A Boy at War

by Harry Mazer

  “Hey, Slant Eye . . .”

  “What, Moonface?”

  “You look like a cat with diarrhea.”

  “You look like a rat with a bellyache.”

  “You call that an insult?”

  Adam didn’t say much, just sat next to Davi and listened. One of the boys cracked open the coconut with a rock. They all took pieces. “First time I ever ate fresh coconut,” Adam said.

  “Haole boy,” Martin said. “You’re getting to be a real Hawaiian. You know Kamapua’a?”

  “Who?” Adam asked.

  “Kamapua’a, the great Hawaiian pig god.”

  “Pig god—you’re kidding me, right?”

  Martin eyed him contemptuously. “The great pig god, Kamapua’a, he got eight eyes, eight legs, forty toes. He eat the valleys, swallow volcanoes whole. He brushes his teeth with trees. When he farts, he make all the islands shake. What do you say, haole boy? You got a god like that?”

  Adam half smiled. Was Martin pulling his leg?

  “You sure he a haole?” Martin asked Davi. “He don’t act that smart to me.”

  “You got a fish brain,” Davi said.

  “And you got a mush brain.”

  They were still at the insults when Adam thought to look at the time. It was 1700, and he was supposed to be home in an hour. His father would be waiting. “See you!” he said, and ran for his bike.

  Davi came with him and they rode along together, talking about food they didn’t like and songs they did. “I really like ‘On the Road to Mandalay,’” Adam said.

  “. . . where the flying fishes play,” Davi sang.

  They were singing at the top of their voices. Adam never saw the hole in the road. He was thrown from the bike—gravel in his palms. That was okay. What wasn’t okay was his bike. The steering wheel was all wobbly. Something was cracked and it was impossible to ride. “What am I going to do now? I can’t go home with the bike this way.”

  “My dad’ll fix it,” Davi said.

  “Your dad?”

  “Yeah. He can fix anything.”

  Adam hesitated. If he went with Davi he’d be late, but if he had to walk all the way home, he’d be late too. And with a broken bicycle.

  Davi lived downtown near Hotel Street, where sailors went on leave, where Adam’s parents had told him never to go. The area was called Chinatown, but Davi said mostly Japanese people lived here now. He led the way down one narrow alleyway and then another, some of them so crowded that the balconies almost touched. He stopped in front of a yard half-covered with weeds. His father was in back, working on a flatbed truck. A skinny man with bony arms and big teeth.

  Adam knew he shouldn’t even think it, but Davi’s father looked like one of those crazy Japs in a comic book.

  “This is my friend, Adam,” Davi said.

  His father sat down on the edge of the truck, wiping his hands on a rag and talking to Davi in Japanese.

  “Talk English, Dad,” Davi said, glancing at Adam.

  “Very happy to make your acquaintance.” Mr. Mori hopped down and bowed from the waist, his hands at his side.

  To make up for his mean thought, Adam bowed back.

  “Hey!” Davi punched him. “Quit kidding around. You don’t have to do that stuff.”

  His father examined the bike, muttering under his breath. Adam was pretty sure he was saying something like “stupid kid” in Japanese.

  Davi brought over a welding cart holding two gas tanks. He unwound cables, turned gauges, and handed his father the brass welding torch and a pair of dark goggles. Mr. Mori lit the torch and adjusted the hissing flame from yellow to blue. He pulled down the goggles, and with a long metal rod he welded Adam’s bike. He did it in a minute.

  When the weld had cooled, he wire-brushed it clean, then bounced the bike up and down a couple of times. “Good!” he said. “Fixed good.”

  Adam rode the bike around the yard. It was solid again. “Thanks!” he said. “Thanks a lot! How much?” He put his hand in his pocket. Davi’s father shook his head and went back to work on the truck.

  “I can pay,” Adam said.

  “Forget it,” Davi said. “He did it because you’re my friend.”

  The torch had burned away paint along the side of the repair. Davi dipped a brush in a can of red paint and painted over the weld.

  “Thanks,” Adam said again. “I better get going now.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “My dad will kill me if I’m late.”

