Toward Night's End

by M. H. Sargent

“Drive then,” Donald told him, hopping into the passenger seat.

  ***

  The Kobata’s small, two-story house sat on a small rise, overlooking the sea and a small, rickety dock where an old fishing boat was tied up. Donald had never known Matthew very well. They were the same age, but Matthew tended to hang out mostly with fellow Japanese-Americans. He remembered when Matthew had to drop out of school just before the end of their senior year, just over three years ago now. His father had been killed in a car accident, and Matthew had taken over the family’s fishing business. He had heard that Matthew was very bitter about his circumstances – apparently he had saved money and planned to go to college somewhere.

  A private first class by the name of Hines was sitting on the front steps as they pulled up, and he jumped to his feet when he saw them. Donald still had no idea why he had been called out here. He thought his captain would get back on the radio and give him a heads-up, which would have been logical, but as Donald was learning, that wasn’t the way the Army did things.

  “What’s the problem, Private?” Donald asked as he climbed out of the Jeep.

  “I was assigned this family. Supposed to pick them up at Oh-800 sharp,” Private Hines explained. He glanced at his watch. “I was on time, but they said to wait and—”

  “Who? Who told you to wait?”

  Hines shrugged. “A woman.” He unfolded a paper that he seemed to remember was tightly clutched in his hand. “A Mrs. Kobata.”

  Donald was surprised. “They’re supposed to be ready at the appointed time.”

  “I know, I know. But, you know, I thought they had just a few more things to pack.”

  “What happened?”

  “I waited. Gave them about fifteen. Then I knocked on the door, told them we had to go, but she insisted we had to wait. Her son isn’t here, I guess.”

  “Matthew?”

  Hines looked chagrined. “I dunno.”

  Donald was already exasperated. “Let me see the registry slip.”

  Hines handed it over. It listed Ido Kobata, age 72. Must be Matthew’s grandfather. Kumiko Kobata, age 45. The mother. Then it had Matthew, age 21, Daniel, age 14, and Julia, age 8.

  Hines was saying, “They won’t come out. She locked the door. I tried it.”

  Donald stepped around the private and rapped on the door. He had never met Matthew’s family and now he was glad. He had already recognized too many fellow students and their parents heading down the dock. Of course, he knew the government was doing the right thing. All the people of Japanese descent had to be moved inland so that they couldn’t help guide Japanese bombers to the coastal areas. No one wanted a Pearl Harbor in California, Oregon, or Washington.

  There was no response to his knock. He tried to peek in the nearby window, but a thin lace curtain effectively blocked his view.

  “Maybe they went out the back,” Jenkins proposed. Donald shot him a look. He hadn’t thought of that. He knocked on the door again. Hard.

  “Mrs. Kobata? My name is Donald. Donald Bollgen. I went to high school with Matthew.”

  Hines and Jenkins exchanged looks. They had no idea the lieutenant was a local. Donald used his fist and pounded on the door. “Mrs. Kobata, I can break the door down if I have to.”

  “Go! Matthew not home yet, you must go!” a shrill voice sounded above him.

  Donald looked up to see Mrs. Kobata leaning out of the upstairs window. He stepped back so he could have a better angle.

  “We’ll pick up Matthew later, okay?”

  “No!” she hissed. “We do as told. We register as a family. We will go away, yes. But as family. When Matthew comes, we go. Together. As family.”

  “You have to go now, Mrs. Kobata,” Donald softly explained. “We’ll make sure Matthew catches up with you. You’ll all be at the same relocation center, you don’t have to worry.”

  “Go, I say! Go!” Mrs. Kobata barked before pulling down the window with a deafening thud. A moment later a curtain was pulled across the pane.

  Hines nervously looked at Donald. Finally, he blurted out, “She said she has a gun. Before you got here. She said she has a gun.”

  “I’m sure she does,” grumbled Donald as he headed back to the Jeep. Staring at the house, he gave a tired sigh. He knew the protocol to follow. He just hated to do it.

