Island War

by Patricia Reilly Giff

  Willie ate his portion in a moment; it didn’t take me much longer, although the whole thing tasted terrible. It filled my stomach, though.

  The door flew open.

  Matt stood there.

  I looked up, shocked. I wasn’t alone. I was more than glad to see him!

  “You!” he said. “In my house! Eating our food. I should have known.”

  I was too surprised to answer.

  How mean and miserable he was.

  But I had messed up his house. Even without glasses, I could see that. Plates filled with burned biscuits, flour on the floor, a pile of my stuff on the bed inside.

  Before I could open my mouth, he was yelling!

  “YOU’RE a thief, Izzy!” I burst out. I couldn’t help it. She had taken the food my father left, spilled almost all the sugar.

  She stared at me. No glasses this time. She looked even worse without them: a skinny face, her cheeks red now, pointy nose, and her hair looked like brown strings hanging around her neck, a bracelet looped over her wrist.

  “Why don’t you and your dog just get out of here,” I said furiously.

  She was trying to talk at the same time. “I didn’t know you were here. I thought I saw your father…”

  “That makes it all right to take my stuff?” I stopped. “Where?”

  “Going up the ramp to the ship. I thought you’d be there too.”

  “The ramp?” I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.

  “He was giving the soldiers a hard time, trying to break loose. It took two of them…”

  I opened my mouth, trying to breathe. Pop, on the ship!

  Izzy leaned forward. “I thought I was alone.”

  “You are alone,” I managed to say. “I don’t want to see you around here anymore. Ever.”

  “Come on, Willie,” she said, nose in the air. She went past me, gathering up a pile of clothes, and stumbled down the steps.

  I stood in the doorway and watched her go toward her house, the dog following her.

  I had a dog, Merry, at home.

  Why was I thinking about my dog? He was safe with Mom.

  I was really crying now. I pictured Pop trying to break loose from the soldiers. What must he be thinking? I thought of Mom too. I was glad she didn’t know what had happened. Then I wondered. How soon would she find out? Would reporters write about it?

  Worse, I was alone, without Mom, without Pop.

  I went to my house with Willie, fumbled for the knob, and held the door open for him. “Our place,” I said, tears in my voice. “Yours and mine.”

  I sank down on the couch, the dog at my feet. What could I do next? My feet were tapping, my hands clenched. I couldn’t sit still and just listen to the wind whistling around the house.

  I went through those small rooms, searching for a morsel of food, searching for anything. I didn’t know what. I swept my hands along the bed, along the rickety table beside it. And there was something.

  Mom’s notebook!

  I remembered her earnest face, her voice: If something happens to me…I want to be sure you’ll see the birds for me.

  Mom, gone since yesterday.

  I touched the pages, almost as if my fingers would remember her words. But I knew some of them, the list of birds that were rare: the black-tailed gull, the yellow bittern that Dad had drawn, and even some of the plovers. I remembered too the ones she loved that weren’t rare: the red-winged blackbirds and the cardinals at home.

  I lay on the bed thinking for the first time of my soft bed and the quilt Mom had made for me. Willie jumped up and curled himself around me, his furry tail thumping against my leg. It wasn’t night, but I was so sad, so tired and hungry.

  There’d be no sugar, no flour for us. “We’re on our own,” I whispered.

  If only I had my glasses.

  “That would be a beginning,” I said. “Tomorrow, I’ll have to climb down the overhang, all the way down, so I can guess the exact spot where they might be.”

  What if they were broken?

  How could they not be broken?

  But I had to take a chance. I had to try.

  I put my arm around Willie; I was glad to have him there. “I’ll never leave you,” I said, and closed my eyes to sleep.

  * * *

  * * *

  In the morning, I climbed out of bed, remembering I hadn’t changed into pajamas last night. I was still wearing the filthy skirt and blouse I’d worn yesterday. Too bad. I didn’t care.