  “He’ll understand. You had an accident. You couldn’t help that. Besides, the paint has to dry. You want to see my room?”

  Adam let himself be persuaded, and followed Davi through a gate in a high hedge into a shaded garden with several low buildings. A long, low table with an oilcloth tacked on top sat under a lattice of vines and red flowers, and a wooden icebox leaned against one of the sheds.

  Adam followed Davi into the biggest shed. It smelled like seaweed and vinegar. “Mama?” Davi called. On the wall, in a niche, gleaming out of the dimness, was a portrait of a mustached man sitting stiffly on a white horse.

  “That’s Hirohito,” Adam said, showing off a little. “Your honorable emperor.”

  “Not mine,” Davi said emphatically. “My parents think he’s divine, like a living god, but they were born over there. In Japan. But I was born here. One hundred percent American. They’re issei, and I’m nisei. That’s what we say. Come on.”

  They went out and into another shed. It was Davi’s.

  The room was open up to the rafters, where a paper lantern and an orange paper fish hung. A table in front of the window held rocks and shells and pieces of coral. On one wall, Davi had tacked pictures of birds he’d cut from magazines. “I like anything with wings,” he said.

  “Airplanes, too?”

  “No. Living things.”

  Above his cot Davi had tacked a calendar with a picture of the steamship Lurline with its high white hull and two big, fat stacks.

  “We came on that ship,” Adam said, “from the mainland. Four days. I puked my guts out.”

  “I never puke,” Davi said. “I go on my uncle’s fishing boat all the time.”

  Adam checked out Davi’s books. The Call of the Wild by Jack London, and four Tarzan books by Edgar Rice Burroughs. “Yeah, I’ve read these,” he said. He was ready to go—he had to go—but then they started talking again, about fishing this time. By the time Adam left, they had agreed to go fishing the next morning.

  “Meet you no later than six,” Davi said as they walked out.

  “0600? You going to be up?” Adam said.

  “I always get up that early. I like the light. You ever look at early-morning light?”

  Adam shrugged. “I never thought about it.”

  “Look at it tomorrow morning.”

  Funny guy, Adam thought. He had a foot up on the bike pedal. “I’ll take a long look and tell you what I think. I’ve got to go. My father—”

  “Why do you worry about your father so much? What’s he going to do if you’re late, eat you?”

  “Yeah. With ketchup. In small bites.”

  Adam went around the side of the house to stow his bike in the shed. He was late. He got a glass of milk in the kitchen and went out to face his father. His parents were sitting in the garden with their neighbor, Mrs. Parker, having afternoon cocktails. His parents were both dressed to go out, his father in his high-necked dress whites, and his mother in a white dress and high heels. Bea was playing in the grass near them.

  “I know I’m late—” Adam began.

  “Ah, there he is,” Mrs. Parker said, raising her cigarette. “The little hero, the tall drink of water.” She always had something funny to say, but he liked her.

  “Milk,” he said, holding up his glass. “Tall drink of milk.”

  Mrs. Parker smiled and stood up. “See you folks later.” She went through the hedge to her house.

  Adam’s father leaned back, hands behind his head. “You
were going to be home early, Adam—1800, I believe, and it’s now . . .” He looked at his watch.

  “Sorry, Dad.” He explained about the bike and the hole in the road, and how he didn’t see it till too late. “It was that god—” He almost swore, but his father stopped him.

  “Watch your mouth. You don’t talk that way in front of your mother.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He couldn’t stop saying “sorry.” “My bike was broken, Dad. Davi’s father welded it back together.”

  “Who’s Davi?”

  “He’s a friend of mine from school. His father wouldn’t take any money, and the bike is as good as new now.”

  “Who are these people? Where do they live?”

  “Chinatown.”

  “Chinese?”

  “No.” Something in his father’s voice put Adam off saying anything about his plans for the morning. “They’re Japanese.”

  “Tomorrow you bring Mr. Tojo, or whatever his name is, a dollar for his work. And I expect there are plenty of other boys for you to make friends with.”

  “Davi’s the smartest boy in our class, Dad.”

