Rabinovitz glanced at his watch. 'Let's be honest. I'm not sure you will get out anyway, Dr. Jastrow. Mr. Rose told me about the difficulties you've been having. I don't think they're accidental.
I'm afraid you're what some people call a 'blue chip"-he used the American slang haltingly'and that's your real problem. The Italians can trade you someday for a lot of 'white chips," so something can always go wrong at the last minute when it's time to leave. Well, meeting you was a great honor. If you come along we'll talk some more.
I have many questions about your book. Your Jesus had very little to do with this, did be?" He swung both his hands around at the cathedral.
'He's a Jew's Jesus," said Jastrow. "That was my point."
'Then tell me one thing," said Rabinovitz. "These Europeans worship a poor murdered Jew, the young Talmud scholar you wrote about so well-to them he's the Lord God-and yet they go right on murdering Jews. How does,a historian explain that?"
In a comfortable, ironic, classroom tone, most incongruous in the circumstances, Jastrow replied, "Well, you must remember theyre still mostly Norse and Latin pagans at hart. They've always chafed under their Jewish Lord's Talmudic morals, and possibly they take out their irriration on his coreligionists."
"Now that explanation hadn't occurred to me," Rabinovitz said.
"It's a theory you should write up. Well, let us leave it this way.
You want to think it over, I'm sure. Mr. Rose will telephone you tonight at six o'clock and ask you whether you want the tickets for the opera. Tell him yes or no, and that will be that." 'Good," Natalie said. 'We're deeply grateful to you." 'For what? My job is moving Jews to Palestine. Is your baby a girl or a boy?"Boy. But he's only half-Jewish."
With his crafty grin, and an abrupt handwave of farewell, Rabinovitz said, 'Never mind, we'll take him. We need boys," and he walked rapidly away. As his plump figure merged into a tourist group leaving Saint Peter's, Natalie and her uncle looked at each other in puzzlement.
"It's freezing in here," said Dr. Jastrow, "and very depressing.
Let's go outside." They strolled in the sunshine of the great piazza for a while, talking the thing over. Aaron tended to dismisss the idea out of hand, but Natalie wanted to give it thought and perhaps discuss it with Rose. The fact that he was going troubled her.
Jastrow pointed out that Rose was not as secure as they were. If war should break out between the United States and Italy-and that was the threat in the Japanese crisis-they had the ambassador's promise of seats on the diplomatic train, with the newspaper correspondents and the embassy staff. Rose had no such assurance. Earlier in the year, the embassy had given him seaming after seaming to leave.
He had chosen to stay at his own risk, and now he had to face the consequences. If he wanted to chance an illegal exit, that did not mean they needed to.
At the hotel, Natalie found the baby awake and fretful. He seemed a frail small creature indeed to expose to a sea voyage uncertain even in its destination, let alone its legalities; a voyage in a crowded old tub-no doubt with marginal food, water, sanitation, and medical service-that might lead to a rough trip through mountains; the goal, a primitive and unstable land. One look at her baby, in fact, settled Natalie's mind.
Rose called promptly at six. "Well, do you want the opera tickets?"
His voice on the telephone was friendly and, it seemed, anxious.
Natalie said, 'I think we'll skip it, Herb. But thank your friend who offered them." "You're making a mistake, Natalie," Rose said. "I think this is the last performance. You're sure?" "Positive."
"Good luck, kid. I'm certainly going."
Janice Henry left her house and drove toward Pearl City in a cool morning echoing with distant church bells. Vic had wakened her at seven o'clock, coughing fearfully; he had a fever of almost 105-Yawning on the telephone, the doctor had prescribed an alcohol rub to bring the baby's temperature down, but there was no rubbing alcohol in the house.
So she had given the fiery, sweat-soaked little boy his cough medicine, and set out for town, leaving him with the Chinese maid.
