Please, keep your letters coming. Knowing that you have closure on Herman is comfort to me because I know what it means to you. You are a strong woman, Violet Iverson. And Roscoe! Some people said I was a fool for bringing a lion to Hawaii, but he’s touched more lives than he ever would have holed up in some zoo. He was the cheer on those blustery cold days in Waimea. The best mascot a man could ask for in this war. I miss that chap. Take good care of yourself and Ella and try not to worry about me. Know that you are my reason. The other half of my heart.
Love Always,
Parker
Chapter Forty-Seven
Violet
The letters stopped coming. After a few weeks of no mail and radio silence, everyone knew something was up. Violet had trouble sleeping, so each morning she waited on the lanai for the paperboy, Shunji Izumi, who was as precise with his timing as he was his throw. The paper always landed on the seagrass doormat at 6:14 sharp. On this particular morning, the wind started early, whipping up the trees in the yard and stirring up dirt. Thud. Shunji was on time. Violet opened the roll.
The headlines read, US MARINES STORM ASHORE ON IWO ISLAND! A black-and-white photo showed six men crouched behind a mounted gun and a cloud of smoke from a freshly fired blast. Behind them were ammunition shells and rifles. One man scanned a large hill with binoculars. All around, scraps of unrecognizable debris littered the landscape.
So this was Island X.
Iwo Jima. The name meant nothing.
Days passed, and with each, a new story. Every time Violet opened the paper, she broke out in a sweat.
MEN AND GUNS AT IWO JIMA.
In every photo, she and Jean inspected the faces closely, looking for features of Parker or Zach or any of their friends. In uniform and from a distance, it was hard to be sure. But Parker she would know anywhere.
“That guy has Zach’s height, but twice his girth,” Jean said about one.
“How about him?” Violet said.
“No way. Too short.”
OLD GLORY GOES UP OVER IWO. IWO PEAK CAPTURED.
A photo of marines throwing all their weight into raising the American flag swelled her chest with pride. There was something intimate about seeing those men at the top of the mountain, flat-out determination on their faces. In another shot of the same moment, a group of twenty-five or so men stood around the flag with their arms raised. Violet pulled out the magnifying glass.
“It looks like Zach,” she said.
“Give me that!” Jean said. She peered through the glass. “I think it is. And Parker and Tommy over here. They’re alive!” Jean straightened up and held open her arms, and Violet leaned into them as they closed around her. The battle to capture Iwo Jima dragged on. And on.
IWO CASUALTIES TOTAL 3,650.
Seeing the numbers pile up was a slow form of agony.
“Why do they have to torture us with this? I don’t like this new up-close-and-personal form of reporting,” Jean said.
They’d gotten in the habit of holding hands when reading the paper and Jean’s palm felt sweaty. “Everything changes when you love someone out there, doesn’t it?”
“How can capturing one small rock be worth all these lives?” Jean asked, sighing.
“Airfields. At least, that’s what they say.”
* * *
On a regular basis, whether or not their mail was being received, Violet, Jean and Ella wrote letters for their soldiers. Ella drew detailed pictures of Roscoe and they sent evidence of his recent growth spurt. The veterinarian in Waimea said Roscoe had gained twenty pounds since the marines left town. By the time they returned, he might be a full-grown lion. Violet included the newspaper clip with details of finding Herman, and how Roscoe was the new town hero.
On one of the rare mornings when Jean grabbed the paper first, she spread it out on the table for all to see. “You have to see this!”
The photograph showed two men in combat utilities. Dust caked their helmets. One sat on a piece of blasted concrete and held a plank of wood in place. The other was kneeling and finishing painting the words POST OFFICE. 4th Mar Div. Iwo Jima.
“Bless their hearts,” Violet said.
“This means they’re getting mail.”
They continued writing with vigor.
MARINES SLICE IWO IN TWO AND CAPTURE MAIN AIRFIELD.
