When we got to the church I felt choked up at how many people were packed into the tiny red building, overflowing across the yard and onto the cracked street. Not one person was going to miss this. Everyone loved my papa.
We stood on the curb. Mama looked down at me and smiled, and then we walked in.
Instead of organ music, three Hawaiian men strummed guitars and sang with uneven voices. When we got closer, I saw that one of them was actually Bernard Lalamilo. He winked when I caught his eye. A few old ladies in the audience sang along. The way their song circled around us and vibrated through the morning made me feel loved and cared for. We sat in the front row with Jean, Setsuko and the twins, and Irene Ferreira. True friends if there ever were. Mama sat ramrod straight.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. Which is not something I recommend at a funeral. Once Minister Kaaua got going about Papa, and how he was a father to all the children in town, a guardian, a husband and an outsider turned kama’aina, I knew I was in trouble. He went on about what makes a man noble and honorable. A few other townsfolk stood up and added their own memories. Finally Setsuko walked to the podium and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Mama squeezed my hand. This was a surprise.
I was impressed by how loud her voice sounded and how she paused and looked us both in the eye after each line. The poem went like this:
I fall asleep in the full and certain hope
That my slumber shall not be broken;
And that though I be all-forgetting,
Yet shall I not be forgotten,
But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds
Of those I loved.
Poetry is not something I always understand, but I think I took in the meaning of those words and swore at that moment that Papa would always live in my deeds and my thoughts. I’m sure Mama felt the same. I had tears splashing onto my dress, but I hardly noticed.
All morning long, rain had been turning on and off. Now it stopped again, and a flood of sunlight shone through the windowpanes. You could see dust suspended in the air, and a couple of bees hummed around our flower arrangement. I wondered how I could feel so many things at once. The kind of sadness that tugs at the edges of your heart, pent-up anger that this happened to my papa, while at the same time relief at Luther’s arrest. On top of that, I felt a big fat swelling of hope. The kind that would help me preserve my papa where it mattered most. Smack-dab in the center of my chest.
Chapter Forty-Four
Violet
If there was one thing you could count on, it was for the world to keep on spinning no matter what kind of heartbreak had transpired. Rain was predicted to fall indefinitely, which made for a wet first week back at school. Even in drowning downpours, Violet never missed a day of mail-checking. It had been over two weeks since the soldiers left.
On Friday afternoon, she opened the mailbox. A letter.
She dashed to the house through puddles and soggy grass, and despite her best efforts, the envelope wound up spotted with raindrops. Bleeding ink showed a post date of January 2. Violet flung the door open and stepped inside.
Jean sat on the pune’e painting her toenails red. “Horsefeathers, what’s gotten into you?”
Violet held up the letter.
“Open the darn thing,” Jean said.
“Give me a second. Where’s Ella?”
“At Setsuko’s with Umi.”
This was good news. Ella out and about. She prayed school would no longer hold its place of terror. Air-raid drills might have been triggers, but more likely seeing Luther day in and day out was the main cause. Not to mention the continual fear that men might be coming for Violet.
Once the shock of finding Herman and catching Luther had died down, Violet had taken Ella to see Henry Aulani, the Hawaiian healer, again. If anyone, he would be able to siphon out some of the hurt and pent-up fear to help right the world for Ella. It turned out to be the best thing she could have done, not only for Ella but for herself.
While Ella played with the yellow-eyed cat, Pele, Violet filled him in on the details. Of course, the whole island already knew what transpired, but it felt good to sit face-to-face with the big man and tell him every last detail. He held one of her hands as she spoke. His palms were calloused and as big as baseball mitts, but his warmth settled her.
“The most troubling thing of all is the guilt I feel for Ella carrying around this time bomb inside her. I should have known. I should have done more,” she said.
“Only natural. But you now know something you didn’t know back then. Forget ‘I should have.’ You can’t go backward. Show Ella the future and all the possibility it holds.”