From the crest of the hill, under a white sun just climbing up from the ocean rim, the harbor wore a Sabbath look. The fleet was in, and ranged at its moorings in the morning mist: a scattering of cruisers, oilers, and tenders, clusters of gray destroyers and minesweepers, nests of black submarines. Off Ford Island the battleships stood in two majestic lines with white sun-awnings already rigged; and on the airfield nearby dozens of planes touched wings in still rows. Scarcely anybody was moving on the ships, the docks, or the airfield. Nor was any large vessel under way to ruffle the glassy harbor. Only a few church party boats, with tiny sailors in whites, cut little foamy Vs on the green still water.
Janice got out of the car to look for her husband's ship. To her disappointment, the Enterprise was not only absent from the harbor, it was nowhere in sight on the sea. She had been counting on a Sunday morning return. She took binoculars from the glove compartment and scanned the horizon. Nothing: just one old four-piper poking around, hull down.
Tuesday would be two weeks that Warren had been gone; and now here she was with a sick baby on her hands, and a hangover. What a life!
What a bore!
She had gone to the Officers' Club dance the night before out of loneliness and boredom, accepting the invitation of a lieutenant she had dated long ago, a Pensacola washout who now served on Cincpac's staff.
Vic had had a cough for days, but his temperature had remained normal.
Of course she would never have stayed out until after three, cavorting and boozing, had she known he would Turn so sick. Still she felt guilty, irritated, and bored to the bone with this idiotic existence.
Since her return from Washington, she had been growing more and more bored, realizing that she had married not a dashing rake after all, but a professional Navy fanatic, who made Marvelous love to her now and then and otherwise almost ignored her. Uvemaking at best took up very little time. What an end for Janice Lacouture-at twenty-three, a Navy babtsitterl She had taken a half-day coding job at Cincpac to avoid being evacuated with the service wives, but that was dull drudgery too.
Janice had spells of deep rebellion, but so far she had said nothing to Warren. She was afraid of him. But sooner or later, Janice meant to have it out, even if divorce ensued.
A small general store in a green wooden shack at a crossroads stood open, with two fat Japanese children playing on the rickety porch.
That was lucky; it stocked a strange jumble of things, and she might not have to drive clear into town. As she went in, she heard gunfire pop over the harbor, as it had been popping for months off and on in target practice.
The storekeeper, a black-haired little Japanese in a flowered sport shirt, stood behind his counter drinking tea. On shelves within reach of his arms, goods were neatly stacked: canned food, drugs, pans, brooms, candy, toys, soda pop, and magazines. He bobbed his head, smiling, under hanging strips of dried fish. "tubbing acoho? Ess, ma'am." He went through the green curtain behind him. The gunfire sounded heavier and louder, and planes thrummed overhead. A funny time for a drill, she thought, Sunday morning before colors; but maybe that was the idea.
Going to the doorway, Janice spotted the planes flying quite high, lots of them, in close order toward the harbor, amid a very heavy peppering of black puffs. She went to her car for the binoculars. At first she saw only blue sky and clouds of black smoke, then three planes flew into the field of vision in a shining silvery triangle. On their wings were solid orange-red circles. Stupefied, she followed their flight with the glasses.
"Ess, ma'am? Many pranes! Big, big drir!" The storekeeper stood beside her, offering her the package with a toothy smile that almost shut his eyes. His children stood behind him on the porch, pointing at the sky and chattering in shrill Japanese.
Janice stared at him. Nearly everybody in the Navy disliked the Hawaiian Japanese and assumed they were spies. She had caught the feeling. Now here was
this jap grinning at her, and overhead jap planes were actually flying! Flying over Hawaii! what could it mean?
The nerve of these japs! She took the package and abruptly, rudely offered him the binoculars. The man bobbed his head and peered upward at the planes, now beginning to peel off and dive, one by one, glinting silver amid the thickening black puffs. With a queer noise in his throat, he pulled himself erect and held out the binoculars to her, regarding her with a blank face, his slant eyes like black glass. More than the unreal, startling sight of the orange-marked planes, the look on his face told Janice Henry what was happening in Pearl Harbor. She snatched the binoculars, jumped into her car, slammed the door, and whirred the ignition. He hammered on the door, holding out his hand, palm up, and shouting. She had not paid him.
but now with a pulse of pleasure Janice was an honest lady, you able childish excitement she shouted harshly-using the sailor epithet for the first time in her life-'Fuck you!" and shot off up the road.