  ***

  “I’m hungry,” she heard Ido complain in Japanese. Kumiko was beyond tired. Which was surprising considering she had slept well the night before. She hadn’t thought she would. After all, she was being forced to leave her home. The home all three of her children had been born in. And her island. She had been awakened before six that morning by Mr. Porter knocking loudly on the door.

  “Mrs. Kobata! Mrs. Kobata!” he had shouted.

  She had quickly risen from her bed, grabbing her robe and securing it around her thin waist with the tie. Opening the front door, she had seen Mr. Porter’s face twisted with rage.

  “Where is he?” Porter demanded.

  “Asleep,” Kumiko had answered softly.

  “Get him! Now!”

  Kumiko nodded subserviently and silently closed the door. She had gone upstairs and looked in the room Matthew shared with Daniel. But she was stunned to find only Daniel in his bed. Asleep. Matthew’s bed had been made up properly, the way she insisted all the children do upon rising each morning. A cold chill ran through her. Matthew had been in an accident, just like his father. That was the only explanation.

  She had gone to her room and dressed. A minute later she’d opened the front door again. Porter anxiously approached.

  “Where is he?”

  “He not come home last night,” she’d whispered. “He been in accident.”

  “An accident? With my truck!?”

  “Why else he no come home?”

  “I’m thinking he stole it. Didn’t want to go to the camps.”

  “No, Matthew no do that,” she defensively corrected him. “He know we have to go. He planning on it. I have to call hospitals. Maybe he in hospital.” But Porter just stared at her. Finally, he nodded.

  “Let’s go,” he said, heading for his small pickup truck. Kumiko followed.

  Ten minutes later they were inside Porter’s small kitchen. Unlike the Kobatas, he had a private telephone, which she imagined was a great convenience. Porter had dialed the hospital and asked if any Japanese-Americans had been brought in during the last twenty-four hours. No. Relief flooded over Kumiko. He hadn’t been in a car accident. Unless, of course, no one had seen the accident and he was somewhere on the island, hurt, in need of medical attention.

  “We go now. Look for him,” she’d announced.

  “Look where?” Porter asked impatiently.

  “He on island. Not that big. We find him.”

  “For all we know, he’s on the mainland somewhere.”

  Kumiko had been taken aback. “If Matthew okay, he come home. He no home, so something happen. We look, yes?”

  “Fine, come on,” Porter had said, heading out the door. Again, she followed.

  ***

  She had shivered involuntarily when she and Mr. Porter had arrived at the ferry dock at half past six that morning. There were military personnel everywhere, clearly getting ready for the forced evacuation that would take place later that day. “Why we here?” she’d asked as she hurried to catch up with Porter who was walking briskly to the dock office.

  “No choice. They never answer the phones,” he said.

  Kumiko felt awkward, the only Japanese-American on the dock. She could feel eyes piercing right through her, but she kept pace with Porter and kept her eyes downcast. Luckily, when they got to the office there was only one man there. He was young, with short blond hair, and wore a heavy coat. The man had only been on the job for a month, so he didn’t know all the locals yet. But he soon would. He was looking over some papers when Porter barged in, Kumiko right on his heels. The man looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”

  “I’m missing a cargo tr
uck. Fifteen footer. Think maybe it was stolen—”

  “Not stolen!” Kumiko interrupted fiercely.

  “Should’ve come back from the mainland,” Porter went on, ignoring her outburst. “Some time after nine last night.”

  “Yeah,” the man had casually said. “Last ferry over.”

  “You saw it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You talk to the driver?”

  “The Jap?” he asked, as if Kumiko wasn’t there. “Nah. He looked a little tweaked. Spent some time in the bathroom. Sick, maybe.”

  Kumiko had been relieved, but worried at the same time. She had been right. He was still on the island. But then her stomach was knotted as she thought about Matthew being sick. They had to find him. “We drive around now,” she told Porter.

  He looked at her, then shrugged. The island wasn’t that big. They should be able to track him down.