“But how? How can we not go back when there is so much unfairness, so much pain? If only...”
“No more ‘If only.’ It’s the same as ‘I should have.’”
A pressure built up in her chest. He was asking the impossible. “How?”
“Answers don’t come when you’re searching. They come when you’re living. Kids know this more than we do. That’s why they play.”
He nodded to Ella, who rustled around a long mulberry branch in the grass for Pele. The cat was frantically pawing at the stick. The look on Ella’s face was pure innocence. Unadulterated joy.
He continued, “When you take your daughter home, do her the favor of honoring her choice. It was a noble one.”
A sob erupted from deep inside and she broke down, her whole body shaking. Ella’s choice. Henry picked up her other hand and began chanting in a very low voice. Hawaiian words she couldn’t understand. But the meaning was beyond language. It felt like he was inflating her with eons’ worth of love. That was the only way she could describe it.
She made a silent promise and had been reminding herself ever since.
“If you don’t open it, I will,” Jean said, knocking her out of her daydream.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
The envelope felt like lead in her hands. She escaped to the kitchen to read it. Narrow block letters arranged themselves neatly, announcing Parker Stone as the sender. With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope. The words were jammed together, leaving almost no margins.
Dearest Violet,
To have held you one more time before leaving. A thought I have constantly. They woke us up before the roosters and gave us two hours to gather our things. I tried to call. Believe me when I say I already miss you.
After passing through Honoka’a, we transferred to the sugarcane locomotive. It wasn’t a pretty sight, all of us boys shoved in the flat cars like anchovies. Those cars are not made for humans and everyone has spent the last few days removing splinters from their hands and other more sensitive parts. On the other hand, we got to ride across narrow bridges hundreds of feet high and saw lush valleys and waterfalls. None as lovely as ours. I will always think of Hi’ilawe that way—yes, I committed her name to memory. I can even pronounce it! Once in Hilo, we marched through town. Maybe you saw photographs? Our division ended up on the Lubbock, which is almost new but as cramped as the flat cars. I wish I could tell you more, but we are sworn to secrecy. Though we ourselves are mostly in the dark. I will say that we passed over the USS Arizona resting on the ocean floor like a massive tomb. It was a sobering moment for all of us.
I hope Ella is doing well and that you ladies get to visit Roscoe as often as possible. Seeing those two together was a heartwarming sight. My thoughts have also been with you, wondering if old man Lalamilo was right about that cave. I guess by now you would know. The unfairness of life sometimes astounds me. Who lives and who dies? Is there anything we can do to sway the odds in our favor? The best I can come up with is not always. But I’m open to suggestions. I have the highest regard for you and what you have endured. I will do my best not to put you through that again. Not that I in any way want to compare myself to your husband.
&n
bsp; In some ways, it all feels like a dream. The exotic location and your luminous skin. Every moment we spent together is alive in my mind like a motion picture. All I have to do is close my eyes. Which I do more often than I care to admit.
Always,
Parker
PS: Give my regards to Ella, Jean, Irene and Roscoe.
PSS: He loves cream.
Violet held the letter to her nose and inhaled any traces of his scent. Maybe she imagined it, but the paper smelled like burned oil and sweat. She read it again. The ache between her ribs deepened.
Jean strolled in. “So, any news?”
For some reason, she felt protective of the letter and quickly closed it up. “He sent it from Honolulu, but you know they’re mum about where they’re heading.”
“He must have said something.”
Violet stared at the words that said a whole lot more than something. “He said to say hi.”
Jean rolled her eyes and walked back out the door.
* * *
The students at school must have been in cahoots about being extra nice. Even Johnny Martinez. Most of the kids had Luther for shop and they begged her over and over to tell the story of Roscoe sitting on him. Violet had never let on that she was the one in the room that morning, but somehow word had gotten out. As much as she wanted to put the whole thing behind her, reliving Luther’s fright brought a measure of satisfaction.