That was how the war came to Janice Henry, and that was the story she told down the years after a few drinks in suitable company, usually to laughter and applause.
Accelerator to the floor, she careered and screeched uphin and around curves to the top of the ridge, jammed on the brakes, and leaped out into roadside grass. She was all alone here. Below, silver planes were flitting and diving about the peaceful Navy base, where the morning mist still lay pearly pink around the ships. Columns of water were shooting up, a couple of ships were on fire, and here and there guns were flashing pale yellow. But it still looked much more like a drill than Bke war.
Then she saw a very strange and shocking sight. A battleship vanished ! One instant the vessel stood in the outer row and the next second nothing was there but a big red ball surrounded by black and yellow smoke. A cracking explosion hit and hurt her ears; the pressure wave struck her face like an errant warm breeze; and the ball of smoke and red fire climbed high into the air on a pillar of lighter smoke, and exploded again, in a beautiful giant burst of orange and purple, with another delayed BOOM The vanished battleship dimly appeared again in the binoculars, a vast broken twisted wreck all on fire, sinking at a slant. Men were running around and jumping overboard, and some with their white suits on fire were moving in and out of the smoke, silently screaming. It looked like a movie, exciting and unreal, but now Janice Henry began to grow horrified. Here was one battleship actually sinking before her eyes, and the whole thing had scarcely bee, going on ten minutes! She saw more planes coming in overhead. Bombs began to explode in the hills. Remembering her baby, she ran to the car, backed it squealing onto the road, and raced home.
The Chinese maid sat in an armchair, dressed for church, hat on her knee, glumly leafing through the mist. "The baby's asleep," she said in clear English; she was island-born and convent-raised. "The Gillettes never even came. They forgot me.
So I'll have to go to ten o'clock mass. Please telephone Mrs.
Fenney." "Anna May, don't you know that the Japanese are attacking us?"
"What?"
"Yes! Can't you hear the guns, the explosions?" Janice gestured nervously toward the window. 'Turn on the radio. You'll hear plenty!
jap Planes are all over the harbor. They've already hit a battleship!" Victor lay on his back, still doped by the cough syrup, breathing loud and fast. Janice stripped the hot, flushed little body.
From the ra o me ttl ro dica the sliding twangs of Hawaiian guitars and a woman's voice singing 'Lovely Hula Hands.- As Janice , sponged the infant an announcer gibbered cheerfully about Cashmere Bouquet Soap, and another Hawaiian melody began. The maid came to the doorway.
',you sure about the war, Mis' Henry? There's nothin on the radio. I think maybe you just saw a drill."
'Oh, for heaven's sake! A drill! How stupid do you think I am?
I saw a battleship blow up, I tell you, I saw a hundred jap planes, maybe more! They're all asleep or out of their minds at that radio station.
Here-please give him the aspirin. He feels a lot cooler.
I'D try to call the Fenneys."
But the line was dead. She jiggled and jiggled the hook to no avail.
"Sp dip-the tar that causes tobacco harshness. Lucky strike is the only cigarette from which every trace of sheep dip has been removed," said a rich, happy male voice. "Smoke Luckies, they're kind to your throat-' Janice spun the dial to another station and got organ music. "Good God! What's the mamr with them?"
The maid leaned with arms crossed in the doorway, regarding Janice with quizzical slanted eyes as she twisted the dial, looking in vain for news.
"Why, they're all insane! Sailors are burning up and drowning out there! What's that? Who's there? Is that the Gillettes?" She heard tires rattling the driveway gravel. A fist banged at the door and the ben chimed. The maid stared at her mistress, unmoving. Janice ran to the door and opened it. Bloody-faced, Warren Henry stumbled inside, in heavy flying boots, a zipper suit, and a bloodied yellow life-jacket.
"Hi, have you got twenty bucks?"
"My God, Warren!"
"Go ahead, pay off the cab, Jan." His voice was hoarse and, tight "Anna May, get out some bandages, will you?"