  “That may well be, but I want you to think about things. Like who he is and who you are.” His father picked up his cocktail, took a sip, then handed the glass to his mother. “Can you get me some more ice, Marilyn?”

  “I’ll get it, Dad,” Adam said.

  “No, I want to talk to you.” His mother went back in the house. “Sit down, son,” his father said.

  Adam sat at the edge of the seat. He knew what was coming.

  “Adam, I am an officer in the navy. This is a military family.” He was keeping time with his foot, giving Adam the drill, marching him through it. “I shouldn’t have to be telling you this. You know this. What you do reflects on your family. Reflects on me and reflects on the United States Navy.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “The navy has been good to me. I grew up in the navy. I became a man in the navy. It’s given me everything. And what it’s given me, it’s given you, too. You know that the searchlight is always on me. On me, on us, on our family. Our conduct has to be above reproach. Do you understand? You wouldn’t want me to do anything that would bring shame on me or the navy.”

  “You never would,” Adam said.

  “Correct, because I think about what I do, who I associate with, who my friends are. And that’s what I want you to do. Think!” His father leaned forward and tapped Adam on the knee. “We’re very close to war with Japan. That’s why we’re here in Honolulu, in Pearl. Listen, Adam, I have nothing against this boy you’ve met. There are a lot of them here. Forty percent of the Hawaiian Territory is Japanese. This is the most Japanese city in the world outside of Japan. There are some navy people who think they’re all spies. I’m not that way myself, but I would not be friends, at this time, with anyone who is Japanese.”

  “Davi’s an American,” Adam said. “Nisei. That’s what that means. He was born in this country. Dad, he won the American Legion contest!”

  “Your friend may have been born here, but his parents weren’t. Am I right?”

  Adam nodded.

  “They are Japanese first. Just as you are an American first. Their allegiance is to their country, just as ours is to our country. And when the war starts, what are they going to do? Nobody knows exactly, but count on it, they’re going to be a big problem here in Hawaii.”

  His mother had returned with their drinks. “Emory,” she said, “maybe the war situation isn’t as bad as we think. I was just listening to the radio, and our secretary of state is talking to the Japanese ambassador in Washington at this very minute.”

  “All I’m saying is we have to be careful. I want Adam to be careful. We just don’t know. I can’t have anyone saying that Lieutenant Emory Pelko’s son has a friend who’s a—”

  “What about Koniko?” Adam interrupted. “And Hideko? They’re both here every day, right in our house. Everyone we know has Japanese working for them.”

  “I’m not concerned about that. They work, we pay them. This town, all of Hawaii, the sugar plantations and the pineapple industry, they’d all close down without them. I’m just telling you, a friend is something else. It doesn’t matter what you think or I think, we’re judged by our friends. And whatever you do comes back on me.”

  Adam was silent. His father was saying he had to give up Davi.

  “Adam,” his father said. “It’s not like there’s a shortage of boys.”

  Adam nodded and stood up.

  “Am I talking to myself?”

  “I heard you, sir.” His jaw was tight. Everything in him was tight. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t look at his father, he didn’t want to.

  Just then Bea created a commotion. She came running out of the house, followed by Koniko. “I want to go to the movies with you,” Bea cried.

  “Too late for baby,” Koniko said, trying to catch Bea, but she couldn’t run fast enough in her kimono.

  “Koniko’s right,” Adam’s mother said. “It’s too late for you to stay up, honey. You’re not old enough for the movies.”

  “I can stay up! I am old enough. I’m not going to sleep. I don’t want to stay alone with Koniko.”

  “Oh, look at Koniko,” his mother said. “Look how sad she is. You’re hurting her feelings.”

  Koniko tried to pick up Bea, but Bea squirmed out of her arms. “Adam!” she cried.

  He picked her up and whispered in her ear, “I’ll bring you a Mary Jane if you’re a good girl.”

  “A whole Mary Jane?” She put her arms around his neck. “All for me?”

  “I won’t even ask you for a bite, but you have to stop crying and stay with Koniko.”

  By the time he got her settled and they’d picked out a storybook to read, his father was calling. “Rats,” Adam said.