  But after searching the island for over two hours, there had been no sign of Matthew or the truck. It was as if both had vanished into thin air. Porter had half a mind to tell the Army that a Jap had run off, and let them find him. But as angry as he was about his truck, he had always liked Matthew. The boy was decent enough. Always paid him right on time for the use of the truck and paid for the petrol he used. It seemed silly to Porter that Matthew insisted on taking his catch over to the mainland instead of taking it by boat to the south-end fishery. But Porter was actually making decent money, and the truck was not accumulating that many miles. So he decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn’t contact the police or the Army. Not yet, anyway.

  When they had come back to the Kobata house later that morning, both were hopeful that Matthew would be there and give a full account of his disappearing act. But no such luck. Porter had told Kumiko to send Daniel over on his bike as soon as Matthew showed up. And he agreed that, if Matthew brought the truck back, he’d give the young man a ride back to the house. He knew it was only a matter of hours before they were to be deported.

  ***

  “I’m hungry,” she heard Ido complain again, this time with an angry tone. What did he expect? They had carefully used up most of their remaining food. They were supposed to be on the ferry right now, not having lunch at their own home.

  “There are some carrots in the basket,” she yelled down to him. The few food items that they hadn’t consumed she had already packed in a wicker basket. She had a slight tinge of guilt – she should go downstairs and get the carrots for him. He had been despondent ever since he had given his beloved cat “Osco” to a neighbor girl. But the rules were very strict. No pets.

  Of course, that black and white cat was more than a pet. Strange as it might seem to some, the cat seemed to know that Ido was blind. The two were inseparable, the cat acting as his pair of eyes, gently bumping him on the legs if he strayed off course.

  “Where’s the basket?” Ido impatiently asked in his native tongue.

  “Here, Ojichan,” she heard Julia say, referring to her grandfather using the traditional Japanese expression.

  Just then, Kumiko heard a loud truck approach and anxiously moved the curtain aside to look out. But it wasn’t Matthew. It was a large Army truck. Half a dozen armed soldiers quickly hopped from the back and took up positions around the house.

  Chapter Two

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  His first realization upon awakening from a hazy fog was that he was alive. He knew this because his head throbbed relentlessly. Curled in a fetal position, he had no idea where he was, and in a moment of sheer panic tried to lift his head, but the pain was excruciating, making him cry out in surprise.

  “God, I thought you were dead,” said a voice in the distance somewhere.

  His chest tightened defensively as he anxiously glanced around. He was inside some sort of dark building, a trace of light filtering through the wood slat walls, but not enough to let him see his surroundings clearly. He tried to sit up, but discovered his wrists and ankles were bound by a thick rope. At the same moment a stabbing pain shot throughout his head, like a spiked pinball ricocheting through his brain. He involuntarily moaned in agony and lay back in defeat.

  “Easy, you’re not going anywhere,” the voice warned him. He realized the person was behind him.

  Moving ever so slowly, Matthew rolled over. He saw that he was lying on some straw. Squinting at the shadows before him, he could now make out a dark figure a few feet away. He sat with his back up against the wood wall, his knees tucked up to his chest. Like him, the man’s wrists and ankles were bound by ropes. Then he realized it was Tom. But it hadn’t sounded like Tom. Matthew thought this was quite strange, but then it dawned on him that the beating he took must have affected his hearing. But it was indeed Tom. He recognized the familiar way his best friend always twirled a pen or small stick from one finger to the next. Right now he was using a piece of straw for his dexterity aerobics.

  “What happened?” Matthew squeaked, his voice not sounding like his own.

  “They got everything,” Tom answered simply.

  Matthew was having trouble absorbing what he was being told. “Who...? Who are they?”

  “No idea. At first I thought Army, you know, like Army police or something.”

  No, Matthew thought, as he remembered the two men who jumped him in the truck. They weren’t Army. He studied his friend. “You okay?”

  “The big guy got a few hits in, but I’m fine.”

  As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could now see that Tom’s face was a mess. One eye was swollen shut. His nose had probably been broken since his upper lip and chin were covered in dried blood. “You look great,” Matthew said. Tom actually smiled at the comment. There was silence for a few moments. Then Matthew asked, “Where are we?”