  “No breakfast,” I told Willie. “Glasses!”

  I took the endless walk to the overhang with Willie, wondering if I’d recognize it, telling myself that it jutted out farther than any of the other rocky outcrops.

  If only I could walk along the edge of the water, squinting up at the exact place where they’d fallen, I’d know where to search below.

  My skirt! Filthy, yes, but red, bright red. I could take it off. My coat would cover my slip.

  I hung the skirt on the edge of the overhang and anchored it with a rock. Gulls flew high, screeching at me.

  I went down the hill, just able to see the path that led to the water. I pulled off my shoes to walk along the sandy shore. It was impossible to see my skirt. Even the overhang was a blur.

  Over my shoulder, squinting, I watched waves wash my footprints away. I kept going forward as Willie scampered ahead of me. My mouth went dry. Suppose the glasses had been taken by the sea?

  What could I do if I never found them?

  Willie was digging under the rocks now, and I stopped to watch. Then he was up, tossing something in the air, eating.

  A fish!

  I hesitated. Think! My fish?

  And then I was moving on the sharp grass, watching to see exactly where he was, but he bounded away again.

  I glanced up, imagining the skirt waving! And then down at my glasses, one lens cracked!

  But mine! A miracle!

  I saw the world now: the dark sand under my feet, the spray of the waves, the jagged rocks above, maybe even a whale breaching.

  I went back up to get my skirt. I’d get through this. I’d find food for both of us. I’d learn to fish. And someday I’d see an American ship pulling into the harbor, coming for me. “And for you too, Willie. I’ll never leave you.”

  But what I saw instead of a ship was a flock of birds going overhead. Even above the boom of the waves, I heard their cries, almost like bugles. I watched them, dozens of them, gray with gorgeous crimson heads, and then I called Willie. “We have to go home and begin writing in Mom’s book.”

  Later, I flipped through her notes. She’d written: not rare, but exciting, sandhill cranes, with their wine-colored heads, flying in large groups, crossing the Bering Strait to and from their nesting grounds.

  Maybe they weren’t rare, but they were beautiful. I’d add that to Mom’s notes in careful handwriting.

  IT was cold today; the rain almost looked like sleet. But I thought of the two-man kayak down at the harbor. Maybe I’d take a look. I remembered Pop had planned to use it to meet me. Was it there, waiting for him as he sailed across the Pacific to a prison camp in Japan?

  I trudged toward the kayak shed, then leaned back against the wall. I could still see footprints churned up in the mud, three sets, maybe four.

  Oh, Pop!

  Soldiers must have caught him there, and I could guess how hard he must have fought.

  The kayak lay on its side, the sea lion cover ripped and ruined.

  I opened the shed door. Kayaks were lined up in a row. Devastation was everywhere! Pieces of wood and scraps of fur were spread across the packed earth.

  Not one of them could be used.

  Did the soldiers cause all that damage? Or maybe the village people had made sure the enemy couldn’t use the boats they’d made so carefully.

  Would they ever come back to the island and build new ones?

  Outside, the sun had disappeared. Fog had settled over the houses so it seemed that they’d never been the
re.

  I could see only my feet as I walked along the path toward my kayak. I’d still be able to fish in this light; I’d just have to stay close to the shore.

  I rushed to the kayak, glad it had been hidden and was safe. I paddled until I came close to a rock that jutted out from the land. Large and gray, it almost seemed like a seal floating in the rough sea. I reached for my fishing line and cast into the waves.

  I’d come to love the fog. It made everything mysterious, almost like the shape I saw in the distance. A rock shaped like a seal? A small whale?

  I felt a pull on my line and reeled in a fish. I’d captured dinner!

  I took a last look at the maybe-seal rock; then I followed the shoreline, which was hardly visible.

  I pulled the kayak into its place, tied it up, and went home, carrying the fish.

  I thought of eating, thought of Pop, wondering where he was, thought of Mom and how alone she must feel.