  “You said a bad word. I know a bad word too.”

  “You do?”

  “I have to whisper,” she said. “Shutup.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Really bad,” he said.

  * * *

  After his father parked the car, they strolled over to Palm Boulevard. The air was sweet. Not even the car fumes could change that. It was Saturday night, and the city was dark, blurry, and soft. Even the cars purred.

  Walking behind his parents, Adam was conscious of the click of his mother’s high heels and the regular measure of his father’s step. He matched his step to his father’s, a steady beat, as if the two of them were one step, one heart. I’m not fighting you, Dad. I understand about the navy and our family and all that, but it doesn’t seem fair. It’s not even Davi so much—it’s being told who I can be friends with.

  Sailors who passed on the sidewalk saluted his father. Adam saw some boys from school and sort of saluted them, half raised his hand. “Yeah,” they said. “Hi, Adam.”

  The movie theater was full of white uniforms. Adam stopped at the candy counter to buy the Mary Jane for Bea, then joined his parents. He sat down next to his mother, sank down, and propped his knees against the seat in front of him. His father reached over and tapped him, and he sat up and put both feet squarely on the floor.

  The theater darkened, and a picture of the flag came on the screen. They all stood and saluted while “The Star-Spangled Banner” was played. Then they sat down again, and the cartoon came on, Bugs Bunny, then the March of Time newsreel, then the movie, The Great Dictator. The last Charlie Chaplin movie that Adam had seen was Modern Times. He’d liked that a lot, especially when Charlie got caught in the gears in the factory. This one made fun of Hitler and Mussolini, and it was pretty funny, but not as good as he’d expected.

  What he really remembered afterward was the newsreel and the war pictures, and the commentator’s deep, authoritative voice. “The German army is on the attack in Russia!” Pictures of German paratroopers sliding down the wing of a cargo plane, like penguins sliding off a shelf of ice. Next a picture of an Italian ship sinking off North Africa, the sailors leaping into
the ocean. “Look at that, ladies and gentlemen. You are watching a war from a ringside seat!” The last segment was a training film of American soldiers bayoneting canvas bags that were supposed to be enemy soldiers. “Look at our boys!” the commentator said. “Look at them go! Fool with America, and you stir up a hornet’s nest, and we know how to sting!”

  Adam clapped and cheered with everyone else, but when he glanced over at his mother, her eyes were shut tight. She couldn’t bear violence, even fake bayoneting of a canvas bag. His father was looking at her too. He winked at Adam.

  Okay! Adam took a deep breath. His father wasn’t mad at him anymore.

  When they got home, Koniko gave Adam’s father a message to call the base. The duty officer had a family emergency, and Adam’s father was needed to cover for him. “I should be home sometime tomorrow,” he said, kissing Adam’s mother. He was going to drop Koniko off at her home on his way to the base. “Maybe in the afternoon. Bye, son.”

  “Bye, Dad,” Adam called over his shoulder. He was on his way to put the Mary Jane on Bea’s pillow.

  In the morning Adam ate a doughnut and left his mother a note: BE BACK SOON. He drew a little stick figure for Bea, showing himself on his bike.

  He carried the bike out to the street. It was early. Sleeping houses. Shiny lawns. Their paper hadn’t been delivered yet. Not a car in sight. Nobody around but him.

  All the way to the cannery, Adam kept thinking that if Davi didn’t show up, it would be a relief. He wouldn’t have to say anything or make excuses for not wanting to go fishing. He’d see Davi in school, and they could be friends there.

  Davi had said six o’clock, under the giant pineapple. Adam checked his watch: 0600. He was here, but Davi wasn’t. Adam decided to wait fifteen minutes, tops, and then to go home.

  “Hey, haole!” It was Martin, the big Hawaiian kid, pedaling a bike with Davi sitting on the crossbar holding the fishing poles.

  “Adam!” Davi held up the poles. “I’ve got one for you too.”

  Now was the moment to tell Davi I’m not going fishing. Can’t. Sorry. Something’s come up. . . . Simple. But saying it to Davi’s face was a lot different than thinking it. “You’re late,” he said.