Though it looked like the Americans were making ground, the Japanese continually caught them off guard. Snipers, kamikaze and hidden heavy artillery took their toll. The Japanese soldiers also hid out in caves and tunnels, coming out only at night for ambushes. Violet was torn apart by the inability of the United States to end the battle once and for all. Too much killing.
Facial expressions on the living were enough to make you close your eyes and pray to a God you weren’t sure existed. The faces of the dead were worse.
* * *
When Violet woke up a few weeks later, every bone in her body ached. This is stupid, she thought. Instead of going outside to wait for Shunji and the latest war news, she went to Ella’s room and dropped into the chair next to her bed.
She watched the sun come up a fiery yellow, throwing light across the walls. A dove cooed outside. Jean always claimed that Violet worried too much, and maybe that was true. What was worry but a waste of time? Spending every morning entrenched on Iwo Jima would help no one.
In the kitchen, when Jean showed up, looking smooth-haired and rested, Violet made an announcement. “From this day forward, I’m on a newspaper diet.”
“Newspaper doesn’t taste very good, honey. You sure you want to do that?”
Violet folded her arms. “No more reading about that godforsaken island. I want to spend my time thinking about what’s going on here.”
“‘No news is good news’ now makes more sense, doesn’t it?” Jean said.
The final straw had been a reprint yesterday of a Western Union telegram in the newspaper, received by a family on the day after Christmas. Unable to stop herself, she read the words on the small square of paper again and again. Two stars were stamped at the top of the telegram.
THE NAVY DEPARTMENT DEEPLY REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON ######## FIRST MATE USN WAS KILLED IN ACTION IN THE PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY AND IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY. THE DEPARTMENT EXTENDS TO YOU ITS SINCEREST SYMPATHY ON YOUR GREAT LOSS. ON ACCOUNT OF EXISTING CONDITIONS, THE BODY IF RECOVERED CANNOT BE RETURNED AT PRESENT. IF FUTURE DETAILS ARE RECEIVED YOU WILL BE INFORMED. TO PREVENT POSSIBLE AID TO OUR ENEMIES, PLEASE DO NOT DIVULGE THE NAME OF HIS SHIP OR STATION.—REAR ADMIRAL DICKENS THE CHIEF OF NAVAL PERSONNEL.
The irony of it caused her eyes to sting. She thought about closure and all those people who would have to live without. Always wondering. The idea wrapped her in heartache.
On March 16, Irene Ferreira called just before she and Ella left for school. “For heaven’s sake, open up the paper,” she said.
Violet threw down her coffee and ran out to the porch. She forced herself to read.
IWO SECURED BY AMERICANS!
6,800 DEAD. 20,000 WOUNDED.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Violet
Violet had no fingernails left. Nor did Jean. On the same day that they got word the USS Lubbock was en route to Hilo, two letters arrived in the mail. One from Parker’s mother, Elise, and one from Parker himself. It was only the third letter from Parker since he’d shipped out from Pearl Harbor. She felt a bout of hyperventilation coming on and dropped the other mail on the driveway. She gripped one envelope in each hand.
Where is Jean?
She forced herself to check the dates. The letter from Mrs. Elise Stone was dated March 20, Parker’s March 12.
Trade winds had ramped up in the past few days, bending the trees sideways. Iwo Jima has no trees. Beneath her feet, the grass felt springy and soft. Iwo Jima has no grass. She made it
to the patio and fell back on the pune’e, clutching both letters to her chest. A lizard watched from above with bulging eyes. She could see two eggs on each side of its spine, and wondered if Iwo Jima had any life on it at all.
Jean came out, letting the screen door slam behind her. “Anything?” One look at Violet and she froze. “What is it?”
Violet held up both letters. “One from his mom and one from him.”
Jean shuffled over and joined her, letting her head fall back in the mound of cushions. “You haven’t opened them?”
“Which one do I open first?”
“Let me see.” Jean scanned both envelopes. “Maybe she wants to let you know he is okay.”