  EVERY day the weather was colder. I picked up pieces of driftwood. Most of the time they were too wet to use, but still I found a few for Willie and me to keep warm. I was lonely for Mom and couldn’t stop thinking about Dad. I ate wild celery and found mussels on the beach for Willie and me when I had the energy to take that long walk.

  Toward what must have been the end of September, or maybe even the beginning of October, I passed Maria’s house, the door swinging back and forth, and went to close it.

  I climbed the three steps and I saw a corner of her room: the books on the table, two or three on the floor.

  Suppose I read one?

  One day I’d tell her I’d borrowed a book. She wouldn’t mind. Dad always wanted me to read, and Mrs. Weio had said, Everyone has to find the right book to fall in love with reading.

  Maybe I’d find one. I didn’t think so, though.

  I went inside and sank down on the floor. Up close, the books were a mess: covers missing, pages turned down, ripped.

  Some of them had little in the title: Little House in the Big Woods, Maida’s Little Shop; a bunch had girls’ names: Pollyanna, Anne, Rebecca.

  I couldn’t make up my mind.

  Whatever my hand lands on, I told myself. Maybe one with a decent picture on the front.

  And there it was: The Call of the Wild, with a picture of a dog.

  Perfect.

  My hand fell on another. I flipped through the pages. There were stories of old legends with pictures.

  I remembered the doll punching a hole in the sky, the wind and animals tumbling out.

  I tucked the books under my arm.

  I went into Maria’s kitchen. I knew there was nothing there, but still I searched through drawers, ran my hand over cabinets for crumbs, and gave up at last.

  Matt thought I was a thief.

  Forget about Matt!

  I called for Willie and we went to my house: me to find Mom’s notebook, Willie to climb on the bed, fold his thick tail around himself, and take a nap.

  I opened the notebook and read all of it. Then I picked up a pencil: Fall on the island. I wrote about the wind whipping the surf into froth, and geese, pointed wings the color of waves, snowy white underneath, diving into the water for dinner.

  I stood there, imagining food, roast beef with gravy, hot dogs with mustard, and opened the door to see a small fried fish on the step.

  Matt, cooking! Trying to make up again.

  I chewed on the fish, going past the houses. I’d wait awhile before I told him I was ready to be a friend too. But I really was ready.

  The path turned and I walked with it.

  Was that a ship anchored close to shore? It wasn’t as large as the one that had taken Mom and the villagers away, or even the ship that had brought us here.

  Was it American?

  I went farther, seeing the curl of smoke coming from a fire near the rocks.

  I stopped. Two soldiers were tending the fire; two others were standing nearby. Behind them was a tent.

  They weren’t American. They were the enemy!

  There was the soldier with the moustache. The others were older and taller.

  I lay down on the damp earth and watched, but I didn’t see anyone else.

  I took a step back, and then I ran!

  I reached my house, went inside, and closed the door carefully behind me, locking it. I went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Willie’s broad head, trying to calm myself.

  I had to be careful. I couldn’t wander around the island anymore, not without being sure I wasn’t seen.

  They didn’t know I was here, but what would they do if they found out?

  How had all this happened to me!

  I couldn’t sit there, wanting to hide under the covers. There was one more thing I had to do, and I had to do it now, before I lost my courage, even though the light was fading and it would be night soon.

  I had to tell Matt.

  I pounded on Matt’s door until he threw it open. He stood there, glaring at me, hands on his hips. “What?”

  “I told you I thought everyone was gone. I thought I was alone.”

  He raised one shoulder. “So?”

  “We’re not alone.”

  He opened the door a little wider. “The Americans have come?”

  I shook my head. “At least four enemy soldiers are here.”

  He pushed at the mop of hair over his forehead; it immediately fell back again. “I guess you can come inside,” he said.

  “You won’t be able to cook anymore. If they smell whatever you’re cooking”—I shrugged—“we’ll be caught, sent to a camp like our parents.”