  A shrug, then, “I was blindfolded. My guess, an abandoned barn.”

  “On the mainland?”

  “No, we never left the island. That I do know.”

  That was good, thought Matthew as he slowly tried to piece everything together. “Where were you?”

  “About thirty yards away from the drop point. Where I was supposed to be. Waiting and watching.”

  After digesting this for a minute, Matthew told his friend, “You shouldn’t have tried to take them on.”

  Tom chuckled. “Wasn’t my plan. Saw them clobber you, so I tried to get a better look. Stepped on a dead branch. Boy did it snap. I tried to run, but that big guy? He was on me before I got maybe twenty feet.”

  “Just the two of them?”

  “I think so.”

  As Matthew mulled this over, he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be on the ferry today. He started to panic. He had to be on the ferry. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice raised with concern.

  “Not yet noon,” Tom answered. He nodded in the direction of the light seeping through the wood planks. “Not directly overhead yet. I’d guess it’s ten, maybe.”

  Matthew’s next thought was Mr. Porter’s truck. As if reading his mind, Tom said, “They put us in the back of a car. Tied me up. Then tossed you on top of me, and a blanket over both of us. I couldn’t see anything. One of them drove the truck. I could hear it behind us for a while. Then nothing. It turned off somewhere.” Disgusted, he tossed the piece of straw aside. “I thought you were dead. Swear to God,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Feeling tears well up in his eyes, Tom angrily kicked his shackled feet at a small pile of loose straw in front of him, connecting with something that made a distinctive clank sound that made Tom yelp in surprise. Instinctively drawing his feet back, Tom cupped the hurt foot in his hands. “Dammit!”

  “What was that?” Matthew asked.

  “My foot, dammit!” Tom told him.

  “No, you hit something!” Not waiting for an answer, Matthew quickly dug his elbows and knees into the straw, slithering across the floor. Tom soon forgot about his foot and scooted himself forward. Matthew dug through the disheveled straw
with his bound hands. Then he felt it. Anxiously tossing aside the straw, Matthew grabbed it. An old scythe. It was over a foot long, curving like a sliver of the moon. Matthew looked up at Tom with a grin.

  ***

  How much crazier could it get, thought Donald. The newly arrived reinforcements had been told to spread out around the house, but to keep their weapons in check. That hadn’t gone over well with Private Hines who had been quick to remind him that Mrs. Kobata had said she had a gun. Though the family had failed to comply with his order to vacate the house, he had gotten Mrs. Kobata to communicate her concerns that Matthew had been in an accident. He then contacted the local hospital and was told that the only Japanese to have been admitted over the past two days was a child with a broken arm.

  And now a stupid black and white cat was scratching at the front door, howling in anger for entry. This made some of the men laugh, but not Donald. He was too worried about how they would get the family out without breaking down the door and using their guns. It was unthinkable. These people knew they had to go. It didn’t matter that Matthew was missing. He had told Mrs. Kobata that the local police were looking for him, but it had now been two hours and there was still no sign of Matthew. Donald presumed that Matthew had taken off for the mainland. Maybe even Canada.

  The cat started to howl again, piercing screams that Donald hadn’t known cats were even capable of. But it worked. A moment later the door slowly creaked open, prompting several soldiers to quickly move forward. Their actions spooked the cat into running off. At first Donald was surprised that the soldiers’ advancement on the house hadn’t compelled the inhabitants to slam the door shut. Instead an elderly Japanese man appeared at the open doorway, completely indifferent to the soldiers facing him. In a surprisingly soft voice, he called out, “Osco, Osco.” The soldiers exchanged glances, astounded that the aged man paid them no heed. But Donald soon realized that he was blind. And a moment later the cat reappeared, meowed softly, and headed toward the elderly man.

  Donald waved the others to remain still as he approached.

  “Sir, my name is Donald Bollgen. Lieutenant, United States Army. We have orders to take you to the Keholoken ferry. I’m sure you know that. I need you to come with us now,” Donald instructed the old man.