“Parker told me if anything happened, his mother would write.”
His envelope was crinkled and thin. His mother’s was sealed with wax. Both felt heavier than a truckload of coconuts. She worked out the dates in her head. Parker could have still had time to write. And then die. Mail delivery was surprisingly fast in this day and age.
Please, God.
Violet remembered that first day on the porch when Zach had shown up unexpectedly. Parker stood outside. The man with silver eyes. Back then, he meant nothing to her. She thought about the telegram in the newspaper. Small black words. She felt dizzy.
Why has his mom written?
The passage of time seemed to change with the wind, gusting and then still as stone. If Parker was alive, she needed to know this very second; yet if he was dead, then what? Maybe it all boiled down to acceptance. Once again. Acceptance that life was far from fair, but if you followed love instead of fear, you would come out ahead. No matter what.
Oh, how I love him.
Jean took charge. “Listen, he has to be alive. They all do. I say open the one from him.”
Perhaps if she remained motionless, nothing would change. But willing things not to happen was never enough. Violet’s hands trembled. “It would be easier not to open either of them.”
Jean avoided her eyes. “I’m here, when you’re ready.”
Her mind worked out a solution on its own. “I’ll open his, and you open the other one.” She handed Jean the letter. “At the same time.”
Through the side of her eye, she caught movement, and noticed Ella was standing in the doorway, barefoot. No doubt wondering why her mother’s face had lost all blood.
“Honey, go outside and check on the chickens.”
Ella did not move. Her eyes scoured the letters in their hands. “Why do you look funny?”
“Letters from the boys.” She and Jean both held them up. “Just a bit anxious. Go on. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Looking unconvinced, Ella skipped away across the lanai and down the front steps, singing a Japanese song.
Violet held the envelope to her nose. Traces of diesel and ash. Steadying her fingers was trouble, but she opened it without tearing the paper. The usual neat writing had been replaced by shaky scribbles. The words were all over the place.
Dear Violet,
I hope this letter finds you well, and pray that it reaches you before any other news. You see, there was a mix-up involving me missing from the hospital ship. I had a concussion and left without telling anyone. Maybe I was dumb to go back to the island. But what else could I have done when my brothers were still valiantly fighting, inch by inch, to gain hold. Now I’ve gone and gotten myself shot through the bicep. I’m not going to lie. There’s a nasty infection and the doc is talking about losing the arm. I will try to write more when this fever passes. Did you know that I sneaked on deck and watched our favorite star last night? Trustworthy, even in the ugliest of times.
Always,
Parker
Lost in his words, she temporarily forgot about the other letter. When she looked up, she saw that Jean had turned the same color as a bedsheet.
Violet thrust his letter in her face. “Oh, dear. It was a mistake, honey.”
Jean grabbed it, and once she’d finished reading, she let out the sigh of a lifetime. “Talk about the worst kind of blunder. His poor mother. That letter had me fooled.”
“Someone owes her an apology.”
When they had first sat down, clouds dotted the sky. Now rain hissed around them and Ella tore in from the yard. Maybe it was imagination, or wishing, but Ella looked rounder in places that before were just bone. All this took place in the span of a couple of minutes. But it seemed more like hours. And what of the infection? She’d read about a new form of drug called antibiotic being tested by the military. Couldn’t they try that on Parker?
She patted the spot next to her for Ella. “Sounds like they’re coming home, sweetie. Maybe not in one piece, but alive.”
* * *
Four days later, news spread around town that a navy ship had docked at Pearl Harbor the previous night. Violet and Ella were walking up the steps from school when the phone rang. She tossed aside her purse and papers and dashed through the door, racing to answer before the caller hung up.
The connection crackled and a woman’s voice came across. “Is there a Violet Iverson in the house?”
Her heart pounded. “Speaking.”
“This is Wilma from Tripler Army Medical Center. I have a young man here, been pestering me to call you. Normally we don’t do this. Hang on a sec.”