“What about the soldier that owns Roscoe? Is he your boyfriend?” Johnny asked one morning.
You could have heard a feather fall in the classroom. “And how is that any of your business?” Nosing into her personal life was a common ploy to avoid schoolwork. She knew that. Sometimes it worked, but not today.
“’Cause you’re a good lady, Mrs. Iverson. And you’re wearing a dog tag,” he said.
His face was so earnest, and his words softened her. “Parker and Zach and Tommy are like family. We’re all praying they come home safely. End of story.”
He wasn’t done. “Is it true the Japanese eat whales?”
“Johnny, you’re digressing. Get back to work.”
When everyone finally settled down and typewriters clacked, Violet pulled out the letter. She felt like a child sneaking ice cream in the middle of the night.
A second letter arrived two days after the first. And another three days after that. Jean heard from Zach. Irene heard from Zach. Which caused her already brown skin to turn several shades darker. The marines hadn’t sailed into the thunderclap of battle yet. That was still to come.
* * *
There was nothing unusual about the following Sunday morning. Showers rode in on the trades, most of the townsfolk were at one form of church or another, and Violet, Jean and Setsuko stood around the kitchen flipping pancakes and listening to a sermon on the radio. Setsuko had taken the kids to an early service and it worked out, since Violet and Jean shared the opinion that church was best saved for weddings and funerals.
“If they took out this fire-and-brimstone nonsense, I might go more often,” Jean said.
None of them noticed the sound of an approaching car. The kids were outside tending the chickens. They heard Hiro yell first. “Dad?”
Violet dropped the ladle. Jean placed the bowl of batter on the counter, her eyes huge. Setsuko ran to the window and looked out into the glare. Violet and Jean fell over each other trying to see out from behind her. All three kids stared at the car as a reed-thin Takeo unfolded himself from the back seat and stood with his back erect. A tattered suitcase hung from one hand. His shoulders were slightly stooped, but he might have been the tallest man she’d ever seen. Freedom had that effect on a person.
Setsuko flew out the door and into the driveway.
“How come she didn’t say anything about this?” Jean asked.
“I don’t think she knew.”
Hiro and Umi wrapped around him, faces buried in his chest. Takeo held on to Setsuko for dear life. She had her face pressed into the crook of his neck and her shoulders shuddered, like she was setting free all that hurt and fear. He motioned for Ella. She gave him a quick hug before tearing toward the house.
“Mama! Jean! Look who’s back,” she cried.
They filed down to the driveway. Up close, Violet saw the color of imprisonment on his face, sallow and pale. But the look in his eyes told another story, one of being home. Somehow, all seven of them managed to cling to each other. When Takeo met Violet’s eyes, she knew that he knew.
“Who would have guessed?” were his first words.
That night, they sat down to a feast of lemon-baked ahi that Jean ran down to the market for. They steamed potfuls of rice, freshly pounded poi and baked the first chocolate honeycomb pie since the soldiers’ departure. Takeo ate until he had to lie down. More than once, Violet caught him gazing at Setsuko or the kids with the kind of tenderness usually reserved for newborns.
Takeo is home.
Chapter Forty-Five
Ella
Time heals. People always say that to me. While that might be true, animals are the real secret to surviving any upset. I promise. Without Snowflake, Brownie and Roscoe, I hate to think how I would have managed. The thing about animals is they love you 110 percent. They could care less if you’re covered in scabs and don’t feel like talking. Or afraid of the whole world. Something about their warm heartbeat and even breathing. You ask me, they’re better than any kind of lemon-scented balm.
The soldiers helped, too. When the first letter came, Mama turned pink and stayed that way the whole night. She moved around the kitchen like she was floating in a way I never saw before. With a constant smile on her face. I guess love does that to people. Why else would she act like this?
Every night at dinner, Jean has us all hold hands, and we ask God to keep an extra eye out for our boys. I think of them as men, but hold my tongue. If where they’re going is anything like the photographs in the newspaper, they need every last one of our prayers. To tell the truth, whenever I stop to think, I send a request out. I hope God is listening.
