beach, playing games, even games of war.
Kento spoke again, almost whispering. “Joseph, I need your help.”
“Help from me, a stupid native?”
“In the canoe, you taught me about being a warrior. Teach me more. Teach me how to find food, to survive here on land.”
“Your father is Japanese, part of the military. Go to one of your fancy stores for food.”
“All stores are closed now, even ours.”
I stared at Kento. Was he telling the truth?
“Joseph, your family needs rice and information. I need to learn to fish and find fresh water. To find coconuts and breadfruit.”
Waves crashed, splashed high, rolled in, slipped out. Kento was right. Our family did need rice … and information.
“Joseph, listen to me. My father makes reports for headquarters—how many soldiers, how many guns, how many more ships arrive. Preparations for battle, Joseph. War is coming. Here. Soon.”
So it was true that Kento’s father was a spy. Stay away, my father warned, a spy is dangerous to both friend and enemy. “You want something. What is it?”
Kento spoke softly. “My family needs your help. I come as a friend.”
I turned away and stared at the sea as the last of the day’s golden light danced on the waves.
“Joseph, every day when my father leaves, we know he might not return. Teach me so I can protect my family. I will pay with rice, tea, cooking oil.” Kento looked at me, his eyes pleading.
“Pay me?”
“Yes, every day, rice, two large handfuls. Good rice. No stones or bugs. And when we can, oil and tea.” Kento bowed. �
��My family needs fish, taro, anything fresh. Joseph, I ask you, as does my mother. She sends blessings to your family, to your sister, and promises to send plenty of rice.”
I had no choice. If his mother, a sister to my mother, a member of our clan, asked, I must help.
“Teach me to write,” I challenged him. “And I will teach you how to survive.”
“You? Learn kanji! To read and write in Japanese? It isn’t allowed. If we are caught—”
“We will meet at the cove, at night. If someone asks, we are searching for the tide pool shells so delicious to eat.”
Kento hesitated. Finally he spoke. “When shall we begin?”
“Tonight, Kento, after curfew.”
SISTER
Black butterflies,
Typhoon winds tear
Silken wings,
Tomorrow
Upon red blossoms
You will dance.
I walked back to the village, looking for my father. He was not home but was still with the other men, Ignacio, too, gathered at the Uut, talking, arguing, all in hushed voices. For the first time, I wanted to slip in, sit with them, and listen. But I was not yet a warrior, not yet one of them.
My mother and Taeyo were already sleeping. But Anna Maria was missing. Father had instructed, make sure your sister is safe. She should be home.
I wandered the edges of our village. The air stilled. The day cooled. The sun paused on the horizon’s rim, blazed gold, then slipped out of sight. Night would come quickly; already the half moon shone high above. Soon it would be curfew, time for everyone, especially women, to be home … time to meet Kento at the cove.
I walked along the beach that curved away from our village toward the south. Someone stood there alone. It was my sister, waiting as she did each evening for Ignacio to return from the cane fields.
My mysterious sister was so much like our mother, quiet and shy. When she spoke, her words did not have hard edges like Japanese words. Her words were round, soft, slow. I stood in silence next to a tall coconut and watched as she waded through the lapping waves, splashing her face and her arms.
Warriors in the Crossfire Page 3