Violet thought she heard the cord stretch and metal clattering in the background. She reminded her lungs to breathe.
“Violet?” His voice sounded far away, and yet more solid than the island under her feet.
All those prayers have somehow gotten through.
“Parker, is that you?”
“We made it, Violet. We’re home.”
There was so much blue in the sky.
Epilogue
I know it’s absurd, but I believe in the power of people loving you. While it didn’t work for my papa, because everything happened so fast and we didn’t have enough time to pray, I think it worked for Parker and Zach. Hearing they survived was like taking a huge breath after being held underwater for five minutes. Or like a hot bath on a cold night. Only, multiplied by a hundred.
After Mama got the call that he was still alive but in grave danger of losing his arm, we ramped up our positive thinking. Jean organized a get-well campaign and we all wrote cards and drew pictures for his hospital room. Umi and I even made him origami flowers, since we couldn’t send real ones. He told Mama being in the hospital was worse than being in battle. I tried to imagine losing an arm, but couldn’t. According to the newspapers, soldiers were losing more than just their arms. Bayonets were one thing, but cannonballs another. They ripped men in half.
But enough about that. Mama wanted to hop the first ship to Honolulu, but she had school to teach. Not only that but the nurse said no visitors. Parker was too sick. My fingernails were bit down raw, but I had the sense that he would live. Don’t ask me how—I just knew he’d get better. He survived this far. I can’t say the same for Mama, who crossed her arms and said she refused to lose another man. It was simply impossible. Her lip quivered when she said it and she broke down in tears. On a Sunday, she even went to church with Setsuko to talk to God.
After three weeks and loads of fretting, we got the call that we could come visit. “Looks like I get to keep my arm,” he said, “and I’m sure going to need both so I can hug you and Ella tight. And I won’t let go, so you better be ready.” We danced around the kitchen after that, and Mama arranged for one week off. Luckily, Mr. Nakata found a substitute teacher. I think he would do anything to make Mama happy after all she’d been through. Anyone would.
Signs of spring showed up everywhere in Honoka’a. The plovers arrived back from wherever they flew off to, skies turned sunny, and lilikoi grew fat on the vine. Beaches were still blockaded, but something happened on that Island X that changed the feeling around here. There was talk that we mi
ght actually win the war and it would finally end. People’s faces changed, weird as it may sound, and there were a lot more smiles going on.
Mama and I boarded the steamer down at Kawaihae. The Lehua, she was called. A very long and tall ship that seemed impossible to float. The water was clear and flat and colored like the sky. You could see the coral and yellow fish darting around as we went out to sea. When I stuck my tongue out, I tasted salt. Mama looked beautiful in her finest yellow dress. Setsuko had sewn me one to match. We held hands as we watched the Big Island get smaller and smaller and finally fall into the ocean. I felt so happy, I wanted to cry.
I think Mama was crying.
Then she said something I will never forget. “Ella, remember, you always have a choice in life. Even in the worst of circumstances, when all seems lost and the world is going down the tubes around you, surround yourself with love and everything will turn out all right.”
I don’t know about you, but it’s how I plan to live.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
Though this novel and its characters were formed from my imagination, Camp Tarawa and the soldiers who lived there were very real.
War never leaves you. I know this because my grandfather, Herman Larsgaard, was the high school principal in Honoka’a during World War II, and my grandmother, Helen, was a teacher. While many people left for the safety of the mainland, my grandparents stayed. They housed many of the marines on weekends and holidays, and they soon became close friends. When those soldiers left, it tore my grandmother apart. The only consolation was in knowing that she played a role in improving their lives before they shipped out to Saipan and Iwo Jima. I can still see the twinkle in her eye and hear the soft lilt of her voice telling me about the day she drove up Kawaihae Road with a lion breathing down her neck, or how she almost got shot simply for walking down the street at night. She was the real storyteller.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 30