For Christmas, Jean gave me a notebook. I plan on writing this all down. About my papa and what a brave man he was. He stood up for his friends and Mama says that is worth more than anything. Also, everyone should know what it feels like to live through a war. I can’t remember life any other way, which may not be a good thing. Blackouts and bunny suits. Shortages of sugar and air-raid drills. Collecting metal scraps. And how for each soldier out fighting, there are people suffering at home, hoping their loved ones are spared. On both sides.
But not everything is bad. We made pies, we made friends. We fell in love.
I just hope it ends well.
Chapter Forty-Six
Violet
Despite Jean’s pep talks, Violet was having a hard time pretending that things would turn out okay. She had learned the hard way that all the wishing in the world couldn’t make something happen. And how falling in love encompassed both bliss and despair and everything in between. You couldn’t have one without the other. That’s what makes us human.
On a particularly moody Thursday afternoon, she received another letter, or as the soldiers would say, a behavior report. How they came up with these terms for even the most reasonable word, Violet would never know. Drop a bomb, lay an egg. Nap, blanket drill. Chaplain, GI Jesus. Grenade, pineapple.
Each letter Parker sent had been slightly longer than the previous, and this was no exception. As though he was afraid he had to get it all out in case he didn’t return. At least, that was how Violet saw it. The crinkled paper shook in her hands. Perspiration formed on the back of her neck.
Dear Violet,
The day has finally come. They fed us steak and eggs for breakfast, as if that might mask the fact that we were about to invade a foul-smelling volcanic rock called Iwo Jima. I guess they saw it as a final meal
for some of us, and that it was. We lost a lot of boys today, Violet. The war has suddenly become crushingly real. You’ve probably already seen this all in the papers and I’m not even sure if our mail is getting out, but writing to you is a balm for me. Iwo Jima is colder than Hawaii and the sky looked unusually wide and blue this morning. It seemed like a good day to live. Or a good day to die. I am prepared for anything, though my goal is to make it back in one piece to see you. I am doing my best. Just before noon, word came. “Boats on the beach! Stay brave! Victory! Semper fi!” Our boat fell in line behind the lead and moved toward the beach. A new Stars and Stripes flapped in the wind, and it was quite a sight, a bold reminder of why we’re here. To keep our freedom, because without freedom, what do we have? As we closed in on the island, smoke and dust hid the beach and everything but the hump of Mt. Suribachi. Right away I thought of its counterpart on the Big Island. Hoku’ula. Now I know why they had us march up and down that hill as if our lives depended on it. Because they do.
Aircraft fell from the skies around us and in the distance a landing boat was blown to pieces. Explosions went off every few seconds, near and far. Unnerving to say the least, but having Zach by my side kept me sane. Still, nothing could have prepared us for the sight on the beach. We ran past twisted tanks and shards of armored vehicles. The sand was deep and not like sand at all, more like ash. Bodies lay everywhere. Things burned that shouldn’t be able to burn. But worse than anything was the stench. Rotting flesh and gunpowder. Numb and without options, we plunged on. Time moved like syrup and we found a shell hole already occupied with other marines. No room. The farther inland we went, the safer we would be. Or so we thought. The darnedest thing was, we couldn’t figure out where the Japanese were firing from. How could any of them have survived the relentless bombardment of the past few days? Underground, as it turns out. The Japanese aren’t on Iwo Jima, Violet. They’re in it.
Maybe you don’t want to hear all of this? The good news is by some miracle of God and Ella’s extra helping of prayers, our whole unit survived our first day on the island. Other than a few scratches and bruises, I am uninjured. I wish I could say the same for everyone else. We are all in a somber mood and no one is talking much. I wish we could get a few homemade pies to boost morale or even just see your beautiful faces. This is only the beginning, I won’t lie. By the time you get this, you may already know the outcome.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 29