The taxi driver, a hatchet-faced old white man, said, "Lady, I'm entitled to fifty. I heard the japs have already landed at Kahuku Point. I got my own family to worry about-"- She gave him two bills.
"Twenty is what my husband said."
'I'm getting on the first boat out of here," said the driver, pocketing the bills, "if I have to shoot my way aboard. Every white person in Hawaii will be butchered. That's Roosevelt for you."
In the kitchen, Warren sat bare-chested. The maid was dabbing antiseptic on his blood-dripping upper left arm. 'I'll do that," Janice said, taking the sponge and bottle. "Make sure Victor's all right."
Warren gritted his teeth as Janice worked on a raw wound two inches long. "Jan, what's wrong with Vic?"
'Oh, a fever. A cough. Darling, what in God's name happened to you?" y 'I got shot down. Those bastards killed my radioman. Light me a cigarette, will you? Our squadron flew patrol ahead of the Enterprise and ran into them-hey, easy with the iodine, that's plentyHow about these
goddamned Japs? )
"Honey, you've got to go to the hospital. This has to be stitched up."
'No, no. The hospital will be jammed. That's one reason I came here.
And I wanted to be sure you and Vic were okay. I'm going to Ford Island, find out what's happening, and maybe get a plane. Those jap carriers haven't gone far. We'll be counterattacking, that's for sure, and I'm not missing that. just bandage it up, Jan, and then dress this nick, in my ear. That's what's dripped most of this gore all over me."
Janice was dizzied to have Warren suddenly back, literally fallen out of the sky, half-naked, bloody, returned from battle. She felt deep happy stirrings as she rubbed his skin, smelled his sweat and blood, and bound up his wounds. He talked on at a great rate, all charged up.
"God, it was weird-I thought those A.A. bursts were target practice, of course.
We could see them forty miles away. There was a hell of a lot of smoke coming off the island, too. I talked to my wing mate about it.
We both figured they were burning sugarcane. We never did spot the japs until six of them jumped us out of the sun. That was the last I saw of Bill Plantz.
I still don't know what happened to him, all I was doing from then on was trying to stay alive. The way those fellows came diving-zoe-"
"Hold still, honey." "Sorry. I tell you, it was rough, Jan. The SBD's a good dive bomber, but these jap Zeroes! The speed they've got, the maneuverability! They can Turn inside you-whoosh! It's no contest.
They do acrobatics like birds.
You can't shake them and you can't hold them in your sights. the pilots are hot, let me tell you. I don't know if the F4F's a match for them, but one thing's sure, an SBD against Zeroes is simply a dead pigeon. All I could do was keep turning and turning to evade. They got De Lashmutt right away. He alm
ost broke my eardrums with a horrible scream on the intercom. And then he yelled, 'Mr. Henry, I'm pouring blood, I'm dying," and he moaned and that was all. There was nothing I could do. They kept coming at me. They were so eager, one of them finally overshot and hung for a second or two, in my sights, turning. I let go with my fifties and I could swear he started smoking, but I can't claim anything. I lost sight of him. Tracers started from three sides, right past my vindows, these big pink streaks, zing, zing, zing-and then, goddamn it, our own A.A. opened up!
Why the hell they shot at me I'll never know, the silly sons of bitches-maybe they were gunning for the japs and missing-but the flak was bursting all around me. I still don't know whether they got me, or one of the japs did.
All I know is my gas tank caught fire. Poor De lashmutt, I yelled and yelled at him, till the flames were coming up around the cockpit, but he didn't answer, he certainly was dead. So I popped the canopy and jumped. I didn't even see where I was until the parachute opened, I just saw water. I was out over Honolulu Harbor, but the wind took me inshore. I almost got hung up in a palm tree in a little park off Dillingham Boulevard; then I cleared it and got down. I grabbed that cab, but I had a time with that fellow. He saw the chute draped all over the tree, he saw me unbuckling-he stopped to watch-and he still wanted fifty dollars to take me home. A patriot, that one!"
Herman Wouk - The Winds Of War Page 114