  I hesitated until I was sure I wouldn’t cry. “You can’t run around the island. We have to stay hidden. We have to be careful.”

  “You’re imagining things,” he said. “There’s probably no one here.”

  I put my hand on the door handle. Too bad. Let him get caught.

  “How can I believe a kid like you? Deliberately kicking me on the boat?” he went on. “Ready to push me outside of school. The most unfriendly person…”

  I couldn’t help it. I began to laugh. How could one person think he was so perfect? And he’d gotten most of it wrong anyway.

  He turned back to a fish that was simmering in a pan, ignoring me. I took a breath. “Come on, Matt,” I said. “I’ll show you where they are.”

  He nodded. “I guess so.”

  We waited until it was almost dark, not saying a word. At last he asked me if I wanted something to eat.

  My mouth watered, but he’d already given me a fish. I opened my mouth to thank him, but he looked so unfriendly, I decided to wait. And I couldn’t resist another piece. “I’ll just take a little. And a bit for my dog, Willie.”

  I ate mine fast. I’d never tasted anything so good. Willie’s went into my pocket so I wouldn’t be tempted to take a nibble.

  It was time! It was cold now and the wind that came from the sea was so strong that we were pushed sideways. It seemed as if it took forever to get there.

  Matt grabbed my arm and we stopped, smelling fish frying, hearing clattering, listening to voices.

  Behind us there was a sound.

  We spun around to see Willie dart past us, barking, going for food. I went toward him and reached for his collar, but I tripped and fell onto the wet sand and Willie kept going.

  The soldiers must have heard the dog, and now they’d see him.

  I stared at Matt, wiping grit off my face. What would they do to Willie? My poor dog. Why hadn’t I made sure the house door was shut?

  He was all I had.

  I saw her inch forward. Did she think she could go after the dog?

  Was she out of her mind?

  I grabbed her arm, but she twisted away from me, crawling just off the path. She was clumsy. I wondered that the soldiers hadn’t heard her.

  “All I have,” I thought she muttered, more to herself than to me.

  All I have.

  Did I feel sorry for her?


  Maybe, but why?

  I didn’t have anyone either. All I did was fish for food every day.

  I followed her, crawling along. My heart was beating so fast and loud I was afraid someone would hear it. I saw smoke rising and then the cooking fire itself. A group of men stood there; one of them held out a piece of fish to the dog. Another patted his head.

  They weren’t going to hurt him!

  “Let it be,” I whispered.

  She paid no attention. “Come, Willie.” Her lips barely moved. The dog looked up toward us, and one of the soldiers took a step away from the fire.

  I pulled at her arm; I wasn’t going to give up.

  At last she crawled back, away from the soldiers, leaving Willie with them.

  She left me without saying a word.

  It was really late now, or at least I thought it was. At home in Connecticut, the clock would have been ticking in the kitchen.

  But not here.

  I trudged back to the village. By that time it was entirely dark, and a misty moon shone overhead. I eased my feet out of my shoes and threw myself onto the couch. It was hard to keep my eyes open. I heard myself mumbling: Food, soldiers.

  And then I slept.

  I slid into my pajamas and climbed into bed. I took Mom’s notebook with me. Crazy, but it gave me comfort to touch her things. At home, I’d be listening to the radio, The Lone Ranger maybe. I swallowed, my throat burning.

  Without Willie next to me, it was hard to sleep. I’d just drifted off when I heard noises outside. I sat up, listening.

  Someone scratching at the door?

  I was afraid to look. Still, I made myself peer through the cracks in the wood covering the windows.

  Willie!

  I opened the door and he bounded inside, jumping up on me, tongue out, wild with excitement. I sank down on the floor and threw my arms around him, crying, laughing.

  He must have eaten his fill, then darted through the circle of soldiers and come home.

  To me!

  He shook himself and went into the bedroom to climb onto the bed and sleep.